She ought to hate him.
‘Well?’ he demanded. ‘Why are you here?’
‘Sorry to intrude, Jack,’ she said, glad her voice didn’t tremble. ‘The last thing I want is to upset you. Or your wife.’
‘My wife’s dead, Katrina,’ he said. Tiredness etched the corners of his eyes. ‘There’s only me and Nick now. And Nick, as you know, is missing.’
‘That’s why I came down. As I explained to your cousin on the phone, I’ve helped police find missing boys before. Last night, I had a dream of a boy. I think it might have been your son.’
‘You dreamed about Nick?’ Jack’s eyes had the look of a man tested beyond endurance.
‘Yes. I have a sense of where he might be.’
‘Where is he, Katrina?’ He grabbed her arm. ‘If you’ve taken him, I swear…’
‘Taken him? Of course not. Why would I?’
She tried to shake him off, but his touch made her dizzy, sapped her of energy. A buzz sounded in her ears. Tiny waves of electricity rippled through her until her whole body grew electric. A louder noise crackled inside her head, like a radio signal tuning into a channel. Sound burst into clarity. Her world tipped.
Coo-ee! She heard a man’s anguished cry. Coo-ee! Far in the distance, she could hear a child sobbing.
Her mind spun.
Trapped. Filtered sunlight drifting from an opening above. The little boy leaned against a dusty wall. It was Jack’s son, Nicholas, his face streaked with tears. Tired, aching, exhausted from crying. And scared. Very scared. From a great distance, she heard a man’s voice, clear enough to rouse her. Strong arms gripped her.
‘Katrina? What in hell —?’
She pulled herself back to consciousness. She remembered now. A shaft of light. A tower. The boy trapped somewhere. The shadowy tower of her dream.
* * *
Jack cradled the woman he had stopped from falling. Soft dark curls, dark eyes, a voluptuousness that defied her small frame.
Desire, the old desire that had gripped him the first time he saw her, roused inside him. He wanted her, wanted her even more than back before his life had gone to hell. The feel of her, the weight of her, her scent, everything about her. Despite all that had happened.
He gritted his teeth.
Seven years ago, he’d slept with Katrina Delaney. One night that had changed his life forever. The next time he’d seen her was ten months later in a private clinic. Grey pallor, eyes glazed. What she’d become, a full-blown drug addict, had shocked him. She had been too doped up to care for herself, let alone anyone else. He’d agreed to an arrangement that meant he’d never have to see her again, and she’d kept her end of their bargain. Until now. Now she looked recovered physically, but that didn’t mean he trusted her. Once an addict, always an addict.
‘It’s all right,’ she said, pulling away. ‘You can let me go now.’
‘You fainted.’
‘It wasn’t a faint.’ She rested a hand against the bookshelf.
His gaze travelled down her arm, to her delicate wrist and long fingers. No wedding ring, he noticed, a possessive spark flaring in his chest. It was lust, that was all, he reminded himself.
‘This is how it happens. The visions,’ she said, her voice breathless. ‘Just now, I-I think saw Nicholas.’
‘You think?’ Anger and scepticism warred inside him. Surely she didn’t expect him to take this psychic stuff seriously? He knew her better than that, knew her history and how manipulative she could be. Addicts, gamblers, alcoholics. Selfish to the core. Just like Ann-Marie’s father.
‘You might not be a believer, Jack,’ she said, lifting her chin, ‘but maybe it’s worth keeping an open mind if it means I can help to find him.’
‘Okay. Convince me. What did you think you saw?’
‘I know this might sound strange, but are there any towers around here?’
‘Towers?’ Jack echoed, frowning. ‘On a sheep and cattle station? Not likely.’
‘Not necessarily a tower. Something tall and narrow, dusty, light coming in at the top.’
All his instincts shouted not to take her seriously. But what if she really was psychic? What did he have to lose if he went along with her?
‘There are a couple of abandoned grain silos a mile or so away,’ he said. Dirty great concrete monstrosities that should have had a bomb put under them years ago. ‘I guess they look like towers. Why?’
