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  River spun in a circle, searching for the man who’d taken her backpack. “Where’s Cy?”

  “Brunner’s camp or close to it. Once he hit level ground, I’m sure he booked.”

  “How much farther to that camp?”

  “Another hour.”

  She stared into the fog, her heart still pounding from the strenuous climb and now from the realization that she’d compromised Henry’s trust a second time. First the journal. Now this. Physically, she was so wiped out she couldn’t imagine walking for another hour. But she had to get her camera back. What if Cy snooped?

  Temples throbbing, she turned and saw Spenser pitching some sort of tent. He’d already anchored down a floor—rubber? nylon?—and erected an aluminum frame that he was hurriedly covering with heavy-duty fabric. Her first thought was, how did that all fit in his pack? Second thought: “What you are doing? We have to catch up to Cy!”

  “Within twenty minutes tops, visibility will be zero. We can’t navigate the quaking bogs in dense fog.”

  “Maybe it won’t last that long.”

  “Or maybe it will last all night. Besides, we’re in for another soaking.”

  “But the storm’s blowing over, isn’t it?” River looked up and in answer…

  Splat!

  Splat, splat, splat!

  Her heart sank. They couldn’t walk safely in heavy fog and pouring rain. Plus, it was growing dark. Plus, there were those quaking bogs. What had Spenser likened them to? Marshy mud? Andean quicksand?

  Dammit.

  She moved swiftly to Spenser’s side. She didn’t mind the rain. At least it would wash the mud and guck from her clothes. She even swiped off her hat so her hair and face benefited. But she was concerned about the dropping temperature. What if one or both of them caught a chill? “What can I do?”

  “Get inside.”

  “But—”

  “I need to secure some cables. Other than that, we’re good to go.” He tossed his backpack and the remaining gear inside. He waited for her to follow but she refused.

  “I want to help,” she shouted over the pounding rain.

  Glaring, he relayed instructions and ten minutes later the overall tent was secured and they took shelter.

  River hugged herself as he attended to details. An extreme-weather tent, he’d called it. Waterproof and durable. Effective in high winds and pelting snow. As exposed as they were, on an open stretch of land, high in the mountains, an electrical storm raging—she worried the tent, no matter how sturdy, wouldn’t offer ample protection.

  “Take off your clothes,” he ordered. “You need to get dry,” he said before she could argue.

  By the time she’d stripped down to her panties and bra, Spenser had produced an ultra-padded sleeping bag. “Get inside,” he ordered as he stripped down to nothing. Buck naked, he slipped in beside her. “Go to sleep.”

  “But—”

  “We’re socked in. We’re exhausted. You suffered a fall and we’ve yet to adjust to the altitude. Sleep, angel.”

  Outside the storm raged and the temperature dropped.

  Disoriented and nervous, River closed her eyes and tried to relax.

  Right.

  “I can’t do it. I can’t sleep. I’m beyond exhausted. I’m wired. And…” Scared. Suddenly, sliding down a cliff and landing in a tree seemed like child’s play. What if lightning struck the pole of the tent? What if they got electrocuted? What if the tent caught fire and they burned to a crisp? What if the wind battered the canvas so badly a portion tore away? Exposed to the elements, how would they fair in the drenching rain, wind and cold? What if they…

  “Stop thinking the worst.”

  “I can’t help it. Maybe you’re used to roughing it under extreme conditions, but this is new to me. Not that I can’t handle it, I just can’t pretend like it’s nothing when it could be a huge something. We need a plan. A backup plan just in case—” Her breath caught when his hand slipped beneath her panties.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Redirecting your thoughts.” Spenser pressed his hard, warm body against her, suckled her earlobe and touched her intimately.

  Needing a distraction, needing to release coiled tension, she moved her hips, silently begging for more.

  If they didn’t survive this storm, at least she’d die in ecstasy.

  “What are you thinking about now?” he rasped as he slid a finger deep inside.

  The way he’d taken her from behind in the shower. The way she’d ridden him this morning in bed. The way he’d kissed her on that treacherous cliff.

  Her body quivered, her heart raced. “Infinite possibilities.” CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  The Páramo Altitude 14,000 feet

  LONG AFTER SPENSER had pleasured River into exhaustion and sleep, he lay wide awake. Senses sharp, he held River close as the storm continued well into the night. Cocooned in his extreme-weather tent they were safe from the elements, but possible danger lurked in another form. He couldn’t shake the feeling they were being stalked. Someone had killed for the other half of Kane’s map and here they were alone on the páramo, a pair of freaking sitting ducks. Even though he was armed, he had no idea who or what he was up against. What if they got the best of him? What if River…

  He told himself to stop thinking the worst. If someone was out there, surely he would have seen or heard something by now.

  At one point, the rain stopped and he contemplated venturing outside with his wide-beam flashlight.

