by Rita Herron
But if the killer had been watching, he had already fled.
Frustration knotted his muscles as he hiked back down the path from the ledge and returned to the scene of the crime. The medical examiner had arrived and completed his preliminary analysis, and a crime scene unit from the county was scouring the area for evidence.
Brack snapped several photos and questioned the surviving girl, Beverly Wallace, but she hadn’t seen anything helpful.
So far, they had zilch.
Nothing more than what they already knew. The creature sounded like an animal and attacked like one, too, although the visit to Sonya’s house indicated he was human, or at least he had the cognitive abilities of a human.
Brack cursed. He used the term loosely. No psycho who viciously ripped at a girl’s throat and body until she bled to death was human.
He’d worked as a P.I. for years, had spent weeks and days in the woods, but he’d never encountered anything this bizarre.
He mentally ticked over various possibilities as he and Sonya drove back to town, creating a profile of the killer in his mind. The killer must be familiar with the woods. He might have grown up here or maybe he lived nearby. He had studied the raptors. And he liked the power of attacking the weaker, maybe enjoyed playing the game. Perhaps he’d grown up hunting as a child.
He had to consider the obvious. Could the killer possibly be another falconer?
Some man so obsessed with studying wildlife, particularly the birds of prey, that he thought he’d turned into one? The thought sent a frisson of unease through him. Even without a psychology degree, Brack understood the birds’ behavioral patterns. The mating game. The song and dance. The attack.
The hunger that had to be sated. The survival instincts that drove him to hunt and kill.
Only this killer hunted as much for sport as he did survival.
He needed to check into any hunting club or hunters in town. Jesus. That theory could open a big suspect pool. But if the killer was a hunter, why hadn’t he used the typical weapon of choice—a rifle or shotgun? Why talons?
And where did he get them? A costume shop?
Adrenaline hummed through him, and he hoped he was on to something. He’d check the residents for anyone interested in wildlife biology, the environment perhaps, maybe a student from one of the local universities. Tin City didn’t have a costume shop, but he’d research that possibility online and in Denver.
Following that logic, he had to consider the vet as a suspect and his assistant, as well. He’d also research bird-watching groups. Maybe the blood analysis would turn up something with the DNA.
He cut his gaze toward Sonya. She sat with her hands knotted, face ashen, seemingly lost in thought. She hadn’t spoken a word since they’d gotten in the car.
He placed his hand over hers. “Are you all right?”
She nodded. “I was just thinking about Beverly. She may need counseling to overcome her guilt.”
Brack entwined her fingers with his. He was surprised when she didn’t pull away, and inordinately relieved that she trusted him. “Deke’s wife is opening a teen center with a counselor on board. I’ll mention it to her.”
She squeezed his fingers. “Thank you, Brack.”
The way she murmured his name twisted his insides. Seeing the dead girl had reminded him that life could be taken away in a heartbeat.
He silently vowed to protect Sonya. He couldn’t stand the thought of her ending up like the teenage girl.
SONYA CLUNG to Brack’s warm, strong hand, desperate to erase the chill of death that invaded her at the sight of the young teenager’s mangled body. Her job had forced her to face the inevitable cycle of life and death before, yet the girl’s injuries seemed more horrid and stark because another person had cruelly and intentionally inflicted them.
She didn’t want to analyze the reason she hadn’t pulled away from Brack when he’d entwined his fingers with hers, but his quiet strength gave her strength, too.
He squeezed her hand and pulled into the parking lot of the country café. She and Katie had eaten here twice, although some of the decor disturbed her. In honor of the town name, Tin City, the new owner served dishes on tin plates, and the tables were topped with thin pieces of tin, which gave it an eclectic look. Punched tin art, as well as news articles about the ghosts that haunted the town, especially the ones chronicling the miners from the 1800s and some of the fallen mines, filled the walls. The owner, Minnie Weaver, confessed that she played up the town’s history for the tourists, but that she didn’t believe in ghosts herself.
