Into the Wild (9 page)

R
IVER SUPPRESSED THE URGE
to whoop as she left Baños, and Spenser, in the dust. She'd asked her Aussie guide to haul ass. He'd complied, taking a shortcut to boot, and whisking them out of town in a heartbeat. He'd also held silent on the mad dash, which was fine by her. She wasn't in a talkative mood. She was in a foul mood. Spenser's betrayal had cut deep. Crazy, considering they barely knew each other. Crazy, considering she shouldn't have trusted him in the first place, given his obsession with treasure and fame. Still, she was fuming.

“Is that a Garmin Colorado?” Mel asked when she fished out her GPS unit.

So much for blessed silence.

“Nice,” he said when she didn't answer. “Not that you need it. I know where I'm going.”

“Good to know,” River grumbled as she switched on the power. There was also a built-in GPS on the Hummer's dashboard, but she felt better relying on her own device. “What direction are we headed in?”

“North.”

“Back toward Quito?”

“South of Quito. The Llanganatis National Park is in the Cotopaxi region.”

River jerked her gaze from the Garmin to Mel. “National Park?” Henry had discovered something men would kill for in a
park?
“But Spenser said the area is dangerous.”

“Parts are. Especially the part your dad disappeared in.”

River's pulse spiked. Maybe Mel knew more about Henry's situation than Spenser. After all, Ecuador was his stomping ground. She hadn't questioned him or Gerry last night. She hadn't wanted to bring any more attention to Professor Kane and his potential whereabouts than necessary. Not that anyone had been willing to talk about him or Llanganatis. “What do you know about my father exactly?”

“What everyone else knows. That he was obsessed with locating Atahualpa's buried ransom.”

Atahualpa. She'd seen that name scribbled in her dad's journal. She didn't know who that was, but she didn't want to ask and show her ignorance. Maybe he'd elaborate.

“The treasure doesn't exist,” he said.

“You sound awfully sure.”

“People have been searching for centuries. If it existed…”

“Someone would've found it by now.” River focused back on the GPS unit. “You're going the wrong way.”

“Alternate route. Less obvious. I assume you'd prefer Spenser didn't follow.”

She didn't answer.

“Since McGraw's annoyingly honest,” Mel went on,
“I'm guessing you didn't escape over the balcony to beat a room charge, but him. Otherwise, why call me?”

River fussed with her seat belt to avoid eye contact. “We're going our separate ways.”

“For good?”

“For now.” If Mel thought she was still attached to Spenser maybe he wouldn't make a pass. It's not that she believed her guide was immoral (as suggested by Spenser), but she wasn't an idiot. She did sense sexual interest. “Just so you know,” she blurted, “I have a gun.” Her biggest lie yet today. Lightning was going to strike her down any minute now—a real possibility, given the ominous skies.

His lip quirked. “Told Gerry you're gutsier than you look.”

A backhanded compliment, but at least it meant he didn't consider her wholly naive and inept—unlike Spenser. She started to ask more about Henry, but her phone rang. She was surprised and relieved to know she got a signal in this remote area. Unless it was Spenser calling. She hadn't given him her number, but the man was resourceful. She glanced at the caller ID. Mrs. Robbins.

“I hope I'm not catching you at a bad time, dear,” Professor Bovedine's housekeeper said.

River wasn't crazy about having this discussion in front of Mel, but she didn't want to slow their trip by asking him to pull over. Nor did she want to put off Mrs. Robbins.
Keep it vague.
“I'm sorry I couldn't be there for the professor's funeral,” she said softly.

“You were here in spirit and the flowers you sent were lovely, River. As was the funeral.” The older woman sniffled. “Professor Bovedine would have been touched by the overwhelming turnout.”

“He was beloved and respected by many.” Unlike Henry, the eccentric, selfish hot dog.

“I must be brief, but you were anxious, so I wanted to let you know. I haven't been able to locate that package, River. I fear that murdering burglar took it as part of his loot. Whatever it was, he must have thought it valuable.”

