The Man from Forever (16 page)

“Brief congressional recess. Pheasant and duck season. The timing couldn't be better.”

“No. I guess it couldn't.”

Fenton studied her for a minute, making her all too aware of what she must look like. She'd made love to Loka twice
yesterday—abandoned and unashamed lovemaking. Her lips still felt swollen. She'd brushed her hair but had been unable to do much to restore bounce to it. And her eyes—her eyes had
that
look this morning. “I take it you're going to show the senator Fern Cave,” she said in a desperate attempt to take his thoughts off her.

“You bet.” Fenton gave her a self-satisfied grin. “It's going to take some stretching of the rules, but one way or the other, I'm going to get him down there with the press. Can't you just imagine it? Shots in newspapers all over the country of Senator Baldwin studying the petroglyphs, crouching over the ferns. If that doesn't increase interest in this area, I don't know what will. In fact—what do you think of this? I've been mulling it over half the night. If he's favorably disposed—and why wouldn't he be if he gets in some good hunting and even better press?—he'll spread the word among his colleagues. I'll work through him, let them know I'm their contact man when and if they come here. Get enough of them interested in this chunk of Northern California so that when it comes budget time, they'll vote to increase the allocation for the lava beds.”

“That's—that's pretty ambitious.”

“I'm just getting started.” When he smirked, it was all she could do not to wipe it off his face. “I'm sure you heard about the restoration they did to the lodge at Crater Lake, how hard it was to get the money allocated. In the end it happened, and that's what matters. Well, the lava beds haven't begun to tap their potential. I mean, look at what they've got, nothing but a couple of cabins like yours and that dinky camping setup. But a lodge—I can just see it! I wonder how big they could make it? What do you think, at least a hundred rooms? There's sure as hell enough land to build it on. Of course they'd have to put in a parking lot and maybe a few more roads, particularly one out to the Thomas-Wright Battlefield. Having to walk out there the way people do now just isn't cutting it. Getting my uncle revved up, that's the first step. And I'm the one to do it.”

Feeling as if she'd been plunged into ice water, Tory could only stare openmouthed as Fenton went on and on about his plans for the lava beds. She nearly interrupted to remind him that just a few days ago he'd seen the lava beds as nothing more than a brief stop in his career. Now, if he had his way, this beautifully wild and serene area would become an overcrowded tourist trap. She had a horrible image of fast-food restaurants and gift shops springing up like weeds.

“I know, I know,” Fenton said at last. “All of this is in the future, but it's got to start somewhere, and I'm the man to get it done.” He swiped at a bee. “I can't believe you're still here. The appeals court has set a date to hear the Indians' objection to what Dr. Grossnickle and the university is planning, you know. I thought you'd have burned rubber getting back to him.”

She hadn't known that—she hadn't talked to Dr. Grossnickle any longer than absolutely necessary this morning. She was about to tell Fenton that she still hadn't completed her exploration of the area when she realized he would never believe that, would see through the lie. Feeling trapped, she said the only thing that might satisfy him.

“Yes, I know I should be leaving, but, well, the truth is, General Canby was my great-great-grandfather. I don't know when I'll have another opportunity to see what his world was like.”

“You're what? No kidding? Why didn't you say something before?”

“Because my coming here is for me,” she said firmly.

“General Canby's great-great-granddaughter.” His eyes took on a speculative look, and she guessed he was trying to think of a way to exploit what he'd just learned. “You can prove that? Not that I don't believe you, but it'd have a lot more impact if it was documented.”

“I just told you, my trip is a personal thing. I want to touch base with what he experienced, try to understand it, have something to tell my children someday. It's no one else's business.”

“You're wrong. Wrong. Wait a minute! Does Dr. Grossnickle know?”

“No.”

“In other words, he doesn't know the real reason you haven't hotfooted it to his side?”