  Between the insulated goose-down sleeping bag and their combined body heat, they were relatively warm. Still, a fire would be good. If the fog had lifted, he’d gather tinder, careful not to venture far from the tent. But he worried River would awaken in the dark, alone. He worried she’d freak out, thinking he’d abandoned her. Every time he thought about her, lost and alone in a Mexican jungle, his gut twisted. Fourteen freaking years old. No survival training. No supplies or weapons. That she’d avoided serious injury was a fucking miracle. How in the hell had Kane lost track of her in the first place?

  The more he learned about Professor Henry Kane, the more he lost respect for the man. There were always two sides to a story, but from River’s perspective the man had been a piss-poor dad. Spenser marveled that she’d traveled all this way, braved her phobias and risked her life to save a father who considered her cursed, a father who’d, for all intents and purposes, forsaken her. Then again, River, the angelic-faced, delicately boned lamb, had the heart of a lion.

  Even though she’d suffered a fright and flirted with death, she’d shrugged off the slide down the cliff.

  And before that…

  She’d stunned him with her cool and calm reaction to his leg cramp. It hurt worse than he’d let on.

  He’d been paralyzed with pain. Jo would have teased him for being a wuss. He could hear her husky laugh. “Catch up when you can, pretty boy.” Jo would have pushed ahead. Not because she was cruel, but because she knew he would catch up. Because she had faith in his survival skills, not to mention his drive to find the treasure. Andy’s skills weren’t as honed as Spenser’s. She would have stopped for Andy.

  Spenser’s heart pounded as he flashed back on that doomed expedition. Memories he’d buried kept resurfacing. The guilt was crushing. He wiped sweat from his brow and tried to redirect his thoughts.

  But Jo wouldn’t let up. “I told you he had AMS. But you wouldn’t listen. You wouldn’t turn back.” River, who’d been in a spooning position, turned in his arms and rested her cheek and hand against his chest. “Spenser?” she whispered.

  “Yeah, baby. What’s wrong?”

  “I was about to ask you the same thing. Your heart’s beating so hard and fast, I thought you were having a nightmare.”

  “Close,” he said.

  “Bad stuff?”

  “Mmm.”

  “Tell me,” she said in a drowsy voice.

  Thoughts and images crowded his mind. A month of memories. Some good. Some bad. Some
downright ugly.

  “You said you wanted to move on.” She slid her hand from his chest to his cheek, then smoothed her fingers over his furrowed brow. “Let it out and let it go.” It was pitch-black inside the tent and her face was nestled against his chest. He wouldn’t see her expression when he admitted his sin. He’d feel her disappointment, shock, maybe even contempt. He might even hear it in her tone—if she had anything to say to him. But he wouldn’t see the loss of respect in her eyes. That was something.

  “I’m not up to the full-blown version tonight, angel.”

  “I didn’t give you the full version of my Mexico fiasco, either, but I feel lighter for telling you.”

  “Not that your episode wasn’t traumatic,” Spenser said, “but this is ugly.”

  “Tell me.”

  Spenser held River close, cherishing her warmth and compassion. After this she could well turn cold.

  “Right out of high school, I went into the military. Just four years, but I made two friends for life. Duke, who you met, and Andy Burdett. I’d always had an obsession with lost treasures and Duke had a thing for the Amazon. When we got out of the army, we decided to tour South America for a summer. Andy tagged along. We raised a lot of hell. Had a lot of fun. For the thrill of it we went on a treasure hunt.”

  “Atahualpa’s ransom.”

  “That was my first expedition into these mountains. We were young and cocky and ill-equipped for the trek. We didn’t even make it this far. Got socked in by fog for two weeks. We ran short on supplies, thinking we’d be in and out in six days. When the fog lifted, I still wanted to go on. I had the fever. Not ordinary gold fever. Worse. I burned to lay my eyes and hands on the gold and silver artifacts that had once adorned the temples of the Incan empire. Some say the booty included golden vases full of emeralds. I was obsessed with finding the massive and unique treasure. Figured we could live off the land. I pushed it a day too far and Duke got pretty sick.

  “Making our way back was a little rough,” he continued, “but we’d survived worse in the army. We vowed we’d take another shot at the Inca treasure someday. Only when that day came, Duke was already involved with Lana and knee-deep in building the Jungle Lodge. He’d never been about the treasure as much as the adventure. Just then he was getting his kicks with Lana.

  “Andy and I ended up bumming around Baños for a while. Spent a lot of time at El Dosel hanging out with local treasure hunters and guides, soaking in their knowledge and expertise. If we were going to make a second attempt, Andy insisted we be better informed. Although I think he was more interested in the drinking games than the folklore. That is, until we met Jo.” He felt a subtle tension in River’s body. Did she hear something in his voice, feel something in his touch? Suddenly he was twice as leery about sharing this part of his life. It meant admitting he’d been in love, obsessive love, with another woman.

