Never Cry Wolf Page 3

  “So, I ask him, ‘What could you have been thinking—up and disappearing on me like that? And what’s the big idea of pretending you were so close to your family and all?’”

  Right. Accusations guaranteed to put him on the defensive.

  More sounds, closer this time, raised the hair at the back of her neck.

  Aa-wooo…

  Ar-ar-ar…

  She caught her breath. Howling. Wolves! A thrill shot through her at the idea of actually seeing a wolf in the wild…if not under these exact circumstances. There’d never been an unprovoked attack by a healthy wolf…She knew that from the workshop she’d taken. And yet…another howl set her off again. Though she threw a few nervous glances over her shoulder, she forced herself to maintain the same brisk pace while considering what she would say to Donovan when they came face-to-face.

  “I could be a little more tactful, at least to start. ‘Donovan, you had me so worried,’” she practiced saying in a softer voice. “‘Surely you know I care about you.’”

  Just not enough to accept a proposal.

  Her musings were interrupted by a human bellow. A voice. A man’s voice. She stopped to place it, still some distance ahead. Angry words were uttered low, too low for her to understand…but she thought she recognized the voice.

  “Congressman McKenna?” she called. “Is that you?”

  No answer.

  Then she caught another sound…one barely audible but menacing. Her chest tightened.

  “Congressman—”

  A growl, followed by a shout, cut her short. She ran, digging her boots hard into the snowy path, placing one foot in front of the other until she reached what seemed to be a clearing. Finally slowing, she flashed her minilight around but saw no one. Her neck hair was at attention, however. All senses at high alert, she moved in, turning in a circle, challenging the surrounding darkness with her tiny beam.

  This had to be the place…and yet, Raymond McKenna seemed to have disappeared.

  Even as she wondered what to do next, her heel hit something unyielding. Before she could catch herself, she went down hard. Gasping, she reached out…but her hand didn’t connect with the expected tree stump.

  The obstacle was soft. Clothed.

  A body!

  “Omigod!”

  Even as she jumped back, her light caught the long overcoat.

  “Congressman?”

  Finding it hard to swallow, she shone the thin beam up his torso to his withered face. His eyes were closed…but his throat lay opened and bloody.

  Savaged!

  She clapped a hand over her mouth so she wouldn’t gag. What could have done this to him? Even knowing better, wolf came to mind. She had heard howls… Before she could pull herself together to check for a pulse, a footfall crunching against a crusty layer of snow startled her.

  She fell back, her light beaming up to meet glittering eyes in a wild animal face…

  Chapter Two

  Just then, the moon slid out from beneath the cloud cover. Its silver wash clarifying the threat.

  Man rather than beast loomed over her. A bizarre head covering made from a complete animal skin, possibly a coyote—paws, tail and head intact—protected him to the shoulders. Skins covered the rest of him, as well. His fringed outer garments, all the way down to his soft, knee-high moccasins, were undoubtedly constructed of deer hide. A knife was sheathed at his waist. And secured to his feet were long, narrow snowshoes.

  Looking every bit the eighteenth-century trapper, the menacing stranger leaned down toward her.

  Would he try to kill her, too?

  Assuming he had something to do with the attack on Raymond, she crabbed away from him, the ground icy against her bottom, and marshaled her strength to fight. But the stranger ignored her as he knelt by the fallen man.

  His sharp intake of breath knifed through her. And she wanted to protest as he slipped a hand beneath the congressman’s coat to his chest. Searching for what? Valuables?

  But his hand came away empty and he softly growled, “He’s alive.” Then quickly checked Raymond over for other injuries.

  Relief filling her, she incautiously muttered, “No thanks to you, right?”

  He cocked his head and glared at her in answer.

  She shrank away from him again. His gaze held hers for no more than a few seconds…long enough to make her sweat inside. And to get angry with herself for being so servile, no matter how imposing the stranger seemed to her. Thankful that Donovan’s father was merely hurt and unconscious, deciding to demand that the stranger do something, Laurel nervously licked at her lips. A mistake. The air immediately iced them over.

