Into the Wild (6 page)

R
IVER BRACED HERSELF
for the worst as Spenser steered his jeep toward the outskirts of town. He had news about her father. Bad news. “I never mentioned Henry to Kylie. How do you even know who he is?”

“You don't want to know. You won't like it.”

She didn't press. It didn't matter. Had she risked everything for nothing? Was she too late? Had Henry truly sacrificed his life for some stupid Inca gold? She blew out a breath and blinked away tears. Losing control wouldn't do. Instead, she fostered anger. Her father had had the gall to send her his journal, to write that letter, to say he loved her…only to die?

Selfish to the end.
“Bastard.”

“I've been called worse.”

River noted the stern-faced man behind the wheel. Today he was wearing aviator sunglasses and a variation of the clothes he'd worn last night. Brown cargo pants, trekking boots and baggy layered T-shirts. Sloppy never looked so good. She wished he had hair growing out of his ears or a fat wobbly wart on the tip of his nose. Anything to make him less attractive. She felt shallow and guilty for being so enamored with his rugged good looks. At least he was annoying today. Near as she could
tell he'd left his good humor in Quito. “I wasn't talking about you. Although, if the shoe fits…”

“Guess you're still not yourself.”

“What?”

“Last night at the airport, you apologized for being rude. Said you weren't yourself.”

The observation chafed. She was kind and tolerant by nature. And when she had to, she could fake nice to even the nastiest people. A quality that benefited her since she was in a people-pleasing business. But with Spenser… She blamed her lack of good humor on the extraordinary circumstances, most of which she couldn't share.

“You followed me against my wishes, snooped into my history and now you're about to share bad news.” River hugged herself against a chill that had nothing to do with the mild temperature. “Forgive me if I'm not feeling warm and fuzzy toward you, McGraw.”

He glanced sideways. “At least you dropped the
mister.
”

The chill gave way to scorching heat. This man radiated a primal aura that set her blood on fire. “This is insane,” River mumbled to herself. Given her feelings for David and the impending bad news, she had no business having lusty thoughts about Spenser. Although maybe it was a defense mechanism. Something to distract her from dark thoughts. As much as she resented Henry, she didn't want him dead.

Unnerved, she looked away from Spenser and focused on the scenery. Buildings had given way to mountains
covered in lush green vegetation. “Where are you taking me?”

“Someplace private.”

“If you're afraid I'm going to have a meltdown when you deliver the news, don't worry, I won't. I didn't even cry when David abandoned me at the altar.” Oh, hell. Why had she told him that?

“This is for me as much as you,” he said, skating over talk of her wrecked wedding. “I needed to get out of town for a while.”

She glanced at him. “Why?”

“Let's just say I have a love/hate relationship with Baños.”

He veered off the road, taking a bumpy route through a dense copse of trees.

Where there are trees there are bugs.

She wasn't fond of any bug, especially fire ants—nasty, stinging, blister-inducing creepy crawlers—but she
feared
mosquitoes. Specifically anopheles mosquitoes. They transmitted malaria. They killed one to three million people annually. Because her mom and grandma had recounted her brush with malaria so many times, River had become obsessed with the disease. She'd researched the subject to death. Anopheles mosquitoes typically attacked in the evening and early morning.

Evening was fast approaching.

She'd taken precautions—an antimalarial drug, bug spray, protective clothing. She still felt at risk. As Spenser drove deeper into the trees, she buttoned her denim jacket and looped her extra long gauzy scarf
twice more around her neck, covering as much skin as possible.

“Cold?” he asked.

“A little,” she lied. Across the way, River spied a waterfall. Frothy water gushed over the craggy mountain face between and an endless variety of trees. Momentarily distracted, she gaped at the breathtaking sight. “Beautiful,” she whispered, aching for the camera she'd left in her room.

“I've always thought so.” After parking, he rounded the jeep and handed her out.

Old-fashioned sensibilities.

River found that quality both attractive and annoying. She really disliked the way his innocent touch incited a sensual tingling. “I asked several locals about my father. No one had ever heard of him,” she blurted as they walked a narrow trail. “How is it you learned something?”

“I asked the right person. Someone who wasn't afraid to talk about him.”

