Into the Wild by Beth Ciotta Page B

didn’t know where to start and the murdering burglar didn’t know where to finish. That’s if he went looking. Her mind raced with a dozen scenarios.
    â€œRiver?”
    â€œSorry, I… Sorry.” She snapped back to the conversation, glad to see Mel’s eyes were on the road, although surely he was listening. Not that he knew what or who she was talking about. “Do the police have any leads?”
    â€œNone,” the housekeeper snapped. “For a bungled burglary, the criminal was quite meticulous. I overheard one of the detectives lamenting the absence of fingerprints. Although the investigation is still ongoing.”
    â€œYet they allowed you to search for the, um, mail?”
    â€œThe police asked me to inventory the premises and to list anything missing. As far as I could tell, the thiefsnatched a few small icons and your dad’s package. Professor Bovedine must have interrupted him before he could steal more. Then, well, you know what happened next.”
    Knowing and believing that poor, kind Professor Bovedine was dead were two different things. River glanced at the passing scenery. The formidable mountains and wild terrain. Her Aussie guide. Everything seemed surreal.
    â€œI have to run,” said Mrs. Robbins, choking off new tears. “If I learn anything more, dear, I’ll call.”
    River thanked the woman then disconnected. All she could think was, what if it wasn’t a bungled burglary? What if the criminal went in looking for Henry’s package? What if he killed Bovedine on purpose—one less man standing between him and a legendary fortune. Sick to her stomach, River dug through her sling pack for an antacid tablet.
    â€œYou okay?” Mel asked as she chewed the chalky pink stuff.
    â€œA friend passed away.” He’d learned at least that much from her phone conversation. “It’s…upsetting.”
    â€œSorry, doll. If you want to talk—”
    Her phone rang again. River answered without looking, thinking Mrs. Robbins had had an afterthought.
    â€œI don’t appreciate being lied to.”
    Spenser. “I don’t appreciate being used,” she gritted out. The urge to punch something, preferably him, was overwhelming.
    â€œWhere are you?”
    â€œNone of your business, McGraw.”
    The man next to her frowned. “If you don’t want him to know where you are,” he said in a low voice, “hang up.”
    â€œChrist,” Spenser said. “Don’t tell me you’re with Mel.”
    What the…? Did his resourcefulness include super-hearing? “I’d be lying if I told you that,” she snapped, hoping to wound the celebrity’s bloated ego. No doubt he couldn’t believe she’d chosen Mel over him, especially after what he’d told her about Mel and Gerry’s penchant to share. Only Gerry wasn’t here. Just Mel, and so far, he seemed pretty nice.
    â€œDammit, River—”
    She hung up.
    Mel grunted. “McGraw’s an ass.”
    She didn’t argue. She stuffed her phone in her sling pack, undid her seat belt and wiggled around to pull her camera from her rolling bag. She needed a distraction. Something to cool her temper. Every time she thought about Spenser, his kisses, his betrayal, her blood pressure spiked. Coupled with the anxiety of finding Henry with only half of the map, of traipsing into a remote, dangerous region alongside a man she didn’t know but had to trust… River shoved away her mounting fears and focused on the scenery. Capturing the right image while traveling at a high speed—Mel was still hauling ass—would be a challenge. Plus, the natural lighting was uninspiring. Not sunny, not stormy, just bleak gray. Maybe if she changed lenses and used a sepia filter…
    â€œFancy camera.”
    â€œI’m a professional wedding photographer. This camera is my life.” Or at least her means of