Into the Wild (8 page)

She shot him a mortified look.

“Just for the record,” he added, wanting to drive his point home, “they wouldn't have fought over you or flipped a coin. They would have shared.”

She gasped, then glared. “I don't believe you. They weren't like that. At least Mel wasn't like that. He even fed me the answer to one of the trivia challenges so I wouldn't have to down a shot of rum.”

Spenser shook his head. “You are so freaking gullible.” Christ, he was pissed. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been this angry. That in itself bothered the shit out of him.

They drove the next several minutes in tense silence, but he could hear her wheels turning. Tomorrow was a new day and she
would
find and hire a guide. She could do worse than Gerry and Mel. That thought gnawed his gut as he parked the jeep and then escorted River through the hotel lobby and up the stairs. “I'll take you.”

“What?”

“If your dad followed traditional routes, I know where to lead you. If he veered off I can't make any promises, angel. Not beyond knowing the general legendary location of the lost treasure. But I can promise I won't take advantage of your pocketbook or naiveté. How old are you, anyway?”

“Old enough to take care of myself.”

He lifted a brow.

“Twenty-seven,” she snapped. “Are you happy now?”

Hell, yeah. He could handle a ten-year age difference.

“And I'm not naive,” she added as they neared her room. “I honestly did have a handle on Gerry and Mel. They're not why I was anxious to leave the bar. I…I had this creepy feeling. Like someone was watching me.”

“Everyone was watching you, angel.” She was a damned beautiful sight.

“No, it was…never mind.” She jammed her key in the lock, turned the knob and then paused. “Okay.”

He stared at the back of her bowed head, fought the desire to run his fingers through those tousled curls.

“I don't want your help, McGraw. I really don't. But you are the safest choice and, like I said, I never act recklessly. Almost never.”

She turned without warning and slammed Spenser into the opposing wall. She captured his face between her tiny hands and kissed the hell out of him. His mind and body burned as their tongues dueled. As their hands
groped. She tasted like liquor. She smelled like bug repellent. She felt like heaven.

His cock grew hard and heavy.

Maybe his arousal spooked her or maybe she sobered up. But suddenly she was out of his arms and across the hall, pushing open the door to her room. “For the record,” she said with her back to him, “I love David. That was just…the rum. It didn't mean anything.”

Back still braced against the wall, Spenser took a steadying breath. “Look at me, River.”

She cast him a reluctant glance before slamming the door in his face.

Like hell it didn't mean anything.

 

G
ATOR NEARLY BROKE
his neck dropping from blondie's balcony to the street below. He'd watched her hotel for hours, waiting for her to leave, waiting for a chance to search her room. Unfortunately, his search had depended on Spenser McGraw's exodus as well. Unlike blondie, he knew McGraw by sight. He'd seen the man's show.

He didn't know how the celebrity treasure hunter had gotten tied up with Professor Kane's daughter, just that he had. The Conquistador had forewarned him. The man's sources had spotted the duo in Baños and, soon after, Gator had boarded a turbine helicopter—flown by The Conquistador himself.

Gator didn't know specifics, but he sensed some sort of rivalry between The Conquistador and McGraw. At first his boss had been pissed off about the other man's
involvement. Minutes later he'd been amused. Then again, The Conquistador was a fucking lunatic.

Gator speed-dialed his freak employer while slinking into the alley.

“Did you get it?”

“I searched her luggage, her room. No map,” Gator rasped in a hushed voice.

“Speak up, dammit.”

“I said,
no map.
” Gator coughed, winced. Every time he raised his voice, he felt a ticklish burn in his throat. He'd yet to heal from The Conquistador's savage choke hold.

“Will she suspect a break-in?”

“No, I was careful, as ordered.”

“Must have it with her. Pocket. Purse.
Dammit.
”

“She's back now.”

“What?”

“She's back!”
Cough.
“In her room. I could—”

“No. Don't touch her. Don't…” He paused and a chill went up Gator's spine. Before he could question, The Conquistador regrouped. “I've implemented another plan,” he said. “It will go one of two ways. Listen close.”

