by Beth Ciotta
Helping her from the shower, Spenser wrapped her in a towel, then gave her a detailed account as they both dried and dressed.
Her mind reeled. “The guide that Gordo talked to…”
“Juan.”
“He said Henry gave him one package to mail. A package addressed to me. But there were two packages,” she said as she laced up her trekking boots. “That means Henry entrusted Bovedine’s package to someone else.” She glanced at Spenser. “Alberto?”
“The timing makes sense. Possible someone beat or bribed the information out of him then killed him to keep him quiet.”
“Then flew to America, stole the package and killed Professor Bovedine to keep him quiet.”
“All supposition, angel.” Spenser pulled a short-sleeve black tee over a long-sleeved gray one.
River tugged on a pair of brown cargo pants. “But suppose it’s true? He said he’d discovered something men would kill to possess.”
“Who? Henry? When did he tell you that?”
“He wrote it in a letter. It was tucked inside the journal.” Spenser moved to answer a knock at the door.
Heart pounding, River moved to the bed and rooted her treasure baggy from the pillow. Two days ago, she wouldn’t have shared this information with Spenser for the life of her. But now…she knew now that she couldn’t do this alone, and after the debacle with Mel… It was almost as if Spenser was fated to help her find Henry, yet she couldn’t let him go into this without showing him what he was possibly up against.
Beware of the hunters.
Were they dealing with one murdering maniac? Two? Three? Were they working together?
Separately?
Hunters.
Plural.
Stomach knotting, River sank into a chair, the baggy clutched in her lap.
“Duke said you’d be cutting out early,” she heard Lana say. “Brought you and River some coffee and a light breakfast. You’ll stop over and say goodbye, right?”
“You bet. Thanks, Lana.”
“Sure you’re up for this trek, Spense?”
“As fit as I’ve ever been.”
“You know what I mean.”
River looked over and saw his shoulders tense. “I’ve got good reason to face my demons.”
“That reason named River?”
“See you in a bit,” he said with a smile in his voice. He shut the door and River squirmed in her seat. He set the tray on the table—a pot of coffee, scrambled eggs, bacon and toast.
“That was nice of her,” River said.
Spenser claimed the chair across from her. “Lana and Duke are good people.” He poured coffee. “Tell me about the letter.”
She hesitated a second, then passed him the folded stationery. “He said he’s sacrificing his life to protect a precious treasure. What if that precious treasure is Atahualpa’s ransom? What if he actually found it, Spenser? Eight billion dollars. Sadly, I bet there are a lot of men who would kill for that kind of windfall.”
He cast her a fleeting look, a pained look, then focused back on the letter.
Her leg bounced. That wouldn’t do. But then she thought, what the hell, she had good reason to be nervous.
“No wonder you worked so hard to get rid of me,” he finally said. “Kane swore you to secrecy.”
“Plus the hunter thing,” River said. Bounce, bounce.
“So you assumed hunter meant treasure hunter.”
“Isn’t it obvious? And typically treasure hunters are amoral, obsessively driven, untrustworthy…”
“Ouch.”
“Sorry. I just…never mind.”
Smiling a little, he drank coffee and read the letter a second time. “I doubt Henry meant every word literally.”
“He always did talk in riddles,” River grumbled. “Plus the journal… It’s like it was written in some kind of code.”
“Probably was.” Spenser shook his head as if stumped or blindsided by something in the letter. More code? “Sweat of the sun.”
She sensed a shift in his mood, a suppressed intensity. “Does that mean something to you?”
“Sweat of the Sun, Tears of the Moon.”
Yeah? And? River bit her thumbnail, her anxiety spiking with each passing second.
He indicated the platter of bacon and eggs. “Fuel up, angel.” Then leaned back in his chair and stared into space.
“Not hungry.”
“Once we get into the mountains we’ll be existing on basics.” His manner was calm but his tone was gruff. His mind was a million miles away, or at least as far as the Llanganatis. River bristled. “I shared Henry’s letter hoping for enlightenment, yet you’re holding back.
Tell me about sweat of the sun, dammit.”
“Eat something.”
She’d eat dirt if it would get him to spill his guts. Eyes narrowed, she tore into a butter-slathered piece of toast.
He quirked a halfhearted smile, then focused back on the letter. “Incas valued precious metals not as money, but as religious symbols. Gold represented ‘sweat of the sun.’ They molded it into golden plates, goblets, ornaments—”
“Jewelry?”
He nodded, drank coffee. “The gold treasures were in honor of the Incan sun god. Silver stood for tears of the moon and was molded into objects in honor of the moon god, sister of the sun.” He paused, flashed the letter. “Says here: ‘I’m gifting you with my journal and sweat of the sun.’” God, let him be trustworthy. Heart pounding, River dipped into the baggy and passed Spenser the small gold amulet.
