Eye of the Falcon Read online

  But the boss had been adamant. Something about stressors. Something about her having knowledge. Something about her abilities. None of it made a whole lot of sense. But the one thing Dylan did understand after all these years was, he didn’t argue with the boss. If Dylan didn’t like what he had to do, he needed to keep his mouth shut and run as far and as fast as he could, in such a way that the boss could never track him.

  So, when given a job, Dylan accepted it with a smile and nodded agreeably. Anything else, well, that wouldn’t go over well. He wasn’t much of a tracker, but nowhere did it say she had come this way. Except that little bit of blood he’d found on the fence post. And quite by accident.

  He thought she’d be in a hospital by now. He’d called around, looking for her. He had checked with the clinics. But there was nothing, no sign of her. Then he’d called the morgue, but no females matched her description. He winced and stared down at his hands. He was sixty-five years old. He could hold his head up with pride until a few weeks ago. Now what was he was supposed to do? He had a high standard, his morals strict. He didn’t have the same belief in law enforcement others did, and he didn’t care if he broke the law, but he had his own moral code.

  For the first time in his life, he’d broken his own code. And he struggled with that. He also knew he’d had little choice. It was either do this or take a bullet. The rules with the boss had always been the same. Easy to follow, clear to understand. Never any misunderstandings. Do as you were told or take the consequences.

  Dylan hadn’t had a problem taking the consequences for doing as he was told. But, as the body count mounted up over the last twenty-odd years, he often wondered if he’d done the right thing. Life had been easier in the old country. He understood that way of living. He loved the country and the people, even the lifestyle. America was faster, harder, … crueler.

  Dylan couldn’t trust anyone, not the men beside him whom he’d been friends with, nor a stranger across the street. The friend beside you was just as likely to stab you in the back, and the stranger to give you a helping hand. It was bizarre and made for extremely uncomfortable day-to-day living. Back in the old country he’d known exactly who his friends were every moment of the day. And, if any one of them went rogue, the punishment was instant.

  Chapter 8

  When Issa woke the next time, her heart was heavy; her eyes burned from the acid of her tears, and the pain went so much deeper than muscle and bone. Humbug, who she had thought was dead, wasn’t. Overjoyed to know her feathered friend had survived, it was horrible to now know Humbug was in mortal danger.

  She closed her eyes and whispered, “Humbug, please stay safe. Please, if anybody is out there who can help him, please do so. Humbug’s an innocent victim. … And he’s very special. He needs me.”

  “Who are you talking to?”

  Her eyes flew open to find Eagle standing at her door. Something about his stance, his arms, his body language, was not quite stiff but a little more unyielding than she’d seen before. She understood. It wasn’t that he was afraid; he was wary. Everything so far was a test of his beliefs.

  And maybe he was right to do so. Maybe the rest of the world should keep their distance because she knew she’d go after these men if they went after Humbug.

  She now knew beyond a doubt those men were evil. The world would be so much better off without them.

  “I was praying, hoping somebody would find Humbug.” She studied Eagle for a long moment. “You don’t trust me.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “You don’t trust me.”

  Her gaze widened. “I trust you more than I have ever trusted anyone.”

  At that, a surprised look came across his face, and he took a step inside, his arms still across his chest. “Why is that?”

  She tilted her head toward the falcon. “Because Roash trusts you.” And for the first time she saw a crooked smile cross Eagle’s face. “You love birds,” she said in a low voice as she studied him for any sign of the evil that had already touched her life. She knew that, even though he’d been good to her, evil sometimes took its time to show. “So you can’t be that bad.”

  He nodded. “Not only do I love them but I save them. When you are healthy enough, I can take you out to meet the more than two hundred birds I keep here.”

  Her breath caught in her throat. Her gaze widened in shock. “Seriously?”

  If there was ever a dream job for her, this would be it. To help more than just a couple would be beyond amazing. And then she remembered that evil came in many forms—especially walking on two legs. She shuddered. “How far away from the house are they?”

