by Beth Ciotta
Laugh lines. They’re sexy.”
He grunted.
“Why are you so touchy about your age?”
“Because I’m the host of a cable television series and the entertainment industry is obsessed with physical perfection and youth.”
“Since when is thirty-seven old?”
Spenser angled his head. “That’s what I’d like to know.” Fuck you, Necktie Nate.
“Is that why they airbrush your promo shots?”
“Yes.” He noted a particular rock formation in the distance, eyed the sun, then made a hard left.
“I wouldn’t retouch your photos,” she grumbled, sounding distracted. “Your face has character. You have character. I—” She let out a squeal.
What now? Spenser turned. “Shit.”
“I’m thinking this is bad. What did you call it? Andean quicksand?” She was waist-deep in marshy mud. What the hel ? “Don’t panic.”
“Don’t come any closer,” she said in a strangled voice. “What if you sink, too?”
“I won’t.” He shrugged off his gear.
“Do you have a rope in that clown-car backpack?”
One hundred sixty-four feet of double-dry coated mountaineering rope. He tossed her one end. “Grab hold and I’ll pull you out.”
She gave him a cocky salute then grabbed hold.
He pulled…and the rope slid right through her hands.
“Can’t get a good grip,” she said, holding out her slimy palms. “Too muddy, too slick.”
“It’s okay, hon. We’ll attack it another way.” Instead of trying to drag her across the sluggish muck, better to pull her straight up and out. He eyed a nearby tree, the rope, River. Her silence bothered him.
But if she panicked, she’d struggle. If she struggled, she’d sink. He searched his pack for a carabiners.
“I’m going to rig something.”
“Okay.”
“It’ll take a couple of minutes. Talk to me.”
“I…I can’t think of anything to say.”
Indicating her fear had trumped the coca buzz. “How did you meet my sister? You haven’t been friends for long, right?”
“A few months.”
“Go on.” He looped one end of the rope and tied a bowline knot.
“I…I needed shoes. For the wedding. My wedding.”
Christ. “Yeah? And?” He tossed the rope over a sturdy branch of a nearby tree.
“Everyone in a three-county radius was talking about the recently refurbished shoe store in Eden.
McGraw’s Shoe Shoppe. Walk in comfort, walk in style.”
His sister’s new logo. Actually, the man she’d hired to renovate the family store had come up with that logo. Spenser didn’t like to think about the trouble Travis Martin had brought into Kylie’s life. Thank God Jack had been there.
“I heard you could get designer shoes at a bargain price. So I drove over. Maple Grove’s only about forty minutes from Eden.”
“I know. Reach up and grab the lasso, River. Pull it over your head, under you armpits.”
“Kylie had a limited but amazing selection of high heels. I wanted four-inch stilettos,” she said as she gingerly positioned the rope. “Because I’m short and David’s tall and—”
“I get the picture.”
“Anyway, we just sort of hit it off. Kylie and me,” she clarified as she adjusted the lasso. “We were both planning weddings and—”
“Got it.” Spenser channeled his explosive jealously and, with the rigged pulley, easily hauled River from the muck. He refused to think of it as quicksand. Refused to imagine her going under. “Swing and drop,” he said, and seconds later she was safely in his arms.
“Are you going to cry?” he asked as he held her close.
“No. I knew you’d get me out. But I am going to kiss you.”
“Okay,” he said…. and kissed her first.
THOUGH THE TEMPERATURE was brisk, the sun shone bright. It was a beautiful clear day. Dammit. In between reassessing her priorities and future, River had prayed for rain. She’d cleaned up as best she could after that unexpected dip in the marshy mud pit, toweling off the slime without the aid of soap and water. Spenser had helped her change into fresh underwear and a pair of his Levi’s. Yes, they were clean and dry, but she still felt filthy. Rain would wash away the remaining mud that was now dried and caked on her body and in her hair.
She refused to think about things like jungle rot, fungus infections and rashes—obsessing wouldn’t do.
Instead, she pretended she’d been the recipient of a luxurious mud wrap, compliments of the Llanganatis outdoor spa. She also pretended that her spirits weren’t flagging and her thighs weren’t cramping. It seemed like they’d been walking forever.
“Almost there,” Spenser said as if sensing her impatience.
Five minutes later, she spied what looked like three thatched huts. Small, primitive and still several yards away. She pushed her sunglasses to the top of her head for a clearer look and pointed. “Is that it?”
“Brunner’s camp.”
Yes!
She didn’t see Cy, but he could be inside one of the weathered shacks. Please be inside. She would’ve sprinted the rest of the way, but she’d learned her lesson about treading haphazardly in the quaking bogs. Up until now the coca had eased her breathing and anxiety. But now…
Please be there.
