“Seventy thousand,” River said in a strangled voice. “Species, that is. More or less.”
He raised a brow. “I’ll assume you’re also aware of the associated diseases. Yellow Fever. Malaria. Dengue.”
“Well aware.” She fought a wave of panic. “I’ve taken the appropriate precautions.”
He studied her with an intensity that liquefied her bones. “When you’re in your hotel room, thinking about whether or not to track your dad, think on this.”
His gaze moved to her mouth and her heart stilled. She dreaded a kiss, ached for a kiss. But he shifted and spoke close to her ear. “There is no vaccination for gold fever. And take it from one who knows, angel. It’s deadly.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
BAÑOS CAME ALIVE at night.
Lively voices and music filtered up from the street and floated in through the open window of Spenser’s third-floor hotel room. He considered stuffing tissues in his ears. He was that desperate to avoid the memories the sounds and smells prompted. Instead, he shut the window and cranked the air. He turned up the television set. He checked his voice mail, pondered the lack of messages from Necktie Nate—what were those execs up to?
He thought about the favor he’d asked of Gordo earlier today. His partner had promised to call as soon as he tracked down the former Andean guide previously associated with Professor Kane. Spenser needed the guide to confirm or deny a story. Gordo preferred playing detective to solitaire, so he’d hopped a puddle jumper south. It had only been a few hours, still…
Spenser dialed his partner, anxious for an update.
No answer.
Ten minutes later, he tried again.
“Do you know how many Juan García’s there are in Lima?” Gordo asked.
“A lot?”
“I said I’d call when I had something to report.”
“Sorry I couldn’t give you more to go on, Gordo.”
“Remind me why I’m doing this?”
“Because it’s more fun than sitting around Cajamarca with your thumb up your ass?”
Gordo grunted.
Spenser closed his eyes and willed away thoughts of River’s desperate determination. “Because Cyrus Lassiter has been known to exaggerate and no one can back him up on this. Juan confided in him and him alone.”
“If what Lassiter told you is true, and if Juan wasn’t exaggerating, then Henry Kane’s raving mad.”
Spenser massaged his temples.
“Helluva thing to break to his daughter,” said Gordo.
“I need verification.”
Silence.
Spenser imagined his partner scratching his beard and then rubbing the back of his neck.
“I’ll find Kane’s guide,” he finally said. “If not tonight, then tomorrow.”
“I’ll wait for your call.”
“Sure you will.” Gordo disconnected.
Spenser tossed the phone on the bed and glanced at his watch: 10:15 p.m. At this hour Gordo was trolling bars, known hangouts for guides and thrill-seekers. By 1:00 a.m. his friend would be three sheets to the wind and feeling no pain.
Sober and miserable, Spenser fell back on his rented bed and stared up at the cracked ceiling. For the umpteenth time in the last five hours, he thought about his outing with River. He’d been a bastard, but he’d wanted her to understand the danger associated with Llanganatis. He hadn’t told her everything he’d learned from Cyrus about her dad’s cursed expedition, because he wasn’t sure how much was true. Cy was a good man, but eccentric. The treasure hunter’s eccentric nature had made him the odd man out. He’d been known to embellish stories simply to garner attention. His take on Kane’s expedition had been troubling. Spenser had wanted to spare River the gruesome details—real or imagined. Even though she played the tough chick, on the inside she was a wary lamb. The dichotomy was a powerful aphrodisiac. The entire time that he’d been trying to warn her away, he’d ached to hold her close. To kiss away her worries. Kissing River was fast becoming an obsessive fantasy.
He closed his eyes and groaned.
Love at first sight was a curse all its own.
The antiquated TV and ineffectual air conditioner droned in the background, along with the muffled sounds of the street. He was blocking memories, craving tequila and damning River Kane when his cell rang.
“What?”
“Nice greeting.”
“What do you want, Jack?” His best friend and soon-to-be official brother-in-law. In truth, Spenser knew what the man wanted.
“I want to know you’re okay.”
“I’m okay.”
“You’re in Baños.”
“So?”
“You swore off that town. Swore off that legend.”
“I don’t care about the legend.”
“Liar.”
“What do you want, Jack?”
“Your sister’s on my ass. About you. About River.”
“River’s fine.” She, too, was holed up in her room. Thinking or sleeping or watching TV, and no doubt cursing Spenser. He’d booked the room across from hers. The two times she’d stepped out, he’d stepped out, too. Both times she’d glared, done a one-eighty and slammed her door in his face. The scent of laundry-fresh bug repellent had lingered in the air, taunting him as keenly as Chanel 5.
“I spoke to Gordo,” Jack said. “He told me who River’s dad is and where you think he might be.”
Shit.
“Are you going after Professor Kane, Spense?”
“I’m going to drive River to the nearest airport and put her on a plane bound for the States.” The sooner, the better. “Then I’m going to get back to business and search for El Dorado. I’ve got a show to film.” He hoped.
“What about Kane?”
“The authorities are aware he’s missing. If they learn anything of consequence, they’ll contact his daughter.”
After a tense pause, Jack said, “You’re an expert on that region, that legend. If Kane used Valverde’s guide or even that other guy’s map—”
“Brunner.”
“You