T
HE SUN ROSE
before River settled down. Oh, she'd tried to sleep. But she was too high on rum and Spenser. She'd changed into sweats and jogged in place for thirty minutes. She'd taken a cold shower and, after spraying the sheets with disinfectant, flopped on the bed and studied Henry's journal for an hour. She'd been deliriously tired when she'd crawled under the covers, yet she'd tossed and turned with chaotic thoughts and troubled dreams.

Muscles stiff, head hazy, River stared up at the ceiling of her cheap hotel room wondering if she'd ever sleep well again. She blamed David, her father and Spenser. She blamed Mel and Gerry and a few other manipulative asses.

Men.

Talk about a curse. They plagued her existence with heartbreak and disappointment. Even Grandpa Franklin had dampened her spirit, constantly harping on her limitations and weaknesses. But at least he'd been a constant presence. He didn't send her away. He didn't abandon her. He gave her financial stability—Forever Photography—and for that she'd be forever grateful. Just as she was grateful for Spenser's offer to guide her into
the Andes. Her gut said he was the safest, wisest choice. As long as she didn't listen to the rest of her body she'd be okay.

River rolled out of bed and stretched.
Don't think about kissing Spenser.

She thought about kissing Spenser.

He'd caught her off guard in the bar. He'd manhandled her, something she hated, but instead of protesting, she'd melted in his arms. She'd opened her mouth, welcomed his tongue.

She'd lost control.

Accosting him in the hallway, catching
him
off guard, had been her way of taking back the reins. Of putting them on even ground. At least that's what she told herself this morning. Last night, she'd blamed the rum, a flimsy excuse, but reasonable. Lowered inhibitions. Compromised judgment. Hopefully, Spenser's old-fashioned sensibilities would keep him from mentioning the episode when she saw him today.

She glanced at her watch. Any sane person would still be asleep. Unless he was glued to his door, watching through the peephole, listening for her to leave her room.
Protecting
her. She didn't need a guardian, dammit, but she did need a guide.

River palmed the gold amulet hanging around her neck and absentmindedly rubbed the mysterious gift. She thought about that ridiculous curse. Thought about Spenser's knowledge of the legend and area. She thought about his trekking experience and his skillful kisses. Strike that. There would be no more kissing.

Confident she could control her traitorous desires as long as she steered clear of rum, River swung out of bed and pulled a knee-length hoodie over her T-shirt and lounging pants. She shoved her feet into a pair of flip-flops, the same rubber sandals she'd showered in last night to avoid contracting some disgusting foot fungus, brushed her hair and teeth, then moved into the hall. The sooner they made plans, the sooner they could be on their way.

Voices stopped her from knocking on his door—or at least
one
voice. Eavesdropping was rude, but curiosity bested her manners.

“Dammit, Nate,” Spenser snapped. “Listen to what I'm saying. The story of a lifetime. Yes, if this pans out, we'll make CNN. We'll make fucking history. Oh, for Christ's sake. Yes. If that's what it takes. And Nate. Prepare to eat that Indiana Jones crack. He's good. I'm better. And I'm
real.
”

River swallowed a curse as Spenser lapsed into silence and then laughed. Since she was only hearing one side of the conversation, she assumed he was on the phone. She also assumed the story of the lifetime had to do with the Lost Treasure of Llanganatis. A treasure that had eluded him. A treasure worth billions.
Billions.

Beware of the hunters.

Fist balled, stomach knotted, River backed away.

Somewhere in the night she'd become a ticket to fame and fortune for Spenser McGraw. He didn't care about her. Or her father. He cared about proving a legend true and all of the perks that came with it. Typical of a
celebrity type. Typical of a treasure seeker. She should've known. She
did
know…on the surface. But deep down…deep down she'd hoped, all right, fantasized, that he was different.

Idiot.

Spenser McGraw was like every man she'd ever met—a huge disappointment.

Fuming, she pushed quietly into her room and scram bled for a backup plan. As long as she had a plan, all was not lost.
She
was not lost.

Flashing back on last night, she rooted for her sling bag and located a business card.
In case you want the best,
he'd said. Another arrogant bastard. At least she wasn't attracted to him. At least he was a gentleman…of sorts. There was something to be said for “what you see is what you get.”

She dialed the number.

“Yeah.”

“This is River Kane. If you're still willing—”

“Willing and able, doll.”