He held it in his palm and regarded it in quiet awe. “Chakana.”
“Meaning?”
“Inca cross. An Andean symbol of Incan civilization. Known in other mythologies as world tree, tree of life… I’ve seen my share of chakanas, but this one…” He stood suddenly and walked to the window, studied the amulet in the stark sunlight. “This is an ancient work of art. Superb craftsmanship. Pure gold.”
Ancient gold.
Gold fever.
River’s skin prickled with goose bumps. Pulse racing, she stood and joined Spenser. “Could it be part of the treasure? Could it be…” She trailed off, rattled by the intense look in his eyes, an intensity directed at the chakana. The man was mesmerized. She snatched back the amulet, looped it around her neck and returned to her seat.
He cleared his throat. “Sorry,” he said, and joined her at the table. “Map?” Part of her balked. If he was that transfixed by the ancient amulet, what would happen when he got a look at the possible location of its origin? On the other hand, if anyone could figure out Henry’s markings and whereabouts, it was an obsessed treasure hunter. Leg bouncing, River passed Spenser the yellowed page she’d torn from her father’s journal…and hoped for the best.
“Cerro Hermoso,” he said at first glance.
“The volcano.”
“I recognize the sketch, and the name is scribbled in the margin, but everything else…” He shook his head. “I’ve studied maps and notes by Valverde, Guzmán, Spruce, Blake, Chapman, Brunner. This is all new.”
Those names meant nothing to her, but she was absolutely riveted by the wonderment on Spenser’s face, the infectious energy rolling off his body in waves. Riveted and worried. “There’s an X.”
“X marks the spot.”
Desperate to break his fierce trance, River snatched back the map. “Can you get us there?”
“I’ll get us there.” He pushed out of his chair and surprised her with a deep, tender kiss.
Heat snaked through River’s body. Thoughts whipped in her brain. Between last night and this morning they’d made love several times, several ways, showered together, slept together and had a couple of heart-to-hearts—sort of. They barely knew each other, yet they connected in ways that baffled River.
Why wasn’t Spenser more rattled?
“We need to haul ass,” he said as he moved to the door. “I’ll pack the jeep. You eat. You’re going to need all your strength and then some.”
“Who’s Cyrus Lassiter?”
He quirked a wry grin before moving outside. “An amoral, obsessively driven, untrustworthy treasure hunter.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
El Triunfo, Ecuador Altitude 10,000 feet
THE VILLAGE WAS MOSTLY as he remembered it from nine years ago. Crowing roosters. Mangy dogs.
Women riding donkeys and men carrying machetes. Barefoot children in ankle-deep mud.
But this time, instead of stopping, instead of mingling with the locals and soaking up lore about the lost Inca treasure, Spenser drove straight through. He’d heard all the stories. He didn’t need supplies. Nor guides. Nor directions. He knew how to get to Cerro Hermoso. After that, he had Kane’s map.
Strike that. River had the map. She’d confiscated her dad’s things before they’d left the Diablo Jungle Lodge. The map and letter were inside a baggy, tucked inside her bra. The Chakana was dangling from a black cord hanging around her neck.
She didn’t trust him.
He didn’t blame her.
There’d been a split second when he’d burned with gold fever. When he’d coveted Atahualpa’s ransom. Not for the wealth, but for the discovery, the historical significance, for the chance to shout, eureka!
And she’d sensed it.
He couldn’t help being dazzled by the ancient chakana or by Kane’s detailed, although somewhat cryptic, map. But he could manage the intensity of his enthusiasm. He was nine years older. Nine years wiser. This time, instead of trying to impress the woman at his side, he only wanted to protect her. This time he’d lead with his head and heart, instead of his dick and pride.
Spenser ignored the curious looks of the locals as he maneuvered the jeep over the muddy, rutted road. River, on the other hand, was paying the locals rapt attention, snapping photos as they slowly rolled through the village. The woman was a talented photographer, but it was more than technical skill that made her pictures special. It was her tender heart and adventurous soul. Maybe she’d led a cautious personal life, but where her work was concerned, she took chances. The risqué garter photo, shooting the canopy while zip-lining at high speed.
Taking photos of Spenser in the raw.
He smiled to himself, hoping to hell that “private sitting” wouldn’t bite him in the ass.
“Wait,” she said. Snap. Snap. “Aren’t we stopping?”
“We wouldn’t be welcome.”
“Why not?”
“Maldición.”
She glanced over her shoulder, speared his heart with her worried gaze. “Do you believe in that ancient curse?”
