Into the Wild

Into the Wild Beth Ciotta When River Kane's fianc? abandons her at the altar for being too conventional, she's heartbroken. But everything changes when her estranged archaeologist father sends her his journal–filled with cryptic maps and a note indicating he's in mortal danger.Worried, River faces her greatest fears and flies to the Amazon to find him. But she needs a guide. Someone completely unlike danger-seeker Spenser McGraw.A charismatic treasure hunter who thrives on risk, Spenser hosts the popular TV show Into the Wild, dedicated to locating lost treasures and mythical icons. But River's father's life depends on discretion, and too-sexy Spenser is all about publicity. Forced to team up, they embark on a jungle adventure ripe with temptation and danger…ultimately discovering a hidden treasure that could alter history–and a steamy love neither expected. Dear Reader, Every time I see a film like Romancing the Stone or any one of the Indiana Jones or mummy movies, I always imagine myself in the shoes of the heroine (and the arms of the hero). How exciting! How romantic! Except…I’m not sure I’d have the guts, wits, strength and stamina to face and conquer all the physical and mental perils. Still, that doesn’t keep me from imagining and pretending. When I wrote Out of Eden and introduced the heroine’s brother, a hunky celebrity treasure hunter, I knew my romantic-treasure-quest adventure was just a book away. Into the Wild afforded me the chance to live and love dangerously. I based Spenser and River’s quest on an actual legend—the lost treasure of Llanganatis. Though I couldn’t actually travel to Ecuador, I did research heavily and fell in love with the country. What started off as a jungle adventure in the Amazon stretched on into the Andes Mountains. Although I tried to stay true to the region and the legend, remember this is a work of fiction and I have quite the imagination. As an aside, this past year I traveled to Wyoming with one of my sisters and had my own mini adventure in the wild. I drew from many of the challenges I experienced (altitude sickness, unpredictable weather, strenuous climbs into mountains) when I wrote this story. And most of all, the determination to push beyond your physical limitations as well as conquering (or at least taming) your fears. As for the romantic aspect of this tale, all I can say is… Be still, my heart. Brace yourself, folks. You’re in for a wild ride! Cheers, Beth Praise for the novels of BETH CIOTTA OUT OF EDEN “Well-drawn characters…sparks fly. A well-plotted raunchy adventure.” —Publishers Weekly “With engaging characters who are easy to like, Ciotta creates a fascinating town that readers will look forward to visiting again.” —RT Book Reviews “Out of Eden is a sexy and charming story that held me enthralled from the very start.” —Romance Junkies (4? stars, Blue Ribbon) EVIE EVER AFTER “Ciotta pulls out all the stops as she follows All About Evie and Everybody Loves Evie with another winner.” —Booklist “Ciotta deserves major kudos for creating such an array of memorable characters and such a fun-filled series.” —RT Book Reviews (4? stars) EVERYBODY LOVES EVIE “Ciotta’s wry humor; sexy, multifaceted characters; and layered plotlines make this a fun spy romp.” —Booklist “Everybody loves a skillfully characterized, humorously narrated and undeniably well-plotted novel.” —RT Book Reviews (4? stars, Top Pick) ALL ABOUT EVIE “Everything about Ciotta’s latest novel is fabulous: the lovable heroine, the sexy hero…and the delightfully original plot.” —RT Book Reviews (4? stars, Top Pick) Into the Wild Beth Ciotta www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk) This book is dedicated to Barb Justen Hisle—a fellow adventurer, fantastic writer and awesome sister. Flat Creek Ranch, Yellowstone and the Grand Teton Mountains. We did it! Here’s to our next Sister Adventure! Acknowledgments Special thanks to my critique partner (and sister), Barb, who read every chapter as I wrote it and bowled me over with her enthusiasm and insight. I am blessed. To author-journalists Joe Albright and Marcia Kunstel—owners of Flat Creek Ranch, our fabulous guide Shelby Scharp and everyone at Flat Creek who contributed to my amazing adventure…thank you for your fantastic hospitality and for sharing your own awesome tales! To my support system, my cheerleaders, my friends, Cynthia Valero and Mary Stella—you inspire me, personally and professionally. You’re the best. To my agent, Amy Moore-Benson—you are my rock! To my editor, Keyren Gerlach, who inspired Into the Wild with her own jungle adventure—I’m in awe of your courage (as well as your editing skills and patience). Thank you for everything! I’d also like to acknowledge every department and every single person at HQN Books. I so appreciate your dedication to my stories and all you do for romance. Lastly, to all the readers, booksellers and librarians who share and support my love of romantic adventures—wishing you love and laughter, peace and joy, and a multitude of satisfying reads! Into the Wild CONTENTS CHAPTER ONE CHAPTER TWO CHAPTER THREE CHAPTER FOUR CHAPTER FIVE CHAPTER SIX CHAPTER SEVEN CHAPTER EIGHT CHAPTER NINE CHAPTER TEN CHAPTER ELEVEN CHAPTER TWELVE CHAPTER THIRTEEN CHAPTER FOURTEEN CHAPTER FIFTEEN CHAPTER SIXTEEN CHAPTER SEVENTEEN CHAPTER EIGHTEEN CHAPTER NINETEEN CHAPTER TWENTY CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE CHAPTER THIRTY CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX EPILOGUE CHAPTER ONE Maple Grove, Indiana, USA Altitude 810 feet “AMAZING. ABSOLUTELY stunning!” Melinda Clark, soon to be Mrs. Mark Donovan, pored over the sample wedding album with unabashed enthusiasm. River Kane, owner and head photographer of Forever Photography, held silent as the woman gushed. Normally, she felt a surge of pride whenever someone complimented her work, but given the recent upheaval in her personal life, all she felt was numb. Mark, in an attempt to curb his fianc?e’s blatantly expensive taste, looked at a photo and shrugged. “It’s okay.” “Okay?” Melinda palmed her heart, her three-carat engagement ring glittering as brightly as her wide blue eyes. “Look at the expressions Miss Kane captured. So much love. You can just feel the joy.” “It’s a wedding, honey. I’d be worried if the bride and groom weren’t happy.” “Not just the bride and groom.” She tapped a manicured nail to a five-by-seven of the Sweeny bridal party. “There are…twelve people in this photo and every one looks fabulous, even the flower girl and ring bearer. How often does that happen? Usually at least one person blinks or sneezes, or scratches inappropriately. Remember your cousin’s wedding album? Obviously that photographer didn’t have the sharp eye and skill of Ms. Kane. Just look at these images of the ceremony!” “They’re kind of artsy.” “They’re unique!” Mark leaned in and muttered something to Melinda, who muttered something back. Wishing she were anywhere but here, River gripped the padded arms of her floral upholstered chair. Drumming her fingers wouldn’t do. Where was the tolerant patience that used to come naturally? It’s not as if this moment, these prospective clients, were out of the realm of her normal world. She was used to people admiring her work. She was used to those who criticized. Some splurged on her top package. Some budgeted for a lower tier, while others haggled over even her most basic package or, in some cases, walked away. After several years in the business, she’d pretty much seen it all. As a levelheaded professional, she was equipped to handle any situation. She also had good instincts. River was certain, by Melinda’s enthusiasm, her extravagant ring and Mark’s sagging shoulders, that they would commit to her premium package. That meant major dollars for Forever Photography. Yet River couldn’t dredge up an iota of pleasure. A contract meant she’d actually have to photograph the damned blessed event. Or maybe Mark would get cold feet or second thoughts and abandon Melinda at the altar. That would be awful, of course. But then River wouldn’t feel like the only jilted bride in the state. She could commiserate with Melinda. Curse her ex-fianc? almost-husband, a cowardly, fickle-hearted bastard. They could drown their sorrows in the champagne, meant to toast a happily-ever-after, and bemoan their sadly-never-was. River watched as Mark encircled Melinda’s waist, inwardly winced when he smiled and kissed his intended’s cheek. The man was besotted. She was going to have to shoot the damned wedding. Twenty minutes later the contract was signed and a hefty deposit check sat on River’s doodle-free desk blotter. Melinda and Mark left, and River’s assistant, Ella Tucker, entered. River barely noticed. She was too busy squirting sanitizing liquid into her palms—didn’t people realize how many germs were transmitted by shaking hands?—and cursing her inherited talent. “Damn Mom’s artistic streak and Grandpa’s photographic eye.” “We took a vote,” said Ella, her trusted sidekick of three years, “and we’ve decided you are a freak of nature.” River blinked. Normally Ella poked her head in after an appointment to ask if they’d secured the booking and what package the client had opted for. As River’s assistant, she made more money when her services were required on-site. The “freak of nature” remark was out of the blue and triggered deep-rooted issues that intensified River’s already fragile mood. She tried not to take offense. Not privy to the details of River’s past, Ella couldn’t know how keenly her observation hit home and hurt. Besides, she wasn’t a spiteful woman. She was a barely-twenty nosey Nate (although well-intended) friend and associate. Maintaining a calm facade, River forced a teasing smile. “By we, I assume you mean you and Ben.” River’s mailman. Ella’s boyfriend. A guy who knew everyone’s business and never shied from expressing his opinion. Ella plopped in the chair vacated by Melinda only seconds before. “May I be blunt?” River’s mind screamed no, but it wasn’t in her nature to blow people off. Besides, she could take it. At this point in her life she was fairly numb to criticism and rejection. “Consider me prepared.” “You were dumped at the altar by your fianc?, the man of your dreams, two weeks ago today. Yet you continue to operate as if nothing happened. Most women would’ve thrown a tantrum, retreated into a shell, hired a hit man, purchased a voodoo doll in the likeness of their ex—something, but you didn’t even cry.” Ella pumped her ever-present lip gloss tube, a sign that she was just gearing up. “You cashed in your honeymoon tickets and resumed business as usual. Which for you,” she said, after swiping the shiny pink stuff over her plump lower lip, “is photographing other couples walking down the aisle, saying ‘I do’ and walking, or flying, into the sunset. I know you loved or at least thought you loved David. And I know you’re a gentle soul, but this…restraint, this robotlike behavior is plain freaky.” River felt her calm slipping. That wouldn’t do. Desperate for control, she folded the check and slid it into her wallet, then scooped up the sample albums and replaced them on the decorative shelves adjacent to her antique desk—everything