Читать книгу Into the Wild - Beth Ciotta - Страница 12

NO SLEEP FOR THE WEARY. No sleep, or at least restful sleep, for those fostering sinful thoughts.

She should have been obsessed with Henry’s unknown whereabouts. Or contemplating Professor Bovedine’s untimely death. Or analyzing her wrecked wedding. Instead, River had spent a fitful night fixated on Spenser McGraw.

Why did he have to be so nice? So confident and capable? So…gorgeous?

When she’d spotted him on that billboard last fall, she hadn’t given him a second thought. First of all, she only had eyes for David. Second, Spenser’s profession was a personal turnoff. Third, driving by at fifty-five miles per hour, all she’d seen was a cocky-looking pretty boy. A less contrived photo might have made a stronger impression. Whoever had made the decision to airbrush the character and ruggedness out of Spenser McGraw was an idiot. Why mess with perfection? It wasn’t just his handsome face. It was the entire package. As. Is.

The man exuded a raw sexuality that set her nerves on edge. He’d burned an indelible image into her brain. Teased her artistic nature. She ached to photograph him…naked.

He was a prime example of masculinity. A perfect gentlemen. In hindsight, even his bossiness was sexy, in a caveman me-protect-you kind of way. For some reason it was only easy to take exception in the heat of the moment. In hindsight…he’d been trying to help and she’d been overly sensitive.

She’d never met anyone like him. Or at least she’d never been affected by a man like him. He was dangerous. She didn’t go for dangerous. She went for safe. Stable. Dependable. Men like David…before he’d flipped out.

Still, she couldn’t remember ever looking at David and aching for him as she ached for Spenser. As much as she tried to rationalize the visceral encounter, she couldn’t dispel it.

Feeling weirdly unfaithful, she’d finally dozed off after recalling a dozen special memories involving David. Their first date. The first time they’d kissed. The first time they’d made love.

Yet, she’d dreamed of Spenser.

After waking and showering, her mind was still crowded by thoughts of the six-foot hunk of walking charisma.

That wouldn’t do.

She was in love with David. Yes, he’d crushed her when he’d jilted her, but he hadn’t obliterated her tender feelings. They’d dated for three years and had been engaged for two. Two weeks ago, she’d almost been Mrs. Snodgrass. She didn’t even mind taking his god-awful last name. That’s how much she loved him. She was certain—when he worked through this life crisis or whatever it was that caused him to choose an old college buddy and an adrenaline-charged jungle expedition over her and their romantic honeymoon cruise—he’d realize his mistake. They were good together. They belonged together. As soon as she found Henry and sorted through this treasure mess, she’d find David and sort through their mess. This trip was about closure and new beginnings.

As for Spenser…well, it wasn’t like she was ever going to see him again.

Two hours, a banana muffin and three cups of coffee later, River ventured out of the hotel and hailed a taxi for the Terminal Terrestre. She attributed her rapid breathing to the altitude and not an impending panic attack. Even though she felt like an alien in this bustling foreign city, she wasn’t lost. She had her cell phone, her GPS unit, paper maps and, most importantly, a plan.

Next stop Baños.

On the trip south, she’d either study Henry’s journal or catch the shut-eye that had eluded her last night. She would not think about Spenser McGraw.

“WHY WOULD SHE go to Baños when her boyfriend’s in Peru?”

“Your guess is as good as mine, Gordo. I called Kylie hoping for a clue. She didn’t have one, but said she’d contact River’s assistant. I’m still waiting for the callback.” Spenser popped a Tylenol and downed it with a swallow of Inca Kola, his South American soft drink of choice. His sister’s huge favor had turned into a massive pain. He still couldn’t believe his shit luck.

“Are you absolutely positive the bus she got on is bound for Baños?”

“Unfortunately.” He’d been waiting outside the hotel in his rented jeep when River had exited right on schedule. Last night, in her attempt to assure him she was prepared and capable, she’d mentioned she’d booked a nine a.m. bus out of town. She didn’t mention her destination. He didn’t figure Peru. But he didn’t figure Baños. Of all the damned towns.

“You’re not following her, are you?”

“I don’t have a choice.”

“But you haven’t been in Baños since—”

“I know.”

“You said you’d never—”

“Goes to show.”

“Never say never. Still…”

Spenser adjusted his Bluetooth headset while passing a slow-ass car in order to keep the tour bus in sight. He’d been following at a discreet distance for the last hour. “I promised Kylie I’d look out for this woman.”

“Yeah, but Baños? Are you sure about this, Spense?”

He quirked a mirthless smile. “Maybe it’s time to face my demons.”

“Maybe I should fly up and help.”

“Hell, no.”

“If I didn’t know your history, I’d be insulted.” After a thoughtful pause, Gordo added, “What if I promise not to catch the fever?”

Spenser flexed his fingers on the steering wheel. Just talking about this made him uneasy. “You’re a treasure hunter, Gordo. Of course you’ll catch the fever.”

“Not if we don’t go into the Llanganatis.”