  “Not very far at all. I have pens that go for several hundred feet.”

  “Pens?” Her heart sank. To be caged was not the ideal life for a bird.

  He nodded. As if reading the look on her face, he said, “Most are injured. Most will never fly again. And, if they do, they can only lurch from side to side. They just become easy food for other predators.”

  She nodded. She understood Mother Nature was a hard taskmaster. Life was for the fittest. She wanted to reach out to the injured birds on the property as she had tried with other birds so often in the past. But she was scared to open anything up right now. She was still too weak. It look a lot of energy to reach out. If she heard Humbug’s cries of distress, it would break her. Feeling the tears welling yet again, she whispered, “Is there any more of that soup?”

  Her body needed strength. And she needed a moment to collect herself. This man saw too much. Maybe understood too much. As if he could see the hatred in her heart and didn’t trust it. She felt the hatred, and she didn’t fully trust him. Few things in her life she believed in more than the fact that the men who kidnapped her and shot her birds deserved killing. But she knew, very much so, that she couldn’t let anyone else get hurt.

  Everyone around her died. A lesson hard learned, the one there was no disputing. She watched as Eagle nodded, turned, and walked away. She closed her eyes, and, feeling Roash’s gentle beak brush along her cheek, she opened the corner of her mind and sent out a tentative call. Her mind instantly filled with screams, so many, so loud, so hard, so long, that she couldn’t stand it, and she was knocked out again.

  *

  A terrified cry filled the air, and Eagle raced back to Issa’s bedroom. At her side, his fingers reached for her neck, checking for a pulse. Her chest rose and fell gently, her breath slow and stable. For whatever reason, she was unconscious. He threw back the blankets and checked over the surgical site and then her many other injuries.

  But nothing appeared to be wrong. The head injury was bothersome though. Roash crooned, his tone almost like a melody against her face. Even as Eagle watched their interaction, he could see the trouble and pain eased back from her expression.

  “Wow. What is going on?” he whispered. He could see the bond between these two. He’d never witnessed anything like it before. It was too unbelievable to understand, but he wanted to. It was just so foreign to be here with this woman. This woman with the eyes the color of midnight, the color of the sky, and the color of secrets of the deep dark sea.

  Seeing no sign that she would wake, he stepped back, covered her up again, and returned to the couch. He sat down and cradled his face in his hands. All he could think of was what he’d heard of ancient times, of people who had supernatural abilities or connections, but they were all myths or legends as far as he knew.

  Not flesh and blood like the woman in the next room.

  He knew she was all woman. There was no way to disguise the small plump breasts, curvy hips, tiny waist. Even covered in bruises, the beautiful woman remained there, just so damaged that he couldn’t see her as anything other than a wounded warrior.

  Unable to sleep, he got up again, walked to his laptop, and started typing in the name Humbug. Of course Google came up with definitions that had nothing to do with an owl. That was when he headed down the path of unnatural bonds with animals. Quickly he had to change un
natural to incredible bonds with animals.

  As he read through the stories, there were all kinds of mentions of men and their dogs, women and their cats, even falcons. And he wondered, was she in a falcon club? He quickly checked the local clubs. Some had members listed on the pages; others didn’t. There was one in Colorado. He checked his watch and realized it was too early to make a phone call. On a notepad, he wrote down the names and phone numbers. He still hadn’t had any luck searching for the name she’d given him.

  But there could be many ways to spell her name. Without a last name, it was damn near impossible to narrow down the search. He continued to delve into the mythological world until the sun rose. Then he got up and set the pot of soup to reheat for her and put on a pot of coffee for him.

  As soon as both were ready, he went to the bedroom to see her lying there, staring at him. He let out his breath gently. “Well, you scared me once again last night.”

  She narrowed her gaze at him. “Why?”

