Eye of the Falcon (Psychic Visions #12)(36)

She pointed out the next few turns. He found himself back on a highway, heading to Issa’s cabin. She leaned forward as the excitement grew on her face. “Up there, at that intersection, take a right.” For the next ten minutes, he followed her instructions until she said, “Now we just stay on this road to my place.”

“And how long again?”

“Thirty minutes.”

He settled back for the ride, keeping an eye on the traffic. But the farther along they went, the less traffic they saw. When he realized he hadn’t seen anybody for a good fifteen minutes, he said, “How long have you actually lived here?”

She shrugged. “Five years, I think. Slow down,” she yelled suddenly.

He hit the brakes and saw a dirt road up ahead.

“This is it.”

He stared at the dirt road that barely passed for a driveway and the heavily wooded area that cloaked where their destination was. He took a turn onto the road and slowed to a crawl.

She gave him an apologetic look. “I was planning to get it fixed.”

He nodded. “A rough dirt road is not anything to be ashamed of.”

They traveled along the half-mile driveway until he saw a small cabin.

“Oh, my God, there it is,” she said. “For some reason, I was so afraid they would’ve burned it to the ground.”

“Not likely. That would’ve caused a hell of a fire. And we’re very short on rain this year.” He pulled up in front and came around to her side. There he unbuckled her, lifted her in his arms, and carried her to the front step. He set her down and then stepped back.

“I don’t see any of my birds,” she said quietly, her gaze searching the treetops and the fence line. She hobbled to the front door that stood partially open. He knew the inside would be trashed. He kept protectively at her side as they entered. She tried to flick on a light, but there was no power. She might have been cut off if her bill hadn’t been paid.

When he stepped inside, he saw a very plain, simple cabin with an old worn couch and chair on the left side and a Formica table from the eighties on metal legs on the right side. Everything was upside down and tossed to the floor. “Let me check to make sure no one is here.”

The place had that cold, empty, deserted feeling. He made a quick search anyway. Better to be safe. When he came back, she stood in the middle of the living room, dismay on her face. “Why would they destroy everything?”

“Because they were looking for something. Or maybe just to hurt you.”

She nodded. “Both, I believe.”

With his help, she navigated through the debris on the floor. She made it to the bedroom and stopped. “There’s not much in the way of usable clothing.”

He’d seen that for himself. They had dumped the drawers, emptied the closet, and poured something like paint and paint thinner over them. He wasn’t sure, but a whole collection of liquids had been thrown all around.

She stood in shock. He watched her shock turn to anger. And of that he approved. “Good. Get angry,” he said quietly. “Because otherwise you’d stay a victim, and victims are completely helpless.”

“I was a victim,” she said, her tone so low he could barely hear. “And you’re right. I was completely helpless. But I’m not now. They might’ve ruined a few clothes, and maybe nothing is salvageable, but this will not break me.”

She turned to study the bathroom, a simple affair with a small shower, toilet, and a sink. The few toiletries were tossed on the floor. She wandered to the kitchen, straightened up a chair, and sat down. He opened the fridge and slammed it closed.

She glanced at him. “You hungry?”

“No.” He shook his head. “I was wondering how long since you’ve been here. The food in there is bad.”

“I have no power. I’m not sure how long it takes food to turn in a sealed fridge.”

He shrugged. “Three to seven days.”

“I’m pretty sure I was held for a lot longer than that.”

“So, did they get the boxes?”

“That’s why I’m sitting down. I’m scared to look.” She pointed to the floor under his feet and said, “A root cellar is down there.”

He glanced at her in surprise and back at his feet. He studied the floor layout, but it took him several minutes to see the wooden handle completely flattened into the floor, its grain matched up. He bent down, lifted the handle, slowly raising it. “Do you have a flashlight?”

She shook her head. “I did, but I don’t know where it is now.”

He pulled out his cell phone, turned on the flashlight, and shot the beam down there. “Doesn’t look like they found this.” He heard the small cry of relief in her voice. He slowly made his way down the ladder to see several boxes of canned goods, some camping gear, and a crematory urn. Her mother? With her guidance, he found the boxes they were looking for. He asked, “Do you want your mother’s urn now?”

She shook her head. “No, we can leave that here for now.”

When he climbed out, he replaced the lid, leaving the cellar hidden again, and carried the two boxes out to the truck, putting them behind the seats. Then he came back and said, “I’ll take a quick look around outside, staying near the cabin, to look for Humbug. You stay here. Just give me five minutes, and then we’ll leave.”