Morning Light (8 page)

Searchers on foot in a wilderness area would fan out from a base camp, going only so far before being forced to turn back. With pack animals Clint could carry camping gear and enough food to last several days, enabling him to cover more ground and press ever deeper into the wilderness at a faster clip.

The phone rang just then. Clint grabbed the portable that he kept by the recliner. “Clint here.”

“Hi, son. It's Uncle Hugh. Sorry it took me so long, but there was a traffic pileup on Highway Ninety-seven. Bess needed four hands and two sets of ears there for a bit. She just now got back to me.”

“Did she get the address?”

“Sure did. And it's a lucky thing, too. Loni MacEwen only recently moved to Oregon. A lot of people ignore the thirty-day law and don't get a new driver's license for months after moving into the state. Do you have paper and pen handy?”

When Clint finally knocked on Loni MacEwen's door, it was after seven, and less than two hours of daylight were left. Little Trevor Stiles was in for another long night—if he was still alive. All Clint could do was pack as quickly as possible, load up his horses, and reach the south trailhead in time to ride in at dawn.

From inside the house, he heard a deep, rumbling growl, followed by the soft tap of footsteps. Then came the rasp of three locks being disengaged. After opening the door, Loni MacEwen just stared at him, her hand clenched over the doorknob. Clint couldn't decide who looked less pleased to see him, the lady or her huge yellow dog. The beast was the largest canine he'd ever seen, with a massive head, droopy jowls, and folds of loose skin around its neck. If she wanted a horse, why didn't she just buy one?

“Hi.” It was all Clint could think to say.

Dark circles of exhaustion underscored her pretty blue eyes. She wasted no time on pleasantries. “How did you find me?”

“Let's just say I'm resourceful.”

“What do you want?”

Clint hadn't completely worked that out for himself yet. “I saw the news story about Senator Stiles and his family drowning. Seems to me it's a little too much to be a coincidence, so I dropped by to talk to you.”

“I just took a couple of Valium, Mr. Harrigan. I'm delusional, remember?”

This wasn't going well. Clint cut a hard glance at the dog, which still hadn't stopped growling. “Will he attack?”

“He is a she, and she only attacks disagreeable cowboys.”

Clint guessed he had that coming. He studied the dog for a moment, concluded that the ungainly creature was all growl and no bite, and then returned his gaze to Loni MacEwen. “You're not going to make this easy for me, are you?”

“Should I?”

Clint rarely apologized to anyone. The words
I'm sorry
always caught at the back of his throat. But when he knew he was in the wrong, he at least tried to make amends. “I was a little rude to you last night.”

“A little?”

“Okay, a lot rude. It's not every day a psychic knocks on my door and tells me an outlandish story about a son I don't have and how he'll die if I don't save him. But I'm here now, and I'm ready to listen.”

Loni wanted to close the door in his face, just as he'd done to her last night. Only she couldn't. He was Trevor Stiles's only hope. All day long she'd been pelted by visions of the child. He was still alive and trying to find his way out of the wilderness. Every step he took led him farther away from the river and rescue.

Snapping her fingers at Hannah, Loni drew the door open more widely, silently inviting Clint Harrigan in. He stepped across the threshold, cutting the mastiff a wide berth as he strode to the fireplace.
Flashback.
Just as he had in her vision two months ago, he turned to face her, his booted feet set wide apart, his work-hardened hands resting on his hips. Though he wasn't an exceedingly tall man or brawny by gymnasium standards, he dwarfed the small living room, filling it up in a way that made her feel claustrophobic. As she pushed the door closed, she shot a grateful glance at the open window, which at least let in some fresh air.

Apparently disturbed by Clint Harrigan's angry stance, Hannah growled and moved toward him. Loni dashed forward to grab the dog's collar. Harrigan ignored the mastiff, keeping his dark gaze riveted on Loni. After making Hannah sit, Loni straightened to stare back at him. As had happened in her vision, she felt the cool breeze coming in through the open window, and the scent of freshly cut grass wafted to her nostrils. Down the street somewhere, a dog started barking, and its owner yelled for it to be quiet.

Without preamble, Harrigan said, “I'm going into the Shoshone Wilderness Area to find the boy. I need you to come with me.”

“That's an absolutely preposterous suggestion.”

She started to turn away, but he clamped a hard hand over her arm.

“Look, lady,” he said in that deep, smoky voice she remembered so well. “I'm no happier about this mess than you are. All this hocus-pocus stuff gives me the willies. I'll also remind you that you're the one who sought me out, not the other way around.”

Hannah growled low in her throat, prompting Loni to jerk her arm free of Clint's grasp before her dog grew more agitated. “If I give you the willies, why are you even here?”

“That's a damned good question. I'm a doubting Thomas. I'll tell you that up front. I've never put much stock in clairvoyants.”

Loni folded her arms. “Which prompts me to ask again, why are you here?”

“Because my gut's telling me I should be—and also because I'm taking what you might call a calculated leap of faith.”

“Calculated?”

“There's no way you could have heard about the rafting accident yesterday afternoon. The story didn't go public until this morning. I called and checked to be sure.” He tugged on his ear, his posture and expression both indicating that the discovery troubled him. “So I can only conclude that maybe you are a psychic. Either that or you have an inside source of information.”

At least he was honest. “I do have an inside source of information.” Loni tapped her temple. “It's right up here, Mr. Harrigan. And just for the record, I'm no happier about that than you are.”

He gave her a long study. “Meaning?”

“I never asked to be psychic. I was born this way. Trust me when I say it isn't always fun.”

He nodded as if that made a strange sort of sense to him. “No,” he agreed, “I don't suppose it is, especially not if everyone reacts to you the way I did.”

