Into the Wild

by Beth Ciotta

  Then his brain froze.

  Not Mel, but…

  No. It couldn’t be.

  “Look like you’ve seen a ghost, Spense.”

  It couldn’t fucking be.

  “Had some reconstructive surgery done. The fall fucked up my face, but surely you recognize your old army buddy.”

  Andy Burdett.

  He looked different, older, altered, but Spenser recognized his voice, his eyes, the way he moved. His friend was alive. The only thing that kept Spenser from rushing forward and catching the man up in a bear hug was the fact he was holding a gun to River’s temple. Confusion and fury pulverized his being.

  “What the hell, Andy? Let the woman go.”

  “Not on your life.” He tapped the gun to her head. “Or should I say, her life.” Spenser drew on his military training. Hostage situation. Establish communication. What does the gunman want? He blurted the obvious icebreaker. “I thought you were dead.”

  “You mean you wanted me dead. With me out of the way, Jo was yours for the taking.” Spenser didn’t answer. Couldn’t answer. He felt as though he were in the middle of any one of the hundred nightmares he’d had over the past few years. Disturbing dreams involving Andy. He suddenly wondered if he himself was suffering il effects from the altitude. Surely this was a hallucination.

  “Obviously,” Andy said, “I didn’t fall as far as you thought. Landed on a jutting ridge, part of an old Incan path—so I was told.”

  “The fog,” Spenser said. “You fell through it and disappeared. I couldn’t see…I thought…” He dragged a hand through his hair and blew out a breath. “We searched when the weather permitted but—”

  “I’d already been saved by an Andean farmer and his son. I don’t remember anything between falling and waking up under the loving ministrations of a beautiful young Indian woman. The farmer’s daughter,” Andy said with a sardonic gleam in his eyes. “I don’t remember much of the first few months after. In addition to a broken body, my memory was fractured. But this family practiced old Indian ways and, because of their care and my stubborn determination, I healed.”

  “Why didn’t you let your friends and family know you were alive?” River choked out.

  Her shaky, frustrated voice shredded Spenser’s soul. That’s when he knew for certain this wasn’t a dream. This was real, this was now, and River was in mortal danger.

  “Because, sweet thing,” Andy said, while tightening his grip, “death was preferable to life. My old life, anyway. I was in dire financial debt. A couple of loan sharks had threatened my life, and my ex-wife had promised to make my world hell for the rest of my days. As for friends, they’re fickle and fleeting.

  Even old friends. Duke was obsessed with his lodge and his woman, and Spenser here was obsessed with lost treasures and my woman.”

  “Jo loved you,” Spenser ground out. “She was traumatized by your death. How could you let her suffer all these years?”

  “Suffer guilt knowing she’d called out your name when we’d made love the night before my fall?

  Knowing she’d driven me to drink more than I should have?” Andy smirked. “I have no regrets.

  Meanwhile, I married that native girl. She educated me on the Llanganatis, the history, the landscape.

  She showed me places where the ancient Incas would smelt gold. These mountains are full of trinkets.” He smirked at Spenser. “If you know where to look.”

  “Let me guess,” Spenser said, wishing Kane and his spear-chucking, dart-blowing guardians would show. “You got rich off of those trinkets. Sounds familiar. Valverde married an Indian woman and, after multiple visits into these mountains, became a wealthy man. Sure you’re not borrowing from his history?”

  Andy just smiled. “On the contrary, old friend. I’m going to make history. Unlike all the adventurers and explorers before me, including you, I will unearth the Sun King’s ransom. People will remember me long after they remember some hokey treasure-hunting celebrity, and I will be as wealthy as, well, a king.”

  “You’re crazy,” River whispered.

  “Crazy as a fox,” countered Andy. “I have the first half of the map—compliments of Professor Bovedine and that dead idiot Gator. I have your dad’s journal—”

  “Thanks to Mel?” Spenser asked.

  “I’d applaud your brilliant deduction,” Andy said with a taunting smile, “but my hands are full.” He tightened his grip on River. “Sutherland’s been my ears and eyes in Baños for quite some time. All transactions were made over the phone and he was reliable until sweet thing here got under his skin.

  He went ballistic when Gator’s hired help reneged on the plan and tried to abscond with Ms. Kane. I had to double his pay and promise no harm would come to her in order to get him to obtain further information on her whereabouts.” His cosmetically altered face purpled with anger. “Sutherland’s no longer in my employ.”

  “Did you kill him, too?” River snapped.

  “Didn’t you know?” Andy chuckled. “No. How would you? He should have visited a more reliable doctor. Back to the journal,” he said coldly, and Spenser had no doubt his old friend was indeed mad.

  “Took a little time, but I cracked the code. A lost tribe of noble roots. Interesting reading.”

  “My journal,” River said with more fire than Spenser liked. Don’t agitate him, angel. “Give it back,” she demanded.

  “It’s in my pocket, sweet thing, and, like your addled dad I will gift it to you. After.”

