“I’d like a chance to redeem myself,” Gator said. He didn’t mind groveling. Not with a fortune at stake.
The Conquistador eyed the knife, the partial map.
Gator braced himself for another attack, but then his employer’s cell phone rang.
“Talk to me,” he said into the phone, then angled away as he listened. “Kane’s daughter? Are you sure? Is she alone?” His shoulders tensed. “I’ll be damned.” He exchanged muffled words, then disconnected. He faced Gator and smiled. “This is your lucky day.”
CHAPTER SIX
Baños, Ecuador
Altitude 5,905 feet
RIVER’S HEAD SPUN and it wasn’t due to altitude sickness.
No one knew anything about her father’s whereabouts. More accurately, no one had even heard of Professor Henry Kane. Either they were lying or she’d asked the wrong people.
Henry had mentioned Baños in his journal. He’d mailed the package containing the journal from Baños. Gateway to the Amazon—a prime location for stocking up on supplies before setting off on a jungle expedition. He’d definitely been in this quaint, colorful town. Yet, when River had flashed his picture at the post office, no one recognized him.
“What about a package addressed to Maple Grove, Indiana, in the USA?” she’d asked, adding the date of the postmark to give them a time frame. Ben remembered everything about the mail he carried and delivered. He’d definitely remember a package from a foreign country. It’s not like Baños was a sprawling metropolitan city. It was pretty dinky, not a whole lot larger than Maple Grove. But no one remembered the package.
Disappointed, she’d moved on to a few cheap hotels, bars and restaurants. Her father was always broke or close to it. He wouldn’t hang out anywhere upscale. Even though he had his head in the clouds, Henry Kane was a down-to-earth man.
Frustrated, she grabbed a vacant seat in an outdoor café. It was late afternoon and she hadn’t eaten since breakfast. She was in need of sustenance and a few moments to gather her thoughts. Although the café served Ecuadorian fare, the waiter was Italian and, luckily, spoke fluent English. That had been another problem for River in her search for her dad—a language barrier. Although there was plenty of written information available in English—maps, menus, signs—the locals she’d encountered didn’t speak her native language well. Either that or they pretended not to speak it well. She’d gotten the distinct impression they’d been annoyed with her and her questions. More than once she’d wondered if Spenser would have made more headway.
Don’t think about Spenser McGraw.
After Antonio took her order, River focused on the scenery rather than the hunky treasure hunter, Bovedine’s funeral or Henry’s well-being. She’d been in Baños, this small town tucked in a lush, humid valley, for several hours. Her breathing had eased at this lower altitude, but she’d yet to adjust to the spectacular view. She was still riding high from the bus trip down.
Ecuador, in the light of day, was captivating.
River had lied when she’d told Spenser she’d opted to travel by bus in order to soak in the scenery. She’d chosen the bus because it had been the only way to get to Baños aside from renting a car or hiring a private plane. She wasn’t keen on soaring over the wild in a puddle-jumper and, even though she had her GPS unit, she preferred to leave the driving to someone who knew the area.
Still, even though safety had been her main motivator, she’d been unable to tear her gaze from the window as the tour bus had whizzed south on the Pan-American Highway.
The bustling city of Quito had soon given way to a rugged landscape, and then eventually to vivid green mountains whose peaks jutted into the clouds. An odd and arresting sight.
Then there were the volcanoes. From what she’d seen so far, Ecuador was a flipping volcanic chain. The Pan-American Highway meandered between the snowcapped wonders on a plateau that ran north to south down the middle of the country. As a photographer, River was drawn to the visual splendor. Unfortunately, she had minimal experience photographing landscapes. She photographed people. She’d felt like an amateur, snapping shot after shot, without her usual practiced forethought to lighting and composition, but she’d been unable to stop herself. She’d never seen a volcano. Today, she’d seen three. Two on the ride down. One here in Baños. The latter, Tungurahua, was the largest and most awe-inspiring because it was active and therefore potentially dangerous. Odd that she had been attracted to danger since landing in South America.
Or maybe it was simply the need to push herself beyond what anyone expected of her. Beyond what her family, and David, believed her capable of.
The longer she was in this unfamiliar region, the more intense her ingrained fears, the greater the need to slay them. Even now she ignored the creepy feeling that she was being watched. She’d had that feeling earlier today. But instead of obsessing, instead of looking over her shoulder, she chalked the sensation up to paranoia. She was out of her element and prone to old issues. She shoved them down and focused on her agenda.
Find Henry. Save Henry. Maybe salvage their relationship.
Find David…and talk.
Closure one way or another in order to move forward.
Antonio returned with her meal. River tore her gaze from the town’s famous basilica and, beyond that, Tungurahua. She took advantage of the waiter’s friendly smile and language skills. “I’m wondering if you can help,” she said. “I’m in need of a translator and guide. Someone who knows the area. Someone who knows the jungle.”
She offered as little information as possible. Just as she’d been doing all day. Henry had insisted she not share his journal with anyone except Bovedine. She assumed that meant the information inside. Not that she’d been able to dissect his cryptic notes, but she was pretty sure the treasure he spoke of was connected to a place or person named Llanganatis. The one time she’d mentioned the word today, the old woman she’d been trying to speak with had scurried away, muttering, maldición. River still didn’t know what that meant.
Antonio flashed a smile that said he got this question a hundred times a day. “Baños is a popular starting place for expeditions into the Amazon rain forest and Andes Mountains. There are several tour companies—”
“I’m not interested in a group tour.” River moistened her lips and tried not to betray the panic whispering through her veins at the thought of navigating a jungle. “I need a private guide.”
The waiter raised a brow. He assessed her petite form and, as David had called them, dainty features.
River sighed. “I know. I don’t look like I’m cut out for primitive situations.” If she had a nickel for every time she’d heard some variation on that theme. “Regardless, I’m on a mission.”
“If I may be so bold, signorina.” Antonio looked over both shoulders before continuing in a lower voice. “In Ecuador, Americans are increasingly targeted for crimes. Robberies and assaults—”
“And worse. I know. I read the warnings on a few travel sites. I’ll be careful.”
“It is just that you are a woman. A very pretty, very—”
“Please don’t say delicate.”
He chuckled. “Ah, sí. Perhaps there is more to you than meets the eye.”
She was counting on it.
“Check with the tourist center, two blocks down on the right,” he said. “If not there, try El Dosel. It is a popular drinking hole for guides and treasure seekers.”
“Treasure seekers?”
Beware of the hunters.
River forked her rice and chicken and tried her best to look nonchalant.
“Professionals