“Yes.” He’d felt it. Lived it. “But I also think it can be avoided with pure intentions.” An optimistic, and only recent, hypothesis.
“I guess you didn’t have pure intentions first time around?”
“Two times around. No. I didn’t.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“No. Not now. Not yet.” He squeezed the steering wheel, noted his white knuckles and rolled back his shoulders. “We’l meet up with Cy just around that bend.”
“Oh, joy.”
“River—”
“You don’t have to rehash your reasons.” She settled back in her seat, massaged her chest. “I get it.
Cyrus Lassiter is an asset. He knows the mountains. He can heft more weight than I can and, considering we need to tote two weeks of supplies on our backs…I get it, Spenser. I just…I had to adjust to the idea. Henry said tell no one but Professor Bovedine. But I realize now, Henry never imagined I’d make this trek. He wouldn’t have credited me with the nerve or motivation.” Spenser heard the hurt in her voice, saw the anguish in her expression, however slight. “I don’t know what happened between you and your dad, River, but he loves you.” She snorted.
“That letter—”
“Actions speak louder than words. Or rather, lack of words…never mind.”
“Want to talk about it?”
“No. Not now. Not yet.” She pointed through the windshield. “Is that your friend?” Spenser nodded and pulled his rental jeep alongside Cy’s battered form of transportation. The seasoned treasure hunter was leaning against the hood—arms crossed over chest, ankle over ankle, his long salt-and-pepper hair pulled into a scraggly ponytail. Cy gave them a two-fingered salute.
“He sort of looks like Sean Connery in that movie Medicine Man.”
“Didn’t see the movie, but I sort of see the resemblance. Like I said before, River, Cy’s eccentric, but he knows his stuff.”
“Sounds like Henry. Aren’t there any normal people in your field?” Spenser didn’t comment. But he did wonder what Kane had done to sour River on his world. She was staring out at the daunting landscape, clearly wondering what sane person willingly trudged through gnarled jungle and quaking bogs as a lifestyle. Gearing up for the challenge, she’d already slathered her face with sunscreen and doused herself in bug guard. And though she’d probably die before admitting it, she was struggling with the increasing altitude.
Spenser reached for her hand and squeezed. “You don’t have to do this. You could wait with Lana and Duke, while Cy and I—”
“Henry entrusted me with his secret, his journal. I’ve already lost the journal, I can’t risk… I have to tell him about Professor Bovedine. I need to see what treasure he chose over me.”
“There’s no guarantee he’s alive, River.”
“There’s no guarantee he’s dead.” She pushed open the door and greeted Cy.
Spenser joined her and shook the man’s hand. “Thanks for doing this.”
“Heard there’s gold in them thar hills,” Cy said with a wink.
“We’re not looking for gold,” River snapped. “We’re looking for Professor Henry Kane.” Cy raised calloused palms in surrender. “I know, sweetheart. Relax.”
“They say he’s cursed. That everyone connected to his expedition is cursed. Are you sure you want to do this?”
“Legend has it anyone who enters those mountains in search of Atahualpa’s ransom is cursed.” Cy tugged a blue plaid fedora over his wind-ravaged ponytail and shoved on a pair of tortoiseshell sunglasses held together at the nose with black electrical tape. “I’ve been in and out of the Llanganatis over one hundred and forty times. Do I look dead? Or crazy?”
“You might want to rephrase that last question,” Spenser said while glancing at the incoming call on his phone. “I need to take this. Cy, our backpacks and provisions are in the jeep. Can you redistribute the weight?”
“Sure.”
Spenser could feel River’s curious stare as he moved out of earshot. “Took you long enough to return my call.”
“Sorry,” Gordo said. “Had a few too many last night and tussled with a loudmouthed hunter who trashed our show. Spent the night in jail.”
“You all right?”
“Aside from the black eye and bruised pride? Spiffy.”
“You’ve got too much time on your hands.”
“Whose fault is that?”
Spenser brought his partner up to speed.
“Holy shit. Do you think… Is it possible?”
“Anything’s possible.”
“I should be with you, not Cyrus Lassiter.”
“Cy’s knowledge trumps yours in this instance. No offense.”
“Yeah, but…using one kook to find another? Not to mention dragging an inexperienced woman into dangerous territory. She’s a wedding photographer, Spense, not an explorer. This has disaster written all over it.”
“I don’t think River will make it to the páramo,” Spenser said in a low voice. “Aside from the rigorous hiking, she’s struggling to breathe easy at ten thousand feet. How will she manage fourteen thousand?
That’s why I asked Cy along. If anyone can get her safely back to Triunfo, it’s him.”
“You suggested he’s not trustworthy.”
