by Beth Ciotta
He traded the GPS for his satellite phone. “Yeah, Gordo. I know. I know. Where are you? Great. Stop bitching. I’ll fill you in later. On my way. ETA fifteen minutes.” River’s mind whirled. Again. “Gordo? Your cameraman is nearby?”
“I asked him to arrange transportation in case I needed to get you out of here quickly.”
“When?”
“The day we left Triunfo.”
She’d lost track of time, but one thing was clear. “You didn’t expect me to make the trek. You thought I’d wimp out or chicken out.”
“I worried we’d run into trouble,” he said, hurriedly guiding her through hacked vegetation. “When Cy went missing and you started exhibiting signs of AMS, I wanted the option of flying you out.”
“Airplanes steer clear of the Llanganatis, don’t they? Too much cloud coverage?”
“Typically, that’s true. Occasionally there are exceptions. Especially with daredevil chopper pilots.”
“I take it you know one of those.”
“Bingly.”
“First name? Last?”
“Both.”
“Bingly Bingly?”
“Keep walking.”
River walked. She contemplated a chopper pilot with two last names. She contemplated the discussion she and Spenser both seemed to be avoiding. Maybe he was trying to get his thoughts straight, his emotions in line. She knew she was reeling. “It doesn’t seem real.”
“I know.”
“But it all happened, right?” she asked as they neared a clearing. “A dead man walking, warriors from a lost tribe stalking, my father—”
“It happened.”
She swallowed hard at his tense tone and less than forthcoming answer. What was he thinking?
Anxious, she whirled and planted her good palm against Spenser’s chest. “Henry shot Andy, right?”
“Right.”
“Dead?”
“If not by Henry’s hand, then probably by the guardians’.”
“But you don’t know for certain.”
“No.”
“So again you’re left with no closure regarding Andy.”
“That’s right.”
“And I’m left with…what? His cryptic letter and one photograph. I lost Henry’s map, the journal, the family photos tucked between the pages.”
“You have the memory of him standing up for you, protecting you,” Spenser said reasonably.
“But I didn’t get to say goodbye. And he didn’t… I wanted… I was hoping… I feel like…like I was cheated somehow. Like I came all this way and… How long was I with my dad? An hour? Two? And I’ll never see him again.” She choked back a sob. “I don’t feel it, Spenser.”
“What?”
“Closure. I still have questions. Unresolved…needs.”
He threaded his fingers through her hair, cupped the back of her head. “You apologized for blaming him for your mom’s death. He chose you over his ‘treasure.’”
“In that moment.”
“That moment has to be enough, River. Let it go.”
Frustrated, she punched his shoulder with her good fist. “I want to let it go. I want to move on. And I will. I just wish… I wanted more.”
Spenser stared down into her eyes, his expression unreadable. He leaned down and kissed her—soft and sweet, hot and desperate.
It felt like…goodbye.
He eased away, squeezed her hand. “Get in the chopper.”
River jerked out of her emotional daze, surprised by the loud whir of the helicopter blades. The whir of the engine. The churning air blasted her as she turned and, prodded by Spenser, moved closer to the whirlybird. Disoriented, she squinted up at the redheaded, scruffy bearded stranger offering her a hand up. “Gordo?”
“River? Wow. You’re pretty.”
She was covered with mud, sweat and jungle debris. She was wearing Spenser’s jeans—several sizes too big, baggy, the hems rolled high. She didn’t even want to think about the state of her hair. “I’m a mess.”
“A pretty mess.”
“River’s got a broken wrist and a fever,” Spenser shouted over the noise. “She’s also suffering lingering effects of AMS and a tranquilizer of unknown origin. Fly her to the best hospital in Quito.”
“You’re coming with, right?” Gordo asked as if reading River’s mind.
“Have to go back.”
“Why?” Gordo and River railed as one.
“It’s personal.”
“Don’t give in to the fever, Spense. Not this fever,” Gordo snapped. “Get in the chopper and let’s get the hell out of here. Necktie Nate called. He’s got an idea for a shoot.”
“So do I.”
River pinned Spenser with anxious eyes. “Don’t go.”
“Bingly!” he shouted. “Got a survival kit handy?”
The chopper pilot jerked a thumb toward the rear seat.
Spenser nabbed an army-green backpack from beneath, then locked on Gordo. “Got your minicam with you?”
“Goddammit, Spense.”
“Give it to me.”
Instantly River thought the worst. She envisioned Spenser risking the guardians’ wrath in exchange for a chance to shout eureka! She envisioned him with a spear through his chest. She nabbed Spenser’s jacket. “Some tales are best forgotten.”