in its place. “I’m not a robot,” she said, careful to keep her voice light. “I’m sensible and grounded.” “You’re in denial. You’re also cautious and paranoid. Not your fault,” Ella added as though that would ease the sting. “You’re a product of your grandparents.” Better than a product of her parents—selfish and reckless. But River didn’t voice that thought. She skirted talk of her parents—a free-spirited artist and an eccentric archaeologist—like the plague. Surely they were just as toxic. “Is there a point to this attack?” “We figure it’s only a matter of time before you blow.” “We being you and Ben.” “It would be pretty sucky if all that suppressed devastation and anger erupted during a photo shoot. How many times have you told me your reputation is everything? Ruin one happy wedding and future contracts could be at risk. You know how word travels.” Your reputation is your most valuable selling tool, River could hear her grandpa saying. She’d not only inherited Forever Photography from Grandpa Franklin, she’d adopted his work ethics. Her fractured family had also cursed her with a few assorted habits, although Ella called them quirks. Ella, though sometimes annoying, was observant and wise beyond her years. River didn’t know what was more troubling. That a woman seven years her junior was analyzing her behavior, or that her concern had merit. River did feel pressure building within. A simmering mixture of disillusion and resentment. Long ago, she’d had a similar feeling and she had indeed blown. As a result she’d severed her relationship with her father. As always, the mere thought of Professor Henry Kane whipped River’s normally controlled emotions into a frenzy. She blamed him for her mother’s death and for annihilating her own sense of adventure. Since David had cited her conventional and cautious ways as his reasons for dumping her, she blamed Henry for ruining her love life, too. Chest tight, River reclaimed her seat and tucked her shoulder-length curls behind her emerald-studded ears. She bolstered her shoulders and tried not to look fragile—something else David had complained about in front of God and friends. His observation, like his rejection, had stung. Especially since she’d dedicated several years to building her strength and stamina. She couldn’t help that she’d been born pale, blond and petite. Nor was it her fault that she’d been molded into a person of many quirks. Quirks David used to find endearing. When had their relationship gone wrong and why hadn’t he been willing to fix it? Ella cleared her throat. “Are you thinking or ignoring me?” River forced another smile. “Listen, Ella. I appreciate your…and Ben’s concern, but I’m fine.” “Uh-huh.” Pump, pump. “I’m not going to have a meltdown in public.” “What about in private?” River considered the best response while Ella swished on more lip gloss. If she forfeited control, she worried she might never get it back. She’d planned the rest of her life according to David T. Snodgrass. Happily married until they died, three children, a two-story single-family home on an acre of land, yearly vacations to Disney, a 401K plan… River’s list went on and in great detail, and now that list was in the trash bin. No plan. No map charting her way for the next fifty years. Panic had been skirting the edges of her being ever since David had said adios. In order to function, she was operating on automatic, business as usual. And she would continue to do so until she formulated a new life plan. She didn’t expect Ella to understand her orderly nature and she had no desire to explain. “Would it make you feel better if I went home now, chugged a bottle of wine and sobbed into my pillow?” River asked “No. But you’d feel better.” Wrong. It was, however, a way out of this conversation. I’ll keep that in mind.” Still smiling, River pushed to her wedge-sandaled feet. “We’re caught up on business. What do you say we knock off for the day? I have personal errands and you’ve never been one to pass up extra time at the gym.” Whereas River maintained a rigid schedule that centered on jogging and moderate weight training, Ella kept fit via trendy workouts. Flavor of this month: Zumba. “Sure, but—” “Great.” But before River could get out the door, Ben burst in. The uniformed mailman planted a quick kiss on Ella’s slick lips then turned to River. “This is unorthodox,” he said, looking harried, “seeing it was addressed to your home, but I couldn’t imagine leaving it in your mailbox, considering its origin.” River tensed. Ben was a company man. A straight-arrow, by-the-books government employee. What would cause him to deviate from his normal route, delaying service to his regulars? Ella rushed to River’s side. “Is it bad news?” “Maybe it’s good news or promising news,” said Ben. “Whatever it is, it’s marked Important.” River hefted her red satchel higher on her shoulder to busy her hands. Wringing them wouldn’t do. “What is it?” Ben produced a worn eleven-by-fourteen padded envelope. “No return addressee,” he pointed out, “but it’s postmarked Ba?os, Ecuador.” River held tight to her satchel’s strap, tight to her control. “David’s in South America,” Ella said, excitedly pumping her gloss. “Isn’t Ecuador in South America?” “Yepper,” Ben said, still holding the envelope. “That’s why I rushed it right over.” Reapplying the gloss Ben had kissed off, Ella leaned in for a closer look. “Except that doesn’t look like David’s handwriting.” No, it didn’t. But the all-capitals print was familiar. Although River hadn’t seen it in a long, long time. “David’s on an extreme tour,” Ben said, “floating down the Amazon or zip-lining across the jungle canopy. Maybe he asked someone else to send whatever it is.” Ella snatched the package from Ben and felt up the contents. “It feels like a book.” River snatched the package from Ella and slipped it into her satchel. “I’ll let you know.” “You mean you’re not going to open it here? Now?” “I’d rather not.” Sensitive to the couple’s disappointment, River itched to make a graceful exit. “I appreciate the special delivery, Ben, but I feel a meltdown coming on and I promised Ella I’d do that in private. She’ll explain.” That was as graceful as it could get. River blew out of her office, through the reception area and out the front door of Forever Photography. She anticipated dark clouds, rumbling thunder, something ominous to match her mood, but the weather was sunny and mild. A beautiful late June day. If things had gone according to her well-laid plan, she would’ve been a June bride. Instead she was a June reject. She shelved the thought and focused on the package. “What do you want?” she grumbled as she slid into her minivan. It had been five years since River had last heard from her father. And that had been a lame greeting card, condolences on the passing of her maternal grandpa. As if the selfish bastard really cared. She nosed the van toward home. Important. What could it be? In addition to the surprise package, she was reeling from the possibility that her estranged father and fianc? were in the same foreign region. David was actually in Peru. Wasn’t that just south or east of Ecuador? The coincidence was just too weird. Taking her usual route, River zipped through town and pulled into her designated driveway. She eyed the two-bedroom rancher she’d inherited from her grandparents, much smaller than the one she’d planned to buy with David. For a moment she marveled that she’d been willing to part with it. Though lacking in warm, fuzzy memories, it was the only place she’d ever been able to truly call home. Her grandparents, though reluctant guardians, had taken her in when she was thirteen. The same year her mom had died. The same year she’d cursed her father to hell, thereafter referring to him as Henry. Months later, in a fit of remorse, she’d tried to mend that bridge, but her efforts had failed, driving a bigger wedge between father and daughter. River had many regrets, but mostly she was bitter. If her parents had loved her more, if they’d been less weird, she wouldn’t have developed the eccentricities that had driven David away. Suddenly, the tears she’d been holding at bay for two long weeks threatened to flow. River steeled her body, her mind. She would not, could not, lose control. Gulping fresh air, she plopped on the front stoop and opened the package. Nerves jangling, she clutched the contents, seeing but not believing. Not a book. A journal. Embossed brown leather, bulging and bound by a green elastic band. River smoothed her fingers over the worn cover. She had few memories of Henry, but she remembered him scribbling in a small, fat book that he carried in his pocket. No, not a book. A journal. This journal. Or at least a predecessor. Her heart raced as the past stared her in the face. She’d wondered back then what he was writing, but when she’d asked, he’d blown her off. “Data,” he’d said, as if that explained it all. Later, her mom had described data as documented observations and revelations about his studies. She’d likened his journal to a diary. “For his eyes only,” she’d said. Never in a million years had River dreamed she’d get a peek inside Henry’s journal, let alone an invitation to peruse at will. Was this his way of reaching out, of reconnecting? Was she supposed to feel honored? Relieved? Giddy with anticipation? The soft leather didn’t comfort her as she slid off the band, carefully, as though the journal might be ticking. She found yellowed, stained and smudged pages. Scribbles and tiny crammed handwriting in margins—handwriting she had seen so few times—and diagrams that held no immediate meaning. But she also found photographs. Ones she’d never seen. Photos of her. Of her mom. Of them as a family. She’d never figured Henry as sentimental. She was trying to process the notion when a trifold paper slid free and fell to the ground. Hands trembling, she unfolded the weighty stationery and found an object wrapped in tissue. It was small, but heavy. An amulet? It resembled a cross, except it had several corners and a hole in the middle. All she could tell for sure was that it was gold. And old. Setting it aside, she read the handwriting on the stationery—the same tight, cramped writing as in the journal. Dear River, To prove my love—which I know you doubt—I am trusting you with a monumental secret. I have discovered something men would kill to possess. If you receive this package, it means I am sacrificing my life to protect a precious treasure. I’m gifting you with my journal and sweat of the sun so that you’ll understand the choices I’ve made. Share it with no one except Professor Bovedine and beware of the hunters. I love you, Daddy What the…? Anger burned away her nerves. Was he kidding? I love you? “I’m sacrificing my life”? What did that mean? Frustrated, River read the note again…and again. Even when he told her he loved her he couldn’t get it right. The tender declaration was overshadowed by his cryptic dramatics. I am sacrificing my life. Beware of the hunters. Was he in mortal danger, already dead or just nuts? How like Henry to talk in riddles. He was a brilliant but odd bird who’d grown more eccentric with age. An archaeologist who’d found it increasingly difficult to