Force of the Falcon

by Rita Herron

  He let the moment pass, though, knowing he couldn’t start something he didn’t intend to finish. He wouldn’t waste time trying to convince another woman that he wasn’t a monster himself just because he preferred the company of falcons to humans.

  Besides, Sonya came with a ready-made family. And a husband somewhere who one day might want to reconcile.

  She sucked in a sharp breath as she fastened the seat belt, and he realized she had probably hidden her pain from the doctor in order to convince him to release her.

  He pulled away, then eased onto the ice-crusted road and maneuvered the curvy road up the mountain. Tension hummed between them, as if the air between them was charged with electricity. In the confines of the car, he became hyperaware of her every breath. Of his own heart beating overtime. Of the spark of heat between them. Of her delicate fingers wrapped around the edge of his coat.

  A sexual kind of longing surged inside him, more intense than anything he’d felt in years.

  One he had to deny.

  Finally, he steered the Land Rover down the long dirt drive to the farmhouse. The SUV bounced over the ruts in the road, snapping ice beneath the tires as he downshifted into low gear. Snow continued to fall, ice crystals caking on the windshield, and the wind crackled through the windowpanes like a ghost announcing its presence.

  “I’ll call Margaret about bringing Katie home when we get inside,” Sonya said, breaking the silence.

  “I have four-wheel drive. If you need me to pick her up, I will. I can stop by the house and retrieve her kitten first if you want.”

  She stiffened but shook her head, and he frowned. If she was afraid of him, she probably wouldn’t trust him alone with her daughter.

  Not that he could blame her. But the thought hammered at his heart.

  “Thank you, Brack, but I’ll have Margaret’s husband drive her home later.”

  His gaze latched on to hers, and his pulse accelerated. God, he wanted to wipe the fear off her face. And he had a fierce desire to kiss her.

  For a second, he sensed she wanted it, too. Then fear darkened her eyes, and he reached for the door. He climbed out, his back rigid, his determination setting in. He didn’t have to prove himself to anybody.

  They walked up to the porch in silence. But as she ascended the last step, Sonya gasped, then halted beside him. “Oh, my God.”

  He glanced at the front door and fury knotted inside him.

  There in the porch light, two dead hawks lay mauled on her doorstep, their necks slashed, heads severed, barely hanging on by a tendon. Whoever or whatever had killed them had smeared blood on the door and wall.

  Its sickly, metallic odor filled the air with a deathlike warning.

  AARON WAVERMAN studied the newspaper article on Sonya’s attack, his gut churning. The papers portrayed the brutal incident as a supernatural occurrence. An assault by wild, rabid birds, diseased animals or some new mutated strain that liked to feed on humans.

  Just as Cohen suspected.

  But Sheriff Cohen was an idiot.

  Aaron had known it the first time he’d met the man.

  Just as he’d known when the Falcon men returned to town there would be trouble.

  They had disrupted the town’s security with their arrival. First the revival of the Hatchet Murders case. Now that teen center, which would only draw derelicts and troublemakers to the town. That, and more crime. And now these damn bird attacks.

  He hadn’t agreed with Cohen over the years on anything, but he agreed that the town didn’t need men rescuing wild animals that would turn on humans and feed on them. And Brack Falcon was doing that, he was sure of it.

  Just as he planned his subtle attack on Sonya.

  First, he was gaining her trust. And now he was acting like some damn hero. But Brack Falcon was a predator of the worst kind. He had no intention of marrying Sonya and settling down into family life.

  Aaron recognized the lust in the man’s eyes, because the same strong feelings overcame him when Sonya was around. But lust had nothing to do with commitment.

  Falcon simply wanted to take from her. Take her body and make it his. Then he’d leave her, her emotions in turmoil, her life in shreds. Because Falcon wasn’t a commitment kind of man.

  Commitment Aaron knew all too well.

  He had suffered in his young life. And he had learned how to commit himself when he wanted something.