If
that package included the missing part of the map, and,
if
her dad really had located a lost treasure then, oh, yes, it was valuable. Except River had the second half. She didn't know where to start and the murdering burglar didn't know where to finish. That's if he went looking. Her mind raced with a dozen scenarios.

“River?”

“Sorry, I… Sorry.” She snapped back to the conversation, glad to see Mel's eyes were on the road, although surely he was listening. Not that he knew what or who she was talking about. “Do the police have any leads?”

“None,” the housekeeper snapped. “For a bungled burglary, the criminal was quite meticulous. I overheard one of the detectives lamenting the absence of fingerprints. Although the investigation is still ongoing.”

“Yet they allowed you to search for the, um, mail?”

“The police asked me to inventory the premises and to list anything missing. As far as I could tell, the thief
snatched a few small icons and your dad's package. Professor Bovedine must have interrupted him before he could steal more. Then, well, you know what happened next.”

Knowing and believing that poor, kind Professor Bovedine was dead were two different things. River glanced at the passing scenery. The formidable mountains and wild terrain. Her Aussie guide. Everything seemed surreal.

“I have to run,” said Mrs. Robbins, choking off new tears. “If I learn anything more, dear, I'll call.”

River thanked the woman then disconnected. All she could think was, what if it wasn't a bungled burglary? What if the criminal went in looking for Henry's package? What if he killed Bovedine on purpose—one less man standing between him and a legendary fortune. Sick to her stomach, River dug through her sling pack for an antacid tablet.

“You okay?” Mel asked as she chewed the chalky pink stuff.

“A friend passed away.” He'd learned at least that much from her phone conversation. “It's…upsetting.”

“Sorry, doll. If you want to talk—”

Her phone rang again. River answered without looking, thinking Mrs. Robbins had had an afterthought.

“I don't appreciate being lied to.”

Spenser.
“I don't appreciate being used,” she gritted out. The urge to punch something, preferably him, was overwhelming.

“Where are you?”

“None of your business, McGraw.”

The man next to her frowned. “If you don't want him to know where you are,” he said in a low voice, “hang up.”

“Christ,” Spenser said. “Don't tell me you're with Mel.”

What the…? Did his resourcefulness include super-hearing? “I'd be lying if I told you that,” she snapped, hoping to wound the celebrity's bloated ego. No doubt he couldn't believe she'd chosen Mel over him, especially after what he'd told her about Mel and Gerry's penchant to share. Only Gerry wasn't here. Just Mel, and so far, he seemed pretty nice.

“Dammit, River—”

She hung up.

Mel grunted. “McGraw's an ass.”

She didn't argue. She stuffed her phone in her sling pack, undid her seat belt and wiggled around to pull her camera from her rolling bag. She needed a distraction. Something to cool her temper. Every time she thought about Spenser, his kisses, his betrayal, her blood pressure spiked. Coupled with the anxiety of finding Henry with only half of the map, of traipsing into a remote, dangerous region alongside a man she didn't know but had to trust… River shoved away her mounting fears and focused on the scenery. Capturing the right image while traveling at a high speed—Mel was still hauling ass—would be a challenge. Plus, the natural lighting was uninspiring. Not sunny, not stormy, just bleak gray. Maybe if she changed lenses and used a sepia filter…

“Fancy camera.”

“I'm a professional wedding photographer. This camera is my life.” Or at least her means of making a living.

“If you were my woman, you wouldn't have to work.”

“No monkey business,” she reminded him, not liking the direction of his thoughts.

“Just business. Got it. So, I know I'm taking you to Llanganatis,” he said while she wiggled back around to get more gear. “I know you're searching for your father and that he was searching for Atahualpa's buried ransom. I know all of the conventional routes mapped out over history. But if you know something I don't, River…if you have any specific clues—coordinates, markers—I need to know.”

He sounded professional and practical. He had knowledge of the area, maybe as much as Spenser. She couldn't make this trek without relying on someone and, right now, Mel was all she had. Still, she didn't trust him. After all, he'd tried to get her drunk last night. “Are you a guide or a treasure hunter?” she asked point-blank. “I never got clear on that.”

“I work as a guide for people seeking treasure,” he said with an easy smile. “I suppose that makes me both.”

