Eye of the Falcon (Psychic Visions #12)(3)

The one time she’d asked, her mother hadn’t cared, saying, “These are people I interact with, people who share what’s happening in their lives and are watching what happens in my life. I don’t feel so alone when I do this.”

Issa had nodded. The last thing she wanted was people prying into her world, into her life. She’d gone through school making friends but keeping few. She wasn’t wired to be a social butterfly. She wanted no part of the global fascination of other peoples’ lives.

She lived in the open air, the silence of the forest. Still waters and amazing forms of life dwelled within. But only a few special people cared to look for those wonders. She hadn’t tried hard to make friends. For that she knew the fault was hers. Her heart wasn’t in it; neither was her soul. She’d come alive when she joined the local falconry club. That was something she could relate to. She’d become as attached to the birds there as she had to the members.

They had rallied around her, understanding on some elemental level she was one of them. She hadn’t realized, growing up, such a group of people who did this was over here. She hadn’t understood her life as a child was in some ways unique and yet, to others, deprived. It made her both heartbroken for not being so special and yet grateful for having others who understood. And, despite all the time she spent with these people, she hadn’t yet found a hawk or falcon or another bird that could give her what she sought. And she’d spent decades searching. Two of them to be exact.

When she heard an unnatural sound outside, she froze. Making a fast decision, she blew out the kerosene light. But for some reason her instincts were on alert. And then she heard the rumble from her birds outside. Humbug screeched into the night, and she heard a gunshot. Her blood ran cold.

She raced out the back door, and two hard hands grabbed her. Not a word was said as she fought and screamed and tugged to get away until finally something was shoved over her head. It was long enough to drop down over the rest of her. She was knocked to the ground and trussed up like an animal. Finally she was picked up and tossed over someone’s shoulder. Blind, hurting, and terrified, she continued to struggle until something hard slammed into her head. And she knew no more.





Chapter 2





Weeks Later

Eagle Saunders walked onto the long veranda and stared at the sky. He saw no sign of the falcon who’d taken off on him yesterday—the falcon still so badly injured it shouldn’t have been able to fly. And that was after Eagle’s attempts to heal the bird who had showed up a few days ago.

Out of habit he yelled, “Rikker? Come home, boy.”

The sky was empty. The falcon long gone.

That didn’t stop Eagle from searching the sky’s vast blue depths. As always it drew him in, like a wounded soldier to the hope that something—someone—was out there. He was no stranger to hope. Lying in Afghanistan, waiting for rescue with his bullet-torn body, he’d stared upward for hours as his hope waned.

He’d woken up in the hospital weeks later, realizing sometime hopes and wishes did come true.

Now he gave homage to the sky on a regular basis, the blue depths giving him the courage way back when to stay alive until the shooting around him had died down and his team could come for him. He’d rebuilt his life outside of the Special Operations unit he’d been in. A life as far away and as unregimented as possible. He had over a hundred and twenty acres here. Part of it was an inheritance from his grandfather, and the other parcel was purchased as a barrier to keep the rest of the world at bay.

He’d seen enough of what humanity could do to one another. He couldn’t stop them anymore, but at least now he didn’t have to witness it. Here he worked to save those birds that had always rested at the edge of his heart. Something about the majesty of the raptors called to him. He hadn’t planned on creating a refuge for them, but, no doubt, that was exactly what he’d done.

A biologist buddy, also former navy, had found an injured eagle and had brought it to Eagle as he’d been the closest help at the time. The concept had snowballed.

And that brought him around to wondering about Rikker and what had happened. Something impossible.

Rikker had a badly broken wing, broken leg, and a deep cut on his back. Eagle had found him when out riding several days ago. Instead of panicking when a human approached, the falcon had stayed still and let Eagle pick him up and bring him to the center for treatment. Due to the animal’s more docile behavior, and, by now out of habit, Eagle had checked for leg bands, then with the local falconry clubs.

No one was missing a falcon. Or no one wanted to own up to it and possibly be handed a bill for the bird’s care. Not that Eagle would have charged them, but he’d seen how people’s behavior shifted once money was involved.

In fact, he hadn’t expected the raptor to survive that first night. He’d stopped the bleeding, set the leg and the wing, and stitched up the cut, but the bird had been off his food and water and barely holding on to his perch. None of which were a good sign. Yesterday morning he’d been even worse. He’d given up the fight to live until he suddenly tried to rip apart Eagle’s hands.

When Eagle had taken the falcon outside into the sunshine, thinking it might be a kindness to put down the bird, the raptor had exploded from his arms—as if the falcon had read Eagle’s mind—and flung himself into the sky in a last attempt at freedom. Except, with his injuries, no way in hell should that falcon been able to fly. And he was one of the largest Eagle had ever seen.