  Just as he had with medical school, he’d set his goals and nothing—not fear, his lack of finances, his own abusive family or competitors—had stood in his way of obtaining them.

  Just like he wouldn’t let anything or anybody interfere with his plans or dreams.

  He would have Sonya as his.

  Even if there had to be casualties in the process.

  Chapter Seven

  Sonya stared in horror at the blood smeared on her door and the massacred animal at her feet. Who would do such a sadistic thing? And why?

  The sound of a coyote howling in the distance bled through her consciousness. The wind swirled snow and dead leaves around her, and the shutter on the window flapped back and forth, resounding through the tension.

  A shiver started deep inside her, resonating with fear and trepidation. She thought the attack had been random. That she had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

  But someone or some thing knew where she lived. And the bloody animal had been left as a message.

  He wasn’t through with her yet.

  “Sonya…” Brack guided her away from the door with his hand braced to her back. “Go wait in the car.”

  A fog enveloped her, but she shook her head. Even with terror seizing her, anger suddenly surged through her. This farmhouse was her home now, her sanctuary, the place she planned to raise her daughter. How dare this creature invade their home and try to terrorize her?

  “I’m okay,” she managed to say, although her voice sounded brittle in the blustery wind whipping around them.

  “Go to the car now and lock the doors. I’m going to check out the house.”

  “No, Brack, this is my battle—”

  He gripped her arms and forced her to focus on his face. His expression was fierce, his mouth set in a grim line, his dark eyes piercing her with a dozen different emotions. “There’s a psycho stalking you, and he might be inside. Now, please, just do as I asked.”

  Words lay unspoken in the thick tension stretching between them. The whispered promise that she could trust him underscored his gruffness. She almost leaned into him and begged him to hold her and make the nightmare disappear.

  He shoved the keys in her hand. “If for some reason there’s trouble, take the truck, get out of here, drive to town.” Without another word, he released her, bent and retrieved a pistol from a strap inside the leg of his jeans. The sight of the weapon jerked her back to reality, reminding her of the violence that had invaded her life.

  He didn’t offer an explanation for the gun and she didn’t ask. He simply flicked his thumb in a gesture indicating for her to do as he’d ordered.

  She didn’t normally take orders from men.

  She didn’t like it now, but the memory of her brutal attack was too fresh, and common sense overrode stubborn pride. She had no desire to tangle again with the creature who’d mauled her, not unarmed, anyway. As she rushed to his SUV, she contemplated for the first time since Stan had walked out the fact that she might need to buy a gun for protection.

  She punched the locks on the doors and huddled inside, her neck bunched with nerves as she waited on Brack to check the house.

  Who was this man who’d rescued her and her daughter last night in the woods when death had knocked at their doors? And why was he here now, acting as her protector again, putting his own life on the line to save her when he barely even knew her?

  BRACK HAD TO drag himself away from the desperate look of need in Sonya’s eyes and remind himself that he was here to protect her. Not to get involved with her.

  Se
lf-loathing kicked in for wanting her. He couldn’t take advantage of a frightened, traumatized woman. Besides, he preferred the woods, the animals, to people. He liked to live on the edge, be free to go wherever a case took him.

  And he had killed before. He would do so again if it meant saving an innocent life.

  Whoever had hurt Sonya and had left this bloody warning had viciously slaughtered these animals in the name of his twisted killing game. It had to stop.

  He slowly pushed open the door to Sonya’s house. She’d obviously left it unlocked last night and the lights on when she’d ventured into the woods in search of Katie. No telling what he would find inside.

  He held his breath as his gaze tracked the interior of the front room. A small den held a fireplace, a comfortable-looking denim sofa and an oversize chair. Throw pillows were scattered around, toys overflowed a wooden box, a coloring book and crayons lay on the pine coffee table. The house looked lived-in, but nothing seemed out of place.

  Then he noticed the blood smeared on the walls.

  Dammit.

