Into the Wild. Beth Ciotta
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
BAÑOS CAME ALIVE at night.
Lively voices and music filtered up from the street and floated in through the open window of Spenser’s third-floor hotel room. He considered stuffing tissues in his ears. He was that desperate to avoid the memories the sounds and smells prompted. Instead, he shut the window and cranked the air. He turned up the television set. He checked his voice mail, pondered the lack of messages from Necktie Nate—what were those execs up to?
He thought about the favor he’d asked of Gordo earlier today. His partner had promised to call as soon as he tracked down the former Andean guide previously associated with Professor Kane. Spenser needed the guide to confirm or deny a story. Gordo preferred playing detective to solitaire, so he’d hopped a puddle jumper south. It had only been a few hours, still…
Spenser dialed his partner, anxious for an update.
No answer.
Ten minutes later, he tried again.
“Do you know how many Juan García’s there are in Lima?” Gordo asked.
“A lot?”
“I said I’d call when I had something to report.”
“Sorry I couldn’t give you more to go on, Gordo.”
“Remind me why I’m doing this?”
“Because it’s more fun than sitting around Cajamarca with your thumb up your ass?”
Gordo grunted.
Spenser closed his eyes and willed away thoughts of River’s desperate determination. “Because Cyrus Lassiter has been known to exaggerate and no one can back him up on this. Juan confided in him and him alone.”
“If what Lassiter told you is true, and if Juan wasn’t exaggerating, then Henry Kane’s raving mad.”
Spenser massaged his temples.
“Helluva thing to break to his daughter,” said Gordo.
“I need verification.”
Silence.
Spenser imagined his partner scratching his beard and then rubbing the back of his neck.
“I’ll find Kane’s guide,” he finally said. “If not tonight, then tomorrow.”
“I’ll wait for your call.”
“Sure you will.” Gordo disconnected.
Spenser tossed the phone on the bed and glanced at his watch: 10:15 p.m. At this hour Gordo was trolling bars, known hangouts for guides and thrill-seekers. By 1:00 a.m. his friend would be three sheets to the wind and feeling no pain.
Sober and miserable, Spenser fell back on his rented bed and stared up at the cracked ceiling. For the umpteenth time in the last five hours, he thought about his outing with River. He’d been a bastard, but he’d wanted her to understand the danger associated with Llanganatis. He hadn’t told her everything he’d learned from Cyrus about her dad’s cursed expedition, because he wasn’t sure how much was true. Cy was a good man, but eccentric. The treasure hunter’s eccentric nature had made him the odd man out. He’d been known to embellish stories simply to garner attention. His take on Kane’s expedition had been troubling. Spenser had wanted to spare River the gruesome details—real or imagined. Even though she played the tough chick, on the inside she was a wary lamb. The dichotomy was a powerful aphrodisiac. The entire time that he’d been trying to warn her away, he’d ached to hold her close. To kiss away her worries. Kissing River was fast becoming an obsessive fantasy.
He closed his eyes and groaned.
Love at first sight was a curse all its own.
The antiquated TV and ineffectual air conditioner droned in the background, along with the muffled sounds of the street. He was blocking memories, craving tequila and damning River Kane when his cell rang.
“What?”
“Nice greeting.”
“What do you want, Jack?” His best friend and soon-to-be official brother-in-law. In truth, Spenser knew what the man wanted.
“I want to know you’re okay.”
“I’m okay.”
“You’re in Baños.”
“So?”