Eye of the Falcon (Psychic Visions #12)(29)
“Not unless we have a way to get to it. When you say you have a deep intuitive connection, what the hell does that mean?”
That same laugh filled the air. “It means different things for different animals. I’m not trying to be cryptic. I’m not trying to be vague. Some people call me a psychic, but I’m very connected to the animal world. Stefan is connected to people.”
“And, even if I pretended to believe you, Stefan is the one who connected to Humbug.”
“True. But then Stefan is very different. He’s connected to the ethers. He does a lot of work on the divide between this world and the next.”
“Whoa. Okay, now that’s getting just way too far to the left for me.”
“I know,” she said sympathetically. “You’re much more the norm. Believe me. My gift has made my life difficult. Chances are you have never come up against someone like him or me. Regardless Stefan and I will continue to combine forces to locate or otherwise aid Humbug.”
“I have a falcon here that appears to be very connected to a person.”
“Oh, that would be interesting. It doesn’t happen to have some unusual markings on its left foot, does it?”
He bolted to his feet and walked back into the bedroom. Roash looked at him and cawed gently. And, sure enough, his left foot, the lower part was scraped clean. “I don’t know what you mean by unusual markings,” he said, a question in his voice. He wasn’t prepared to give her any more than that.
“Does it look like a band has been there, but it was removed, and the skin rubbed clean?”
“Yes, that’s exactly what it looks like.”
“Well, that’s a good sign.”
“How the hell can you say that? You just described a bird you’ve never seen sitting in my spare bedroom.”
“The real question is, and it is very important that you tell me the truth”—she took a deep breath and let it out slowly—“is there a beautiful woman with you as well who came with the bird?”
“Jesus.” That was all he could say. Anything else was beyond him.
“You need to keep her safe. She’s very special.” With that, Tabitha rang off, leaving him staring at the dead phone in his hand.
*
“We’re heading back out again to scope the land.”
“Wait.” The boss handed him a sheet of paper. “The owner of the property is ex-navy. He earned himself several medals in combat.”
Dylan’s heart sank. “How long ago?” Please let this guy be in his nineties and ready to drop. But he knew it wouldn’t be that easy. He’d seen a strong healthy male around the place. And that was the worst kind. Young men became protective when they found an injured female. And, if this one had skills, then this job just became that much harder.
“Make sure you take him out too.”
Dylan swallowed. “Is that wise?”
“If you can get the girl without killing him, then fine. But you’ll need to blow off his kneecaps to stop him from coming after us.”
“True.” Dylan grabbed his rucksack, nodded to the new guy, and headed to the truck.
“Blow off the guy’s kneecaps?” the other guy asked. “Is he for real?”
“Not only is he for real, he’ll do it to you too if he doesn’t like your performance. So keep that in mind.” Dylan didn’t want to see the look of shock on the man’s face. He’d seen it all before.
Sometimes the boss said things to the new guys to scare them.
Not this time though. Dylan had been given orders. Get the girl; cripple the owner for life. If that didn’t do the job, then Dylan was to kill him.
Really all that meant was he was to kill him outright.
Dead men couldn’t talk.
Chapter 11
When she woke up next, she saw the early morning sun shining through the window. And heard a strange call. She sat up in bed slowly. Roash was at the window, pecking at the glass. “Do you need to go out?”
Roash turned, and she was pinned with a golden look. She studied the distance from the bed to the window and then decided she should try. Carefully she stood, surprised to find the pain tolerable. Her feet still felt swollen and puffy, like she was walking on cushions, and each step sent spikes of pain through her—but to a lesser degree than she’d felt so far. At the window, she opened it wide enough for Roash to fly out.
She stood there for a long moment, studying the acres of land, and, from where she stood, she could see the corner of a pen. And birds. An incredible number of them stretched out. Some lined the interior fence; some were in cages; some were sitting on top of the roof. She didn’t quite understand what was going on out there, but she wanted to. She’d understood Eagle had pens but hadn’t expected wild birds resting on every surface around the yard.
A door was at her side. She realized what she’d thought was a closet was a door out to a small deck. She opened it, winced at the cold air reaching her, wrapped her arms around her chest, and stepped out.
The chill in the air in no way took away from the beauty of her surroundings. For somebody who had spent her life getting back to nature, it amazed her that this man lived in what she’d easily call God’s Country. Rolling hills, trees everywhere. She looked but saw no sign of other people. And yet birds were everywhere. She didn’t understand, but one cried insistently. She studied the mass of birds, looking for the one calling. His cry wasn’t a sign of pain, so she didn’t understand his distress. It was like a warning.