Eye of the Falcon Page 2

  When Eagle had taken the falcon outside into the sunshine, thinking it might be a kindness to put down the bird, the raptor had exploded from his arms—as if the falcon had read Eagle’s mind—and flung himself into the sky in a last attempt at freedom. Except, with his injuries, no way in hell should that falcon been able to fly. And he was one of the largest Eagle had ever seen.

  But Rikker had taken to the skies with a vengeance and disappeared.

  With his rescued dogs, Gunner and Hatter, at his side, Eagle walked to the raptor cages. The two big dogs went a long way to keep a lot of the wildlife back at the interior fence line where they belonged.

  Caring for the large birds brought in a multitude of other prey looking for an easy meal. Although Eagle’s property was well fenced—both an outer and an inner fence line—the birds often hurt themselves as they panicked in their pens, trying to get away from the threat of predators.

  As Eagle approached the birds, he realized something was wrong. He picked up speed and ran the last few yards. Instead of the normal rustling of feathers, calls, and chattering among the birds, there was silence. He approached slowly and quietly now, feeling hundreds of eyes turn his way. And yet not one bird made a sound.

  Unnerved, he walked around the perimeter of the multiple pens, looking for the predator that had them all tense. He pulled his gun from his holster and approached the corner cautiously. Glancing to all sides, he could see nothing that would put the birds on full alert. Peering around the corner, he saw the same high grass and bushes leading to the tree line farther back. He kept walking. Predators of all kinds had one thing in common. They were sneaky as all hell.

  His steps as soundless as his raptors, he automatically checked the fences, looking for holes. Foxes were notorious for getting inside both fences but still could not penetrate the raptor cages. And, if the foxes were smart, they’d stay clear. Coyotes often stayed just off to the side and taunted the birds, letting them know that, given any weakness, the coyotes would be there to tear apart the raptors’ throats. But the wolves were even more intimidating. They would howl from a distance, knowing the birds were within reach, almost salivating at the luscious meals inside the cages.

  But Eagle found none of those four-legged creatures.

  And still behind Eagle was only silence. Every bird watched his progress. He kept glancing into the pens for any clue. Something was seriously off. A thick dark growl erupted from Gunner’s throat. The huge sheepdog ambled forward, his ears up, his back raised. Hatter raced behind with a lesser sense of smell. More concerned with the joys of puppyhood, he pranced and jumped around Gunner, trying to figure out what this new game was all about.

  Unfortunately Hatter was no puppy—he was just stunted in growth and seriously stupid.

  Eagle walked past, dropping a soothing hand on the back of Gunner’s neck. “What is it, boy?”

  Gunner hunkered down as the hair on the back of his neck rose again. Eagle studied the long grass and the thick forest beyond. The air was still, heavy. Nothing moved. Not even the wind.

  A negative space was up ahead where the ground cover appeared flattened. A trail of broken and trampled grass led to it, but, unless the animal left the same way, no path exited the hollow. With Gunner at his side, Hatter loping behind, Eagle slowly approached. Reaching the first fence line, he stood on the bottom rail and stretched up, hoping to see what was hiding.

  Just then something erupted from the long grass.

  He watched in amazement as Rikker soared high above, splitting the air with its piercing screech, only to circle back around again and again and slowly lower itself down. Eagle could see its broken wing, and yet the bird still flew straight. Eagle didn’t understand—but he wanted to. He swung a leg over the top rail of the fence and jumped down on the other side.

  He ordered the dogs to stay. Gunner broke into furious barking, as if warning Eagle not to go there. But the big heavy dog couldn’t jump this fence easily. With his weapon ready, Eagle slowly parted the long grass. Just as he caught a glimpse of something white on the ground, the falcon rose once again, flapping its big wings in front of him.

  “Easy, Rikker. Take it easy now. Let me see what’s going on.”

  Unable to see around the irate bird, Eagle stepped forward, using his arms to brush back the raptor. His gaze dropped to the ground, and he froze, his mind struggling to compute the scene before him.

