“Google it,” Antonio said. “Interesting theory. If I thought there was a chance it was true, I’d be searching, too.”
She sipped juice to soothe her constricted throat. “So, you think it’s a myth.”
“It is safer that way.”
An odd choice of words. “Wait,” she called when he turned to leave. “Do you know what maldición means?”
He angled his head, processed. “I think so, sí. Cursed.”
River’s stomach twisted. “As in a bad word?”
“As in evil.”
SPENSER’S TEMPLES throbbed. He’d been blocking memories and emotions ever since he’d pulled into Baños. He’d joked with Gordo about facing his demons, but that would require wrestling with a shitload of suppressed guilt. He wasn’t sure if he could do that without getting drunk and staying drunk for a good week. Right now he needed to be sober and focused. He’d be damned if he’d lose another person to the curse and, the way things were going, River Kane was a prime candidate.
With the exception of the half hour he’d spent with Cyrus Lassiter, a crusty treasure hunter with a tarnished reputation, Spenser had been watching over the blond waif all day, albeit from a distance. He’d lost count of the times she’d washed her hands with sanitizer, doused herself with bug spray and slathered on sunscreen. Instead of being tuned in to the people—and danger—around her, she was obsessed with her skin and location. She’d constantly referred to a street map and her GPS unit, even though she’d only navigated the core of town. From what he could tell she was a mass of phobias, but that didn’t stop her from trying to locate her dad.
Much to Spenser’s disappointment.
Cyrus had confirmed his suspicions regarding the eccentric professor. He’d also supplied another troubling bit of information, one that had prodded Spenser into risking River’s wrath by revealing his presence.
He waited until she finished her meal—God knew the woman needed fortifying—then joined her as she left the café. She was so immersed in the map, she didn’t even sense his approach. Christ. “We need to talk, angel.”
She jumped at the sound of his voice, then froze in her tracks. A dozen emotions flitted across that pale face. Surprise, relief, anger, worry and was that…?
Hell, yeah.
Desire.
He pondered that last one while she zoned in on anger.
“What are you doing here?” she snapped.
“Why did you lie to me?”
“What?”
He hadn’t intended to provoke her, but damn he was pissed. Pissed he was attracted to her. Pissed she was flirting with danger. Pissed she’d put him in a shit position. Royally, irrationally pissed. “You said you were taking the bus to Lima.”
“No, I didn’t. I only said I was taking the bus. I didn’t specify where.”
He let that one slide. “You told Kylie and your assistant that your reason for flying to South America was to reunite with your ex.”
“It’s on my agenda.”
Damn. “David’s in Peru.”
“I know where he is, relatively, and I know where I am.”
“You damn well should,” Spenser said, frowning at the map in her hand. “You’ve consulted that map or your GPS every ten feet.”
“I can’t believe you’ve been spying on me!”
“Watching over you.”
“You said you’d go back to Peru.”
“I said I wouldn’t force my company on you.”
“What do you call this?”
“An intervention.”
She narrowed those mesmerizing green eyes and looked at him like he was crazy. “Listen, you—”
“Save it.” The longer he stood here, soaking in her fragile beauty, breathing in goddamned Skin So Soft Bug Guard (he’d know that laundry-fresh scent any where) and coconut sunscreen, the more his temper spiked. Along with his libido. “You’re in over your head, angel.”
Her milky skin flushed red. “Officer!”
Spenser looked over his shoulder, spotted the uniformed policía standing on the corner. “Don’t do it, River.”
She arched a stubborn brow.
He met her obstinate glare. “I have news about your father.”
She visibly faltered.
“Is this hombre bothering you, señorita?” the cop asked in broken English.
“No, I…” She tore her gaze from Spenser, smiled sweetly at the approaching lawman. “I just wanted to thank you for…keeping the streets safe.”
Spenser translated for the man, added his own praise, then guided River toward his jeep.
“This better be good,” she gritted out.
“Actually,” he said, fighting the mystic pull of the Llanganatis, “it’s bad.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
RIVER BRACED HERSELF for the worst as Spenser steered his jeep toward the outskirts of town. He had news about her father. Bad news. “I never mentioned Henry to Kylie. How do you even know who he is?”
“You don’t want to know. You won’t like it.”
She didn’t press. It didn’t matter. Had she risked everything for nothing? Was she too late? Had Henry truly sacrificed his life for some stupid Inca gold? She blew out a breath and blinked away tears. Losing control wouldn’t do. Instead, she fostered anger. Her father had had the gall to send her his journal, to write that letter, to say he loved her…only to die?
Selfish to the end. “Bastard.”
“I’ve been called worse.”
River noted the stern-faced man behind the wheel. Today he was wearing aviator sunglasses and a variation of the clothes he’d worn last night. Brown cargo pants, trekking boots and baggy layered T-shirts. Sloppy never looked so good. She wished he had hair growing out of his ears or a fat wobbly wart on the tip of his nose. Anything to make him less attractive. She felt shallow and guilty for being so enamored with his rugged good looks. At least he was annoying today. Near as she could tell he’d left his good humor in Quito. “I wasn’t talking about you. Although, if the shoe fits…”
“Guess you’re still not yourself.”
“What?”
“Last night at the airport, you apologized for being rude. Said you weren’t yourself.”
The observation chafed. She was kind and tolerant by nature. And when she had to, she could fake nice to even the nastiest people. A quality that benefited her since she was in a people-pleasing business. But with Spenser… She blamed her lack of good humor on the extraordinary circumstances, most of which she couldn’t share.
“You followed me against my wishes, snooped into my history and now you’re about to share bad news.” River hugged herself against a chill that had nothing to do with the mild temperature. “Forgive me if I’m not feeling warm and fuzzy toward you, McGraw.”
He glanced sideways. “At least you dropped the mister.”
The chill gave