by Rita Herron
A second later, a crime scene unit arrived, climbed out and strode up to the porch.
Cohen took one look at the mess and paled. “Mighty convenient that you found this, Falcon.”
“Just do your job and collect some samples for analysis.” He glanced at Sonya, saw the questions in her eyes.
“Get to work, boys,” Cohen told the CSI team. He stabbed a stubby finger at Brack. “You aren’t going to interfere with my investigation,” Cohen bellowed. “For all I know, you’re doing this yourself.”
“I don’t get my kicks terrorizing women or animals,” Brack snapped. “And consider my investigation as backup work. You don’t know squat about wildlife. Even you have to admit that my brothers and I are the experts here.”
His pudgy cheeks turned red. “How will I know if you’re hiding something?”
Brack raised himself to his full six-three and glared down at the short, squatty man. “I want the truth as much as you do, if for no other reason than to protect the animals.”
“At the risk of the citizens?” Cohen asked with a glare.
Sonya huddled her arms around her waist and stared at both of them as if she didn’t like being caught in their ongoing war. And she didn’t deserve to, either. His pride be damned.
“Listen, Cohen, for once, let’s work together on this one.” Brack lowered his voice, struggling to rein in his volatile temper. “The sooner we find this psycho, the sooner the town will be safe again. And if we discover that the birds are carrying a bird flu or some other disease, I’ll call in specialists to treat them myself. My brother has phoned the EPA, and they are sending a wildlife biologist here to conduct some tests.”
Cohen twisted his mouth sideways but gave a clipped nod. Then without a word, he set to work, collecting samples of blood and feathers left in the wake of the terrorizing culprit.
Sonya watched silently, her eyes darting across each room as they entered it, her emotions plain on her face. She felt violated. Terrorized.
And angry.
He was glad to see the anger surface. That meant she was a fighter. If his instincts proved right, she was going to need that toughness before it was over.
Because this psycho had just gotten started.
HE LICKED the blood from his talons as he watched from the deep shadows of the woods. He wanted Sonya to know he had marked her as his. Wanted to watch her face when she spotted the present he’d left at her door. The fruits of his labor.
The darkness in his soul.
Wanted her to know that he was close by. That he could have her when he wanted.
That he had the power to tear her apart just as he had the birds.
But what was that Falcon man doing with her? Trying to encroach on already spoken-for territory?
Another predator eyeing the same meal as him?
Fury raced through his veins, triggering a surge of animal instincts. Long ago, he’d recognized the beast inside him. He’d only been a kid when his taste for blood, for the hunt, had surfaced. He’d learned it from his father. The sick games he’d liked to play. First his father had taught him how to track a squirrel. A rabbit. A deer.
Then his father had upped the stakes. Invented a new twist on hide-and-seek. Forced him to play the role of the hunted. He’d left him in the woods and forced him to learn to survive off the land. Forced him to be the prey.
But in the end, he had turned the game around. He’d set the trap and lured his father into it. Then he had killed the SOB and watched the blood spill from his guts. He’d been mesmerized as the thick, sticky, red life had coated his hands. Had grown hard as the metallic odor had invaded his nostrils.
And he’d known that in a past life, he had not been a man.
But a raptor instead.
Since then, he fed off the hunt. The kill. The tearing of live flesh and skin. And now he had marked his territory. His ultimate prey.
Falcon had to recognize the signs, his markings. And he’d better back off, turn tail and find other ground to hunt.
He’d kill him if he didn’t.
Chapter Eight
Brack pivoted from the porch and searched the darkness at the edge of the woods. Shadows flickered and danced through the trees, like creatures of the night stalking the ridges. Low clouds hung in the sky threatening more bad weather, and the wind railed through like a freight train at full speed, its wheels grinding and churning around the hills.
From the bowels of the forest, the growl of an animal in heat echoed off the mountains, one stalking its prey. Waiting to pounce.
He smelled the rage. The bloodlust. The need for the hunt.
The same animal who had left the blood for Sonya.
“Sonya, wait here with the sheriff.”
She frowned and rubbed her hands up and down her arms. “Where are you going?”
“He’s out there.”
Sonya jerked around to study the thick rows of trees flanking the mountainside. “Where is he? Did you see him?”
“No, but I can smell him.” He held up a hand, warning her to be quiet. “He’s been watching us. He feeds off of fear.”
Unease flickered in her eyes, then she caught his arm. “Brack, please…don’t go.”
His heart clenched at the concern in her expression. Other than his mother, no one had ever worried about him before.
He didn’t need it now. He could take care of himself.
And he didn’t intend to allow this monster to get near Sonya again.
He squeezed her hand where it lay on his arm, felt the fine tremor of terror in her ice-cold fingers. “I’ll be back.”
She bit down on her lip, then moved inside the house by the doorway. But the crime scene techs wouldn’t allow her any farther. He saw the fury in her eyes. Understood the helplessness. Had felt it when his own father had been falsely arrested.
This monster had caused her to be temporarily banned from her own house. She wouldn’t be totally safe until he was caught.