secure grants to fund his expeditions due to his bullheaded, hot-dog nature. He’d refused to curb his obsession with discovering legendary treasures even when it would have meant security for his family. She palmed the gold amulet. Was this a portion of what he’d found in an excavation? Or, like the photos, a sentimental souvenir? It didn’t surprise River that he’d choose some treasure over her, but over life? Surely, he hadn’t meant that literally. Not that she cared. Except, to her surprise and dismay, she did. Just a little. Just enough to phone Professor Bovedine, her father’s oldest friend and perhaps the sole professional associate who hadn’t believed Henry Kane was an inept kook. If anyone could make heads or tails out of this cryptic letter, it was Paul Bovedine. Luckily, unlike her father, Bovedine had made it a point to check in with River throughout the years, hence his number was programmed into her cell. She gripped the phone in one hand, the journal in the other. She held her breath until someone answered. “Professor…” sniffle, “Bovedine’s residence. How may I…” gulp, “help?” “Mrs. Robbins?” “River?” Professor Bovedine’s housekeeper burst into a sob. “River. Professor Bovedine is dead.” “Dead?” River felt the world shift away, just a little farther. “How? When?” “Yesterday. Someone broke into the house. Professor Bovedine returned early from the university and…the police said it was a bungled burglary.” River couldn’t believe her ears. Yes, Bovedine collected antiquities, but he donated or sold them to museums. He was a lifelong bachelor who traveled frequently and cared little for material possessions. From what she remembered of his rambling old house, there was little of value. Beware of the hunters. River stared at the letter. I have discovered something men would kill to possess. No. It was too bizarre. Henry’s discovery and Professor Bovedine’s death could not be connected. Share it with no one except Professor Bovedine. She hadn’t shared the journal. She hadn’t shared any news at all. She hadn’t had the chance. “We haven’t heard from you in several months, River. How odd that you called today. The timing…” She hiccupped over a sob. “A package from your dad yesterday. A phone call from you today. And the professor, he…he missed them both.” River nearly dropped her phone. “A package? What was in it?” She regretted the insensitive question as soon as it popped out. She should’ve asked about Bovedine’s funeral arrangements. If Mrs. Robbins thought the inquiry rude, she didn’t pause. “I don’t know, dear. The mail came early yesterday. I put the package on the professor’s desk and left to do my weekly shopping. I’m sure it’s around here…somewhere. The burglars ransacked the house and I’m not allowed to clean until the investigation is…over. It’s just so…awful.” River tried to console the sobbing woman, but her efforts were lame. Though heartsick over Professor Bovedine’s senseless death, fury snaked though her system. What if Henry’s mysterious package had somehow contributed to Bovedine’s death? Just as his selfish behavior had contributed to her mom’s? Her mind exploded with a verbal rant. Her body trembled with suppressed emotions. She physically ached to have it out with Henry Kane, to address and resolve old and new issues. In the next mental bout, she blasted her ex for being a selfish, heartbreaking weasel! Closure. In the midst of Mrs. Robbins’s teary walk down memory lane, River had an epiphany. She needed closure with her past in order to map a new future. Closure with her father and David. Never mind that it meant traipsing into the wild and battling deep-rooted fears. Suddenly, there was nothing more important than facing her demons. For the first time since David had dumped her, she had direction. River clung to that thought as she tenderly ended the conversation with Mrs. Robbins. She didn’t mention she’d also received a package from Henry. Why tempt questions she couldn’t answer? Her father’s letter had effectively sealed her lips. Except to Bovedine, and Bovedine was dead. That ugly truth reinforced River’s decision to take action. What if Henry’s ravings had merit? What if he was in genuine danger? Or in danger of going genuinely bonkers? If she didn’t at least try to save him from whatever mess he’d stumbled into, she’d never be able to live with herself. For better or worse, he was her dad. Rescue and closure. Rescue and closure. Mind racing, she tucked the amulet and journal into her satchel and squirted sanitizer into her hands. True, most tropical diseases were transmitted by insects and parasites, but just her luck, she’d be the first person in history to be infected by a malicious jungle germ clinging to the pages of a crusty journal. That’s Grandpa Franklin talking. Cursing her germ phobia, one of David’s top three complaints, River blocked out the haunting voices of her pessimistic, dysfunctional family. She could, she would do this. Moving into the house, she fired up her laptop and ran a mental checklist. She had to move fast and she had no idea how long she’d be in South America. Her next booking was three weeks away—the bells-and-whistles church wedding of Kylie McGraw and Jack Reynolds. Although Kylie was a fairly new friend, she was a good friend and a kind soul. Aside from the professional obligation, River felt personally compelled to afford Kylie and Jack ample time to hire a different photographer. In addition, she’d have to give Ella some sort of explanation for her hasty departure without telling her about the contents of the journal. Typing Cheap Airfares into her search engine with one hand and dialing her assistant with the other, River decided to stick to the generic truth. “Ella? Heads up. You’ll have to handle the studio for the next couple of weeks.” “Are you having a meltdown?” “No. I’m flying to South America to get my life back.” CHAPTER TWO Cajamarca, Peru, South America Altitude 8,900 feet “WHAT DO YOU MEAN they canceled the shoot?” “An executive decision.” Spenser McGraw thumbed his cell to vibrate and placed it beside his empty beer bottle as Gordo Fish, his friend and professional sidekick, dropped into an opposing chair. The popular caf? buzzed with good cheer, offsetting the men’s grim expressions. They’d flown from the Scottish Highlands to South America to film an episode for the popular cable show, Into the Wild. Spenser was the talent. Gordo was the one-man camera/audio crew. Now instead of exploring “The Legend of El Dorado,” instead of searching for a lost city of freaking gold, they’d been ordered to cool their heels in Cajamarca until the show’s new producer and a board of equally young turks hammered out the details of a new adrenaline-charged adventure. Spenser met his friend’s baffled stare. “They want to introduce an element of danger into the show.” Gordo frowned. “You’re kidding.” “Nope.” “Something tells me Necktie Nate is behind this.” The nickname they’d given to Nathan Crup, their new Armani-suited producer. “Probably.” “Has that asshole watched even one episode from the past five seasons?” Gordo complained. “We’ve battled extreme elements and hostile people. Survived mud-slides, cave-ins, avalanches and assorted injuries.” “None of them life threatening.” “Like hell. What about the time I got food poisoning in Cairo?” Spenser found it amusing that a man who’d endured extreme temperatures, snakebites and altitude sickness would label the time he’d hugged the porcelain goddess in a ritzy hotel room as a near-death experience. “You weren’t even close to dying.” “I ended up in the hospital.” “Because you called an ambulance.” “What I didn’t puke up shot out the other end. For three frickin’ hours. I’m telling you…” Gordo trailed off when he noticed the young woman standing next to them. “Sorry.” He squinted at her name tag. “Yara.” Earlier, the sultry waitress had lingered at Spenser’s table, flirting outrageously, as most women did, until he’d received the phone call from Los Angeles. Now she was back, and though she spared Gordo a glance, her focus was on Spenser. He winked, encouraging the infatuation. Yara’s pretty face and voluptuous curves were a welcome distraction from Necktie’s disappointing mandate. Gordo cleared his throat. “Why, yes, I would like to order something. Thank you for asking, Yara.” Spenser smiled at the woman, then spoke in Spanish. “He’ll have what I’m having.” “What are you having?” Gordo asked in English. “Beer and tamales.” “Forget the tamales.” “They’re locally famous,” Spenser teased, knowing Gordo was still fixed on the Cairo incident and the “locally famous” molokhiyya. “Just a beer, please,” he said in Spanish. “Make that two. No, three. Two for me, one for him.” Beaming at Spenser, Yara nodded and left. Gordo rolled his eyes. “You’re hooking up with her later, aren’t you?” Never one to screw and tell, Spenser just grinned. “Why aren’t you more upset about the canceled shoot? You’ve been hot on exploring the possibility that El Dorado is located in Peru and not Colombia for months.” Spenser shrugged. Granted, at first he’d been royally ticked. Not just because Nate had pulled the plug on El Dorado, but because that pissant had called his Indiana Jones shtick old hat, insinuating in the next breath that Spenser was over-the-hill. A) He didn’t do shtick. B) Since when was he thirty-seven years old? Shaking off the insults, he now saw the hole in the producer’s new angle. “When the board reviews Necktie’s brilliant idea, they’ll squelch it.” “How can you be sure?” “Because it’s been done.” Gordo narrowed his eyes. “What does Necktie want us to do exactly?” “To canoe down the Amazon, hack through the jungle and somehow connect with a fierce tribe—preferably cannibalistic.” “You’re kidding.” “Just about the cannibal part.” “Great. So we risk malaria, piranha, jaguars and make nice with hostile indigenous peoples. And then?” “Live with them for six months. Learn and record their ways. Survive whatever shit they sling at us.” “It’s been done,” Gordo said with a derisive snort. “The Thrill Me, Chill Me Channel. Spock and Parnell Live With the Kaniwa.” “Yup.” Gordo scratched his trimmed red beard then massaged the back of his neck, his routine when mentally reviewing a situation. “Okay,” he said, waving away the chips and salsa Spenser nudged across the scarred table. “So the board nixes the living with a fierce tribe thing, but what if they still want to ratchet up the danger? We’re history-buff treasure hunters, not adrenaline junkie survivalists.” Spenser didn’t contradict the man, even though he was only partially right. Maybe Gordo didn’t get off on adrenaline rushes, but Spenser did and he experienced one every time he suspected he was closing in on a lost treasure or legendary icon. “A hundred bucks says I get a call tomorrow green-lighting the El Dorado shoot.” “If you don’t?” “We’ll proceed regardless.” He wouldn’t spend a minute more than necessary in Cajamarca, the city where the Inca Empire had met its end. The capture and execution of the Incan emperor Atahualpa in 1532 launched a legend that had personally haunted Spenser for fifteen years. “Trust me, Gordo. The execs at the Explorer Channel will come around whether it’s tomorrow or a week from