Eye of the Falcon (Psychic Visions #12)(4)

But Rikker had taken to the skies with a vengeance and disappeared.

With his rescued dogs, Gunner and Hatter, at his side, Eagle walked to the raptor cages. The two big dogs went a long way to keep a lot of the wildlife back at the interior fence line where they belonged.

Caring for the large birds brought in a multitude of other prey looking for an easy meal. Although Eagle’s property was well fenced—both an outer and an inner fence line—the birds often hurt themselves as they panicked in their pens, trying to get away from the threat of predators.

As Eagle approached the birds, he realized something was wrong. He picked up speed and ran the last few yards. Instead of the normal rustling of feathers, calls, and chattering among the birds, there was silence. He approached slowly and quietly now, feeling hundreds of eyes turn his way. And yet not one bird made a sound.

Unnerved, he walked around the perimeter of the multiple pens, looking for the predator that had them all tense. He pulled his gun from his holster and approached the corner cautiously. Glancing to all sides, he could see nothing that would put the birds on full alert. Peering around the corner, he saw the same high grass and bushes leading to the tree line farther back. He kept walking. Predators of all kinds had one thing in common. They were sneaky as all hell.

His steps as soundless as his raptors, he automatically checked the fences, looking for holes. Foxes were notorious for getting inside both fences but still could not penetrate the raptor cages. And, if the foxes were smart, they’d stay clear. Coyotes often stayed just off to the side and taunted the birds, letting them know that, given any weakness, the coyotes would be there to tear apart the raptors’ throats. But the wolves were even more intimidating. They would howl from a distance, knowing the birds were within reach, almost salivating at the luscious meals inside the cages.

But Eagle found none of those four-legged creatures.

And still behind Eagle was only silence. Every bird watched his progress. He kept glancing into the pens for any clue. Something was seriously off. A thick dark growl erupted from Gunner’s throat. The huge sheepdog ambled forward, his ears up, his back raised. Hatter raced behind with a lesser sense of smell. More concerned with the joys of puppyhood, he pranced and jumped around Gunner, trying to figure out what this new game was all about.

Unfortunately Hatter was no puppy—he was just stunted in growth and seriously stupid.

Eagle walked past, dropping a soothing hand on the back of Gunner’s neck. “What is it, boy?”

Gunner hunkered down as the hair on the back of his neck rose again. Eagle studied the long grass and the thick forest beyond. The air was still, heavy. Nothing moved. Not even the wind.

A negative space was up ahead where the ground cover appeared flattened. A trail of broken and trampled grass led to it, but, unless the animal left the same way, no path exited the hollow. With Gunner at his side, Hatter loping behind, Eagle slowly approached. Reaching the first fence line, he stood on the bottom rail and stretched up, hoping to see what was hiding.

Just then something erupted from the long grass.

He watched in amazement as Rikker soared high above, splitting the air with its piercing screech, only to circle back around again and again and slowly lower itself down. Eagle could see its broken wing, and yet the bird still flew straight. Eagle didn’t understand—but he wanted to. He swung a leg over the top rail of the fence and jumped down on the other side.

He ordered the dogs to stay. Gunner broke into furious barking, as if warning Eagle not to go there. But the big heavy dog couldn’t jump this fence easily. With his weapon ready, Eagle slowly parted the long grass. Just as he caught a glimpse of something white on the ground, the falcon rose once again, flapping its big wings in front of him.

“Easy, Rikker. Take it easy now. Let me see what’s going on.”

Unable to see around the irate bird, Eagle stepped forward, using his arms to brush back the raptor. His gaze dropped to the ground, and he froze, his mind struggling to compute the scene before him.

A nude woman—bloody, bruised, and scratched to hell—lay collapsed on the ground unconscious.

Or dead.

“Jesus Christ.” He put away his weapon and dropped to her side. She was on her side, but Eagle could see she was young, with long dark-red hair half covering her face, skinny to the point of being gaunt. Her bare feet were bloody and torn. As if she’d run until she couldn’t take one more step …

Instinctively he searched for a pulse, only to have Rikker flap his dangerously large wings in Eagle’s face and claw at his hands.

“Stop. I must help her. Just like I helped you.”

With a wary eye on the bird, Eagle was determined to subdue the falcon if he wouldn’t let Eagle check out the woman. He slowly outstretched his arm again. Rikker made a harsh cry but settled onto the woman’s shoulder.

Not the best place, but it would do for the moment. Eagle found a pulse at her wrist. Slow and steady. He did a quick check for injuries. He ran experienced fingers down her spine, her extremities, looking for breaks. He couldn’t find any broken bones, but her right ankle was swollen, and one shoulder badly cut, and any internal fractures would be hard to confirm without X-rays. He frowned, his mind racing to identify the wounds and their cause.

Keeping his face and eyes protected from the falcon, still uncertain of the reason for the bird’s presence, Eagle searched the woman’s back and chest again and found a small hole on the shoulder she lay on. He settled on his heels. He knew that wound.