Into the Wild (5 page)

Quito, Ecuador
Altitude 9,214 feet

“C
AN'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 Guzmán 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 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.”

Baños, Ecuador
Altitude 5,905 feet

R
IVER'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.”

 

S
PENSER'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.”