She had a plan. A new plan. Not perfect, but sensible. Something she could live with…if she got her camera back. “Cy!”
No answer. Her pulse raced as they neared the huts. She had a bad feeling.
Spenser tugged her to a stop. “Stay here.”
He moved ahead and pulled a handgun. A freaking semiautomatic! Obviously, he had a bad feeling, too. He looked more like a mean street cop than a celebrity treasure hunter as he carefully circled, then peered inside each dilapidated shack. She thought about the road bandits, about the burglar who’d killed Bovedine. She held her breath, waiting for a spear to sail out of one of those straw huts.
But then Spenser signaled her to come ahead and her adrenaline shot to the clouds.
“Cy’s not here,” he said, holstering the gun beneath his jacket.
“I knew it.”
“No signs that he even slept here.”
“I knew it! He found the picture of the map, sucked more seed juice and just kept going!”
“That doesn’t sit right with me.”
“Me, neither! I can’t freaking believe this!” She realized suddenly that she was pacing and punching the air.
“Get hold of yourself,” she could hear Henry saying. “This is why I don’t want you with me.” He’d said it over and over after finding her in the jungle. She’d hated him for that. She couldn’t help it that she couldn’t stop crying. She’d been scared out of her wits. But instead of comforting her, he’d scolded.
Spenser said nothing. He was walking around the camp, gaze intent on the ground.
“What are you doing?”
“Looking for signs of a struggle. But…” He shook his head.
“That’s because there was no struggle!”
“Or last night’s rain washed away the evidence.”
“Or he’s halfway to Cerro Hermoso!”
Spenser shrugged off the pack. “Why do you want to believe the worst about Cy?”
“Because it makes sense. He’s a treasure hunter. He’s been looking for this particular treasure for years. He doesn’t care who he hurts as long as he gets what he wants. And he doesn’t want me!”
“Whoa,” Spenser said. “Who are we talking about? Cy or your dad?”
“Grandpa Franklin didn’t want me, either, but at least he didn’t kick me out. And David…” She kicked a stump. Kicked it again. Al the hurt she’d shoved down on her wedding day and the days after spewed like molten lava. It was hot and destructive and she was helpless to stop it. “That selfish, insensitive…jackass! How could he do that to me? At the altar. In front
of everyone!”
“Easy.” Spenser tenderly grasped her forearms. “You’re going to break your foot, angel.” She whirled and punched his shoulder. “I’m not an angel. I’m difficult. I’m…quirky!”
“I like quirky.”
Tears stung and flowed. “What’s wrong with me?”
“Nothing.”
She was sobbing now. She couldn’t stop.
Spenser pulled her into his arms, made gentle shushing sounds that only made her cry harder.
“I had a plan,” she sobbed.
“Disney time-share. A house in the best school district. I know.”
“No, a new plan. Cy ruined it.” She could feel her legs giving way. “Now we’ll have to go after him.” Spenser lowered himself to the ground, rocked her in his arms.
“I wanted to go back,” she hiccupped over a sob. “The risk is too great. Henry made his choice and…there are more important things…other ways to find closure.”
“We can still go back.”
“Not without my camera. I already lost Henry’s journal, now the camera, with the picture of the map,” she wailed. “After all these years, he finally trusted me with his work, with a secret, and I blew it.”
“You didn’t blow it. We’ll get the camera.”
She grabbed a fistful of his jacket and glared up at him through a sheen of tears. “If anything bad happens to you—”
“It won’t.”
She’d drown in the depth of his tenderness if she weren’t already drowning in tears. She dragged a sleeve across her wet cheeks and sniffled. “I don’t love David.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“I wouldn’t know love if it bit me in the butt.”
“Is that an invitation?”
“What?”
He winked and a split second later she laughed. A scratchy, hiccuppy laugh, but at least it wasn’t a sob.
“Better?” he asked, mopping her face with a bandanna.
“Ella warned this would happen.” She took the kerchief from him and blew her nose. “She said I’d explode. That it was only a matter of time. Said you can only keep things bottled up for so long.”
“Something tells me you’ve been keeping a tight lid on your emotions ever since you lost control in Mexico.”
She quirked a watery smile. “Perceptive.”
“Boils down to listening and observing. I’m pretty good at both. So are you.” She raised a brow. “You didn’t add, we’re a good match.”
“Waiting until you’re ready to believe that.”
Her heart thumped. Infinite possibilities. “You should write passages for Hallmark. You’d be rich.”
“I’m already set for life.”
“Oh, right. You’re a star.”
His lip quirked. “I invest my money wisely.”
“Money you made from Into the Wild.”
“A top-rated series for five seasons.” He raised a brow. “Seriously? You’ve never seen even a few minutes of one episode?”
“A dent to your ego?”
“More like a boost. Means you love me for me.”