What you see is what you get.
At least he wasn't trying to snow her. She grunted, then snapped two shots of a distant volcano. “I have clues,” she said, knowing she'd have to give up Henry's data at some point,
“although I don't know if they'll mean anything to you. I don't have a starting point.”

“What have you got? If I know the marker, I can get us there. I know the Llanganatis like the back of my hand.”

That was comforting. It meant they wouldn't get lost. Her phone rang. She wanted to ignore it, but what if it was Mrs. Robbins, Ella or—here was a wild thought— David. What if he'd learned she was in South America? What if he was worried about her? The notion eased her fretting, connected her to a more stable life. Her old life.

She glanced at the caller ID. “Crap.” Ignoring Mel's cautionary look, she answered anyway.

“Listen, River, I don't know what went wrong, but…”

“You sold me out!” she blurted, angry that it was Spenser and not David. “What?”

“You don't care about my father or me. You care about yourself and a story of a lifetime!”

Silence. Then, “Oh, hell. I can explain.”

“Don't bother, McGraw. Don't—”

Mel nabbed the phone. “We both know you don't have the balls to go back into the Llanganatis, McGraw. Unlike you I'm not crippled by guilt. Unlike you I can get the lady in and out without catching the fever. Unlike you, I won't get her killed. Call it a day, mate. Go back to filming your pansy show and leave the challenging expeditions to the real adventurers.”

He signed off and passed River her phone.

Mouth gaping, she started to ask what that was about, but instead shrieked when Mel slammed the brakes.

The Hummer skidded sideways. River fumbled her phone. Her sling pack flew to the floor. If her camera hadn't been looped around her shoulder that would have tanked, too. The seat belt cut hard into her torso as she tried to catch her breath and wits.

“Where's your gun?” Mel asked in a low voice.

“What?” She shook off the daze. “Oh, I don't… I was bluffing.”

“Mine's within reach. Not that it'll have much impact against two machine guns.”

Mouth dry, River looked through the dusty windows to see a dinged and muddy truck blocking the road. Two stocky men dressed in drab clothes and using caps and kerchiefs to conceal their faces, pointed big scary guns at the Hummer's windshield.

“Road bandits,” said Mel.

She'd read about this type of crime, but she thought it was more rampant in Peru and Colombia. Or maybe that had been hopeful thinking. Even her waiter, Antonio, had warned her about crimes perpetrated against tourists.

Only Mel wasn't a tourist. He was a local. Sort of. At least he spoke the language.

“Maybe you can talk us out of this,” River whispered.

“Stay calm and don't speak.” Mel rolled down his window. A disgusting smell wafted in with the air. B.O.
and medicinal salve. The men demanded something in Spanish. Mel answered, then said to River in English, “Get out.”

Heart pounding, she reached for her sling pack.

“Leave it,” Mel said as the bandits opened his door. “Get out, step away and don't say a word. We may just get out of this alive.”

In the midst of praying for her life, River thanked God she'd redistributed her valuables at the last minute. If they took her sling pack, which functioned as her purse, she'd still have the credit card and passport she'd hidden in her duffel. If they took that, she'd have the credit card and Xerox copy of her passport she'd slipped into her camera bag.

She backed away from the Hummer, shifting her camera so that it hung behind her—an unconscious means of protecting her precious Nikon. Beneath her layered clothing, the gold amulet burned against her breastbone and the plastic-wrapped map melded to her right boob. She bristled with anxiety and dread as Mel joined her and one of the men followed.

Bandit number two searched the interior of the Hummer. She was glad he kept his distance. Of the two criminals, he smelled the worst.

Brandishing his firearm, bandit number one barked more orders and Mel calmly replied. She didn't know what he was babbling about—she only understood the most clichéd Spanish words—but he continued to speak as he slowly emptied his pockets. His wallet. A PDA. He wiggled off a gold ring and passed that over, too. Aside
from the amulet, she wasn't wearing jewelry. After reading about robbery accounts, she'd specifically left her earrings and bracelets at home. Her defunct engagement ring was back in its original box and buried in her pajama drawer.