“No funny business. Just business. And just you.”

“Understood,” he said with a smile in his voice.

She didn't sense danger, only amusement. Committed to dodging Spenser and getting to her father, she pressed on while repacking her duffel. “I'm in a rush.”

“I'm your man.” He named his price.

She agreed. Thank God for the discount. She gave him the address of the hotel. “Park on the side street that runs along the north side. I'm on the third floor,
fourth balcony from the…left.” She had to think about that. “Be here in fifteen minutes or the deal's off.”

“On my way.”

Really? If he was that efficient, maybe he
was
her man. For this expedition, anyway.

River signed off, checked the time. Keeping to schedule, she downed an antimalarial tablet with a swig from a bottle of Inca Kola. She'd sipped half of it last night. The soda was warm and flat, but better than risking the drinking water. Hands trembling, she dialed Spenser's room. She anticipated a busy signal, nearly choking when he actually answered.

“Hi,” she croaked. “It's me. River,” she added.

“Sleep okay?”

Two meaningless words, yet his voice triggered a bone-deep sensual shiver.
Dammit.
“No,” she snapped, “I did not sleep well. Too much to drink.” At least the restless part was true. As for overindulging, she had a low resistance to germs but a high tolerance to alcohol. Two sips of beer and two shots of rum and all she'd felt was relaxed. “This is embarrassing, but I'm as sick as a dog,” she lied. “Do you think…”

“What do you need?”

“Something to settle my stomach. Bromo-Seltzer? And while you're at it, a pain reliever. Motrin? I'm allergic to anything else.” That didn't make sense, but maybe he'd chalk it up to eccentricity, or anal-retentive…whatever. She didn't care as long as it made his shopping expedition as difficult as possible. She hadn't seen a pharmacy on this street—she'd looked—so hopefully
he'd be away long enough to give her a decent head start. She employed her moderate acting skills and summoned her weakest, shakiest voice. “If it's too much trouble—”

“No trouble.”

Old-fashioned sensibilities. Even though he was a money-grubbing, fame-seeking bastard, he still felt compelled to look after the so-called weaker sex.

She rolled her eyes. She was stronger than any man had ever given her credit for.

After promising to hurry—
great
—Spenser disconnected.

River waited until she heard his door open and shut, until his footsteps faded down the hall, then she sprung into action. Since the front desk had her credit card information, she checked out over the phone, although she lied and said she'd leave within a couple of hours. Try a couple of minutes. She dressed quicker than a tardy bride, doused herself with insect repellent then pulled on an insulated rain slicker. The skies were overcast and the temperature would drop when they hit the mountains. Just in case, she shoved gloves into her deep pockets along with her pliable waterproof camera case. Dressed for inclement weather and a rugged expedition, she hauled her duffel and camera bag onto the same balcony she'd climbed over last night. Her heart pounded as she waited for her ride. She wasn't doing anything illegal, but it sure felt like it. The longer she waited, the greater her anxiety. She was about to embark on
a journey with a stranger and who knew who'd they'd encounter along the way.

Beware of the hunters.

She flashed on a traveler's tip:
Don't keep all your important documents in one place.

She knew that. Of all things to slip her mind!

River hurriedly rooted through her sling pack and redistributed credit cards, cash, passport and travel documents between her camera bag, duffel and sling. Her heart pounded as she nabbed Henry's journal.
So much “data” in one place.

She heard an engine, the crunch of tires on gravel.

Although it felt like she was defacing the Bible, River ripped the remaining half of the treasure map from Henry's journal. She folded and slid it, along with his letter and her favorite family photo, into the baggy and tucked them inside her bra. She zipped the journal inside a pocket in her camera bag just as a mud-caked vehicle (was that a Hummer?) turned up her side street and parked across from her balcony. Confident she'd taken appropriate precautions, River prepared to drop her bags over the side. Her guide was a big, strapping man. He could handle it. She just hoped she could handle him.

Tall, Dark and Cocky eased out of his he-man vehicle and winked up at her. “G'day, River.”

G'day? Sure. Unless Spenser caught up with her or unless Mel messed with her or unless she got bit by a mosquito. Then it would be a bad day. “Hope you're as strong as you look,” she called down, then heaved her duffel over the balcony.