  “After what?” Spenser asked with dread.

  Andy smiled and spoke close to River’s ear. “I also have your camera, which contains a beautifully detailed shot of—”

  “I can’t find the guardians.” Professor Kane pushed through thick foliage. “I don’t understand. I…”

  “They’re dead,” Andy said. “I watched them kill Gator. Watched them carry away River and Spense. I bided my time then…they were no match for me. And no, I don’t feel bad. They owed me. The world owes me.”

  Henry took in the scene. His face burned red. “Who are you?”

  “A ghost from the past,” Andy said. “You may call me The Conquistador.” Spenser frowned. What the hell?

  Henry narrowed his eyes. “As in the Spanish soldiers who massacred innocent Incas in their quest for gold?”

  “Seemed fitting. I harbor the same desires and determination as Pizarro, and you, Professor Kane, are my ticket to glory.”

  Spenser held River’s worried gaze as the two eccentrics exchanged words. Their dialogue sounded like something out of a B-movie adventure. Or something scripted by a ratings-motivated producer like Necktie Nate. He’d give anything if a film crew lurked in the dense foliage, if he and River were the victims of a warped version of a reality show pilot. Anything was possible. Hell, Andy had risen from the dead. Unfortunately, Spenser’s gut screamed this wasn’t staged, but real. Bizarre payback for his obsession with Atahualpa’s ransom. He never should have led River into these mountains. He should have found a way to talk her into returning home. Although his affections were true and his need to protect her sincere, deep down he stil suffered the fever. He still wanted to see the legendary treasure—sweat of the sun, tears of the moon. River had been right not to trust him.

  “You’re holding a gun to my daughter’s head,” Henry said. “Do you mean to bully me into sharing my secrets?”

  “I know your secrets, old man. Read your journal. I also have both halves of the map.”

  “Impossible.”

  “Possible,” Spenser countered, spying River’s 35mm strapped over Andy’s shoulder.

  “I could kill you all here and now,” Andy said. “Proceed to the village on my own. But I fear I would suffer the same fate as Gator and the countless others who ventured too close.”

  “I marvel you even made it this far,” said Kane.

  “Thanks to my wife, rest her soul, I know these mountains well, and, like your guardians, I, too, move like a ghost.”


  “Even if I led the way,” Henry said, “they’d kill us within a mile of the village.” Andy shook his head. “According to your journal, you’re beloved by an elder’s daughter. Amazingly, the high council is not opposed to marriage. You have won their trust, established yourself as a god of sorts.”

  “Not a god,” Henry argued.

  “Still,” Andy said, “you are…cherished.” He aimed his gun at Henry, then quickly trained it back on River. “They will do what they must to protect you,” Andy said, “and your offspring.”

  “They will protect the treasure at all cost,” said Henry.

  “I can persuade them otherwise.”

  Henry fisted his hands at his sides, “I won’t help you.”

  “Then your daughter dies.”

  The air swirled with mist and tension. Henry had indicated earlier that his devotion to his passion was greater than his devotion to River. Spenser could see by the pained look in River’s eyes that she didn’t expect Henry to budge on this matter. At this point, neither did Spenser. He had to make a move. He thought about taunting Andy with lies about Jo, drawing his anger and fire. But what if he took out his anger on River instead?

  Warped revenge.

  “Pity,” Andy said. “I had hoped to keep River alive.

  I had plans. She smells so…sweet.” He intensified the pressure of the gun, shrugged. “Ah, well. You know what they say about best-laid plans. And I can buy any woman, sweet or raunchy, even without the ransom.”

  “Wait!” Henry shouted. “I’ll help you. I’ll lead you to the village and do whatever I can. Just don’t hurt my daughter.”

  River gasped, then burst into tears.

  Relief surged through Spenser. The old man really did love his daughter. Fucking A, Henry. He’d not only soothed River’s soul, he’d bought them some time.

  Still…Spenser didn’t trust Andy with River’s life. Even if Kane got them all the way to the village, even if they persuaded the tribe to reveal the location of the treasure, no way in hell would Andy allow any of them to live.

  He’d existed the past nine years in anonymity. He spoke of his wife in the past tense. Had he killed her, too? He’d had a hand in Bovedine’s death. In Mel’s and Gator’s and at least two Andean guides’. How many other deaths had he contributed to in his feverish quest?

  “Douse the fire, Professor. Spense, grab your gear.

  My supplies are beyond that tree. You’ll have to tote those, too.” He kissed River’s cheek. “I’ll handle this package.”

  Murderous thoughts ran through Spenser’s head, but instead of acting rashly, he spoke reasonably.

  “She’ll never make it. Relying on my memory and the X on the map, we’ll have to ascend another hundred or so feet to reach the village. Am I right, Henry?”

  “Yes,” he gritted out.