  Through Popsicle lips, she managed to ask, “Are you going to let him bleed to death, or what?”

  Ignoring her, the stranger took a moment to inspect Raymond’s neck wound, after which he carefully freed the older man’s scarf, filled it with snow and wrapped the impromptu cold pack against the exposed throat.

  No blood had actively pumped from the wound that she could see. Did that mean whatever had savaged his throat had missed an artery? Or that the intense cold had merely slowed down the life-threatening activity?

  “How bad is it?” she demanded even as he slid his hands under Raymond.

  Not a word to her, as if she weren’t even there. With a grunt, he rose, limp body dangling from his arms. He started off, and Laurel hastened to her feet.

  “Hey, Trapper Dan! What are you doing? Where are you taking him?”

  Was he deaf, or what? Laurel wondered when he continued to slight her.

  She scrambled after him, regretting her incautious first words to the stranger. Okay, so maybe she’d jumped to conclusions and he’d had nothing to do with the attack. But surely he could tell she was freaked by the situation. He could make allowances.

  Moonlight now glinted off the snow-covered ground, the silvery blue glow illuminating the area and rendering her flashlight useless. She returned it to her pocket and concentrated on keeping up. Even burdened as he was, the stranger swiftly glided across virgin snow toward a stand of trees.

  Laurel would kill for a pair of snowshoes like his. Her feet kept breaking through the top crust, sinking her to her knees in what had to be two feet of fresh powder. Determined to keep up, she was exhausting herself trying.

  “Hey, wait a minute, would you?”

  But Trapper Dan kept going, through the woods and down an incline until he reached a vehicle. She would have guessed his transport of choice to be a dogsled and team rather than the dark four-by-four parked on what looked to be an unpaved, uncleared logging road.

  The time it took him to open the back, place Donovan’s father inside and remove his snowshoes before climbing in was enough for her to catch up. Panting from the effort—sweating inside her clothes despite the bitter cold—she didn’t bother to ask permission. She quickly clambered into the back where he’d already folded a blanket and was using it as a makeshift pillow to elevate Raymond’s head and torso.

  Silently, they faced each other over the fallen congressman.

  The dome light’s glow afforded her a better look at his face. Sharp featured. A little grizzled, as if he hadn’t shaved for days. Expression grim and familiar somehow…Amber eyes glittering as he inspected her with equal intensity. The oddest sensation filled her…as if he were able to see beyond her eyes and climb right inside her.

  Sucking in her breath, Laurel pulled back and broke the connection.

  Trapper Dan removed the improvised ice bag and checked the wound. It didn’t look quite as bad as she’d imagined, though as the congressman’s chest slowly expanded, the area slowly pooled with blood.

  Hating the fact that she felt helpless in such a serious situation, she vowed to take a first-aid class as soon as possible. In the meantime, she found Raymond’s lifeless hand and squeezed.

  As if good vibrations could bring him around.

  Glancing down, she noticed the end of his sleeve was ragged. Ripped. As if he’
d put up his hand to stop the attack.

  Digging into a rawhide pouch, the stranger pulled out a battered kit. A moment later, he was placing a gauze pad over the wound. Blood seeped through. He added another pad and topped it with a piece of plastic, then taped the layers down to the skin. Again digging into the pouch, he retrieved a pair of socks.

  Puzzled, Laurel couldn’t help herself. “You really think he needs dry socks now?”

  Not so much as hesitating to give her one of his looks, he tied the socks together, then wrapped them around the congressman’s neck and secured the ends, turning them into an improvised compression bandage. From the kit he then produced a rectangular packet, which he twisted a couple of times before placing it over the bandaged area.

  “Hold it there. Give it some pressure, but don’t cut off his air.”

  A direct order she was quick to obey. Cold from the emergency pack immediately seeped through her leather glove. She watched in silence as he closed the back of the vehicle and slid behind the wheel. And as they took off, she chewed at her thawing lips.