now.” “Again. How can you be sure?” “Why mess with success?” “What?” Spenser brushed crumbs from his fingers and voiced optimistic thoughts instead of the dark ones dwelling in the back of his brain, thanks to the suited pissant and this haunted city. “Our ratings have slipped, but overall they’re still pretty high. We’ve got fan clubs, websites and discussion boards. I’m in negotiations to write a book. We’re still at the top of our game, my friend, and the public’s curiosity regarding lost treasures and mythical icons will never die. All we have to do is Twitter about the possible changes to Into the Wild and I guarantee the execs will be deluged with complaints.” “We do have some pretty rabid fans,” Gordo said, perking up as Yara served him dos cervezas. “Including influential anthropologists, archaeologists and professors of antiquities. Since you’ve got plans,” he said, gesturing to the enamored waitress, “I’ll tweet and initiate an uprising. The sooner we get the thumbs-up on El Dorado, the better. Don’t forget, you’re supposed to be in Indiana in less than a month. If you miss your sister’s wedding, she’ll never forgive you.” Not only that, Jack Reynolds, his best friend and said groom, would kick his ass. Or at least try, Spenser thought with a wry smile. Even though he already considered his sister and friend married, he wouldn’t miss the official shindig for the world. “Only one thing could keep me from my little sister’s wedding.” Gordo winced. “Don’t say it. Don’t even think it. If Necktie gets his way you’ll be swimming with flesh-eating fish.” “Relax, oh voice of doom. I’m not going to die.” “You’re tough and lucky,” Gordo said as he turned to leave, “but you’re not invincible, Spense.” Spenser watched his friend move serpentinely through the crowded caf?. He chugged beer to wash down a surge of old guilt. “Not invincible, Gordo, but definitely cursed.” Just then his phone vibrated. He smiled apologetically at Yara, who reluctantly moved on to her next customer. “That was a quick turnaround,” Spenser said, assuming the incoming call was from Necktie. Instead it was his sister, Kylie, who only called out of the country when there was a crisis at home. A rarity since she was a problem-solver extraordinaire. He braced for bad news. “What’s wrong, kitten?” “I know you’re working, but I need a favor, Spenser. A huge favor.” CHAPTER THREE Quito, Ecuador, South America Altitude 9,214 feet RIVER’S HEAD POUNDED as she moved out of the Boeing 757 and into the Mariscal Sucre International Airport. Her legs and back should have ached, too. She’d been cooped up on three different planes for nearly fourteen hours. Instead, her body felt oddly numb as she walked—no, floated—into the terminal. She dragged a rolling camera bag behind her, chalking up the zombie-like feeling to sleep deprivation. As exhausted as she was, she hadn’t been able to sleep on the long journey from Indiana to Ecuador. Between the all-nighter she’d pulled preparing for her trip and the extensive travel day, she’d been awake for thirty-eight hours. Presently, she was operating on adrenaline and gallons of Pepsi. River’s first two thoughts as she navigated the bustling terminal: I wish I spoke Spanish, and God, I have to pee. She ducked into the first bathroom she saw to take care of the second. As for the first, according to her speedy but thorough research, although the predominant language of Ecuador was Spanish, English was spoken in most major visitor centers. Quito, the capital, certainly qualified as a tourist destination, as did Ba?os. Situated at the base of a large volcano, the small town, some four hours south, was famous for its basilica, hot springs and its accessibility to the jungle. Although Henry had mailed his journal from Ba?os—also known as the gateway to the Amazon—ten to one he was in the jungle. Ten to one she’d be hiring a guide. She’d just make sure the guide doubled as a translator. She had it all planned. Well, maybe not all, but everything within her power. She found comfort in knowing where she was and where she was going and what she was going to do. As long as she had a plan and a map, she was safe. River exited the stall and moved to the sink. Unfortunately, she also glanced at the mirror. She looked as horrible as she felt. Pale, clammy skin, dark circles under her bloodshot eyes, limp curls escaping her stubby ponytail. She needed a shower and sleep—maybe not in that order. She needed to get to the hotel she’d booked for the night before she dropped dead. Her head hurt and now her chest was tight. Plus, there was the whole jelly-limb, zombie-like thing going on. Not to mention she was feeling anxious about venturing into the jungle and melancholy about Professor Bovedine. Dead. Just like with her mom, who’d perished on one of Henry’s remote expeditions, River was having a hard time accepting Bovedine’s demise. Death was bad enough, but when it was senseless or could have been avoided… If only Bovedine hadn’t returned home ahead of schedule. Had Mrs. Robbins called him at the university to tell him about the arrival of Henry’s package? Had he been in a hurry to view the contents? What if the package wasn’t buried in the ransacked mess? What if the burglars had taken it? Although why would they, unless the contents were valuable? The more she thought about it, the more she wanted to know what Henry had sent Bovedine. Unfortunately, Mrs. Robbins, who’d considered her employer of twenty years a friend, was an emotional basket case, and Professor Bovedine’s funeral was scheduled for tomorrow. Bad enough River wasn’t attending, she wasn’t about to add to the housekeeper’s grief by nagging her about the missing package. She knew River was keen to know the contents. The woman would call as soon as she found it. If she found it. And if she didn’t… River nixed the idea that whatever Henry had entrusted to Professor Bovedine was forever lost. Obsessing wouldn’t do. Shoving aside dark thoughts, she washed her hands once, twice and then splashed cool water on her face. Slightly refreshed, she used her elbow to manipulate the towel dispenser—a quirk she’d picked up from Grandma Franklin. “Public restrooms are infested with germs,” the woman was fond of saying. “Never touch surfaces and never, ever sit on the toilet seat.” She’d drilled the notions into River until she not only believed but practiced the rituals. If she did touch something, she attacked the germs before they attacked her. “Better safe than sorry” was almost as common a clich? in her family as, “It’s for your own good.” Swear to God, the next person who said anything close to that was going to get the toe of her all-weather trekking boot up their… Well, at the very least she’d tell them to mind their own beeswax. Playing it safe had cost her a would-be husband and saddled her with a business she wasn’t even all that crazy about. Irritated now, River powdered her face and applied tinted balm to her lips. Ridiculous, since she planned on heading straight to her hotel and dropping into bed, but what if she miraculously ran into David? Stranger things had happened. Like her father and her ex being in the same foreign region at the same time. Not that she wanted to impress David. The plan was to give him a piece of her mind. To say all the things she should have said when he’d humiliated her in front of the preacher and thirty-eight wedding guests. She had a lot of questions, too. She wanted answers. Needed closure. She didn’t want to reconcile with David, although the more she thought about it, maybe she did. She’d used that very excuse for zipping off to South America when she’d spoken to Ella. And then again with her friend Kylie. “I’m going to get back my life. I’m going to fight for the man I love.” Romantic saps, they’d believed her. Although Kylie had insisted on hooking River up with her brother Spenser McGraw, who, as fate would have it, was also in Peru. “He knows the area,” she’d said. “You don’t. It’s unsafe for a woman to travel in that region alone.” Maybe so. But no way, no how did she want to “hook up” with Spenser McGraw. The man hosted a treasure hunter show for the Explorer Channel. Beware of the hunters. She’d thanked Kylie for her thoughtfulness, but adamantly declined. “I don’t want to inconvenience anyone.” (True) “I know what I’m doing.” (Lie) Unfortunately, Kylie was bullheaded, insisting she had River’s best interest at heart, which only irritated River more. Did everyone view her as fragile? The phone call had ended badly, with Kylie questioning River’s state of mind and River doubting Spenser’s integrity. The moment she’d realized she’d hurt Kylie’s feelings, she’d apologized and hung up. Before she made things worse. River felt bad, but her blurted insult had come from an honest place. She’d never met Spenser, but she knew his type. If he visited his family twice a year, that was a lot. His preoccupation with legendary treasures and his career kept him in the field. McGraw was cut from the same cloth as Henry, therefore Kylie had cut him off at the knees. The man was a home-grown local celebrity, yet she was probably the only person in the county, heck, the state, who’d never seen his show. She had no interest whatsoever in a self-absorbed adventurer like Spenser McGraw. How Kylie worshipped her brother, even when she cursed him, was beyond River. Obviously they shared some sort of bond that River had never experienced with Henry. Ever. Melancholy and angry, River freed her hair of the elastic band, fluffed her curls and reevaluated her appearance. Lack of sleep. Jet lag. Frayed nerves. “This is as good as it gets.” She slipped her makeup bag into the pocket of her sling travel pack, pulled out her hand sanitizer and squirted. Airport regulation had allowed her three ounces. She was almost out. Luckily, she had a few larger bottles packed in her big duffel, along with other crucial necessities, including sunscreen, bug spray and antimalarial drugs. Ella would call her paranoid. River preferred cautious. People died from tropical diseases. She’d almost been one of those people. She didn’t remember anything about her battle with malaria—she’d only been two—but her family had drilled the fiasco into her head. Along with the time she’d gotten sun poisoning in Egypt, attacked by fire ants in Thailand and lost in Mexico. Suddenly fearful about being separated from her suitcase, River hustled out of the bathroom and toward baggage claim. Thank God for the diagrams on the signs. As long as she had direction. As long as she knew where to go. Her head throbbed, her chest ached. It couldn’t be a relapse, she calmly told herself. The symptoms were wrong. This was exhaustion. Lack of sleep and food. Stress. She wondered about Henry. Was he happy? Frightened? Dead? His journal was tucked safely in her travel pack, along with her passport, wallet, handheld GPS system and other essentials. She’d reviewed his notes on the plane, but her eyes had kept blurring and her brain kept glitching. There was a lot to absorb, not all of it pertaining to his current predicament, and, though she knew she should’ve focused on clues about a South American treasure, she’d been mesmerized by the photographs tucked