  A nude woman—bloody, bruised, and scratched to hell—lay collapsed on the ground unconscious.

  Or dead.

  “Jesus Christ.” He put away his weapon and dropped to her side. She was on her side, but Eagle could see she was young, with long dark-red hair half covering her face, skinny to the point of being gaunt. Her bare feet were bloody and torn. As if she’d run until she couldn’t take one more step …

  Instinctively he searched for a pulse, only to have Rikker flap his dangerously large wings in Eagle’s face and claw at his hands.

  “Stop. I must help her. Just like I helped you.”

  With a wary eye on the bird, Eagle was determined to subdue the falcon if he wouldn’t let Eagle check out the woman. He slowly outstretched his arm again. Rikker made a harsh cry but settled onto the woman’s shoulder.

  Not the best place, but it would do for the moment. Eagle found a pulse at her wrist. Slow and steady. He did a quick check for injuries. He ran experienced fingers down her spine, her extremities, looking for breaks. He couldn’t find any broken bones, but her right ankle was swollen, and one shoulder badly cut, and any internal fractures would be hard to confirm without X-rays. He frowned, his mind racing to identify the wounds and their cause.

  Keeping his face and eyes protected from the falcon, still uncertain of the reason for the bird’s presence, Eagle searched the woman’s back and chest again and found a small hole on the shoulder she lay on. He settled on his heels. He knew that wound.

  She’d been shot by a small caliber handgun at close range. He gently rolled her forward and found no exit wound.

  “Goddammit.” He glared at Rikker. “What the hell is going on here?”

  In a move that shocked Eagle into silence, Rikker slowly lowered his head and stroked the woman’s cheek with his beak.

  “Well, shit,” he whispered. Eagle pulled off his shirt, throwing it across her form. Wishing he had a blanket with him, he glanced at the house and realized it’d be better to pick her up and take her back, but how badly wounded was she? He worried about internal injuries the most. Still, she couldn’t stay here. That’s when he noticed the bright red blood on the grass beside her head. As soon as he probed that side, she moaned. In a gentle voice he whispered, “Take it easy. You’re safe now.”

  Just then she rolled to her back. Her eyes opened, and cloudy midnight-blue irises gazed at him. She seemed to focus, only to have her lashes slowly drop again. Her mouth worked, and he could sense the effort behind her need to speak.

  “It’s okay. You’re safe.”

  Her eyes opened, this time with more clarity, and landed on Rikker. Instead of crying out or screaming in terror, she murmured, “Mo chara, you found me.” She gently stroked the falcon. He crooned at her touch, and her eyes drifted closed again.

  Aware of time passing, but also aware of something magical happening, Eagle studied her waxy features, his gaze catching sight of the fresh blood on her forehead.

  He slipped his arms under her frail form and lifted her. As if Mother Nature herself was helping, the wind picked up, making the trees bow around him, the branches forming a protective curtain for him to carry her through, unseen by others. The air held an eeriness, like something otherworldly. The dust swirled up at his feet, taking away his footprints, even though it had rained just that morning. And then a rumble sounded, … as if someone gave them cover to hide the noise Eagle now made.

  Unnerved, but understanding an opportunity had presented itself, he cradled her against his chest and strode back to the dogs. He awkwardly made it over the fence and froze
. Rikker stood on Gunner’s back, both ahead of Eagle as if urging him to move faster, with neither complaining about the odd transportation system. Even Hatter was out in front, for once a serious look in his eye.

  Eagle didn’t have a clue what was going on, but, whatever it was, it had to do with the injured woman in his arms. He picked up speed, almost running to his house. As he came to the large falcon pens, the silence was suffocating. His heart slammed against his chest, and he could hardly breathe for the tension coiling inside.

  As soon as he pounded up the steps to his house and bolted inside, the dogs barked and the raptors screeched, filling his world with a cacophony of sounds—like some invisible command had been released.

  He stared down at the frail woman in his arms and asked in a low shocked voice, “Who are you? And what the hell just happened to my world?”

