Into the Wild

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 Baños,” 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, Baños 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

Baños, 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 Baños in his journal. He’d mailed the package containing the journal from Baños. 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 Baños 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 café. 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 café 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 Baños, 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 Baños 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 Baños. 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, maldición. River still didn’t know what that meant.

Antonio flashed a smile that said he got this question a hundred times a day. “Baños 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, sí. 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 maldición means?”

He angled his head, processed. “I think so, sí. 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 Baños. 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 café. 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 policía 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, señorita?” 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 Baños.”

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

Where there are trees there are bugs.

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

Evening was fast approaching.

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

“Cold?” he asked.

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

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

Old-fashioned sensibilities.

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

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

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

“They think he’s cursed.”

Maldición.

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

“Have a thing about bugs, River?”

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

“Won’t argue with that.”

“But?”

He shook his head. “Never mind.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

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

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

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

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

He nodded, then braced his forearms on his knees.

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

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

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

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

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

He didn’t answer.

“You think he’s dead?”

“No one’s seen him for three months.”

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

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

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