between the pages. Her mom had kept scrapbooks, but these had been in Henry’s possession. The family shots intrigued her most. Why had her father kept pictures of her when he was sorry she was ever born? I love you. Since when? Squashing conflicting emotions and ignoring her tight chest, River searched for the correct baggage carousel. So much luggage. So many people. Most of them speaking languages she didn’t understand. She felt a little overwhelmed. No, a lot overwhelmed. Maybe that’s why it was difficult to breathe. Maybe she was gearing up for a panic attack. She’d had them before. Whenever she felt lost. Only she wasn’t lost. She was at the Mariscal Sucre International Airport. And she certainly wasn’t alone. If she needed help, all she had to do was ask. Preferably someone who looked like they spoke English. Like the man coming straight toward her. European or American. Late thirties or early forties. Hard to tell from this distance. But his stride and posture telegraphed the confidence of a mature man. A sexy, secure man. Wow. Cropped sandy-brown hair and vivid green eyes contrasted greatly with his sun-bronzed skin. His mouth was…to die for. And the crinkles around his eyes suggested he smiled often, sort of like now. Good Lord. Was he smiling at her? He was still a few feet away and she was fuzzy around the edges. Even so…he looked familiar. If he wasn’t a male model, an actor or a rock star, he should be. Tall, fit and rugged. Even his cargo pants and baggy layered T-shirts couldn’t disguise his muscled physique. Maybe he was a sports celebrity. She’d seen him before. Where, dammit? A magazine? A commercial? If she could move, she’d nab her 35mm from her rolling bag. Her fingers itched to photograph male perfection. River blushed head to toe. Or maybe she was feverish. She was definitely woozy. The visceral attraction nearly brought her to her knees. He was the most handsome, most virile, most charismatic man she’d ever seen in the flesh. She knew him from…somewhere…. The edges of her vision blurred as she struggled to catch her breath. Dizziness. Disorientation. Oh, God. Those green eyes twinkled. “River Kane?” His deep voice both soothed and ignited her soul. How strange. And scary. How does he know my name? she wondered, just before the world went black. “SHIT.” SPENSER caught the swaying woman just as her eyes rolled back in her pretty little head. Kylie hadn’t been exaggerating. River Kane wouldn’t make it one day in the jungle. Hell, she hadn’t even gotten out of the airport without fainting. Not only that, she wasn’t even in the right airport. If her boyfriend was in Peru, why the hell had she landed in Ecuador? He’d only learned her actual destination when he’d tried to check her arrival status. The information she’d given Kylie didn’t line up with any of the incoming flights to Lima. He’d had to ask a favor of a flight attendant he’d been “friendly” with in order to track the woman. He’d tracked her to Quito. What the hell? Bad enough he’d promised his sister he’d look out for the vulnerable photographer, but it had meant flying to fucking Ecuador, a country he’d sworn he’d never set foot in again. Not that they’d be here long. Still. Fuck. Enlisting a security guard to follow him with River’s rolling bag, Spenser easily carried the young woman to a row of padded seats. He guessed her at five one, weighing less than one hundred fifteen. A strong Andean wind would blow this little bit over a ledge. She wasn’t bone skinny, just petite. And ghostly pale. “Should I call a doctor, se?or?” the guard asked in accented English. “No need. We’re fine.” She was already coming around. Spenser smoothed baby-soft curls from her damp forehead as her thick lashes fluttered open. He was appreciating her flawless skin and pretty features when she nailed him with eyes as large and green as the legendary Maximilian Emerald. His heart ricocheted off his ribs. Christ, she was beautiful, in a frail, angelic way. According to Kylie, she was also smart and sweet, though intensely private. One thing was certain. She brought out the protector in him. Hell, she probably had that effect on most men, except for the ones who took advantage of her. No doubt her waiflike aura attracted the best and worst of people. “Who are you?” she whispered. The question took him by surprise. Most people recognized him right away. Into the Wild had been a top-rated show for five years. He still couldn’t believe Necktie Nate had him and Gordo, who was presently a hundred bucks richer, on ice. “Working on details,” Necktie had said this morning. “Cool your heels while I do some fancy footwork. By the way, have you been immunized for yellow fever?” Regardless of Gordo’s Twitter campaign, Spenser had a bad feeling about the future of their show, similar to the feeling he was starting to get about River. Being sexually attracted and protective of a woman who was intent on winning back her fianc? was definitely bad. “How do you know my name?” she asked, still gazing up at him in confusion. “My sister told me.” River’s Kewpie doll mouth curved into a dazed smile and suddenly all Spenser could think about was kissing. Oh, hell. “Oh, good,” she said, moistening those plump lips. “You speak English.” But then she frowned. “Your sister? Wait. You can’t be… Please. Tell me you are not Spenser McGraw. You are!” she blasted before he could answer. “The billboard,” she rasped. She’d gone from pliant to rigid in his arms. Spenser was beginning to tense himself. “I knew I’d seen you before. That stupid billboard on Route Thirty-one. The one Eden posted last year right before the Apple Festival, featuring the booked talent and highlighting a promo shot of you. As if you’d really show up,” she muttered under her breath. What the hell was that supposed to mean? “I never promised—” “No wonder I didn’t recognize you right off,” she rushed on in a brittle voice. “That photo was airbrushed.” Stunned by the unprovoked insult, Spenser merely raised a brow and stared. The studio had been digitally manipulating his publicity shots for over a year now, erasing crow’s feet and smile brackets, whitening his teeth, enlarging his already muscled biceps. He wasn’t happy about it, but figured it went with the territory. Nature of the beast, he’d told himself. The entertainment industry obsessed on sex and youth. He got that and usually he took it in stride. However, he was still smarting from Necktie Nate’s “over-the-hill” reference. And now this woman, this impossibly attractive, young woman, just implied he was a disappointment in the flesh. Well, hell. Visibly mortified by his silent regard, River bolted upright and squirmed off his lap onto the adjacent seat. “I just meant…” Cheeks flushed, she looked away. “That photo didn’t do you justice.” His lip twitched. “Apology accepted.” “You’re not supposed to be here,” she said with a weary sigh. “You’re supposed to be in Peru.” “So are you.” “What? Oh, right. How did you know I was here?” “I’m resourceful.” “I told Kylie I didn’t want to impose.” “You’re not.” Although the sooner they got out of Ecuador, the happier he’d be. “I’m sorry you came all this way, Mr. McGraw—” “Spenser.” “—but, I don’t need you.” A lie on multiple levels, but he admired her independence. “You sure as hell need someone, angel. You’re ill.” “No, I’m not.” “You fainted.” “I’m exhausted. I haven’t slept in thirty-eight…” she squinted at her watch “…thirty-nine hours. I haven’t eaten much either. Then there’s the jet lag.” “You’re massaging your chest.” “I’m short of breath. Stress, I guess.” He got it then. “It’s the altitude.” “But we’re not in the mountains.” “Ecuador is a high-altitude country. You went from below one thousand feet to above nine thousand feet in less than a day. Some people bear it better than others.” “I can bear it,” she said, looking annoyed. “I’ll get used to it. Right?” Why the hell was she mad? “Eventually.” He snagged a bottle of water from the side pouch of his backpack. “Drink this. You need to hydrate.” She used the end of her sleeve to wipe down the nozzle. “Kylie was right about you,” she said after draining a quarter of the bottle. “You’re bossy.” Ah, the complexities of a big brother–little sister relationship. He grinned. “Huh. I call it helpful.” He gestured to the bottle in her hand. “Drink more.” “I don’t—” “If you know what’s good for you, River, you’ll listen to me.” Her pale skin flushed red. Frowning, she glanced at her trekking boots, then back at him. “Good thing you’re sitting down.” “What?” Glaring, she polished off the rest of the water, then handed him back the bottle. “Thank you for your concern and the information. Feel free to return to whatever it was you were doing.” The words were polite. Her tone wasn’t. She was pissed. At him. Which chafed, because, dammit, he was doing her a huge favor. Or rather a huge favor for his sister. Spenser rolled back his shoulders and kept his voice light. “Kylie would ream me out if I didn’t help you find your boyfriend.” “Fianc?.” “Ex-fianc?. From what I understand, David had second thoughts.” Okay. That was cold. But, dammit, her stubborn streak was grating. “Most relationships are not without problems, Mr. McGraw—” “Spenser.” “It boils down to how far you’re willing to go to make things work,” she said, pushing unsteadily to her feet. “And you’re willing to venture into the Amazon rain forest.” She readjusted the strap of her pack. “I’m not as delicate as I look.” He raised a brow. “Maybe not. But you’re in a foreign land. You don’t know the language or the customs. You sure as hell don’t know your way around.” She reached down and gripped the handle of her rolling bag. “I’ll manage.” He stood and adjusted his own backpack. “According to Kylie, David is on an extreme tour in Peru. You’re in Ecuador.” “I know where I am.” “Did you book a private puddle jumper?” “I’m taking the bus.” “Why? If you fly, you can be in Lima in two hours. The bus will take—” “I’ve never been to South America. I want to soak up the scenery. Once again, sorry for the inconvenience. Have a safe trip back.” She turned and wheeled her bag toward a horde of people pulling their luggage from the loaded carousel. Unbelievable. Either the altitude sickness was affecting her judgment or she was a loon. He didn’t know whether to shake her or scoop her up and take her to the nearest hospital. He caught up to her in three long strides. “You’re not going to see much, traveling through the night,” he said, pointing out the obvious. “I’m not leaving until tomorrow.” “Where are you staying tonight?” “I booked a hotel near the city’s center. I’ll taxi over, get a good night’s sleep, acclimate to the altitude and set off first thing in the morning. I even know where the bus station is, and that I should take a tour bus as they’re the most comfortable and have the least problems with pickpockets.” She stopped at the carousel and turned to face him. “I did my research, Mr. McGraw. You don’t have to worry about me. Honestly.” He almost believed her. Captivated by those earnest green eyes, he’d take her word on anything. But then she glanced away and he knew she was lying. He trusted she’d done her research. Kylie had described River as smart. A smart woman wouldn’t