Sonya wasn’t so sure. Not after living in the old farmhouse. And the rumors at the hospital—sometimes in the morgue she sensed the tortured spirits of those who’d passed. Odd sounds, moans and groans, echoed from the walls, supposedly from the people who’d died in the typhoid epidemic. Their bodies had been buried underground, somewhere below the hospital’s floor.
“Let’s grab some lunch, then we’ll swing by and retrieve Snowball before we get Katie,” Brack said. “I promised her I’d bring her kitten back today.”
Sonya’s throat convulsed. She had no idea he’d made a promise to Katie, but the fact that he remembered and fully intended to keep it touched her deeply. How many times had Stan promised to come home at night to see Katie before Sonya tucked her into bed and never shown? How many times had Katie cried for him only to go to bed knowing that her father chose work over her?
Sonya had finally realized that her husband worked late to avoid having to see both of them. That he already had another woman in his bed.
The old pain stabbed at her again, reminding her to guard her heart.
As soon as they entered the café, tension rippled through the room. Patrons twisted, turned, whispered. Suspicious looks darted their way.
Brack instantly tensed, and she remembered the rumors about his family. The Falcon men were strange, spooky. They talked to the birds.
Their father had once been imprisoned, thought to have murdered a family called the Lyles in the worst bloodbath the town had ever seen. Last year, his sons had returned to Falcon Ridge to clear him of the crimes. And even though the real murderer had been caught, suspicion and distrust still tainted their name.
Ignorance. People were often afraid of what they didn’t understand. Just as they were of Katie.
Because they didn’t want to dig deeper and face their own flaws.
“You don’t have to sit with me if you don’t want,” Brack said in a husky voice.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Sonya muttered. “You’re my friend. I don’t care what anyone thinks.”
And she didn’t. Her indifference toward social status had separated her from Stan. He valued appearances, whereas Sonya committed solely to her own convictions and beliefs and didn’t care one iota what anyone else said. She froze, her thoughts crashing in her head.
For the first time since she’d met Brack, a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You’ve got guts, Sonya. I like that about you.”
A blush stained her cheeks. In spite of his intense, brooding manner, she was beginning to like a lot of things about him, too.
Suddenly she became aware of his breath feathering her neck. Of his scent and big, masculine presence beside her as they slid into a booth. Minnie approached, her eyes darting back and forth between them. “What can I bring you all?”
Sonya ordered the soup and sandwich, and Brack ordered stew and sweet iced tea. The air grew warmer, the room smaller. The scent of warm, homemade pies and Brack’s musky odor suffused her. Sonya tried not to stare at his big hands as he accepted the glass of tea and glanced down at the newspaper on the table instead.
Her heart slammed into her ribs—a photo of the woods where she’d been attacked was on the front page. Beneath the headline, Mutant Bird Attacks Local Woman, Katie’s crude drawing of the half bird, half man had been highlighted.
Brack muttered a curse. “Where did they get that?”
“I do
n’t know,” Sonya said. Good heavens, she didn’t want the people in town ridiculing her daughter. And she didn’t want her mother finding out she had a grandchild by reading it in the paper.
The hair on the back of Sonya’s neck tingled, and suddenly she sensed someone was watching her. As if the creature who’d attacked her was actually nearby. Maybe in the diner.
BRACK’S TEMPER flared at the sight of the article. He wanted to find that damn reporter and tear off his head for mentioning Katie. Sonya’s attack, of course, was news, as the girl’s death would be today, but the fact that Sonya had survived meant the killer might return for her.
And Katie might get caught in the whole rotten mess. What if the killer tried to get to Sonya through her little girl?
Sweat broke out on his brow. He’d give Sonya a day maybe, then he’d insist again that she leave town with Katie.
Sonya fidgeted and quickly glanced around the room, her body tensing.
“What’s wrong?” Brack asked.
“I…I don’t know. I have the oddest feeling that someone is watching me.”
“Half the town is watching you because you’re with me,” Brack said in disgust.
