Eye of the Falcon (Psychic Visions #12)(20)

The needles were sharp with clarity in the morning light. His jaw dropped, and he was afraid to break free, to move in any way to stop this. Yet he was sure he could reach out and touch them. His hand was already in the air …

And just like that, it shut off. The images were gone. Issa lay as still as before, but now her eyes were closed. He let out his breath gently, trying not to wake her. Yet how could he not? He was desperate to know what had just happened.

What she had done?

He sank to the edge of the bed and stared. Who was this woman? This woman who could be anywhere from twenty to forty, who lay on his bed, her body so badly damaged, and yet her mind, her energy, so alive. So unique. And, yes, so special.

And maybe that was the part that bothered him the most. It wasn’t like those images were on the movie screen or were still photos on the monitor. They’d been in front of him. Fully 3-D. As if coming from his own eyes. Shaken, he got up and slowly walked to the doorway. He kept his gaze on the woman who now appeared to be resting as easily as a child. Whatever had affected her earlier was seemingly gone.

Just as he was about to exit through the door and put on coffee, knowing sleep was long gone for him, she sat up, completely unaware of her injuries. Her head turned almost like a robot, and she stared at him. “I have to get Humbug.”

His mind struggled. Humbug? Humbug? Then he remembered. An owl in her care named Humbug. He took several steps toward her, hearing Roash lift his broken wings protectively … over her. She held out her arm, her gaze locked on his. Roash shifted position to settle on her forearm. Eagle couldn’t tear his gaze away. The bird settled right between her bruises. He would’ve said the bird’s claws caused the bruising if he had not seen for himself how very carefully and gently the bird placed his feet to minimize her pain.

“Why do you need to get Humbug?” His voice was harsh, cold, and he admitted, but only to himself, maybe a little terrified.

“He’s in trouble. They want to kill him to get back at me for escaping.”

He could see that. His heart went out to the owl. Because the men who would do something like they’d done to her would do so much worse to Humbug. And, if they thought they could use it to hurt her more, they would. They’d shown no conscience yet. This would only get worse.

“Do you know where he is?”

She blinked and stared at him with a frown. It was like she just came back to awareness. “What did I say?”

“You said we need to get Humbug. That they want to kill him.”

Her gaze widened in shock. “I did?”

Slowly he nodded, but he only saw confusion on her face. “Do you know where Humbug is?”

She turned to him and shook her head. “No, but I wish I did.” Tears came to her eyes. She collapsed back onto the bed, pulling the covers up. Roash walked up to her shoulder, crooning, and she started to cry.

*

Dylan stared at the property. He couldn’t believe it was possible for her to have made it this far. He liked the fighting spirit of the woman. Of all the things he’d done over the last fifty years of his adult life, this was the worst. They not only had kidnapped a woman and beat her, but she was family. What they’d done to her … He shook his head. His mother would roll over in her grave, and his father would’ve given him a hiding, a good flogging. He didn’t much like it himself.

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.