He kissed her hard, then looked over her shoulder at Gordo. “Take good care of her.”
“Take me with you!” she demanded.
“Can’t.”
“You mean you won’t!”
“Sorry, angel.”
“If you do this,” River shouted as he backed away, “if you don’t come with us right now, Spenser McGraw, I…I won’t wait for you in Quito. I won’t wait at all!” He started to back away and her stomach dropped to her toes.
“Wait!” she screamed.
All along she’d known they weren’t meant to be. She’d sensed the end of the adventure would mean the end of their relationship. She was logical and practical, after all. But she refused to let him walk off like David, leaving her stunned and speechless. If this was the end, she’d have some sort of say. “Take this,” she said, pulling off her Inca chakana necklace.
“Your dad gave that to you.”
“And I’m giving it to you. The tree of life,” she shouted over the helicopter’s whir and roar. “A positive talisman, yes?”
“River—”
“Take it, dammit. Wear it.” Even though he was breaking her heart, she wanted him safe.
He looped the Inca gold cross around his neck. “I love you,” he mouthed, then shouted to Bingly, “Take her up!”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Cerro Hermoso Altitude 14,500 feet
IT TOOK SPENSER SIX DAYS to get back to Lake Brunner—twice as long as it had taken to get there with River. The weather had been particularly fierce. A constant mix of rain and sleet hindered his progress.
He’d spent two full days at Brunner’s first camp, socked in by an eerie, relentless fog. Knowing the danger of straying too far when he couldn’t see his hand in front of his face, Spenser had spent nearly forty-eight hours inside his extreme-weather tent—alone with his thoughts.
Lots of thoughts.
On the emotional and physical trek back to Cerro Hermoso, Spenser relived his previous three expeditions. The first with Duke and Andy. The second with Andy and Jo. The third with River. He didn’t suppress a single memory. He embraced every one—the good and the bad. He embraced the fever. Let it burn.
As he navigated the rugged terrain, while he holed up in his tent, Spenser likened the South American Llanganatis to a North American sweat lodge. A spiritual refuge. A place to heal mentally and physically. A place to attain answers and guidance.
Screw the curse. He wanted closure.
When he left here, he was determined to leave with a light heart and healed conscience.
For himself. For River.
This trek was for both of them.
He knew sh
e was pissed off. He knew she thought the worst. When he’d called Gordo to make sure she’d gotten top-notch medical attention, he’d asked to speak with River. She’d refused. That’s when he’d decided the best course was space and silence. She didn’t trust this. Them. And if he was brutally honest with himself, time apart would also clarify and confirm his intentions. Henry had pitched a viable concern. How much was Spenser willing to give up for a lifetime with River—a woman with a Disney time-share and visions of a conventional family?
He immersed himself in the solitude, contemplated the future and came to terms with the past. By the time he reached Lake Brunner, Spenser had conquered his demons. But, like River, he still had questions.
He pressed on, utilizing the map stored on his phone. He pushed, he climbed, knowing all the while the guardians were watching. They’d been watching. For days.
If he’d experienced a crippling accident, forcing him to turn back—he wouldn’t have been surprised. If a spear had pierced his chest, he would’ve been disappointed, but not surprised.
The surprise came in the form of nothing. Nothing happened.
Not when he reached Brunner’s first camp, or Brunner’s Lake or the base of Cerro Hermoso. Not when he navigated the mysterious cloud forest.
Noble intentions drove him forward, but so did the lure of the lost Inca treasure. A battle raged within.
The fever burned and Spenser persevered. “Where are you, Henry?” Spenser was just beyond where he thought he’d spoken with the professor and faced down Andy.
That’s when he sensed them. Spied them. Ancient warriors. A lost tribe. Historical nirvana.
He stroked the Inca chakana looped around his neck. A gift from River. A sign of affection. A woman worth dying for.
He envisioned her angelic face and braced. Felt the sting of the dart and crumpled willingly into oblivion.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Maple Grove, Indiana, USA Altitude 810 feet
“I’VE NEVER BEEN SO nervous in my life,” Ella said as she and Ben loaded the last of the photography equipment into her Ford hatchback. “I hope I don’t blow this.”
“You won’t.” River smiled at her assistant, a woman who’d run the office single-handedly while she’d been in South America. A woman with a natural flair for photography. A woman who’d promised to respect River’s wishes never to discuss her whirlwind nine-day trip. Ever.
“I have total faith in your abilities, Ella. So do Kylie and Jack. Otherwise they would have taken their business someplace else.”
River had returned to Maple Grove two weeks ago, sporting a cast that covered her right hand and extended up to her elbow. She wouldn’t be shooting any professional pictures for at least another four weeks. Kylie and Jack’s wedding was today. They were set on Forever Photography and, after seeing samples of El a’s work, hadn’t balked at her being the chief photographer.
