Free Into the Wild by Beth Ciotta

inhospitable weather and extreme altitude don’t fell you, the curse will.”
    River scoffed. “Surely you’re not superstitious.”
    â€œGo home, River.”
    â€œDon’t tell me what to do.”
    â€œDon’t be foolhardy.”
    â€œIf my assistant heard you say that, she’d bust a gut. I am not, nor have I ever been, reckless. I always have a plan. I’m always prepared.”
    â€œThat GPS in your sling pack won’t help you find your dad.”
    But his journal might. Clutching her bag, she spun on her heel and stalked toward the jeep. “I want to go back to my hotel.”
    â€œTo pack?”
    â€œTo think.” To read. “Thank you for the update on Henry. Thank you for the warnings. When I speak to Kylie, I’ll assure her you were attentive and protective.”
    She didn’t protest when he helped her into the jeep. Anything to hasten their departure. But, instead of rounding to the driver’s side, he leaned into her, his face mere inches from her own. She nearly swooned because of his close proximity, because of the sexy smell of his aftershave, because of the fierce expression on his outrageously gorgeous face.
    â€œAside from the brutal terrain and weather,” Spenser said in an ominous voice, “do you know how many species of insects inhabit the Amazon and Andes?Scorpions, spiders, centipedes and millipedes. Beetles, ticks, fleas. Mosquitoes.”
    Bastard. “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.”
    â€œWell 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
    B AÑOS 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.
    â€œDo you know how many Juan García’s there are in Lima?” Gordo asked.
    â€œA lot?”
    â€œI said I’d call when I had something to report.”
    â€œSorry I couldn’t give you more to go on, Gordo.”
    â€œRemind me why I’m doing this?”
    â€œBecause 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.”
    â€œIf what Lassiter told you is true, and if Juan wasn’t exaggerating, then Henry Kane’s raving mad.”
    Spenser massaged his