  Raw anger shot through him, primal and hot. What kind of sick bastard had done this?

  He braced his gun in his hands, then skimmed the rest of the interior. No one was inside. At least no one visible. But he could be hiding, waiting for Sonya to return so he could strike.

  Had the sadistic killer come to the house last night after the attack and painted her house with blood?

  Brack inched silently through the den, his gaze scanning the tiny bathroom and adjoining kitchen. More blood colored the linoleum and the walls.

  One room lay to the right of the den, another to the left. The bedrooms. He veered left first, his gaze drawn to the tiny child-size white bed.

  The room looked homey but not vandalized. Thankfully, no blood in there.

  Did the killer have a heart after all? Some humanity left?

  Relief hissed through him as he imagined Sonya’s reaction if the monster had desecrated her daughter’s room with his violence.

  The wind whistled through the eaves, and the floor squeaked. He paused, recalling the stories of the ghosts haunting the land. His senses were honed sharp.

  His throat tight, he inched back through the den to the opposite bedroom. There, an antique iron bed held a handmade quilt in blues and whites, and a wardrobe door hung open, revealing a satin robe and several pieces of silky lingerie.

  His gut pinched, and he forced himself not to touch the lingerie. Then he spotted blood dotting the wood floor, and cursed. A bloody talon print marred the wall above Sonya’s bed. He moved on into the room, scanned the corners, then the closet, and finally the bathroom. His chest expanded with air when he realized it was empty.

  But he cursed again at the sight of the blood-streaked mirror. The intruder had been here, too. Crimson talon prints dotted Sonya’s night cream jar and perfume as if he’d cradled them in his hands.

  Or filthy paws.

  The psycho had definitely wanted Sonya to see his handiwork, his signature. Like an animal marking his territory, this madman had marked Sonya as his.

  The only question—when would he return to claim his quarry?

  SONYA MASSAGED her neck where the tension knotted her shoulders. What was taking Brack so long? Had he found something or someone inside? Was he okay?

  If there’s trouble, take the truck, get out of here, go to town.

  Could she desert him if the psycho who’d killed those birds was inside?

  No. She was just about to open the door when he stalked outside. His jaw was rigid, his expression dark. Anger radiated from him in waves as he paused on the porch and stared at her.

  Instead of immediately descending the stairs, though, he pivoted and scanned the area surrounding the house. The trees swayed with the violent wind, and fresh snow rained from the boughed branches. The sky rolled with more storm clouds, and she thought she detected movement at the edge of the woods. An animal or a person?

  Her breath caught as she realized that the psycho might have been watching them when they’d found the bloody animals.

  Brack climbed down the steps and walked toward the SUV, his expression grave. “He’s not inside,” he said as he opened the truck door. “But he’s been there.”

  Sonya clutched her stomach, the realization that her home had been invaded triggering another streak of terror. She envisioned dead animals and blood strewn throughout the house and felt sick. In Katie’s room…no, please, no. “What did he do?” she whispered.

  Brack made a hissing sound. “He streaked blood on the floor and walls.”

  “Did he leave more dead animals inside?”

  “Thankfully, no.” He reached for his cell phone and punched in a number. His gaze latched on to hers. “It’s gruesome, though. You don’t want to see your home this way.”

  He cleared his throat, then spoke into the phone. “Sheriff Cohen, this is Brack Falcon. Sonya Silverstein had an intruder. Send a crime scene unit out here ASAP.”

  Sonya shivered, a knot of cold dread chilling her to the bone. Her house, the place she’d bought to offer her and Katie a sanctuary, was now a crime scene, not a home. Maybe she’d made a mistake in moving to Tin City. Maybe the mountains that she’d thought looked so peaceful and beautiful held too many dangers. Maybe the land really was haunted and the house should have been burned, as someone in town had suggested.

  She’d told the real estate agent that she didn’t believe in ghosts or evil tainting a place. Not until now….