  “Hey, Trapper Dan…” Laurel saw his eyes flash to the rearview mirror. “Sorry…about before, I mean. I was a little freaked out, as I’m sure you can imagine. And then you popped out of nowhere dressed like some kind of wild frontiersman…”

  His eyes shifted back to the road, leaving her feeling too foolish for more words.

  The fast and bumpy ride that took them out of the woods stretched into forever. Snowflakes dusted the windshield and swirled around the truck even before they exited the woods. Not once did Raymond stir. Nor did she notice any signs of his revival on the long highway drive. How long? Were there no nearby medical facilities? Considering Trapper Dan’s normal mode of response, she didn’t figure there was much point in asking.

  But her mind was spinning almost as fast as the wheels of their vehicle.

  Had someone been arguing with the congressman or not? Could he have found his son? Had one of the wolves attacked, after which Donovan had left his own father to die?

  She couldn’t believe it. Not the Donovan she knew. He might be troubled and not altogether truthful with her, but she couldn’t be mistaken about his innate decency. Maybe the other man had been a hunter. A trespasser who’d been scared off by the sudden attack…

  Laurel sought answers where there were none. At least not until Raymond came around and could speak for himself. Their turning off the highway alerted her that their journey was coming to an end.

  “Hang on, Congressman,” she whispered while squeezing his hand. “We’re almost there.”

  The Tracker careened into a lot and came to a heart-jolting stop. Trapper Dan flew out of the driver’s seat, then raced across the sidewalk and through a door emblazoned with red lettering: Emergency. A moment later, two medics, a man and a woman, rushed out to the truck, a crash cart between them.

  Even as Laurel opened the rear door, they waved her away from Raymond. She scooted out as they rushed in. She gasped in cold drafts of the night air mixed with snow as if she’d been oxygen deprived. Her feet seemed rooted to the pavement that was already icing over as they carefully loaded Donovan’s father onto the crash cart.

  Familiar. Too familiar.

  Her pulse picked up. Her heart banged against her ribs. She’d almost forgotten how much she hated hospitals. But stepping inside, it came back to her in one huge, sweeping rush of memories.

  The sterile atmosphere…the sense of urgency…the smell of antiseptics…

  Everything happened so fast that she didn’t realize Trapper Dan hadn’t come back out until she saw him talking to an older, balding man in scrubs, undoubtedly the physician on duty for the night. He clapped the stranger on the shoulder and followed the crash cart into an inner room.

  “You can wait here,” said the admitting clerk, whose name tag identified her as Sophie. She indicated a small alcove with several chairs and a television mounted on the wall.

  Taking a deep breath to steady herself, Laurel asked, “Don’t you want personal information on the victim first?” Talking would help keep the memories at bay. And with her kind eyes and sympathetic smile, the woman appeared pleasant enough.

  But she said, “We have what we need for right now. Don’t you worry.” She patted Laurel’s arm. “Congressman McKenna is in good hands.”

  Laurel started. “How did you know who…you couldn’t have seen his driver’s license yet.” She was certain the medics hadn’t taken the time to search for a wallet and she hadn’t identified him by name to anyone.

  “We didn’t need to see his license. Not with his son here. He said he’ll take care of the paperwork once the medical staff is seeing to his father.”

  “His son? You mean Donovan?”

  “Donovan Wilde,” Sophie confirmed.

  Laurel’s head began to spin again. She looked around but didn’t see him. “You’re telling me Donovan’s here? Where?” How could he have known?

  The other woman’s brow pinched. “I thought you two were together.”

  Following Sophie’s gaze to the only other person in the room, Laurel felt her knees give way.

  DONOVAN DISPASSIONATELY watched his father’s companion sink into a chair, her openmouthed gape aimed at him.

  The telephone rang and the admitting clerk scurried back to her station to answer it, leaving them some privacy. In tight control, he drew closer, preparing himself for a verbal barrage. This one had an unstoppable mouth on her.

  So, not surprisingly, the woman immediately demanded, “Who are you really?”

  “More to the point, who are you? And—”

  “Laurel Newkirk,” she interrupted.