The name taunted him, called to him. Instead of glancing at the formidable mountain range to his left, Spenser stared straight ahead at an exhaust-belching bus. “Did you dig up any more info on River?”

“If you don’t want me to join you, just say so.”

“I did.”

“Right.” Gordo blew out a breath. “Let me just say it’s hard to dig up dirt on a squeaky-clean person who leads a low-profile life. These days most people belong to some social network—MySpace, Facebook, Bebo, Twitter, LiveJournal. Not River Kane. Aside from the website for Forever Photography, she has zilch Internet presence.”

Spenser had discovered the same thing last night when he’d used a computer at an Internet café. “Kylie said she’s a private person.”

“Maybe she’s one of those technophobes.”

“Don’t think so. Last night in the taxi, she checked text messages on her cell and thumbed coordinates into a Garmin Colorado.”

Gordo whistled. “That’s a pretty advanced GPS unit.”

“Mmm.” Spenser signaled to make a turn when the tour bus veered off the main highway and headed for the entrance of the Cotopaxi Volcano National Park. Miles back it had stopped at the Pasochoa Volcano reserve—another tourist hotspot. He wondered if River would disembark to stretch her legs and take a few pictures as she had before. He hoped so. He felt better seeing her, knowing she was safe and managing the altitude. Although she still looked weary and pale, at least she didn’t look like she was going to faint.

Just like before, Spenser parked a safe distance away and watched several tourists stream off the bus, including—thank you, Jesus—River. After nodding to the man who handed her down, she veered off and squirted liquid sanitizer into her palms.

“So she’s not a technophobe,” Gordo said.

“No, but she might be a germaphobe.” Between last night and today, Spenser had watched her apply that hand sanitizer at least a dozen times. “She’s obsessive about washing her hands. Every time she touches something or someone.”

“Maybe she’s worried about catching a tropical disease. You said she’d never been to South America. Who knows what misconceptions she has about yellow fever and malaria?”

“I’m sure she did her homework.” She’d made a point of letting him know she’d researched and prepped for this trip even though it had been spontaneous.

“Speaking of homework, since I couldn’t find much on the Internet, I e-mailed a friend, a P.I. who has some shifty ways of obtaining background information.”

“And?”

“I’ve been waiting to hear back and, lucky you,” Gordo said, sounding distracted, “I just got an e-mail.”

“What’s it say?”

“Hold on. I’m reading.”

Spenser massaged the back of his neck and watched as River photographed the distant slopes of the Cotopaxi Volcano. She was so intent on her subject, she didn’t notice various men looking her way. Even though her attire was far from provocative—cargo pants, crew-neck T-shirt, denim jacket and a looped scarf—she was a damned beautiful sight. Ivory skin, golden curls, wide green eyes. An angelic aura that drew some devilish attention. Spenser tensed when one of the men approached. He couldn’t blame the guy for wanting to make time with River, but if he laid a hand on her…

“Not a lot here,” Gordo said, “but it’s interesting. I’ll forward it to you so—”

“Hold on,” Spenser said. “I’ve got an incoming call.” He thumbed over. “Morning, kitten. What have you got?”

“Not much. I heard back from Ella. She said River got a package the day before yesterday. It was postmarked Baños, Ecuador. Knowing River’s ex was in South America, Ella assumed it was from him.”

“What was in it?”

“Don’t know. River wanted to open it in private. But Ella said it felt like a book. Less than an hour later, River called Ella and told her the same thing she told me. That she was flying to South America to get back the man she loved.”

Spenser flexed his hands on the wheel. A decent night’s sleep hadn’t cured him of his infatuation. Knowing River pined for the guy who’d dumped her made his balls twitch, and not in a good way.

“If the package was from David,” Kylie went on, “why did River tell me David was in Peru?”

“Don’t know, hon.” He watched as River sidestepped the touch of the man who’d been speaking with her for the last three minutes. When she turned to leave, the creep made a lewd gesture to his friend. Spenser reached for his door handle, then eased off. Get a grip, McGraw. “Listen, I gotta go, Kylie. Gordo’s on the other line.”

“Promise me you’ll look out for River.”

“I already did.”

“Yes, but that was before you knew you’d end up in Ecuador. I know this can’t be easy, Spenser, but—”

“I promise.” Not wanting to have the conversation, he said goodbye and transferred over to Gordo. “What’s the scoop?”

“All I can say is, this is one fricking small world.”

Bothered by the surge of jealousy he’d just experienced, Spenser snapped at his friend, even as River hotfooted it back onto the bus. “Spit it out, dammit.”

“River’s dad.”

“What about him?”

“He’s Professor Henry Kane.”

Spenser frowned. “Our Professor Henry Kane?”

“Looks like.”

They’d crossed paths with the eccentric archaeologist three years ago. They’d had dinner and drinks in a desert cantina. He hadn’t mentioned a daughter. Then again, Kane had talked of nothing but the Seven Cities of Cibola. The man was obsessed with legendary treasure.

Llanganatis.

Baños.

“Shit.”