  “I …need to call Margaret and let her know what’s going on.”

  Brack nodded and handed her his phone. “You should let Katie stay there. It will take hours to process the scene, then more to clean it all up.”

  Sonya frowned. She hated feeling helpless. Hated knowing this psycho had run her out of her home.

  He reached in the back of his truck and grabbed a large metal box. “My brothers and I are private investigators. I’m going to take some pictures. Then when the crime unit finishes, I want my people to take samples.”

  The thought of him searching through her house, touching her things, invading her space, triggered more unease. But she wanted this guy caught.

  And having Brack close by made her feel safer.

  Don’t get used to it, a voice whispered in her head. He’s only here because of the attack. When he leaves, you’ll have to stand on your own.

  Margaret answered on the third ring. Sonya explained about the vandalism, and Margaret insisted that Katie spend the night. Her granddaughter was visiting, and the girls had built a fort to sleep in. Sonya breathed a sigh of relief to hear her daughter’s excited voice. More than anything, she wanted Katie to have playmates, friends, a normal life.

  And she desperately wanted to spare her this horrible violence. Sonya told her goodbye and disconnected the call, then stepped onto the porch beside Brack. Nerves pinged inside her as she glanced inside the open doorway. All that blood…

  Brack placed a hand on her back. “We can’t go back in until the crime unit processes the scene.”

  She looked into his face, shocked at the intense anger in the depths of his eyes. The horror of this psycho’s violence hit her, and she convulsed, trembling all over.

  Suddenly Brack pulled her into his arms. She didn’t argue, she simply fell against him, drained and shaking uncontrollably. He soothed her with his deep voice, stroked her back with a featherlight touch as if he remembered that she must be in pain from the attack.

  “Who…did this?” she whispered brokenly. “And why?”

  “I don’t know.” He pressed her face into the curve of his arms, and his chest rose and fell with his sharp intake of breath. He felt so strong and warm, so masculine that she breathed in his scent, letting it momentarily banish the scent of blood and death from her mind.

  Brack was very much alive. Very much a man. In control. And so comforting and tempting that she buried herself deeper into his embrace.

  Then her gaze met his. He p
ressed his lips together in a straight line. She stared at his mouth, saw the strength in his jaw, and her heart fluttered.

  She wanted to kiss him. Let him make the terror go away.

  He brushed his fingers along her cheek, tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Murmured her name. He wanted it, too. All she had to do was tilt her head, close her eyes, relinquish control.

  But Stan’s bitter words about her being imperfect echoed in her head. She couldn’t lose control again.

  Control was all she had. The only way to protect herself. The only way she’d survive.

  She pulled away, straightened her shoulders. Clamped down on her emotions. She had to rely on herself. No one else.

  She couldn’t risk getting hurt again.

  And this man had the power to do it because he made her feel again. Tempted her to want things that she’d learned long ago were impossible.

  FEAR DARKENED Sonya’s eyes, replacing the hungry look Brack had detected only moments before. Dammit. One more second and he would have kissed her. Felt her soft lips beneath his. Tasted the hot passion he sensed she tried to squelch.

  Hell, he did not need this complication. This attraction.

  He silently cursed himself, and his jaw went rigid. Anger replaced desire. For a moment, she’d let him comfort her from the horror of the blood in her house, but then she realized who was holding her, and she’d pulled away and looked at him as if he were the enemy.

  He couldn’t let himself forget what the town thought of him. They would turn her against him with their gossip. Not that it should matter…dammit.

  He didn’t care what anyone thought.

  He was here for one reason and one reason only—to find out what was attacking the birds, and now Sonya.

  Then he’d hightail it back to Arizona and lose himself in the wilderness there.

  The sound of an engine cut through the tense silence, and the sheriff’s vehicle spit ice and snow as it careened to a stop. Cohen lumbered from his squad car, yanking up his pants with his thumbs. Brack grimaced, bracing himself for the man’s brash and idiotic assertions.