  *

  She woke up in a dream. Fog surrounded her; pain filled her. Like being on a roller coaster of agony as she shifted and moved, yet she wasn’t the one doing the shifting or the moving. Was she being carried?

  Her body shifted again but in a gentle wavelike motion. Not choppy and jerky as she would have expected if carried. The sound in her ear was warm and reassuring—a heartbeat—a strong, vibrant, rhythmical pulse that drove through her consciousness and found a surprising response in her own chest. She was alive? Really? After all she’d been through?

  She didn’t think it was possible. She hadn’t given up hope, but she certainly hadn’t thought a rescue was possible. She remembered running through the bushes, through the trees, falling, picking herself up and carrying on again. Although desperate to find help, when she crossed a road, she’d stopped, considered it briefly, and then realized she couldn’t trust anyone. And she’d bolted across the road and over the fence to the woods on the other side.

  The fence meant somebody owned the land. Somebody cared. She could only hope they weren’t like those she’d left behind. Just the thought of anybody from that group following her had her picking up her feet and running again.

  She’d yet to make a sound, but, in her mind, she could hear her screams. She couldn’t stop crying out in pain at each step, but she wasn’t sure her voice worked anymore. The last time she had screamed, it was as if her voice had been broken. To be forever a raw echo of her former voice, one she’d barely recognized. Something else she could lay at her captors’ feet.

  If anybody would ask, all she could say was they were male—one to three, maybe four; she didn’t know anymore. They’d all taken turns one way or another. But there’d been one boss. He’d ordered everything that had been done to her. She’d started with clothes and ended up nude. And yet she hadn’t been raped. Although grateful, she didn’t understand. It was more about power and humiliation. Stress. The boss had used the word stressors over and over again when he spoke to the other men. She didn’t understand. She’d retreated like an animal, curled into a ball, trying to get away from them. But failed every time. And they’d go at it again. Tiny razor blades, cigarettes. She kept screaming, and nobody would listen.

  The boss kept asking her questions. She didn’t understand what they wanted. At the end she didn’t even understand the questions. The endless pain became too much. She’d retreated inside herself deliberately. It had taken her a while to figure out that acting one step away from death was the only way she would get the men to relax enough that she might escape.

  And it had worked. But even now she didn’t remember exactly what she’d done. Except she swore she’d heard voices in her head. Voices telling her to run. But it was all confused with the men’s voices, fighting. Something about her guard cheating at poker.

  One had stormed off, and the other had gone to the door, screaming at him. The words a blur but the heat unmistakable. And she knew he’d probably come at her as an outlet for his anger. Instead he’d gone outside, slamming the door, but he’d slammed it so hard that it had bounced open again. She’d gotten up off the pallet on the floor. And raced to the open door. She looked through a crack to see where they’d gone. And, sure enough, they both headed off in the same direction, the fight continuing even outside the cabin. She stepped out to find one man had stayed behind. He chased her back into her room, a baseball bat in his hand. But he’d been so looking forward to beating her that he tripped and fell, the bat falling from his grasp. She was on him in seconds. She didn’t remember how many times she hit him, or how hard, but she’d thrown the bat to the ground afterward, climbed through the window, and kept going. She never looked back.

  And now here she was, another meadow, another fence, somebody else’s property. And that was the last thing she remembered.

  Until now. The man shifted her in his arms, and a wave of pain rose up so sharp, so achingly clear, her stomach—already empty—strove to escape her mouth. She shuddered.

  “Easy, take it easy. You’ll be fine now. I won’t let them hurt you again.”

  She didn’t know why, she didn’t know how—and maybe it was just because of that strong heartbeat under her ear—but she believed him. She sank back, back into the unconscious world she’d been in, grateful that, maybe this time, somebody would help her.

  Chapter 3

  Eagle went straight to the spare bedroom, wishing he had more hands available as he struggled to pull back the blanket so he could lay the broken woman on the mattress. She moaned softly as he pulled his arms free from underneath her. He raced to the bathroom, grabbed towels, and returned. With a warm wet washcloth, he quickly dabbed her forehead, checking to see how severe her head wound was. His military experience let him know she likely had a concussion and would possibly need stitches.

