Free Into the Wild by Beth Ciotta Page B

bed and nabbed a bottle of pain relievers from his backpack. “Kylie see eye to eye with you on this?”
    â€œShe wants you to let go and move on.”
    â€œBut she doesn’t want me to trek into the Llanganatis.”
    â€œHell, no.”
    Spenser washed down the tablets with a swig of Inca Kola. He opened the window and breathed deep. Bittersweet memories swirled along with the cool air and salsa music.
    He thought about River, acknowledged another kind of ache.
    He wanted to move on.
    â€œIf I go,” he said to Jack, “there better be a wedding to attend when I come back.”
    â€œNothing would keep me from marrying your sister. Again.”
    Spenser grinned. “I’ll be in touch.”
    He disconnected just as another call came in.
    Cyrus Lassiter.
    The crusty treasure hunter had promised to call ifhe remembered anything more about Kane and his expedition.
    â€œMore news on the professor, Cy?”
    â€œNot exactly,” the treasure hunter shouted over lively background noise. “This is about his daughter.”
    Spenser tensed.
    â€œI’m at El Dosel,” Cy said. “And so is she.”

CHAPTER NINE
    R IVER COULDN’T DECIDE what had been riskier, climbing over her hotel balcony to the next balcony, then to the next two over, knocking on a stranger’s sliding glass door and exiting into the hall through said stranger’s room or…entering a bar on her own, a bar in a foreign country, a seedy bar patronized, as far as she could see, exclusively by men.
    Her body vibrated with nervous adrenaline—a weird sort of high—as she assessed the boisterous, crowded room.
    El Dosel was a smoky, dimly lit, testosterone-charged hole-in-the-wall. Taking in the decor, which could only politely be described as rustic, she reminded herself she wasn’t here for the ambiance. Or even the drinks. She was here to find a guide. According to Antonio, the waiter she’d met earlier today, El Dosel was the local watering hole for tour operators and treasure seekers. Telling one from the other was impossible. But she was determined to find someone who would help her locate Henry.
    That someone would not be Spenser McGraw. She’d never met a more infuriating, chauvinistic control freak.Booking a hotel room across from hers? Following her every move? The man was practically stalking her.
    Yet she was sexually attracted to him. Fiercely attracted.
    Talk about twisted.
    A purely shallow attraction, she assured herself. One that could be managed. Every time Spenser popped into her head, she kicked him aside with thoughts of David. Accommodating, sensible David—before his meltdown.
    Dredging up the confidence and calm she used when speaking with potential clients or anal-retentive wedding planners, River skirted a few tables and moved to an open spot at the end of the bar.
    The bartender, a swarthy, rail-thin man with a pencil mustache greeted her. Sort of. “American?”
    River sighed. “Oh, good. You speak English.”
    â€œAre you lost?”
    â€œNo.” The mere thought struck fear into her heart. She hugged her sling pack containing her GPS and map.
    â€œI don’t want any trouble. You,” he said in an accented voice, “are trouble.”
    River practiced her superior people skills. She smiled. “I’m sorry. I didn’t catch your name.”
    â€œAugusto.”
    â€œAugusto, I’m looking for a private guide. I was told I could find one here. Could you please point me toward a reliable, English-speaking, trustworthy, inexpensive guide?”
    He smirked. “You ask much.”
    â€œI’ll settle for someone who knows the Andes like the back of his hand, speaks broken English and won’t cost me a fortune.”
    He pointed out a half dozen men.
    After thanking him, River moved toward the least grungy and intimidating of the six. He was enthusiastic…until she mentioned