“Why would anyone be afraid to talk about Henry?”

“They think he's cursed.”

Maldición.

River had a lot of quirks, but she wasn't superstitious. Still, she had a bad feeling about this curse business. She waited for Spenser to explain. He didn't. Maybe he wasn't one for walking and talking. Willing patience, she kept stride and kept quiet. It wasn't easy. Watching for flying blood suckers of death, she spritzed the air
in front of her with insect repellent and walked through the life-saving mist.

“Have a thing about bugs, River?”

“Everyone should have a thing about bugs. Especially the kind that transmit deadly diseases.”

“Won't argue with that.”

“But?”

He shook his head. “Never mind.”

They reached the end of the trail and he gestured toward a crude stone bench with a prime view of the waterfall. He waited until she was seated, then eased down next to her. It was all she could do not to lean into him. The man was a freaking sex magnet.

“Are you waiting for the perfect moment?” she snapped. “Searching for the right words? Whatever you know about Henry, just tell me.” The suspense was killing her.

Focused on the waterfall, Spenser pushed his sunglasses on top of his head and squeezed the bridge of his nose. “I met your father three years ago by chance. Nice guy.”

River didn't comment. Nice guys didn't turn their backs on loved ones. They didn't choose career over family. They didn't ignore obvious danger in order to quench their own selfish thirst.

“He's obsessed with rediscovering lost treasures,” Spenser said.

“Tell me something I don't know.”

“Do you know about the Lost Treasure of Llanganatis?”

“No.” But her waiter had mentioned it, and she'd seen
Llanganatis
scribbled in Henry's journal. It had to be pertinent. “Let's hear it.” She noted Spenser's squared shoulders, the weariness around his eyes. Was he stressed? Angry? She hated that she cared.

“I won't bog you down with historical or mythological details. Trust me, I know a lot of details.”

“The condensed version is fine.” She could always Google it.

He nodded, then braced his forearms on his knees.

River balled her hands in her lap, steeled her spine.

“According to legend,” he said in a voice that probably mesmerized countless viewers of his show, “in the sixteenth century, the Incas buried a massive sum of gold deep within the Llanganatis mountain range, a remote and treacherous region of the Andes. People have been searching for that treasure for centuries. Many have met unfortunate ends, resulting in the belief in a vengeful curse.”

He left River hanging as he stood and walked to a railed ledge overlooking the waterfall. She refrained from palming the hidden amulet, ignored the burning sensation against her skin. Trembling with frustration, she strove not to yell. “Teasing the listener with bits of information, then leaving them hanging over a commercial break might work for your viewers, but this is real life and I'm really annoyed. What's the damned curse?”

“If those mountains don't kill you, they'll make you go mad.”

She blanched. “You think Henry's gone mad?”

He didn't answer.

“You think he's dead?”

“No one's seen him for three months.”

She felt a little ill. “That doesn't mean anything. He could be deep in the mountains without means of communication. Alive and…”

If you receive this package, it means I am sacrificing my life to protect a precious treasure.

River massaged her pounding temples. Could the precious treasure and the Incan treasure be one and the same? Was the amulet part of that treasure or merely a talisman to protect her from a curse?

Spenser turned. “What was in the package, River?”

Her face burned. “What package?”

“The package your dad sent you. The one that led you to Baños. And before you ask, your assistant told my sister, who told me.”

River thought about the amulet hidden beneath her clothes, of the journal buried in the depths of the sling pack resting against her side.

Share it with no one except Professor Bovedine and beware of the hunters.

She took a step back and answered Spenser's question with one of her own. “How much is that treasure worth?”

“Today? Around eight billion.”

“Dollars?”

“Whoever discovers that treasure will be rich and
famous beyond imagining. Aside from the money itself, there's the historical significance.”

This from a TV celebrity who hosted a treasure-hunting show.
I know a lot of details.

A bell went off in River's head. “You've searched for the Lost Treasure of Llanganatis.”

“Twice.”

“Well, you're not dead. Or crazy. So obviously that so-called curse doesn't affect everyone.”

He stepped toward her. “What was in the package?”