Convinced she was walking into a trap, she could only stare at him. Instead of challenging her, he simply nodded, his eyes speculative, questioning. He glanced at his watch. “Black is going to be here any minute. He called last night, wouldn't say why he wanted to talk to me, just that I'd better not try to dodge him. I figure he'd already heard about the senator coming. Of course he's going to object—I don't have to be hit over the head to know that. But there's nothing he can do about it. It's a free country. I can invite anyone I want. I don't get it, Tory. Why wouldn't you want anyone to know who you are? If you did, I'm sure everyone here would go out of their way to tell you everything they can about General Canby.”

She couldn't tell him that since the first time she'd looked at Loka, she'd been unable to put her mind to anything else. “Maybe I should have,” she said weakly.

“I sure would have. And if I had to cover my tail with my employer, I'd have told him the truth. If that's the truth.”

Wary, she waited Fenton out.

“I'm not saying you aren't who you say you are. However, you've been here for days now, and from what I've seen, you haven't spent a whole lot of time trying to learn more about the general.”

“You've been watching me that closely?”

“You know what I mean. Like I said, if I was you, I'd be digging through old military records, asking for anything and everything the general might have written while he was here. Instead, when I took you into the archives room, all you were interested in was what we had on the Modocs.”

Stomach knotted, she frantically asked herself if there was any way Fenton could know she'd been with Loka. But only she had proof of Loka's existence, didn't she? With a sinking
feeling, she remembered her first conversation with Fenton, when he'd waxed eloquent about the possibilities for exploiting rumors of a ghost warrior. Did he suspect, or know, that they weren't rumors? Had he actually seen Loka—with her?

Belatedly she forced herself to concentrate on what Fenton had just said. She told him that as an anthropologist, of course she was interested in Modoc culture and after seeing the caves where the Indians had been forced to live, her curiosity had only grown. Not once did he take his eyes off her, and she had the sinking feeling she was rattling on, protesting too much. “You're right,” she finally wound up. “I do want to see what's in storage that pertains directly to General Canby. I hope to do that today.”

“Hmm. By the way, you were at your place yesterday, weren't you? Alone.”

Alone.
“What are you talking about?”

“I looked out that way a couple of times. I knew you hadn't left because your car was still here. I kept trying to find time to come out, but yesterday was insane.”

“I imagine it was,” she said despite her dry throat.

“The thing was, I swore I saw someone out there.”

“What?” Hoping to make a point, she glanced back at the cabin. It wasn't visible from here. “How could you—”

“Binoculars.”

The way he said the word, smug and not at all ashamed of what he'd done, she didn't know whether to beg him not to say anything about what he might or might not have seen or pull a bluff. “You couldn't have been as busy as you said you were if you had time for that. What were you doing, spying on me?”

Smiling a little, he shrugged. “I make it my business to know everything that's going on here, especially if I think there's a way I can use something to enhance the park's resources, and my career.”

What did he mean by that? She debated demanding he explain himself, but decided she didn't want to tip her hand by appearing to be too interested in his innuendos. “I'm glad
you told me that,” she said instead. “It gives me the opportunity to tell you as clearly as I can that I have no intention of trading on my relationship with General Canby, and I expect you to do the same.”

“Is that so?” He leaned forward, his smile friendly, his manner intimidating. “Somehow I don't believe you, Tory. You're an ambitious young woman. You wouldn't have gotten where you are in your career if you weren't. Something's got your interest here—something maybe we both know about.”

Don't say a word. Don't give anything away.
“Something?” she asked, hating herself the moment the word was out.

To her frustration and concern, he merely gave her another of his noncommittal shrugs. She might be imagining it. Given her emotional state, she couldn't trust her reaction to anything he said or did, but it seemed as if his gaze had become more knowing, more superior. As if he knew something but wasn't willing to tip his hand, yet.

Loka, be careful!

“So,” he said after too long a silence, “when are you going to start looking at what of General Canby's has been preserved? Or maybe you have other things to do, other places to go today.”