  “River’s suffering from AMS,” Spenser went on. “Remember what that feels like, Andy?” The man frowned. “She’ll make it. I have experimental medication in my pack. It’ll alleviate—”

  “If she doesn’t pass out first,” Spenser said, willing River to read his mind. “She looks like shit.”

  “I feel like shit,” she whispered in a thin voice. “Feel like…” She went limp. Dead weight that caught Andy off guard.

  Spenser lunged.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Somewhere in the jungle…

  RIVER DRIFTED FOR A LONG time. Eternity. A soothing, silent blackness that later gave way to twisted images of betrayal and revenge. When she could stand it no longer, when she had the strength, she clawed her way through the hazy fog. The closer she got to clarity, the more she panicked.

  Danger!

  She bolted upright with a gasp and almost retched from the pounding in her head. “Easy, angel.” Spenser!

  He was lying on the ground next to her, looking dazed. His face was bruised and cut, his shirt torn. A moment of sheer panic registered in her brain.

  Andy.

  Heart pounding, she inspected Spenser for a bullet wound. “Are you all right?” she rasped, throat thick with worry.

  “Feels like my worst hangover times twenty. What about you?”

  “Sluggish. Sore.” Knowing he’d escaped severe injury, her anxiety kicked down a notch. Her pulse, not so much. She glanced around. No Henry, no guardians, no Andy. “What happened to us?”

  “I remember Andy and I beating the shit out of one another, wrestling for his gun. Other than that…” Spenser curled his fingers around hers. “Give me a sec, hon. My body’s not the only thing that’s numb just now.”

  She rolled back her left shoulder, winced. “I think we got tagged with another blow dart.” Spenser grunted. “More guardians must’ve showed. I didn’t see them, but that would explain my draggy reflexes and lapse of memory.”

  River’s own memory was hazy. The last thing she remembered was a gunshot—just as Spenser plowed into her and Andy.

  She still couldn’t believe the friend Spenser had thought dead was alive. Insane, but alive, and obsessed with the same legend as her father. What were the chances?

  Then she remembered more.

  Talk of her father. Of an elder’s daughter. Of marriage. Is that why Henry was so willing to turn his back on modern civilization. For love?

  The notion confused and intrigued River. Was Henry back with the tribe? Back with his woman? Had he seen River safely to this point, or had he entrusted her solely to the guardians? It shouldn’t matter, but it did. She shoved the troubled and complex feelings aside.

  She focused on Spenser and Andy beating the hel out of one another, a struggle for his gun. Also troubling.

  She remembered blood.

  Andy’s blood.

  She remembered another gun.

  Spenser’s gun.

  Only it was in Henry’s hands.

  Her eyes brimmed with tears as her memory sharpened. At one point Andy had bested Spenser, pointed his gun at River and… “My dad shot Andy to save me!”

  “With my Beretta. Thank God Henry’s got decent aim. The way Andy and I were tussling, he could’ve winged me instead.” Spenser pushed himself into a sitting position, graced her with a tender smile. “Do you remember what happened seconds before the shooting?”

  “I’ll help you. Just don’t hurt my daughter.”

  Her heart swelled, her eyes burned. “Henry had been prepared to risk his precious secret to keep me safe,” River whispered. She let the tears flow. “He loves me, Spenser.”

  “I think he always has in his own eccentric way.”

  Spenser pulled her against his chest, stroked her hair.

  She clung to him, trying to assemble her scattered memories and emotions. She would have thought the face-off a terrible dream except for the makeshift splint on her wrist and the very real pain shooting up her arm. She took in the surroundings. The trees looked different. The smells and sounds were different. And the sun was shining. “We lost a night.”

  “So I see.” Spenser rubbed the back of his neck. “They really souped up those darts second time around.” He glanced at his watch. “Damn. We were out for over sixteen hours.”

  “Where are we?”

  “Don’t know.”

  Using her good hand, she unlooped her scarf and unzipped her jacket while Spenser reached for her sling bag. It was lying alongside his bulging backpack. He pulled out her GPS, the one she’d lost in the road robbery.

  “I have a headache,” she said. “But I can breathe easier and…I’m not as light-headed. Or cold.” In fact, she was burning up.

  “No wonder. We’re at twelve thousand feet.”

  “What were we at before?”

  “Fourteen and a half at least.” He thumbed more coordinates. “Unbelievable. Somehow they transported us from there to here in less than a day, and here is as good as home.” He glanced at River, smoothed his hands over her face. “You’re feverish.”

  “I’m fine.” A knee-jerk response. She didn’t want him to think her weak.
At the same time this was a possible problem she was unable to ignore. “My wrist is throbbing and my arm hurts. Bad.”

  “We need to get you to a doctor,” Spenser said calmly. “Can you walk?” She was still feeling the effects of the tranquilizer. But she’d zip-lined on coca tea and scaled a flipping muddy jungle wall under the influence of a mysterious seed juice. Surely she could conquer flatland on the remnants of…whatever. “A straight line might be asking too much, but, yes,” she said, allowing him to help her to her feet. “I’m mobile.”