  He was loathe to call a doctor. And even more so to call the sheriff. He did a complete second check over her body, noting the ankle continued to swell, and the injury was recent. The scratches he assumed were from running. Her feet would need to be soaked to see the extent of that damage. Her ribs were bruised, her arms lacerated, the soft skin on her breasts reddened with angry burn marks. Grimly, he realized she’d likely been held captive somewhere, somehow. And for a long time.

  Until she found an opportunity to escape. The shoulder wound was the one that worried him the most. How long had she been tortured? She could have any number of internal injuries he couldn’t see. There was an odd green tinge to the right side of her back near her waistline. That also worried him as did the multiple layers of bruising all over.

  The bullet had to come out of her shoulder.

  He could handle the rest, but he didn’t want to make a call on that one if he didn’t have to. He didn’t want her to suffer permanent shoulder injury if he could help it.

  He gently covered her up, feeling the clammy coolness to her skin. As he pulled the blankets over her, a screech sounded beside him. He turned to find Rikker walking up and down the bed.

  “I brought her inside. Now give me a chance to fix her up.”

  The falcon tilted his head and stared at Eagle. An intelligence both unnerving and bizarre stared at him.

  “I don’t know who and what you are, my friend. Just know I’m not here to hurt her.”

  An odd rumble sounded from the falcon’s throat. It fascinated Eagle as he stepped back and pulled the phone from his pocket. He dialed a number he knew by heart. When a grumpy older man answered the phone, Eagle said, “I need you.”

  Gray snorted. “That’s nice. Always nice to be wanted by someone.”

  “Come here now, as fast as you can. Bring your medical bag.” Eagle hung up the phone and pocketed it. Gray would come. If nothing else, curiosity would force him.

  Eagle returned to the bathroom, grabbed several more washcloths, and made a quick trip to the kitchen for warm water and a bowl, then headed back to the bedroom, and sat beside her. Once again, he pulled the covers down, hearing the woman protest as the chill settled in.

  “I’m sorry. I’m trying to clean up the scratches as much as I can.” With a washcloth, he gave her a thorough, an
d, as fast as possible, bed bath, paying attention to the scratches that needed further cleaning. He knew he was hurting her, but she never made a sound.

  Then she was likely unconscious yet again. When he made his way to her feet, he knew a simple wash wouldn’t do it. He should have shifted her the other way on the bed, hanging her knees over the edge to get her feet set in the water.

  Deciding that would still be the best way to do it, he quickly realigned the bedding, slipped his arms underneath her, and shifted her position. He covered her body again, leaving her lower legs bare, feet dangling just above the floor. Then, with clean water in the larger basin, he lifted her feet and carefully put them in.

  As soon as her feet came in contact, he realized she wasn’t unconscious at all. She cried out in pain, her body jerking up only to murmur in joy as the heat soaked in. He needed her body temperature to warm up fast. He should have just placed her in a bathtub.

  Still the bullet hole was the bigger issue as long as she was warming up. He glanced at his watch. “Come on, Gray. Where the hell are you?” With an antiseptic soap, Eagle gently smoothed some over the bottom of her feet and then let her feet rest in the warm water.

  Just as he finished, he could hear the beat-up old Ford come down the driveway.

  Gray. Thank God.

  Rikker, at the woman’s side, stared at Eagle, almost as if ready to give a screech should Eagle do something wrong. For some reason Eagle felt like he needed to explain to the bird what was happening. “Gray is coming to look after her. I can do a lot of field dressings but that bullet? We need to make sure it comes out. Can I get it out? Yes, but not as clean as I would like. She also needs a doctor to look for any other internal problems.”

  He took several steps to the doorway, turned back to look at the bird, and said, “I’ll be back in a few minutes.” And he raced out the front door and unlocked the gate. He locked it up behind him and walked back up to the house.