He felt her watching him as he strode into the woods with a flashlight. But he couldn’t dwell on her feelings. He had to focus on sniffing out the killer. He moved on padded feet, searching for disturbed brush, tracks in the snow and ice, broken limbs that might have been severed as the culprit had made his escape. Ahead, he sensed movement. The flutter of wings slicing through the bitter wind, the racing of the animal’s heart as he picked up his pace, the scent of fear and excitement in the chase.
He paused, his gaze scanning the woods. The skin on his neck prickled. The killer was watching him. Engaging him in a sick, twisted game. Leading him on.
He had to play it smart.
Because this guy was setting a trap.
THE NEXT HOUR passed in agonizing slowness. The crime scene techs and the sheriff worked intently, scouring her house, taking prints and photographs.
Sonya checked the grandfather clock a thousand times.
Why was this happening to her now? She and Katie had just settled into the farmhouse. She’d thought the fresh, clean air and woods would offer a healthy place to walk and hike and strengthen Katie. They would both make friends and be a part of the town. They’d be free of the anonymity of the big city, of the noise, the hectic, demanding lifestyle and the crime. She’d finally felt as if she might recover from her failed marriage.
But then she’d learned the house she’d bought was sitting on haunted land where a tragedy had occurred, where ghosts and evil spirits lingered.
And now this….
What would Stan say if he knew she was in danger? Would he think she was incompetent?
Would he want Katie to stay with him? Probably not. He’d barely been able to hold her when she was a baby. And when he’d seen her struggling with braces on her legs, then crutches, he hadn’t been able to handle it.
Besides, he already had a new girlfriend, someone younger, prettier. A perfect woman.
She shut out the sound of his hurtful words echoing in her ears, and stared out the window, searching the dar
k for Brack or the creature, but a light snowfall and the thick aspens and firs along with the nighttime made seeing anything impossible. Ironically, the beauty of the mountainside struck her, the peaceful quiet that had drawn her here.
But Brack Falcon lived on the ridge above her. He posed a different kind of danger. Destroyed her equilibrium simply with one look.
Feeling antsy, she turned to face the front foyer, but the ugliness seeped back as she spotted the drying blood on the floor and walls. The vile creature who’d smeared the animal’s insides had to be the same monster who’d assaulted her the night before.
What if he attacked Brack and hurt him? What if Brack didn’t return at all?
How could she live with that on her conscience?
Sheriff Cohen cleared his throat, pushing himself up from his squatting position with his hands on his knees. His bones cracked and popped, his breath wheezed out. He was a heart attack waiting to happen.
“I’ve collected samples of the blood in each room and fibers that resemble bird feathers. I’ll send them off for analysis.” The crime team approached, told Cohen they had what they needed, then left.
The sheriff glanced around at the mess in her den with a scowl. The scent of blood and death permeated the room. How would she ever rid her walls of the vile odors?
Even if she did manage to erase it from the walls and floor, the image would be forever imprinted in her mind.
“My gut told me a bird attacked you, but ain’t no bird doing this,” Sheriff Cohen said. “I hate to say it, but Falcon may be right. This might be the work of a crazy man.”
Sonya nodded. The attack the night before and the emotional strain had completely exhausted her.
But the place had to be cleaned, and she couldn’t lie down and sleep in her bed with the remnants of this violence surrounding her.
Suddenly a loud screeching sound erupted in the darkness. The same inhuman attack sound that had caused her skin to crawl the night before. The same sound she’d heard right before the creature had mauled her. She ran to the window and searched the forest beyond.
Was Brack all right, or had the psycho attacked him?
SHADOWS HOVERED and floated above the spindly treetops. The screeching attack call resounded through the mountains like a warrior’s call from another time.
Squirrels and rabbits scurried to find safety. A deer galloped through the thicket, a wild dog howled and somewhere in the distance a bear bellowed a warning of its own. The earth trembled, leaves raining down onto the icy ground.
Above him, several falcons lifted in flight, their wingspans fluid yet beating a rapid path as they fled. What in the hell was disturbing the forest like this?
He searched the limbs and brush for the source of the sound. Tension vibrated in the air as if the wildlife had telegraphed a warning that a terror had been unleashed among them. United, they teamed together to defend their homes and lives.
Another screeching cry raised the hair on the nape of Brack’s neck. He removed his gun and spun around, expecting to see the winged creature pouncing toward him, but a tree limb cracked and splintered, shooting down to the ground. He jumped aside before it slammed into his head, then turned around. Leaves and bushes fluttered as if the culprit had slithered through the brush.
He lunged forward, shoving through the growth and tangled vines, certain he was on the culprit’s tail. But his foot caught in a hole, and he stumbled onto a carpet of branches. A trap.
He cursed himself for falling for it.
Before he could stand, razor-sharp, knifelike talons dug into the back of his head. He reached for his gun and tried to roll sideways, using one hand to fend off the attack, but the blades ripped into his hair and skin. The scent of blood filled his nostrils. His own.
But fury spiked his adrenaline, and he lurched to his hands and knees. The impact threw his attacker off. But the world spun three hundred and sixty degrees, and his vision blurred. He blinked to focus and grappled for something to hold on to as he forced himself upright. By the time the world stopped spinning and he had wiped the blood from his eyes, his attacker had disappeared into the woods.
