Eye of the Falcon (Psychic Visions #12)(28)

“And how is it that you would see Humbug?”

“He’s a snowy owl, extra-large, with a bum wing. I found him injured in the fields. At the time I assumed he’d escaped from a predator. But he is also cranky. He likes things the way he likes them. He wants the food he wants. He likes his comforts the way he wants them. And, if you want him to go outside and do something for fun, he’s very much back to being Humbug.”

Eagle stared at her and, despite himself, started to laugh. He pulled a chair up close beside her bed and sat down. “So how the hell did Stefan hear Humbug? How does he know Humbug is in trouble?”

She slowly glanced his way and then back to the window again.

And he knew instinctively she was hiding something. “Spit it out. Nothing but mystery had shrouded your visit from the beginning. I’d like to know some things for sure. How does Stefan know about Humbug?” Eagle demanded.

Her voice was so low he had to lean closer to hear her repeat it. “He might be able to hear Humbug.”

Eagle stared at her. “So, a man might actually hear Humbug’s cry-in-the-night type of thing?”

She winced. “I don’t mean hear in that sense.”

He groaned. “In what sense do you mean?”

“Maybe Stefan is psychic.”

He knew he lived out in the middle of nowhere, and he knew he’d turned his back on humanity, but some things he couldn’t turn his back on. And that was some of the stories he’d heard over the last decade. They weren’t stories you read in the newspaper. But they were stories you heard through special friends in certain law enforcement departments. He bolted to his feet and raced to the kitchen, grabbed his laptop, and returned. He had the laptop, notepad, and Stefan’s phone number as Eagle sat beside her. He typed in the name to search and up came dozens of articles. He checked the bottom row to see Google had matched fourteen pages of online data to Eagle’s search criteria without even clicking again. “Shit.”

“What did you find?” she asked.

He watched her pleating the blanket front, fear and worry spilling into her fingers. “He is a psychic. A very well-known one.”

She frowned. “I don’t know him.”

“Is there any reason why you should? Are you psychic?” A look of horror crossed her face, and he chuckled. “I’ll take that as a no.” He dropped his gaze to the laptop and said, “He lives on the West Coast.”

“Not exactly neighbors,” she said drily.

“How far could Humbug fly?”

“Barely at all. From the kitchen table to the couch. From one fence post to another. And, if he was going in a straight line, you can guarantee he’d end up in a forty-five-degree angle on a downward slope,” she said. “He’s funny, cuddly, smart—sometimes,” she qualified. “He’s also very silly and very inept. He would not survive on his own for long.”

“So, considering we don’t know how long you were held against your will, and the only thing I have to go on is the falconry club time frame, are you sure no one would notice you were gone?”

“No, not after my mother died.”

“She died on August 26, just over five weeks ago.” So she’d been held for, at most, five weeks. No wonder she was in such rough shape. To survive that showed stamina, mental strength, and a fight to live. He loved that about her.

She paused, swallowed hard, and added, “If Humbug found a place to get food on a regular basis, and he was warm enough, he could survive. Of course he’d need water as well.”

“How is it that you have anything to do with these birds?”

“They are my passion. I specialized in animals for my education. Animals and their environment,” she said, fatigue in her voice. She shifted deeper into the blanket again. Her head relaxed.

Fascinated, he leaned forward. “Why birds? Why did you specialize in birds?”

“I didn’t have a choice,” she whispered. “They chose me.”

And damn if she didn’t fall asleep again. He checked his clock; it was almost eight. If she slept through the night, she’d be a lot better tomorrow. She was healing rapidly. He was astonished at how the bruises were quickly running through the different colors. Even her head wound looked much better, the edges growing together, and, although they still slightly puckered, they were already starting to close. He didn’t know how that was possible. It was too fast.

When his phone rang again, he stared down at it. That was way too many phone calls for him in one day. He answered it cautiously. “Hello. Who is this?”

“Stefan asked me to call.”

Eagle pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why?”

The beautiful light voice chuckled. “My name is Tabitha Stoddard. Apparently you need me.”

“For what?”

“I’m a sensitive. I pick up on animals’ energy, particularly when they are in distress. I run Exotic Landscapes, a refuge for animals. And I have deep intuitive connections with a lot of animals. But I don’t have a ton with birds. Stefan called to let me know Humbug is in trouble.”

“The bird can’t fly. I understand it’s a snowy owl with an injured wing.”

The woman’s voice softened. “Oh, poor thing. The fact it hasn’t been taken out by a larger predator is a good sign.”