She bit her bottom lip. ‘I think Nicholas might be trapped inside one of them.’
He stared at her hard, a slow thud in his chest. The silos were just the type of things that would fascinate Nick. The boy was curious about anything old; the dirtier and rustier the better. But weren’t they too far away from the showground? Could he have wandered that far before the search got underway? He doubted it. But they’d already scoured all the more obvious places.
‘Can you ride?’
She blinked. ‘Yes, why?’
‘We’ll head there cross-country. That way’s quicker than going by road.’
Alarm flashed in her eyes. ‘Wouldn’t you be better off organising a search team to check them?’
‘You’re the one having the visions, Katrina,’ he said. ‘I need you with me. I’ll let Wayne know where we’re going.’
Until he knew what she wanted, he wasn’t letting her out of his sight. He wasn’t going to redirect resources from the search, either. Not until he’d sussed out whether her ‘visions’ had some substance behind them. More likely, she was simply deluded, or experiencing some kind of drug-induced psychosis.
‘Come with me. There’s riding gear in the laundry. You can change while I get the horses.’
As Jack followed Katrina Delaney’s curvy figure back along the hall, the resemblance between her and his dead wife again hit him. He remembered how stunned he’d been when he first saw her, a younger, sexier version of Ann-Marie. But it wasn’t just lust. He’d felt an instant connection, as if the affection he felt for his childhood friend had merely been a rehearsal for the real thing. Talk about delusions.
A flash of recall hit him, as he thought about the reckless way Katrina had given herself to him. Only much later did he wonder what had she been on. Ecstasy? It had certainly felt like it. Despite all that had happened, he still felt a hot animal lust when thinking of their night together. But the last seven years had blasted some self-control into him.
Katrina Delaney wasn’t to be trusted. Not about this. Not about anything. If Nick’s life wasn’t at stake, he’d have tossed her out on that pretty butt of hers and have nothing to do with her. He hoped to hell she didn’t come up with any surprises if and when she saw Nick in the flesh.
Chapter 2
After changing, Katrina hurried out to the iron bark tree where Jack had told her to wait for him.
She adjusted the strap of her riding helmet and hitched up her jodhpurs that were a little too long in the leg. She hadn’t ridden in years, but she was no stranger to the gear. Her mother had given her lessons and allowed her to go trail riding in her early teens.
Jack appeared, riding a chestnut bay and trailing a Palomino filly. With a battered Akubra shading his face, he looked as easy in the saddle as if he’d spent his whole life there. Strong, masculine, sexy. And still pissed off, by the look of him. Well, tough. She wasn’t doing this for him. She was there for the boy.
Jumping down, he handed her the Palomino’s reins.
‘She hasn’t been ridden in a while, but she’s normally pretty laid back. Do you need a hand getting up?’
‘Thanks, I’ll manage.’
Hooking one foot in the stirrup, she grabbed hold of the pommel and landed in the saddle in one fluid movement. She leaned down to pat the horse’s neck, breathing in the familiar smells of leather wax and horse. It brought back happy memories.
Without asking, he grabbed the girth beneath her stirrup, his hands brushing against her leg, and pulled the strap tight. Reflexively her thighs pressed into the filly’s flanks
and the horse took a step forward, whinnying.
‘Let’s get out of here,’ he said, patting the horse’s rump. The filly edged forward, forcing Katrina to grip the pommel to stay balanced.
Jack mounted the gelding and spurred on ahead, following the dirt track away from the house, setting a quick pace, his body rising and falling. Katrina nudged the filly and broke into a trot, determined to keep up.
He turned back in the saddle, his face in shadow beneath the hat’s brim.
‘We’ll head down to the creek and up over that hill. The silos are two gullies over. It’s a tough ride, but the horses are used to it.’
She nodded, appreciating the warning.
At first Katrina found the going rough. As the filly headed downhill, picking her way over lichen-covered boulders and summer-dried clumps of grass, she had to grip the rear of the saddle to stop herself from falling. Once they had crossed the creek and headed up the other side, she got into a rhythm. At the top of the second gully, they paused and she wiped sweat from her forehead. A breeze streamed down from the high country, cooling her skin. Below stretched a grassy plain, rising to granite foothills.