  “You screamed out of the blue. We’d just been talking. I turned to get some soup started, and you cried out in terror and passed out.” He shook his head. “Are you sure there is nothing more you can tell me about who you are, where you’re from, about your family?”

  Her gaze widened. “My name is Issa.”

  He nodded. “You said that before. How do you spell that?”

  “I-S-S-A,” she whispered.

  “I tried that version of the spelling but couldn’t find anyone with that name.”

  “Why did you look?”

  “To see if there were any missing person bulletins. Are you in a falcon club?”

  She blinked and then smiled. “I belong to one, I believe.” She turned her head slightly, her gaze staring off into the distance. “I have friends there.”

  “And you have a last name?”

  “I must have, but I can’t remember it.”

  He nodded agreeably. “You ready for a cup of coffee?”

  Her gaze widened in delight. “Absolutely. Is there any chance of that soup?”

  “I’m heating it up again.” He turned and walked back into the kitchen. “I’ll be back in a few minutes with both.”

  *

  Stefan picked up the phone. “Tabitha, have you ever connected with an owl?”

  “I’ve never tried to, and I don’t recall any ever connecting with me,” she said slowly. “Why?”

  “I drew a picture of a bird, a big snowy owl called Humbug.”

  She gave a startled laugh. “I love the name.”

  “Humbug has been separated from someone he cares about.”

  “What? Oh, poor guy,” she said. “Are you thinking a human partner?”

  “I can’t see any other reason for me to have picked up on Humbug’s distress. Because, if I start connecting with every distressed animal, you know I’ll never get any rest,” he said with a note of humor in his voice. “Animals are injured and separated from family all over the world all the time. Almost as often as humans.”

  “So we have to assume he’s important to somebody and that somebody is either important to you or you’re important to them.” Then she added with spirit, “Any idea who the owl is connected with?”

  “No, I don’t know. But, for several weeks now, I’ve had some very strange visions connected with Humbug, and I’ve heard a woman’s cries of distress, but I haven’t been able to find her.” His voice was filled with great regret as he added, “And I don’t know why.”

  “Meaning you can hear her cry out, but you can’t speak to her?”

  “Yes. It seems to be that way. But often I can track someone’s energy regardless. I’m not even seeing her energy. It’s like I’m up in the sky floating, and I can hear her cries, but I can’t find her.”

  “A disconnection?”

  “Possibly. I don’t really know what it is or how to explain it. Then the visions stopped, and I was afraid she’d died.”

  Tabitha gasped. “That would make sense, sadly enough, and it could also be why Humbug is distressed.” Tabitha paused.

  Stefan could see her smiling when she said the bird’s name.

  “He’s looking but can’t find her,” Tabitha said.

  “That’s a lot of assumptions. I’m not even sure about my visions because they weren’t normal. In the past I’ve always been able to track something down somewhere in one way or another.”

  “Sure, we’re making assumptions. But we make those every day in this type of work.” Her tone turned brisk as she asked, “Maybe I can track him down myself?”

  He told her the little bit he knew. “Now almost nightly I wake up, and I’m floating on a bed of clouds. It’s full of sunshine and blue sky. Within seconds it turns to a midnight sky.”

  “That certainly fits with an owl because they’re night hunters. So are many other animals and birds. Let’s hope we’re sticking to birds,” she said. “If we start into the whole animal kingdom, it’ll get even more complicated.”

  Stefan glanced down at the feather in his hand. “I found a falcon feather a few days ago on my deck. I didn’t understand what it meant.” He corrected himself. “I still don’t understand what it means. But, when I put it down, I feel compelled to pick it back up again.”

  “Interesting,” she murmured, her voice low and deep. “Were you able to get any energy off the feather?”

  “No, not much. But I can’t seem to stop touching it.”

  “You sure it’s not Humbug’s feather?”

  “If I’m assuming Humbug is an owl, then this is not Humbug’s feather.”