  “—what are you up to?” he concluded, registering the unfamiliar name.

  “Up to?” Her pale blue eyes hardened into shards of ice as she leveled a penetrating gaze at him. “You’re the one who should be answering that Congressman McKenna and I were looking for his son.”

  “Why?”

  What did the old man want with him after all these years? And why should he even care?

  “What’s it to you?”

  “Nothing,” he lied.

  To cover, Donovan busied himself, removing his outer gear as he remembered how still his father lay when he’d found him. He’d seemed so much older…more vulnerable…but Donovan knew that had to be a sham. His memory was long and vivid. He threw the headgear and deerskin jacket on one chair, then himself into another. Her expression disbelieving, Laurel didn’t take her eyes off him.

  He returned the favor.

  She’d removed those ridiculous earmuffs, but her mass of thick, golden brown hair was still tangled around a long, narrow face, which, at the moment, was devoid of color, natural or otherwise. He studied her features. Not pretty, exactly, but with eyes that tilted slightly and a full mouth that could be described as lush, intriguing.

  That mouth suddenly puckering in disapproval, Laurel unzipped her olive drab jacket and removed it to reveal a sweatshirt that caught his complete attention. From a deep blue background gazed two sets of mesmerizing eyes. Wolves’ eyes. He recognized the design as the signature of WRIN, Wolf Recovery Information Network, a volunteer organization that disseminated information about wolves to the public in addition to helping with tracking studies.

  “Why are you doing this?” Laurel’s sudden demand made him start.

  “This? You mean bringing my…” he couldn’t squeeze the word father past his lips “…him to an emergency room for treatment? I’d do that for any stranger in trouble.” Exactly what Raymond McKenna was to him.

  “You’re not his son. I know Donovan Wilde and you’re not him.”

  “If you say so.”

  His words sounded calm enough, though the hair on his scalp ruffed. He didn’t think she was trying to screw him around. Judging from her expression, she believed what she was saying. And her wearing that sweatshirt…

  So what was he supposed to believe? That someone was pretending to be him? T
o what end?

  This wasn’t making any sense.

  “You can’t be Donovan,” Laurel muttered, as if she were trying to convince herself.

  Not knowing why he did so, Donovan produced his wallet and threw it at her. She started but nevertheless caught it. White-knuckled, she unfolded the leather billfold and pulled out his identification.

  He watched her with interest.

  Disbelief turned to resignation as she carefully checked over each piece—his driver’s license twice. Seeming both stunned and convinced, Laurel fumbled with the cards, but her shaking hands wouldn’t fit them back where they belonged.

  His own gut tightening, Donovan left his chair and took the damned things from her, his fingers brushing hers in the process. Her head snapped up and she jerked back as if he’d shocked her. Electrified himself, he nevertheless held his ground.

  “Satisfied?” he growled at her.

  “No, not at all.” Laurel blinked and her eyes suddenly shone with unshed tears. In a small voice, she added, “But I do believe you.”

  He waited for more. Questions. Explanations. But she turned inward, shutting him out.

  Respecting her need for privacy, putting off the demands he’d like to make of her, Donovan retreated. But he couldn’t keep himself from worrying about an old man who should mean nothing to him.

  Couldn’t keep his mind from pressing for answers.

  What the hell was going on?

  LAUREL COULDN’T BE more stunned.

  The real Donovan. There he was, bigger than life. Hers had been a fake.

  No wonder his family hadn’t recognized the man she’d described as being one of their own. And no wonder the real Donovan had seemed so familiar. He was a leaner, meaner version of his older half brother Skelly.

  She didn’t think he’d take that as a compliment, not when he wouldn’t even call the congressman his father. He’d intimated they were strangers, and it seemed likely they were. Yet, thinking his younger son was in trouble, Raymond had rushed to the rescue. Now he was the one in trouble…possibly fighting for his life.

  And it was her fault.

  The real Donovan didn’t need any rescuing as far as she could see. From the looks of him, he could handle anything that came his way.