‘Does that look like the right place?’ Jack pointed to two rust-stained concrete pillars in the shimmering heat at the base of the hill.
Around the silos, the grass was slashed by rusty railway tracks leading nowhere. For a moment, Katrina had a vision of the activity that once had been. Golden wheat emptying into open carriages, hauled away by steam engines. Clouds of dust. But that was all so long ago.
‘It could be,’ was all she could offer.
Jack urged his mount into a canter and headed downhill. By the time Katrina caught up with him, he’d tethered the gelding to a wooden post and was standing in front of the metal hatch of the first silo. High above, a connecting corridor linked the two towers.
‘Nick!’ Jack shouted. He pushed the hatch, his muscles straining, but the metal door didn’t budge. Over his shoulder, he said, ‘Grab my tool bag, will you? It’s clipped to the saddle.’
Dismounting, Katrina lifted the bag from the saddle and handed it to him. He drew out a small bottle of machine oil and dripped it over the rusted latch. Wielding a wrench like a hammer he belted the metal with a loud clang. Again and again.
The hatch didn’t shift.
He leaned back and wiped his forehead, smearing his face with rust and oil.
‘This door hasn’t been opened in years,’ he said with barely repressed frustration.
Katrina sucked in air, anxiety uncurling inside her.
‘What about the other one?’
He repeated the procedure. With a final thud, the second latch gave way and Katrina’s heart jolted.
‘Nick!’ Jack called out as stale air drifted from the dim chamber. No answer.
‘I’ll climb in and check it out, if you like,’ she offered. ‘I’m small enough to fit through.’
Jack’s eyes narrowed as he surveyed the rusted opening, then he shook his head.
‘No, I’ll do it.’
He hauled himself up and squeezed through the hatchway, his jeans dragging across the rusty edge. After long seconds, his face appeared, dust caking his cheeks, the emptiness in his eyes speaking volumes.
‘Nothing.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, her heart squeezing tight. His son had been missing for over twenty-four hours. She could only imagine how he must feel.
‘Yeah, well…’
From the saddlebag, the radio sprang to life.
‘Jack? You there, mate?’ Wayne’s distinctive voice crackled through the dusty air. ‘They found Nick’s backpack down by the lake.’
With an oath, Jack scrambled out of the hatch and snatched up the handset.
‘Tell them I’m on my way.’ Jack swung on the horse, before turning toward Katrina. ‘The quickest way to the lake is across there, toward the road.’ He pointed in a different direction from where they’d come.
‘You go,’ she said. ‘I can find my own way back to the homestead.’
‘You’re sure?’ He looked conflicted at leaving her there.
She nodded, not wanting to give him extra cause to worry. ‘I’m sure.’
* * *
Jack galloped along the dirt road toward the lake, adrenaline and fear a potent mix inside him. Ordinarily, he wouldn’t have left someone unfamiliar with the property to find their own way back, but Katrina was right. He’d be quicker on his own. And it was only a couple of gullies for her to cover.
Why he’d let himself been taken in by her story about being psychic was another matter. Sleep deprivation. That was the only explanation.
And because she reminded him of Ann-Marie.
He gritted his teeth. No! He’d had too much mileage out of that excuse. She might look like Ann-Marie, but there the similarity ended. Ann-Marie had been a saint in comparison, too forgiving for her own good. Whereas Katrina…he had to admit, she didn’t look like an addict. Not anymore. But looks were deceptive. He’d learned that to his cost.
He closed his eyes, tuning in to the horse’s steady rhythm beneath him. His focus shifted to what Wayne had told him. They’d found Nick’s backpack. At the lake, several kilometres away from the showground. But just because it was down near the water didn’t mean any harm had come to him. Nick could still be found alive and unhurt.
He had to be.
* * *
Katrina watched Jack ride off in a cloud of dust, mounted the filly and set off back up the hill they had ridden down, the hot sun in her face.