wing a trip like this. But he didn’t buy that scenic route business. Nor the part about not needing to worry about her. He realized suddenly that he’d misread River Kane. She wasn’t stubborn, she was desperate. Desperate to get rid of him. Why? Never one to resist a mystery and a challenge, Spenser reassessed the situation. “There’s my duffel,” she said. “I’ll get it.” “I can—” “I know.” He hefted the rolling duffel that doubled as a backpack off the carousel. “You can fend for yourself. Thing is, I have old-fashioned sensibilities. Sorry, angel.” The starch went out of her spine as he set the duffel at her feet. For a second, he wondered if she was going to faint again, but then he realized that she simply was no longer angry. “Don’t apologize for being courteous,” she said, looking contrite. “If anyone should apologize it’s me. You greeted me, revived me, stated concern for my safety…. I’ve been rude. I’m sorry. I’m not at my best right now. It’s just…” She nailed him again with that earnest gaze, only this time she didn’t look away. “I need to do this on my own.” Desperate, vulnerable and determined. Those three qualities added up to disaster in Spenser’s book. Even if he hadn’t promised his sister, no way would he let this lamb circulate in the wild without a shepherd. He wouldn’t rest easy until he saw her in David’s arms, and even then he wouldn’t be happy. It was insane. But he was pretty sure he’d fallen in love with River Kane the moment she’d fallen into his arms. He quirked his most persuasive smile. “Okay. Here’s the deal. I won’t force my company on you, but allow me to escort you to your hotel. It’s late. You’re exhausted. At the very least I could tell my sister that we spoke and I saw you safely into the city.” She moistened her lips and again he thought about kissing. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this hard for a freaking kiss. “So, you’d just see me to my hotel and then you’d be on your way?” “Mmm.” She blew out a weary breath. “Okay.” He raised a brow. “I don’t want to upset Kylie any more than you do. Plus,” she smiled a little, “God forbid I insult your old-fashioned sensibilities.” He grinned. “God forbid.” “Would you watch my bags for a second? I need…” She pointed to the nearby ladies’ room. “All that water I drank…” “I’ll be right here.” Spenser waited until she’d disappeared into the bathroom, then snagged his cell phone. He planned on hitting an Internet caf? after dropping River at her hotel, but it wouldn’t hurt to double his efforts. Besides, Gordo was a wiz on the computer. “Feel like playing cyberdetective?” “As opposed to sitting in Cajamarca with my thumb up my ass?” “That bored, huh?” His friend grunted. “What am I researching?” “Not what. Who. I want to know everything there is to know about River Kane.” CHAPTER FOUR NO SLEEP FOR THE WEARY. No sleep, or at least restful sleep, for those fostering sinful thoughts. She should have been obsessed with Henry’s unknown whereabouts. Or contemplating Professor Bovedine’s untimely death. Or analyzing her wrecked wedding. Instead, River had spent a fitful night fixated on Spenser McGraw. Why did he have to be so nice? So confident and capable? So…gorgeous? When she’d spotted him on that billboard last fall, she hadn’t given him a second thought. First of all, she only had eyes for David. Second, Spenser’s profession was a personal turnoff. Third, driving by at fifty-five miles per hour, all she’d seen was a cocky-looking pretty boy. A less contrived photo might have made a stronger impression. Whoever had made the decision to airbrush the character and ruggedness out of Spenser McGraw was an idiot. Why mess with perfection? It wasn’t just his handsome face. It was the entire package. As. Is. The man exuded a raw sexuality that set her nerves on edge. He’d burned an indelible image into her brain. Teased her artistic nature. She ached to photograph him…naked. He was a prime example of masculinity. A perfect gentlemen. In hindsight, even his bossiness was sexy, in a caveman me-protect-you kind of way. For some reason it was only easy to take exception in the heat of the moment. In hindsight…he’d been trying to help and she’d been overly sensitive. She’d never met anyone like him. Or at least she’d never been affected by a man like him. He was dangerous. She didn’t go for dangerous. She went for safe. Stable. Dependable. Men like David…before he’d flipped out. Still, she couldn’t remember ever looking at David and aching for him as she ached for Spenser. As much as she tried to rationalize the visceral encounter, she couldn’t dispel it. Feeling weirdly unfaithful, she’d finally dozed off after recalling a dozen special memories involving David. Their first date. The first time they’d kissed. The first time they’d made love. Yet, she’d dreamed of Spenser. After waking and showering, her mind was still crowded by thoughts of the six-foot hunk of walking charisma. That wouldn’t do. She was in love with David. Yes, he’d crushed her when he’d jilted her, but he hadn’t obliterated her tender feelings. They’d dated for three years and had been engaged for two. Two weeks ago, she’d almost been Mrs. Snodgrass. She didn’t even mind taking his god-awful last name. That’s how much she loved him. She was certain—when he worked through this life crisis or whatever it was that caused him to choose an old college buddy and an adrenaline-charged jungle expedition over her and their romantic honeymoon cruise—he’d realize his mistake. They were good together. They belonged together. As soon as she found Henry and sorted through this treasure mess, she’d find David and sort through their mess. This trip was about closure and new beginnings. As for Spenser…well, it wasn’t like she was ever going to see him again. Two hours, a banana muffin and three cups of coffee later, River ventured out of the hotel and hailed a taxi for the Terminal Terrestre. She attributed her rapid breathing to the altitude and not an impending panic attack. Even though she felt like an alien in this bustling foreign city, she wasn’t lost. She had her cell phone, her GPS unit, paper maps and, most importantly, a plan. Next stop Ba?os. On the trip south, she’d either study Henry’s journal or catch the shut-eye that had eluded her last night. She would not think about Spenser McGraw. “WHY WOULD SHE go to Ba?os when her boyfriend’s in Peru?” “Your guess is as good as mine, Gordo. I called Kylie hoping for a clue. She didn’t have one, but said she’d contact River’s assistant. I’m still waiting for the callback.” Spenser popped a Tylenol and downed it with a swallow of Inca Kola, his South American soft drink of choice. His sister’s huge favor had turned into a massive pain. He still couldn’t believe his shit luck. “Are you absolutely positive the bus she got on is bound for Ba?os?” “Unfortunately.” He’d been waiting outside the hotel in his rented jeep when River had exited right on schedule. Last night, in her attempt to assure him she was prepared and capable, she’d mentioned she’d booked a nine a.m. bus out of town. She didn’t mention her destination. He didn’t figure Peru. But he didn’t figure Ba?os. Of all the damned towns. “You’re not following her, are you?” “I don’t have a choice.” “But you haven’t been in Ba?os since—” “I know.” “You said you’d never—” “Goes to show.” “Never say never. Still…” Spenser adjusted his Bluetooth headset while passing a slow-ass car in order to keep the tour bus in sight. He’d been following at a discreet distance for the last hour. “I promised Kylie I’d look out for this woman.” “Yeah, but Ba?os? Are you sure about this, Spense?” He quirked a mirthless smile. “Maybe it’s time to face my demons.” “Maybe I should fly up and help.” “Hell, no.” “If I didn’t know your history, I’d be insulted.” After a thoughtful pause, Gordo added, “What if I promise not to catch the fever?” Spenser flexed his fingers on the steering wheel. Just talking about this made him uneasy. “You’re a treasure hunter, Gordo. Of course you’ll catch the fever.” “Not if we don’t go into the Llanganatis.” The name taunted him, called to him. Instead of glancing at the formidable mountain range to his left, Spenser stared straight ahead at an exhaust-belching bus. “Did you dig up any more info on River?” “If you don’t want me to join you, just say so.” “I did.” “Right.” Gordo blew out a breath. “Let me just say it’s hard to dig up dirt on a squeaky-clean person who leads a low-profile life. These days most people belong to some social network—MySpace, Facebook, Bebo, Twitter, LiveJournal. Not River Kane. Aside from the website for Forever Photography, she has zilch Internet presence.” Spenser had discovered the same thing last night when he’d used a computer at an Internet caf?. “Kylie said she’s a private person.” “Maybe she’s one of those technophobes.” “Don’t think so. Last night in the taxi, she checked text messages on her cell and thumbed coordinates into a Garmin Colorado.” Gordo whistled. “That’s a pretty advanced GPS unit.” “Mmm.” Spenser signaled to make a turn when the tour bus veered off the main highway and headed for the entrance of the Cotopaxi Volcano National Park. Miles back it had stopped at the Pasochoa Volcano reserve—another tourist hotspot. He wondered if River would disembark to stretch her legs and take a few pictures as she had before. He hoped so. He felt better seeing her, knowing she was safe and managing the altitude. Although she still looked weary and pale, at least she didn’t look like she was going to faint. Just like before, Spenser parked a safe distance away and watched several tourists stream off the bus, including—thank you, Jesus—River. After nodding to the man who handed her down, she veered off and squirted liquid sanitizer into her palms. “So she’s not a technophobe,” Gordo said. “No, but she might be a germaphobe.” Between last night and today, Spenser had watched her apply that hand sanitizer at least a dozen times. “She’s obsessive about washing her hands. Every time she touches something or someone.” “Maybe she’s worried about catching a tropical disease. You said she’d never been to South America. Who knows what misconceptions she has about yellow fever and malaria?” “I’m sure she did her homework.” She’d made a point of letting him know she’d researched and prepped for this trip even though it had been spontaneous. “Speaking of homework, since I couldn’t find much on the Internet, I e-mailed a friend, a P.I. who has some shifty ways of obtaining background information.” “And?” “I’ve been waiting to hear back and, lucky you,” Gordo said, sounding distracted, “I just got an e-mail.” “What’s it say?” “Hold on. I’m reading.” Spenser massaged the back of his neck and watched as River photographed the distant slopes of the Cotopaxi Volcano. She was so intent on her subject, she didn’t notice various men looking her way. Even though her attire was far from provocative—cargo pants, crew-neck T-shirt, denim jacket and a looped scarf—she was a damned beautiful sight. Ivory skin, golden curls, wide green eyes. An angelic aura that drew some devilish attention. Spenser tensed when one of the men approached. He couldn’t blame the guy for wanting to make time with River, but if he