“No, it’s not that….” She bit down on her lip, then rubbed at her neck. “Like he’s here, watching me, just like I sensed he was in the woods.”
Brack hitched a breath and squared his shoulders, mentally noting every male in the room. A teenage boy, but he was cuddled with his girlfriend in a corner booth. Two old geezers playing checkers in the back on a whiskey barrel that served as a table. Minnie’s husband, Lewis, but he looked to be in his late sixties, too stricken with arthritis to attack anyone.
The vet, Phil Priestly, sat in the back booth, eating quail and licking his fingers. Brack frowned as the man’s expression met his. Then Priestly flicked his thumb up in recognition and shrugged as if he was embarrassed to be caught eating the bird.
Or was that the reason he looked uncomfortable?
Could he possibly be the person who’d attacked Sonya?
Another man at the counter pivoted and stared at him, then stood and walked his way. Brack frowned.
“Mr. Falcon?”
“Yes.”
“I’m Emerson Godfrey. You and your brothers work with the falcons in the area?”
Brack clenched the edge of the tabletop. “That’s right. You’re from the EPA, correct?”
“Yes. I’ll need to test any injured birds that you’ve rescued.”
“The local vet is handling that.”
“Then we’ll consult with him. But we have to determine if the falcons are diseased so we can decide how to handle the situation.”
“The birds didn’t cause these attacks,” Brack stated.
“Maybe. Maybe not. But there were suspicious findings in some of the animal and plant life specimens your brother had analyzed. It’s possible we’re dealing with some kind of rare bird flu. If so…well, then it could be dangerous for the citizens of Tin City.”
And dangerous for his falcons, Brack thought. And what if some of the birds were sick? It might explain how the killer was able to catch them and kill them. Perhaps he poisoned the smaller animals, set a trap to catch the birds, then zeroed in on them when they fell ill or weakened. Otherwise, a healthy bird could quickly escape a man’s hands.
Dammit. He knew how destructive bird flu could be.
And what it would mean if it wasn’t contained.
SONYA SENSED Brack was upset by Mr. Godfrey’s appearance. His falcons were like his children, and he’d do anything to protect them, just as she’d do anything to shelter and protect Katie.
After eating, they stopped at Brack’s, and he rushed in and retrieved Snowball, then drove her to Margaret’s house. Katie hobbled toward her, grinning from ear to ear.
“Mommy!” She vaulted into Sonya’s arms, and Sonya held her to her chest, tears pushing at the backs of her eyelids. God, she’d missed her. But seeing Katie so excited was worth a night away from her.
“Mommy, we made s’mores, and swept in the tent, and watched two movies.”
Sonya ruffled her daughter’s curly hair and laughed. “I’m glad you had fun.” Sonya thanked Margaret. “I really appreciate your taking such good care of her.”
Margaret smiled. “How are you feeling?”
“Stronger,” Sonya admitted. Seeing Katie happy helped.
A few minutes later, Katie snuggled into the backseat of Brack’s SUV and hugged the kitten, giggling when it licked her face.
When they arrived, Brack checked the new security system. Thankfully the blood and animal remains had been removed, although Sonya still pictured them in her mind. She thanked Brack and walked him to the door.
He hesitated, and her pulse pounded as she remembered the kiss the night before. How deeply she’d wanted more.
But Katie was here now, a reminder that the two of them were a package deal. A car rumbled up the drive, and Brack pivoted, his shoulders squared, the wind tousling his hair around his face.
The door to the Pathfinder closed, and a tall, thin man wearing wire-rimmed glasses approached, his shoulders hunched against the cold.
“Ms. Silverstein!” the man called.
Brack stepped in front of the stranger, between them. “Who are you, buddy, and what do you want?”
“My name is Darrien Tripp.” His wiry hair stood out in different directions, and his beaklike nose wrinkled up. He removed the magazine he had tucked beneath his armpit. “I write for The Tween Zone—we feature articles about the occult. I’m chronicling stories of supernatural sightings across the States and want to interview you about the creature who attacked you, Ms. Silverstein.”