Finding the backpack at the lake was a good sign, wasn’t it? It meant they had another search area to cover. Maybe by the time she made it back to the homestead, the boy would be safe in his father’s arms. But the lake posed its own threat. It had been created for the hydroelectric scheme years ago and its water levels had been dropping in the recent drought, revealing the remains of the old, sunken town of Adaminaby. If Nick had wandered that far…the rest didn’t bear thinking about.
As the filly reached the top of the second hill, Katrina looked down, expecting to see the creek below Yarrangobilla station marked by a line of willows. It wasn’t there. Nor was the homestead, nor the fences that signalled the start of the home paddocks.
She glanced around. With nothing but blue sky and wild country around her, somehow she’d lost her bearings and gone the wrong way. She’d been so absorbed in following Jack and getting to the silos, she hadn’t taken proper note of the way they’d come.
Now every animal track, every clump of grass looked the same.
A surge of unease swelled inside her, but she took a deep breath, willing herself not to panic. She hadn’t come far enough, that was all. The creek was probably in the next gully over.
She squeezed her thighs against the filly’s flanks and the horse responded. They’d gone only a few steps when something slithered in the long grass a few metres away.
A snake!
The Palomino reared, neighing, its eyes rolling back in fright. Its hooves came down with a crash and the horse bolted, plummeting down the rugged slope. Jerked almost out of the saddle, Katrina held onto the pommel with her left hand and tried to pull on the reins with her right.
The filly ignored her.
With the horse galloping over the rough ground, she struggled to stay seated. The girth was working loose beneath her. To her horror, she felt the saddle slip sideways, its weight pulling her down. Grabbing the filly’s mane, she tried to pull it back, but the drag of the bulky leather was too great. She fell, her world tipping upside down, but her foot caught in the stirrup.
As the filly dragged her on, her helmet and shoulders hit the hard ground, again and again. Stiff clumps of grass and rock scraped her back, her arms. With each thud and bounce, her spine jarred painfully. At last the horse swerved, slamming her into the side of a half-buried log. With a painful wrench, her foot came free and the horse trotted off.
She lay on the earth dragging in air, her ears ring
ing, her whole body scraped and bruised. She tasted blood in her mouth where she must’ve bitten her tongue. Tears pressed through her lashes. Of all the stupid frigging things to happen. Why hadn’t she been more careful?
With the afternoon sun beating down, she sat up and eased off the helmet, feeling nauseous and dizzy. Her back and arms stung and her left ankle throbbed, but there was no sign of blood or serious injury. Still, she was bound to be sore and bruised for the next few days. As for her ankle, at best, she had twisted it. More likely it was sprained.
Looking around at where she’d landed, she sighed. No sign of the filly. Beside her was the ‘log’ the filly had swerved to avoid. It was a wooden beam, half buried in a red mound of clay next to a hole, a piece of rusting corrugated iron beside it. An old mining shaft, by the look of it, its cover come loose. She was lucky she hadn’t fallen into it.
She heard the wind blow across the opening, sounding almost like a moan.
Chapter 3
‘We found this.’ Rob Fisher, the police officer in charge of the search was short for a copper, plump and balding. He handed Jack a familiar yellow backpack. ‘Do you know if Nick had it with him at the showground yesterday?’
Jack turned it over. A picture of a popular cartoon character grinned cheekily up at him. He was pretty sure it was Nick’s. But had it been with him at the showground? He didn’t know.
‘Was it empty?’
‘Fraid so.’
‘It could be his. He has one like it.’
The officer regarded him with compassion. ‘We’ve intensified the search all round the lake.’
Along the shore, lines of orange-coated searchers fanned up into the bush. Jack looked across the glassy water just as a scuba diver in a full-body wetsuit rocked back and splashed into the icy water from the stern of an aluminium dinghy. Were they already trawling the lake for his son’s body?
Something grabbed hold of his guts and wouldn’t let go.
‘You know the derelict’s hut round the point?’ Fisher asked.
Jack frowned at the term. ‘You mean Murray Tom’s place? What about it?’
Snowy River Man Page 2