laid a hand on her… “Not a lot here,” Gordo said, “but it’s interesting. I’ll forward it to you so—” “Hold on,” Spenser said. “I’ve got an incoming call.” He thumbed over. “Morning, kitten. What have you got?” “Not much. I heard back from Ella. She said River got a package the day before yesterday. It was postmarked Ba?os, Ecuador. Knowing River’s ex was in South America, Ella assumed it was from him.” “What was in it?” “Don’t know. River wanted to open it in private. But Ella said it felt like a book. Less than an hour later, River called Ella and told her the same thing she told me. That she was flying to South America to get back the man she loved.” Spenser flexed his hands on the wheel. A decent night’s sleep hadn’t cured him of his infatuation. Knowing River pined for the guy who’d dumped her made his balls twitch, and not in a good way. “If the package was from David,” Kylie went on, “why did River tell me David was in Peru?” “Don’t know, hon.” He watched as River sidestepped the touch of the man who’d been speaking with her for the last three minutes. When she turned to leave, the creep made a lewd gesture to his friend. Spenser reached for his door handle, then eased off. Get a grip, McGraw. “Listen, I gotta go, Kylie. Gordo’s on the other line.” “Promise me you’ll look out for River.” “I already did.” “Yes, but that was before you knew you’d end up in Ecuador. I know this can’t be easy, Spenser, but—” “I promise.” Not wanting to have the conversation, he said goodbye and transferred over to Gordo. “What’s the scoop?” “All I can say is, this is one fricking small world.” Bothered by the surge of jealousy he’d just experienced, Spenser snapped at his friend, even as River hotfooted it back onto the bus. “Spit it out, dammit.” “River’s dad.” “What about him?” “He’s Professor Henry Kane.” Spenser frowned. “Our Professor Henry Kane?” “Looks like.” They’d crossed paths with the eccentric archaeologist three years ago. They’d had dinner and drinks in a desert cantina. He hadn’t mentioned a daughter. Then again, Kane had talked of nothing but the Seven Cities of Cibola. The man was obsessed with legendary treasure. Llanganatis. Ba?os. “Shit.” CHAPTER FIVE Quito, Ecuador Altitude 9,214 feet “CAN’T…BREATHE.” “Don’t. Care.” Gator tried to pry his employer’s fingers from his throat. It was the first time he’d come face-to-face with the man known to him only as The Conquistador. It could well be his last. “I don’t care that you had to kill Bovedine,” the eccentric man said. “Collateral damage. But you only brought me half of the damned map.” “All there…was.” The Conquistador tightened his grip. “Atahualpa’s ransom eluded Valverde. It eluded Guzm?n and Spruce and Blake. Generations of adventurers. It’s inconceivable that a bleeding-heart archaeologist succeeded where they failed. That he’ll profit from the historical find.” He rammed Gator’s head against the wall. “If anyone profits, it will be me!” Gator knew nothing of this Atahualpa or those other three fucks. He didn’t care about a historical find. He just wanted to live. “Boss,” he croaked. Asshole, he thought. But speaking his mind would be deadly. Gator was a lot of things—most of them bad according to good folk—but he wasn’t stupid. With a vicious curse, The Conquistador eased his grip. Gator slumped to the floor. He was as quick and strong as his attacker, but cold fury and a touch of in sanity gave The Conquistador a powerful edge. Sucking air into his burning lungs, Gator massaged his bruised neck and watched in anxious silence as his employer snatched up the box he’d stolen from that pompous ass Bovedine. The Conquistador sank down on the hotel suite’s brown leather couch and reexamined the contents: half of a treasure map and a silver sacrificial ceremonial knife. “Tears of the moon,” he’d said, when he’d first opened the package. “Proof Kane’s discovered genuine Incan treasure.” Then he’d gone for Gator’s throat. “Let’s review your previous trip to Ba?os,” he said, while stroking the hilt of the intricately decorated knife. “You interviewed Kane’s guide.” “One of his guides,” Gator rasped, wondering how he was going to get out of here with his skin intact. “Alberto.” “After some…persuading, Alberto admitted to mailing a package to Professor Bovedine. He said Kane had sworn him to secrecy. He assumed it had to do with the location of the treasure. You thanked Alberto by stabbing him to death.” Gator nodded, coughed. Pain ravaged his throat. Had the bastard damaged his windpipe? “No loose ends or tongues. I appreciate that.” His employer frowned. “But it seems there’s more to the story. The other half of the map. Someone must have it. Who?” How the hell would he know? Gator shrugged. “Maybe it’s still with Professor Kane.” “Or maybe Kane mailed it to another for safekeeping. If that person knows Bovedine, if they know he’s dead and suspect foul play, they may feel the need to contact Kane. Tracking Kane means tracking the treasure. My treasure.” “But no one knows where Kane is,” Gator said, ignoring the wild look in the other man’s eyes. Someone had to be the voice of reason. “He’s wherever the X is on the second half of the map. That old codger couldn’t possibly move seven hundred and fifty tons of gold and silver single-handedly. And if my sources are correct, Kane is very much alone.” “X marks the spot,” said Gator as he awkwardly rose to his feet. Seven hundred fifty tons of treasure? Maybe this precarious association with a madman was worth pursuing. The Conquistador narrowed his eyes. Deep in thought? Crazy as a shithouse rat? Did it matter? Did Gator care? Hell, no. Not considering the windfall. “I have eyes and ears in Quito, Ba?os and the Cotopaxi region,” the other man said. “If any outsider expresses interest in Kane or Atahualpa’s ransom, I’ll know about it.” “I’d like a chance to redeem myself,” Gator said. He didn’t mind groveling. Not with a fortune at stake. The Conquistador eyed the knife, the partial map. Gator braced himself for another attack, but then his employer’s cell phone rang. “Talk to me,” he said into the phone, then angled away as he listened. “Kane’s daughter? Are you sure? Is she alone?” His shoulders tensed. “I’ll be damned.” He exchanged muffled words, then disconnected. He faced Gator and smiled. “This is your lucky day.” CHAPTER SIX Ba?os, Ecuador Altitude 5,905 feet RIVER’S HEAD SPUN and it wasn’t due to altitude sickness. No one knew anything about her father’s whereabouts. More accurately, no one had even heard of Professor Henry Kane. Either they were lying or she’d asked the wrong people. Henry had mentioned Ba?os in his journal. He’d mailed the package containing the journal from Ba?os. Gateway to the Amazon—a prime location for stocking up on supplies before setting off on a jungle expedition. He’d definitely been in this quaint, colorful town. Yet, when River had flashed his picture at the post office, no one recognized him. “What about a package addressed to Maple Grove, Indiana, in the USA?” she’d asked, adding the date of the postmark to give them a time frame. Ben remembered everything about the mail he carried and delivered. He’d definitely remember a package from a foreign country. It’s not like Ba?os was a sprawling metropolitan city. It was pretty dinky, not a whole lot larger than Maple Grove. But no one remembered the package. Disappointed, she’d moved on to a few cheap hotels, bars and restaurants. Her father was always broke or close to it. He wouldn’t hang out anywhere upscale. Even though he had his head in the clouds, Henry Kane was a down-to-earth man. Frustrated, she grabbed a vacant seat in an outdoor caf?. It was late afternoon and she hadn’t eaten since breakfast. She was in need of sustenance and a few moments to gather her thoughts. Although the caf? served Ecuadorian fare, the waiter was Italian and, luckily, spoke fluent English. That had been another problem for River in her search for her dad—a language barrier. Although there was plenty of written information available in English—maps, menus, signs—the locals she’d encountered didn’t speak her native language well. Either that or they pretended not to speak it well. She’d gotten the distinct impression they’d been annoyed with her and her questions. More than once she’d wondered if Spenser would have made more headway. Don’t think about Spenser McGraw. After Antonio took her order, River focused on the scenery rather than the hunky treasure hunter, Bovedine’s funeral or Henry’s well-being. She’d been in Ba?os, this small town tucked in a lush, humid valley, for several hours. Her breathing had eased at this lower altitude, but she’d yet to adjust to the spectacular view. She was still riding high from the bus trip down. Ecuador, in the light of day, was captivating. River had lied when she’d told Spenser she’d opted to travel by bus in order to soak in the scenery. She’d chosen the bus because it had been the only way to get to Ba?os aside from renting a car or hiring a private plane. She wasn’t keen on soaring over the wild in a puddle-jumper and, even though she had her GPS unit, she preferred to leave the driving to someone who knew the area. Still, even though safety had been her main motivator, she’d been unable to tear her gaze from the window as the tour bus had whizzed south on the Pan-American Highway. The bustling city of Quito had soon given way to a rugged landscape, and then eventually to vivid green mountains whose peaks jutted into the clouds. An odd and arresting sight. Then there were the volcanoes. From what she’d seen so far, Ecuador was a flipping volcanic chain. The Pan-American Highway meandered between the snowcapped wonders on a plateau that ran north to south down the middle of the country. As a photographer, River was drawn to the visual splendor. Unfortunately, she had minimal experience photographing landscapes. She photographed people. She’d felt like an amateur, snapping shot after shot, without her usual practiced forethought to lighting and composition, but she’d been unable to stop herself. She’d never seen a volcano. Today, she’d seen three. Two on the ride down. One here in Ba?os. The latter, Tungurahua, was the largest and most awe-inspiring because it was active and therefore potentially dangerous. Odd that she had been attracted to danger since landing in South America. Or maybe it was simply the need to push herself beyond what anyone expected of her. Beyond what her family, and David, believed her capable of. The longer she was in this unfamiliar region, the more intense her ingrained fears, the greater the need to slay them. Even now she ignored the creepy feeling that she was being watched. She’d had that feeling earlier today. But instead of obsessing, instead of looking over her shoulder, she chalked the sensation up to paranoia. She was out of her element and prone to old issues. She shoved them down and focused on her agenda. Find Henry. Save Henry. Maybe salvage their relationship. Find David…and talk. Closure one way or another in order to move forward. Antonio returned with her meal. River tore her gaze from the town’s famous basilica and, beyond that, Tungurahua. She took advantage of the waiter’s friendly smile and language skills. “I’m