He staggered forward, searching the darkness, but the world had turned gray. Another screech, this time one of glory, echoed off the mountain nearby. Then the forest grew quiet again, as if the storm had ended.
His heart pounded, though, as he realized the creature had won this time.
He jerked a handkerchief from his coat pocket and pressed it to his head to help stop the bleeding, then raced through the woods, hunting again. The next half hour, Brack felt as if he were chasing his tail. He detected the flutter of movement in one direction and followed it, only to hear the screeching sound behind him from the opposite direction. His head throbbed, and he was growing dizzy again. So woozy he had to lean against a tree to keep from passing out.
He raised his hand to the back of his head. Blood seeped down his neck. The handkerchief was soaked. He wouldn’t be any good to Sonya if he passed out, and the damn killer finished him off. Besides, it was nighttime, and he didn’t trust Cohen to keep Sonya safe.
He had to admit defeat for now. Head back to the house and check on Sonya. Regroup.
But next time would be different. He would catch this SOB.
In an effort to steady himself, he leaned over with his hands on his knees and dragged in several deep breaths. Cold air filled his lungs, and the wind beat at his face. The chill was good. It might keep him conscious.
Questions assaulted him as he dragged himself back down the trail toward Sonya’s house. Something about Sonya’s attacker having both animal and human blood….
Was it possible that the killer had been attacked by an animal and carried some kind of strange bird disease that caused his bizarre behavior? Some disease that made him attack like an animal?
SONYA FIDGETED with her hands as she paced the porch. The wind whipped her hair around her face, adding to the chill of fear that settled in her bones. She was going out of her mind with worry. Brack had been gone over an hour. Where was he? Was he hurt? Injured? Did he need her to call a search and rescue team?
For God’s sake, she was a paramedic herself. If he needed help, she had to find him.
But venturing into those woods alone with a psycho animal on the loose would be completely foolhardy. And the only time she’d been a fool was when she’d fallen for Stan.
No, one other time—when she’d ignored her mother’s advice and married him.
Sheriff Cohen wheezed another breath, obviously anxious to leave. But even he had the decency not to desert her.
She considered getting out the bleach and starting to clean, just to give herself something to do. Cleaning would be a healthy diversion. Maybe if she scrubbed the violence away, it would disappear from her life forever.
But her body protested every movement she made now, and the smell of blood and the dead birds was nauseating. She couldn’t face the task alone. Not tonight. And hadn’t Brack said he wanted his own team to take samples?
The house moaned as if it were in pain, reminding her of the ghost legends surrounding the house and the people who’d died before on the rugged land behind her property. The night shadows streaking the woods beyond made the ridges look even more ominous, as if anything could be hiding out in the murky depths.
The psycho was out there. She felt his presence, his sick lust, his beady eyes. He was waiting to come back.
Tears pushed at her eyelids, but she fought them. She could not fall apart.
The brush parted, and she froze. Expected to see an animal. Or maybe the crazy person who’d painted her house in blood.
But Brack slowly staggered into the clearing and the light from the house. He was breathtaking in his size and power. Like a panther, he moved with fluid grace. A quiet, dangerous intensity underscored his every movement, yet he had the subtle grace of a beautiful kestrel in flight.
He stumbled slightly, and her pulse raced. Dear God. He had blood on
his shirt. He was hurt.
She ran down the steps toward him, her heart beating frantically in her chest. Blood dotted his shirt and streaked his hands and neck. Behind him, the trees shivered with the wind’s force, and the clouds grew darker. She choked back fear as her medical training kicked in. She couldn’t panic. She had to treat his injuries, offer a steadying hand, call for help if necessary.
She hissed a breath. Back in control.
Now was not the time to be the simpering female. Brack needed her, and she wouldn’t let him down. Not after he’d rescued her and Katie.
“Brack?”
Pain etched lines on his face though he tried to mask it. “He escaped, dammit.”
She forced a smile although her lips felt glued together. “It’s all right. You’re hurt,” she whispered. “Let’s get you inside.”
“I’ll be fine.” Disgust laced his voice as if he hated admitting failure. As if he’d let her down. “Is Cohen finished?”
She nodded. “We’ve been waiting on you.”
His gaze met hers. “Pack an overnight bag.”
“Brack—”
Anger flashed in his dark eyes. “Don’t argue, Sonya. You can’t sleep here tonight. It’s too dangerous. I’ll arrange for a team to clean your house tomorrow, then have my security guys install dead bolts on your doors and locks on the windows before you return.”
She’d be a fool to argue with his logic. Besides, she wouldn’t sleep a wink in her house tonight anyway. And she wanted to check his injuries. He might have a concussion and should go to the hospital, but she sensed he was too stubborn to admit he needed help.
He swayed slightly, and she slid her arm around his waist. He draped his arm around her shoulder, conceding slightly, and she cushioned his weight.
Cohen met them on the front steps, his look cautious. “Did you see anything?”
“No. He got away.”
Cohen scowled, then turned to Sonya. “You want me to drive you to town to rent a room for the night?”