  “Tell me about Jo,” she said in a soft voice.

  “Joviana Mendez. An expert on Andean culture and legends.”

  “A woman.”

  “Yes.”

  “A smart woman.”

  “Smart and fascinating.”

  “Young and beautiful?”

  He didn’t sense jealously as much as curiosity. “Yes.” He faltered, not knowing how much to share, unsure of how much he wanted to share. He’d never talked to a woman he cherished about a woman he had once…worshipped. River was a first in many ways.

  “You loved her,” she said.

  “I was in love with her. Not sure that’s the same thing.

  Although at the time I thought it was.”

  “Andy fell for her, too.”

  “Perceptive.”

  “Just working the puzzle.”

  In spite of his gloomy mood, he smiled. “Let’s fast-forward.”

  “Wait.” He felt her shift, knew she was looking up at him. “Which one of you did she favor?”

  “She didn’t say at first. Didn’t say for several weeks.”

  “She played you off of one another?”

  He couldn’t see her face, but heard her disgust. “Jo was a free spirit and a flirt. She was also fiercely independent. We were all relatively young and, I’m embarrassed to say, drunk more than sober. Andy, especially, had a weakness for booze.” Duke had once speculated it had contributed to his downfall, but Spenser blamed only himself. As did Jo.

  “Fast-forward,” River said as if sensing she was losing him.

  “Instead of Duke, Jo accompanied Andy and me into the Llanganatis. She’d been on other expeditions.

  She was tough, mentally and physically. Andy and I were a little wiser, a lot better equipped, but still cocky. The trek was more of a professional venture for Jo but, make no mistake, she was as intrigued with the legend as I was.”

  “And Andy?”

  “He was interested in impressing Jo. So was I. Maybe even more so, because, two days into the trek, I realized she had feelings for Andy. Actually, she flat out told me she was in love with him.”

  “But you didn’t give up. You never give up,” River said. “Infinite possibilities.”

  “You’ve got a hell of a memory, angel.”

  “More a blessing than a curse. Fast-forward.”

  “We lucked out the first few days. Great weather. Unusual for this region. We pushed hard. Probably too hard. Or at least too fast. Made it even more difficult to acclimate to the altitude. But Jo introduced us to the seeds and we also chewed coca leaves. We were dealing. Or at least I thought we were. The closer we got to Cerro Hermoso, the greater my obsession. I was certain we’d find at least a portion of Inca gold, if not the lost treasure. In the sixteenth century, a Spanish soldier named Valverde got rich after several visits into these mountains. He claimed he’d located the treasure and before his death crafted a detailed guide for the king of Spain, a work known as Valverde’s guide. Throughout time other explorers claimed success as well. A contemporary, though now dead, Eugene Brunner swore the treasure was located on Cerro Hermoso, buried under tons of mud.”

  “But it was never found.”

  “He never gave up the location.”

  “Brunner’s camp,” River said, working the puzzle.

  “Brunner made this trek more than a few times. He set up a few rustic camps. There’s also a lake named after him—Brunner’s Lake. Or Laguna Brunner. Supposedly the treasure is not far off. Anyway, I kept thinking, if not Valverde, if not Blake and Chapman, Guzmán or Spruce, Brunner and others, why not me?”

  “You had the fever.”

  “A raging fever that compromised judgment. Plus, some arrogant part of me thought that if I found the treasure or any part of it, I’d win Jo’s affections.”

  River squirmed.

  “I told you it was ugly.”

  “I’m just…I’m anticipating something bad.”

  “Jo warned me that Andy wasn’t well,” Spenser plowed on. He had to get this out. His chest hurt. His gut ached. “Hell, we were all suffering headaches and nausea, loss of appetite. But Andy seemed disoriented at times. I thought it was booze. I was certain he had a flask hidden away. Alcohol at high altitudes is dangerous. I was pissed at him for compromising the expedition. We fought. Over booze.

  Over Jo. She expressed fears that Andy was suffering AMS—acute mountain sickness. Severe symptoms include difficulty walking a straight line, confusion.”

  “You thought it was the alcohol.”

  “I thought it was a contributing factor, yes. But that’s no excuse. I should’ve listened to Jo, should’ve turned back, descended to lower altitudes at least a day or two before. But Andy was furious and adamant, swearing he was fine, egging me to keep going. And I was…”

  “Obsessed.”

  Spenser wanted nothing more than to put distance between him and River when he told her the worst of it, but he didn’t want to deprive her of his body heat. His emotional comfort wasn’t worth risking her health. He resisted the urge to pace off his nervous energy. Resisted the urge to sh
ut down completely. He hadn’t talked about this in a long time and each word scraped his throat like a razor blade. Each shared memory cut deep. He’d been talking a blue streak, thinking the faster he got it out, the less painful it would be. But this part…