“I don’t—”
“You do.”
“We can’t—”
“We will.”
Her head spun, her heart hesitated. The treasure hunter and the wedding photographer. She couldn’t imagine. River chewed her bottom lip, looked toward the volcano. “I can’t think beyond this treasure fiasco, Spenser. If there’s the slightest chance Henry’s still alive… He entrusted me with his map, a secret. If it’s connected to whatever he sent Professor Bovedine, I…I can’t let whoever killed Bovedine benefit. I can’t let them near Henry.”
Spenser caressed her flushed cheek. “Heart of a lion.”
Smiling a little, River sniffed back the last of her tears. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
After a sweet kiss, Spenser helped her to her feet. “If you’re right about Cy, he’s headed for Brunner’s Lake. If I’m right and someone got the best of him, if they scrolled through your camera or if they have the first half of the map, they’re headed in the same direction.” He hefted his backpack and took her hand. “Let’s book.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
GATOR FELT LIKE A CAGED animal. He itched to pounce, but there was no one to pounce on. He’d followed The Conquistador’s dictate. They’d hauled ass. They’d set a trap and then they’d waited.
And waited.
Hiding behind a tangled wall of vegetation, Gator sipped whiskey and hugged his rifle close. Once again he’d been assigned to do the dirty work. Con, who’d retreated to his own hidey-hole several hundred feet away, refused to show himself until McGraw was subdued and Gator had the map in hand. Then he’d make his grand entrance. Whatever the crazy-ass bastard had in mind, Gator hoped he’d make it quick. The sooner they got the map, the sooner they located the treasure, the quicker he could carry out his own plan. Skin itching with anticipation, Gator squinted through thorny vines willing their prey to show.
Where the hell were those two?
What if he was right? What if blondie and McGraw had turned back? But his employer was convinced they’d show. Con got a crazy gleam in his eyes every time one of them mentioned the famous treasure hunter. If Gator didn’t know better, he’d think Con was more interested in hurting McGraw than finding the gold. Come to think of it, he didn’t know better. He didn’t know anything about The Conquistador, other than he was rich, ruthless and obsessed with the Lost Treasure of Llanganatis.
That’s how the nut-job had referred to the buried gold. Only it wasn’t just gold. He’d also mentioned silver and emeralds along with fame, respect and revenge.
All Gator cared about was the monetary windfall.
Eight. Billion. Dollars.
So he ignored his doubts and fears. He concentrated on the fortune and popped another pill. Con had said the illegal meds would set him right. Hell, yeah. One had done the trick. Two would heighten the effect. He was feeling no pain and flying high on visions of living like a king.
Focused and determined, he hunkered down and waited.
Eight. Billion. Dollars.
A SENSE OF clusterfuck dogged Spenser as he led River toward Brunner’s Lake. He kept expecting, hoping, to catch up to Cy. But they’d been walking for hours and there’d been no sign of the seasoned treasure hunter—dead or alive. He couldn’t have disappeared into thin air, although in a way that had been Andy’s fate. Fallen off the cliff, through the mist, never to be seen again. Spenser shook off a twinge of guilt.
Stay focused.
He squeezed River’s hand and tugged her clear of a hostile-looking thornbush. Still on the páramo, they navigated the boggy desert with effort and caution. There were pockets of wild beauty—scattered lakes and streams, rolling hills, low clouds surrounding distant peaks—and River was quick to point them out. He remembered how entranced she’d been on the zip line, photographing the wildlife and fauna. Given her parents’ backgrounds, if they’d kept her under their wing, nurtured her confidence and talent, she’d probably be shooting for National Geographic instead of nervous brides.
Then again, if he’d followed in his parents’ footsteps, he’d be selling shoes.
“Have a power snack handy?” River asked. “I’m sort of losing steam.” Spenser dipped into his jacket pocket and passed her a protein bar. He noted her flushed face, her labored breath. “I’ve been pushing too hard. We should stop. Rest.” This was River, for Christ’s sake, not Gordo. Gordo, he thought with an inner smile, would’ve demanded a frickin’ break.
River bit off a chunk of granola and shook her head. “Have to find Cy, besides,” she pointed ahead,
“look.”
As they watched, blue skies muted to steel-gray. Fog rolled in and around, cascading down the volcano like a frothy tidal wave.
Shit.
He got his bearings, calculated. “We’re ten, fifteen minutes from Brunner’s Lake.” And the shoulder of Cerro Hermoso. It wa
s as far as he’d gotten with Andy and Jo. It was also close to where Blake and Chapman had claimed to discover a cave of gold back in 1887. And the location of the first visual marker on the map tucked inside River’s bra. They were as close to Atahualpa’s ransom as he’d been in nine years. He was torn between pushing on and marching River back toward Triunfo. To safety.