“What do—” As a rough and yet familiar sound reached her, she stopped in midsentence. Looking down the road, she recognized Black Schonchin's old pickup and let out a silent sigh of gratitude. The old Modoc man would keep Fenton occupied for a while, hopefully long enough for her to decide what she had to do—and how much danger Loka might be in.

“Black,” Fenton called out as the Modoc got out of his truck. “You remember Tory Kent, don't you? The anthropologist?”

Black nodded but said nothing. He walked toward them, his gait slow and dignified. Despite her suspicion that Fenton had something up his sleeve, she couldn't help imagining
what it would be like if Black Schonchin and Loka could meet. Somehow, damn it, she had to make Loka realize that he could trust. That he could share his vast treasure of knowledge with someone.

Like her? But because of her, his freedom might be in jeopardy.

Fenton said something to Black about wanting to keep the Modoc council apprised of everything that was being planned for while the senator was here. He certainly hadn't intended to exclude the Indians; he just hadn't seen this brief visit as something that would interest them.

“I'm not a fool,” Black cut in. “If you can possibly turn the lava beds into your own private triumph, you will. I spent last night on the phone with the council's attorney. He's looking into the park's bylaws and standards to ascertain whether we can block you from turning this visit into a media circus.”

Tory wanted to applaud Black for his direct, no-nonsense approach. Although he gave the impression of being a quiet and somewhat backward man, obviously he was anything but. And Fenton was getting that message loud and clear.

Glaring, Fenton sputtered that he didn't appreciate having the Modocs question his motives when he was working day and night to assure that park funding was maintained.

“The only thing you're interested in is what you get out of it,” Black interrupted. Holding up his hand to keep Fenton quiet, he swept his gaze over the horizon. “The spirits of our ancestors have been disturbed. They sense danger to our land. Owl warns of death, as does Coyote.”

“What are you talking about?” Fenton asked, his attention not on Black but on Tory.

“Whites call it a mirage, a trick. But we Modocs know different.
He
is here.”

“He?” Tory managed.

Black barely glanced her way and didn't answer her question. She knew all too well what he thought of her profession. Still, she couldn't pretend the conversation didn't concern her. “You said something about this—this—warrior the other
day.” Again she struggled for a calm tone. “Are you saying you actually saw him this morning? Or thought you did?” she amended, belatedly putting doubt in her voice.

“
He
was watching me this morning. I looked over at Captain Jack's Stronghold as I drove by and saw him. He was waiting for me.”

Emotion rolled through her, briefly making it impossible for her to speak. Loka must have heard Black's truck approaching and deliberately revealed himself. She could only guess at Loka's reason for reaching out to the old Modoc. Maybe her argument had been responsible. Maybe he had decided on his own to risk crossing the bridge from past to present.

“What are you trying to pull, Chief?” Fenton asked. Sarcasm fairly dripped from him. “Wait a minute. I get it. You're going to turn this spirit-warrior business into a big joke, aren't you? Or maybe—” His gaze narrowed. “It's been your people all along. Is that it? You've got some of your men parading around like savages to stir up the visitors? No.” He turned toward Tory, looking confused now. “No, that doesn't make sense. The last thing you'd want is some cheap tabloid showing up.”

The way he was looking at her made her blood run cold. “All this mumbo jumbo is giving me a royal pain,” Fenton said. “Until you've got something concrete, I'll thank you to stop trying to throw your weight around. Wanting Spirit Mountain closed off because it was once considered sacred—you're going to have to give me a lot more than some babbling about seeing a Modoc ghost on it, or anywhere else, before that's going to happen. Wait a minute. Wait just a damn minute. I've got it!” He laughed harshly. “Miss Kent is more than an anthropologist taking a busman's holiday. A hell of a lot more. Go on, Tory. Tell him who you are.”

Knowing what he was going to say, she could only wait. It didn't take Fenton long. “This young lady's related to General Canby. In fact, he was her great-great-grandfather. Maybe there
is
a ghost around because her ancestor killed him.” He laughed again. “What do you think of that?”