“Photos,” she blurted. “Family photos. They were unexpected, a sentimental gift. You've probably noticed I call my father by his first name. We were never close. Then…we had a major falling out and…I came here to make amends.” A partial truth, but hopefully one that would satisfy this man. Suddenly, she was as wary of Spenser as the anopheles mosquitoes.

“If you're thinking of searching for Henry, don't.”

She didn't answer. She couldn't. Not without blowing her top. Not without inadvertently leaking information.

“You're not up to the journey,” Spenser said in a sharper tone.

Insulted, she glared at the celebrity treasure hunter, a man who probably had a lot in common with her father. Including underestimating her guts and fortitude. “I'm tougher than I look.”

“Not tough enough. And before your nose gets out of joint, let me add, few have what it takes to survive
an expedition in Llanganatis. If the brutal terrain, inhospitable weather and extreme altitude don't fell you, the curse will.”

River scoffed. “Surely you're not superstitious.”

“Go home, River.”

“Don't tell me what to do.”

“Don't be foolhardy.”

“If my assistant heard you say that, she'd bust a gut. I am not, nor have I ever been, reckless. I always have a plan. I'm always prepared.”

“That GPS in your sling pack won't help you find your dad.”

But his journal might. Clutching her bag, she spun on her heel and stalked toward the jeep. “I want to go back to my hotel.”

“To pack?”

“To think.”
To read.
“Thank you for the update on Henry. Thank you for the warnings. When I speak to Kylie, I'll assure her you were attentive and protective.”

She didn't protest when he helped her into the jeep. Anything to hasten their departure. But, instead of rounding to the driver's side, he leaned into her, his face mere inches from her own. She nearly swooned because of his close proximity, because of the sexy smell of his aftershave, because of the fierce expression on his outrageously gorgeous face.

“Aside from the brutal terrain and weather,” Spenser said in an ominous voice, “do you know how many species of insects inhabit the Amazon and Andes?
Scorpions, spiders, centipedes and millipedes. Beetles, ticks, fleas. Mosquitoes.”

Bastard.
“Seventy thousand,” River said in a strangled voice. “Species, that is. More or less.”

He raised a brow. “I'll assume you're also aware of the associated diseases. Yellow Fever. Malaria. Dengue.”

“Well aware.” She fought a wave of panic. “I've taken the appropriate precautions.”

He studied her with an intensity that liquefied her bones. “When you're in your hotel room, thinking about whether or not to track your dad, think on this.”

His gaze moved to her mouth and her heart stilled. She dreaded a kiss,
ached
for a kiss. But he shifted and spoke close to her ear. “There is no vaccination for gold fever. And take it from one who knows, angel. It's deadly.”

B
AÑOS CAME ALIVE
at night.

Lively voices and music filtered up from the street and floated in through the open window of Spenser's third-floor hotel room. He considered stuffing tissues in his ears. He was that desperate to avoid the memories the sounds and smells prompted. Instead, he shut the window and cranked the air. He turned up the television set. He checked his voice mail, pondered the lack of messages from Necktie Nate—what were those execs up to?

He thought about the favor he'd asked of Gordo earlier today. His partner had promised to call as soon as he tracked down the former Andean guide previously associated with Professor Kane. Spenser needed the guide to confirm or deny a story. Gordo preferred playing detective to solitaire, so he'd hopped a puddle jumper south. It had only been a few hours, still…

Spenser dialed his partner, anxious for an update.

No answer.

Ten minutes later, he tried again.

“Do you know how many Juan García's there are in Lima?” Gordo asked.

“A lot?”

“I said I'd call when I had something to report.”

“Sorry I couldn't give you more to go on, Gordo.”

“Remind me why I'm doing this?”

“Because it's more fun than sitting around Cajamarca with your thumb up your ass?”

Gordo grunted.

Spenser closed his eyes and willed away thoughts of River's desperate determination. “Because Cyrus Lassiter has been known to exaggerate and no one can back him up on this. Juan confided in him and him alone.”

“If what Lassiter told you is true, and if Juan wasn't exaggerating, then Henry Kane's raving mad.”

Spenser massaged his temples.

“Helluva thing to break to his daughter,” said Gordo.

“I need verification.”

