by Beth Ciotta
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 Tshirts. 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?
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 Baños. 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.”