It was a big day for Ella. A big day for Kylie and Jack. But an even bigger day for River.
Today, for the first time since she’d watch him head back into the Llanganatis, River was going to see the man who’d challenged and charmed her. The man who’d rekindled her adventurous spirit and sparked her sensual being. The man who’d crushed her by succumbing to temptation. Part of her wanted to avoid Spenser. She worried her cherished memories would shatter the moment she saw him. She wanted to cling to the good stuff, not the bad. But she’d promised Kylie she’d attend the wedding as a guest, a friend. Plus, though it might hurt like hell, better to have some sort of closure.
I love you.
He’d spoken straight from the heart and broken hers. She wanted to cherish those words, but instead they taunted her. If Spenser truly loved her, he would’ve resisted a chance at his eureka moment.
She’d begged him not to go back into the Llanganatis and he’d done just that. He’d gone back—armed with the map on his phone and Gordo’s minicam. She could only assume he hoped to catch that lost tribe and maybe even the treasure on film. The historical find of a lifetime. She could think of no other explanation for his actions.
“Are you sure you don’t want to ride with us?” Ben asked, as if sensing River’s anxiety.
“The church is forty minutes away,” Ella said. “A cab’s going to be expensive.”
“No worries,” River said. Unable to drive and unwilling to trouble friends, she’d been cabbing it a lot lately, thus Barney, the sole driver of the town’s only taxi service, had promised her a discount. “Now, get going. You need to arrive early in order to photograph the bride and groom preceremony.” River didn’t want to be at the church any longer than necessary. Bad enough she’d have to endure four hours of Spenser’s presence at the reception.
“I know the drill, boss.” Ella swished pink gloss over her lips. “You can count on me,” she said with a wink, then hesitated. “Wish me luck, River.”
“You don’t need it, but, luck.” River hugged the younger woman, then waved left-handed at Ben.
“Drive safe!”
Pulse racing, River moved back inside Forever Photography. She had twenty minutes to kill before the cab arrived. Twenty minutes plus forty to prepare for her face-to-face with Spenser.
She knew he was alive and well because he’d called Gordo to ask about her and he’d been in touch with his sister—who said she’d never heard him sound more jazzed. River read al sorts of things into that. She even watched two episodes of Into the Wild, fully expecting a breaking news special edition, featuring “A Lost Tribe and Atahualpa’s Ransom.”
Instead, she’d seen two reruns, one of Spenser and Gordo in Scotland and another in Tibet. She’d watched Spenser’s every move, inhaled his every word and expression. She’d been entranced by his passion and the wild landscapes. She’d imagined how she would have photographed certain aspects of each quest. She’d imagined trekking alongside Spenser by day and making love at night. She’d relived the Amazon/Andes adventure a hundred times, and although she regretted all the associated deaths, she honestly couldn’t wish that adventure away.
She just wished she’d responded to Spenser’s declaration of love with one of her own. Maybe then he would have gotten on the chopper. Now they had two weeks and two worlds—his and hers—between them.
River scanned the perfectly organized reception area, the framed wedding photographs on the wall.
She silently thanked her mom for her artistic streak, her father for her adventurous streak and her grandpa for her photographic training. And although she was grateful for this studio, she could feel the walls closing in day by day. “I’m capable of more,” she whispered to herself. “I want more.” She started at a firm knock on the door, glanced at her watch. Barney wasn’t due for another ten minutes. Ella must’ve forgotten something. “Why didn’t you use your key?” she asked as she let her in.
Only it wasn’t Ella. Or Barney.
“Oh,” she said.
“Hi,” he said.
Her memories didn’t shatter. They blossomed in her mind, one after the other. Vivid, terrifying, inspiring and wondrous. For a moment River couldn’t speak. It wasn’t solely due to the tidal wave of adrenaline-charged recol ections. It was the heat of the moment.
Spenser in a tuxedo.
He looked…amazing. Dashing and charming, like a cover model for Armani or a movie star glammed up for the Oscars. She thought about the rugged body beneath the refined clothes. She noted the twinkle in his vivid green eyes, the ornery tilt of his mouth.
Her breathlessness had nothing to do with the altitude. Her racing pulse wasn’t due to coca leaves or seed juice.
She was high on love.
Blindsided, she dug deep for the sense of betrayal she’d suffered, for the anger she’d nurtured over the last several days, but all she felt was relief. Relief and joy and a fluttery feeling in her stomach.
“You look beautiful, angel.”
“I have a cast.” What a stupid thing to say.
“A pretty pink cast.”