Silence.

Spenser imagined his partner scratching his beard and then rubbing the back of his neck.

“I'll find Kane's guide,” he finally said. “If not tonight, then tomorrow.”

“I'll wait for your call.”

“Sure you will.” Gordo disconnected.

Spenser tossed the phone on the bed and glanced at his watch: 10:15 p.m. At this hour Gordo was trolling bars, known hangouts for guides and thrill-seekers. By 1:00 a.m. his friend would be three sheets to the wind and feeling no pain.

Sober and miserable, Spenser fell back on his rented bed and stared up at the cracked ceiling. For
the umpteenth time in the last five hours, he thought about his outing with River. He'd been a bastard, but he'd wanted her to understand the danger associated with Llanganatis. He hadn't told her everything he'd learned from Cyrus about her dad's cursed expedition, because he wasn't sure how much was true. Cy was a good man, but eccentric. The treasure hunter's eccentric nature had made him the odd man out. He'd been known to embellish stories simply to garner attention. His take on Kane's expedition had been troubling. Spenser had wanted to spare River the gruesome details—real or imagined. Even though she played the tough chick, on the inside she was a wary lamb. The dichotomy was a powerful aphrodisiac. The entire time that he'd been trying to warn her away, he'd ached to hold her close. To kiss away her worries. Kissing River was fast becoming an obsessive fantasy.

He closed his eyes and groaned.

Love at first sight was a curse all its own.

The antiquated TV and ineffectual air conditioner droned in the background, along with the muffled sounds of the street. He was blocking memories, craving tequila and damning River Kane when his cell rang.

“What?”

“Nice greeting.”

“What do you want, Jack?” His best friend and soon-to-be official brother-in-law. In truth, Spenser knew what the man wanted.

“I want to know you're okay.”

“I'm okay.”

“You're in Baños.”

“So?”

“You swore off that town. Swore off that legend.”

“I don't care about the legend.”

“Liar.”

“What do you want, Jack?”

“Your sister's on my ass. About you. About River.”

“River's fine.” She, too, was holed up in her room. Thinking or sleeping or watching TV, and no doubt cursing Spenser. He'd booked the room across from hers. The two times she'd stepped out, he'd stepped out, too. Both times she'd glared, done a one-eighty and slammed her door in his face. The scent of laundry-fresh bug repellent had lingered in the air, taunting him as keenly as Chanel 5.

“I spoke to Gordo,” Jack said. “He told me who River's dad is and where you think he might be.”

Shit.

“Are you going after Professor Kane, Spense?”

“I'm going to drive River to the nearest airport and put her on a plane bound for the States.” The sooner, the better. “Then I'm going to get back to business and search for El Dorado. I've got a show to film.” He hoped.

“What about Kane?”

“The authorities are aware he's missing. If they learn anything of consequence, they'll contact his daughter.”

After a tense pause, Jack said, “You're an expert on
that region, that legend. If Kane used Valverde's guide or even that other guy's map—”

“Brunner.”

“You could probably find him. Dead or alive. At least River wouldn't be left wondering. Also…maybe you could find closure yourself, Spense.”

“Face my demons?”

“Whatever it takes to move on.”

Spenser swung out of bed and nabbed a bottle of pain relievers from his backpack. “Kylie see eye to eye with you on this?”

“She wants you to let go and move on.”

“But she doesn't want me to trek into the Llanganatis.”

“Hell, no.”

Spenser washed down the tablets with a swig of Inca Kola. He opened the window and breathed deep. Bittersweet memories swirled along with the cool air and salsa music.

He thought about River, acknowledged another kind of ache.

He wanted to move on.

“If I go,” he said to Jack, “there better be a wedding to attend when I come back.”

“Nothing would keep me from marrying your sister. Again.”

Spenser grinned. “I'll be in touch.”

He disconnected just as another call came in.

Cyrus Lassiter.

The crusty treasure hunter had promised to call if
he remembered anything more about Kane and his expedition.

“More news on the professor, Cy?”

“Not exactly,” the treasure hunter shouted over lively background noise. “This is about his daughter.”

Spenser tensed.

“I'm at El Dosel,” Cy said. “And so is she.”