“Ms. Silverstein has nothing to say,” Brack barked.
Tripp bristled. “Why don’t you let the lady speak for herself?”
“Mr. Tripp, I already told the sheriff what I saw, which was nothing,” Sonya interjected. “So, Mr. Falcon is right. I can’t help you.”
He pinched his lips together, looking annoyed, then leaned over toward Katie. “How about you, little girl? You drew the picture of the bird-man in the paper, didn’t you?”
Katie nodded, her eyes huge as she glared up at Sonya, then back at the man. “It was a big monster,” she whispered. “Just like you!”
Sonya stared at her daughter, stunned. Katie had never been rude to an adult in her life.
Katie suddenly darted behind her and clutched Snowball to her chest as if she expected the stranger to swoop down, snatch the kitten and run.
BRACK CONTEMPLATED Darrien Tripp’s timing as he let himself in Falcon Ridge. He didn’t like the smarmy man and hoped to hell he didn’t harass Sonya and Katie again. If he did, Brack’s next warning wouldn’t be so tame.
He checked on the two birds caged outside, grateful to see both healing, then headed to his office computer and punched in the name of that magazine. The Tween Zone was a new publication that featured stories of bizarre occurrences, everything from potential sightings of statues of the Virgin Mary crying to vampires and psychics.
He skimmed the last five issues and noted Tripp had written articles on the occult, on a possible devil possession, a vampire in north Georgia, and a shape-shifter several people had claimed they’d spotted in a small mountain town in Tennessee—a half man, half mountain lion.
The articles consisted of people’s accounts, but offered no real proof or evidence that the stories held truth or that they hadn’t been manufactured to get attention.
What if Tripp had invented this bird-man himself, then shown up to write about him and garner attention for himself and his magazine?
He accessed the man’s personal information. A background check proved he’d had two confrontations with the police—both episodes where he’d reacted with physical force toward people who’d tried to discredit him.
Brack dug deeper and discovered Tripp had grown up in the hills of Tennessee, and that his father had belonged to a hunting club. Tripp had also
joined the club at age eighteen.
Then Tripp’s father had died a violent death in the woods on one of their hunting trips. He’d supposedly been mauled by a bear.
Hmm. Tripp knew how to hunt. He wrote about bizarre cases. And now he’d arrived in Tin City asking questions, nosing around, wanting to write a feature on Sonya’s attack.
It sounded suspicious. He’d keep an eye on the man. He might just be their killer.
KATIE’S CRY OF TERROR pierced the night. Sonya’s heart raced as she threw off the comforter and ran toward her daughter’s room.
She stumbled in the darkness and reached for the den light, but when she hit the switch, nothing happened. Panic tore through her.
“Mommy!”
“Katie!” Sonya burst into her daughter’s room, dizzy with fear. “Katie?”
“The monster, Mommy! He’s at the window!”
Sonya’s stomach clenched. Katie was right. A shadow loomed in front of the glass, dark and vile-looking. Then the glass pane rattled and crashed and the creature reached for Katie.
Chapter Eleven
Brack jerked upright from a deep sleep, his heart racing. Something was wrong.
The phone trilled a second later, and he snapped it up. “Sonya?”
“Brack! He’s outside Katie’s window! He’s trying to break in!”
“I’m on my way!”
He pulled on a shirt, not bothering to button it, then yanked on his jeans and boots. As he ran for the door, he grabbed his keys and pistol, then raced to his SUV. Cold air assaulted him as he started the engine and veered down the drive. He had to hurry. If he could catch this guy tonight, Sonya would be safe again, and this crazy mess would finally end.
A deer trotted across the road, and he slammed on the brakes and skidded, barreling toward the embankment. Dammit. He steered the truck sideways, spun, then righted himself, inhaling to calm down. His hands clenched the steering wheel as he approached Sonya’s drive, his gaze skimming the property. Not wanting to alert the psycho to his arrival, he flipped off his headlights and parked at the edge of the drive between two ancient oaks.