“People's reactions are only part of the problem. The other part is knowing about things others don't and being unable to do anything. Your little boy, for instance. He is absolutely terrified, and he's in grave danger. In the visions he seems so close I can almost touch him, only, of course, that's impossible. He can't hear me. He can't see me. There's nothing I can do to help him.”

He bent his head, effectively blocking her view of his face with the brim of his hat. “I can't handle that. You saying he's my boy, I mean.” He looked back up at her. “You've been right about everything else, including the fact that I once dated his mother, but I think you're getting your signals crossed about me being his dad. Sandra was one of the most honest people I've ever known. She wouldn't have kept my child from me. I know that absolutely, without a trace of doubt.”

Loni considered that revelation. It told her two things about him: that he was stubborn and that he was fiercely loyal, even to an old flame. Given that she was Scottish and just a little mule-headed herself, she couldn't hold a stubborn streak against him, and she admired loyalty in anyone. It was also gratifying to discover that he had come to accept, however reluctantly, that she was actually receiving signals, no matter how inaccurate he deemed them to be.

“All right,” she conceded. “Maybe I am getting my signals crossed.” Loni knew that wasn't the case, but he'd come three-quarters of the way, and for the moment Trevor's parentage didn't really matter. Bottom line, he was a little boy in desperate need of this man's help. “I'll try to refrain from referring to him as your son again.”

He inclined his head, a brief dip that barely passed for a nod. His body relaxed, and something resembling a smile fleetingly touched his molded lips. “Don't misunderstand. I'd love to have a kid. I just can't bring myself to believe Sandra was capable of that kind of deceit. It didn't work out for us, but that was no more her fault than mine. She was a fantastic person.”

Loni saw grief in his eyes, and she mentally added another check mark to the good. He'd loved Trevor's mother, at least as a very dear friend, and he was shaken by her death.

“I'm sorry,” she said softly. “That she died, I mean. I know it must be hard for you.”

“Yes. Not hard like it would be if I lost a family member, but sad all the same. I can't believe she's gone.”

A taut silence settled over the room. Then he said, “So what else have you seen?” He bent to scratch behind Hannah's ears. The mastiff moved closer to his leg, her brown eyes going blank and dreamy. “About the boy, I mean. Do you have any idea which side of the river he's on?”

Loni searched her memory. “No, I'm sorry. I only know he's using a compass, maybe trying to find his way to a road.”

“Holy Mother,” he rasped. “If he's going in the wrong direction he'll find no road.” When he stopped petting Hannah, the dog leaned happily against his leg. “He could walk for fifty miles.”

Though Loni knew nothing about the area Trevor was in, she'd already reached the same conclusion. “Looking on the bright side, Nana kept him from freezing to death last night. He also has two packs with him. I assume they must have washed up on the riverbank after the raft capsized. Fortunately the food inside one of them—candy bars, nuts, crackers, and the like—is in water-resistant packaging.”

“He'll go through that in only a few days, even if he rations himself.”

“Yes. Especially since he's sharing with Nana, who's as ravenous as he is. On another positive note, the dog caught—or will catch—a rabbit, so I'm praying she'll do that more than once so Trevor won't starve.”

“What do you mean, ‘caught or will catch'?”

“My visions don't come with the time and date blinking in one corner, Mr. Harrigan. I'm seldom sure if I'm seeing something that's already happened, or if it's happening right then, or if it will happen in the future. I also see things out of sequence sometimes.”

A deep frown pleated his forehead. “That has to be confusing.”

Loni wasn't certain whether he was being sincere or condescending. She decided it didn't matter. He was there, and he was listening. “It's like being born with eleven toes. You get used to it.”

He nudged the hat farther back on his head. “You actually see pictures of all this stuff inside your head?”

Loni's visions were more like film trailers, projected onto a 3-D screen, but she saw no point in correcting him. “Yes. When Nana brings the rabbit, Trevor finds a small ax and butane lighter in one of the packs, and he's able to build a fire. Evidently someone has taught him at least a few survival skills. He manages to skin the rabbit and cook it, anyway. He and the dog share the meat.” She remembered something more. “Last night in one of my visions, wolves were howling. Trevor was terrified. He and Nana were inside a cave of some kind. I'm not sure how deep it went. I couldn't see the sky, only a faint glimmer of moonlight at the opening. That may be why the helicopter with the heat sensor has picked up nothing yet, because when they combed the area Trevor was in, he was shielded by thick stone.”

“The heat sensors are a fabulous search tool, but they aren't always a help. Just last fall a boy got lost on a hiking trip, and so far as I know, he was never found.” He rubbed his jaw. “As for hearing wolves, you must be getting your wires crossed again. Coyotes, possibly.”

Loni shook her head. “No, I'm certain it was wolves. They sound different from coyotes. I've watched enough wildlife documentaries to know that.”

“To my knowledge there are no wolves in this section of the Cascades. Wolves were reintroduced to Idaho back in 1995, and a fledgling population has been reported in Washington's northern Cascades, but I've heard nothing of wolf sightings in Oregon.”

“I heard wolves,” Loni insisted. “I don't know how many, but I'm certain there was more than one.”

“You have that much faith in what you see and hear during these visions you say you have?”

“Do you question what you see and hear?” she countered.

He drew his cell phone from his belt and punched some buttons. A second later he said, “Parker, it's Clint. You keep up on the wildlife in this country more than I do. Have you heard anything about wolves in the Shoshone Wilderness Area?” He listened for a moment. “An acquaintance of mine says she heard wolves in that area recently. Do you think that's possible?”

Loni's shoulders stiffened. Clint's gaze locked with hers.