  She chuckled. “You know? In Mother Nature we have attractions that don’t always make sense. It’s quite possible other birds are willing you to help Humbug.”

  Stefan rolled his eyes and walked over to the windows. “I’m looking at my railing and my deck, and there is no other sign of any other bird, so I doubt it.” But the words were no sooner out of his mouth than a huge crow came and landed at the railing, right in front of him. Stefan let out a broken laugh. “Okay, I stand corrected. A crow just landed on my railing. But then they’re always around.”

  “Keep watching,” she said quietly. “You’ve put out the word, and now they’re responding. See how quickly it happens. Does that tell you that you’re on track?”

  The sky turned dark as birds flocked toward his house. Celina walked to his side. She took her cell phone and started taking pictures, then said, “Tell Tabitha what we’re seeing.”

  “Tabitha, you won’t believe this, but there could be hundreds of birds outside my place now, some flying around in circles, and it’s like the sky has gone dark. They’re landing on the railing, on the patio, and on the rooftop. Several birds hit the window just now as if trying to get inside. It’s like they’ve gone mad.” He’d never seen anything like it.

  “Not mad,” Tabitha said quietly. “They’re desperate. They need help, or somebody they know needs help. Somehow they’ve learned you can connect to them. And they won’t leave you alone until they can save the person or animal they’re trying to save.”

  “But I don’t know anything about Humbug,” he said in astonishment. “And certainly not about whoever it is he’s missing.”

  “Guess what, Stefan?” Tabitha said, her voice gentle but firm. “You’ll have to find out what’s going on, who’s in need, and how you can help.”

  Chapter 9

  The soup was just as delicious the second time as it was the first. “Thank you,” Issa murmured as she handed the empty bowl back to him. “You’re a very good cook.”

  “No, I’m not,” he said cheerfully. “It’s my grandmother’s recipe.”

  She gave him a ghost of a smile, hating that just the act of eating a bowl of soup could exhaust her to the point she wanted to rest.

  And she knew those sharp eyes of his missed nothing. He’d seen the weakness on her face yet again. But there was one thing she really hoped she could do, and that was wash up. “I don’t suppose there is any chance
of a bath?”

  He stopped, frowned, glanced at her, toward the bathroom, and back again.

  She shrugged. “I’m not exactly sure how extensive my injuries are, but it seems like a warm bath couldn’t hurt,” she said hopefully.

  “I’d love to see you actually get to the bathtub on your own first,” he said as he stood, tapping his foot on the floor, his hands on his hips as he contemplated it.

  She winced at the reminder of how much she still depended on him to get to the bathroom. The bathtub was just another trip. And she’d need help to get in and out. “Never mind,” she said hurriedly. “I don’t want to cause any more extra work.”

  He snorted. “Running a bath is hardly extra work.” He walked into the bathroom. “The only way to get in is if I carry you, lower you into the water and then scoop you back up again.”

  The last thing she wanted was to have this man carry her and treat her like a two-year-old, but her hair was dirty. And even worse, she knew her feet would be also, for, although they had been soaked with antiseptic, the bottoms, the tops, and her toes were grimy. He’d given her a sponge bath, so she certainly shouldn’t be worried about her modesty at this point. But being unconscious and bathed by a stranger was a whole different story than being carried nude into a bathtub and tucked into bed afterward.

  “If you’re willing to give me a hand, I should be able to get into the bathtub on my own,” she suggested.

  He shook his head. “No, I can carry you to the toilet, but you’re still not able to walk to the bathtub.”

  She nodded, resigned. “Maybe in a few days then.”

  He gave a muffled exclamation. “If it’ll make you feel better, why the hell not?”

  He walked into the bathroom, and she could hear the water starting. And she smiled. She’d do a lot to just get into that tub and soak. Whenever her troubles overcame her, she used to crawl into the hot water and soak. If she could have a natural hot spring on her land, she’d be in heaven. On the other hand, she’d probably stay there every waking moment.