Beth Ciotta - Into the Wild

“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.”

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?