wondering if you can help,” she said. “I’m in need of a translator and guide. Someone who knows the area. Someone who knows the jungle.” She offered as little information as possible. Just as she’d been doing all day. Henry had insisted she not share his journal with anyone except Bovedine. She assumed that meant the information inside. Not that she’d been able to dissect his cryptic notes, but she was pretty sure the treasure he spoke of was connected to a place or person named Llanganatis. The one time she’d mentioned the word today, the old woman she’d been trying to speak with had scurried away, muttering, maldici?n. River still didn’t know what that meant. Antonio flashed a smile that said he got this question a hundred times a day. “Ba?os is a popular starting place for expeditions into the Amazon rain forest and Andes Mountains. There are several tour companies—” “I’m not interested in a group tour.” River moistened her lips and tried not to betray the panic whispering through her veins at the thought of navigating a jungle. “I need a private guide.” The waiter raised a brow. He assessed her petite form and, as David had called them, dainty features. River sighed. “I know. I don’t look like I’m cut out for primitive situations.” If she had a nickel for every time she’d heard some variation on that theme. “Regardless, I’m on a mission.” “If I may be so bold, signorina.” Antonio looked over both shoulders before continuing in a lower voice. “In Ecuador, Americans are increasingly targeted for crimes. Robberies and assaults—” “And worse. I know. I read the warnings on a few travel sites. I’ll be careful.” “It is just that you are a woman. A very pretty, very—” “Please don’t say delicate.” He chuckled. “Ah, s?. Perhaps there is more to you than meets the eye.” She was counting on it. “Check with the tourist center, two blocks down on the right,” he said. “If not there, try El Dosel. It is a popular drinking hole for guides and treasure seekers.” “Treasure seekers?” Beware of the hunters. River forked her rice and chicken and tried her best to look nonchalant. “Professionals and amateurs. We get them all.” “What are they looking for?” “Inca gold. You have not heard of the Lost Treasure of Llanganatis?” Not directly. “No.” River unconsciously palmed her chest. Beneath her layered tees, she felt the amulet she’d secured on a black cord and looped around her neck. Not knowing its meaning or worth, she’d kept it hidden. Just now it burned into her breastbone. “Google it,” Antonio said. “Interesting theory. If I thought there was a chance it was true, I’d be searching, too.” She sipped juice to soothe her constricted throat. “So, you think it’s a myth.” “It is safer that way.” An odd choice of words. “Wait,” she called when he turned to leave. “Do you know what maldici?n means?” He angled his head, processed. “I think so, s?. Cursed.” River’s stomach twisted. “As in a bad word?” “As in evil.” SPENSER’S TEMPLES throbbed. He’d been blocking memories and emotions ever since he’d pulled into Ba?os. He’d joked with Gordo about facing his demons, but that would require wrestling with a shitload of suppressed guilt. He wasn’t sure if he could do that without getting drunk and staying drunk for a good week. Right now he needed to be sober and focused. He’d be damned if he’d lose another person to the curse and, the way things were going, River Kane was a prime candidate. With the exception of the half hour he’d spent with Cyrus Lassiter, a crusty treasure hunter with a tarnished reputation, Spenser had been watching over the blond waif all day, albeit from a distance. He’d lost count of the times she’d washed her hands with sanitizer, doused herself with bug spray and slathered on sunscreen. Instead of being tuned in to the people—and danger—around her, she was obsessed with her skin and location. She’d constantly referred to a street map and her GPS unit, even though she’d only navigated the core of town. From what he could tell she was a mass of phobias, but that didn’t stop her from trying to locate her dad. Much to Spenser’s disappointment. Cyrus had confirmed his suspicions regarding the eccentric professor. He’d also supplied another troubling bit of information, one that had prodded Spenser into risking River’s wrath by revealing his presence. He waited until she finished her meal—God knew the woman needed fortifying—then joined her as she left the caf?. She was so immersed in the map, she didn’t even sense his approach. Christ. “We need to talk, angel.” She jumped at the sound of his voice, then froze in her tracks. A dozen emotions flitted across that pale face. Surprise, relief, anger, worry and was that…? Hell, yeah. Desire. He pondered that last one while she zoned in on anger. “What are you doing here?” she snapped. “Why did you lie to me?” “What?” He hadn’t intended to provoke her, but damn he was pissed. Pissed he was attracted to her. Pissed she was flirting with danger. Pissed she’d put him in a shit position. Royally, irrationally pissed. “You said you were taking the bus to Lima.” “No, I didn’t. I only said I was taking the bus. I didn’t specify where.” He let that one slide. “You told Kylie and your assistant that your reason for flying to South America was to reunite with your ex.” “It’s on my agenda.” Damn. “David’s in Peru.” “I know where he is, relatively, and I know where I am.” “You damn well should,” Spenser said, frowning at the map in her hand. “You’ve consulted that map or your GPS every ten feet.” “I can’t believe you’ve been spying on me!” “Watching over you.” “You said you’d go back to Peru.” “I said I wouldn’t force my company on you.” “What do you call this?” “An intervention.” She narrowed those mesmerizing green eyes and looked at him like he was crazy. “Listen, you—” “Save it.” The longer he stood here, soaking in her fragile beauty, breathing in goddamned Skin So Soft Bug Guard (he’d know that laundry-fresh scent any where) and coconut sunscreen, the more his temper spiked. Along with his libido. “You’re in over your head, angel.” Her milky skin flushed red. “Officer!” Spenser looked over his shoulder, spotted the uniformed polic?a standing on the corner. “Don’t do it, River.” She arched a stubborn brow. He met her obstinate glare. “I have news about your father.” She visibly faltered. “Is this hombre bothering you, se?orita?” the cop asked in broken English. “No, I…” She tore her gaze from Spenser, smiled sweetly at the approaching lawman. “I just wanted to thank you for…keeping the streets safe.” Spenser translated for the man, added his own praise, then guided River toward his jeep. “This better be good,” she gritted out. “Actually,” he said, fighting the mystic pull of the Llanganatis, “it’s bad.” CHAPTER SEVEN RIVER 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 Ba?os.” 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.” Maldici?n. 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 Ba?os. 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.” CHAPTER EIGHT BA?OS 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 Garc?a’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 Ba?os.” “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.” CHAPTER NINE RIVER COULDN’T DECIDE what had been riskier, climbing over her hotel balcony to the next balcony, then to the next two over, knocking on a stranger’s sliding glass door and exiting into the hall through said stranger’s room or…entering a bar on her own, a bar in a foreign country, a seedy bar patronized, as far as she could see, exclusively by men. Her body vibrated with nervous adrenaline—a weird sort of high—as she assessed the boisterous, crowded room. El Dosel was a smoky, dimly lit, testosterone-charged hole-in-the-wall. Taking in the decor, which could only politely be described as rustic, she reminded herself she wasn’t here for the ambiance. Or even the drinks. She was here to find a guide. According to Antonio, the waiter she’d met earlier today, El Dosel was the local watering hole for tour operators and treasure seekers. Telling one from the other was impossible. But she was determined to find someone who would help her locate Henry. That someone would not be Spenser McGraw. She’d never met a more infuriating, chauvinistic control freak. Booking a hotel room across from hers? Following her every move? The man was practically stalking her. Yet she was sexually attracted to him. Fiercely attracted. Talk about twisted. A purely shallow attraction, she assured herself. One that could be managed. Every time Spenser popped into her head, she kicked him aside with thoughts of David. Accommodating, sensible David—before his meltdown. Dredging up the confidence and calm she used when speaking with potential clients or anal-retentive wedding planners, River skirted a few tables and moved to an open spot at the end of the bar. The bartender, a swarthy, rail-thin man with a pencil mustache greeted her. Sort of. “American?” River sighed. “Oh, good. You speak English.” “Are you lost?” “No.” The mere thought struck fear into her heart. She hugged her sling pack containing her GPS and map. “I don’t want any trouble. You,” he said in an accented voice, “are trouble.” River practiced her superior people skills. She smiled. “I’m sorry. I didn’t catch your name.” “Augusto.” “Augusto, I’m looking for a private guide. I was told I could find one here. Could you please point me toward a reliable, English-speaking, trustworthy, inexpensive guide?” He smirked. “You ask much.” “I’ll settle for someone who knows the Andes like the back of his hand, speaks broken English and won’t cost me a fortune.” He pointed out a half dozen men. After thanking him, River moved toward the least grungy and intimidating of the six. He was enthusiastic…until she mentioned Llanganatis. “Wait,” he said, his dark eyes narrowing. “Are you the woman who’s been asking around about Professor Kane?” At last! Someone who acknowledged her father’s existence. She’d hoped not to bring his name into this. That supposed curse was a hindrance. Plus, Henry had warned her off treasure hunters and this place was full of them. But this was too promising to ignore. She urged the man to lower his voice and adopted a pacifying smile. “All I need—” “I cannot help you.” He jerked away as though she were diseased. Undaunted, River moved on. She got the same response from her second and third prospects. The fourth turned her down before she finished her opening line. They all knew who she was and they all put stock in the curse. These locals were downright spooked. She got the strong sense Spenser hadn’t been completely honest with her. There had to be something more to the story, worse news regarding Henry’s expedition. Something that legitimized the curse. River took a calming breath. She refused to leave without a hired guide. Maybe if she blended in, she’d put them more at ease. She scanned the smoky bar, snorted. Blend. Right. Who was she kidding? She looked like a Barbie doll in a room full of G.I. Joes. Her only other option was to flirt. Could she play that game? Trump fears of a curse with her own seductive charm? Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес». 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