Force of the Falcon

BRACK PACED the hospital waiting room, sipping the stale, cold coffee from the vending machine as he waited on the doctors to check Katie and Sonya. A half hour later, one of the nurses finally appeared; he almost accosted her with questions, but at the last moment held himself in check.

“Sir, were you the man who found the Silverstein woman and child?”

He glanced at her name tag. Amy. She was youngish, maybe early thirties, blond hair, a kind smile. “Yes. Brack Falcon. How are they?”

“They’re both going to be fine. They treated Sonya’s injuries and have settled her into a room now. Her little girl is in there with her.” She paused, studying him, her eyes narrowed. “We’ve called the babysitter, Margaret Mallady,” she continued. “She said she’d be here as soon as possible to pick up Katie.”

“Good.” He could breathe now. Go home.

“Did you see the attack on Ms. Silverstein, Mr. Falcon?”

He shook his head. “No, I heard her screaming and found her on the ground.”

A frown creased her forehead. “What were they doing outside in the blizzard?”

“The little girl snuck out looking for her kitten.”

“That sounds like Katie.” The woman’s round cheeks ballooned out as she shook her head. “Poor Sonya. She’s had her hands full. She didn’t need this.”

He frowned, wanting to ask what she meant but warning himself not to.

Don’t get involved, and you won’t get hurt.

He was a loner. A man who needed no one. A man who didn’t want anyone needing him.

“Doctor Waverman called the sheriff,” Amy said. “To report the attacks.”

Sheriff Cohen. Dammit. He was the last person in town Brack wanted to see. He hated the man for railroading his father into jail twenty years ago. And he’d tried to run Rex out of town when he’d first arrived, and he’d interfered with their investigation.

“Oh, there he is now.” She rushed forward to greet the sheriff, then gestured toward Brack. Sheriff Cohen’s jowls shook as he gave Brack a once-over. His look said it all. Why had the Falcon boys returned to Falcon Ridge—to cause trouble?

Cohen shifted, then jerked his pants up with his stubby thumbs and stalked toward Brack. “So, you’re the other Falcon?”

Brack nodded. “Sheriff.”

“You found the Silverstein woman?”

“Yes.”

His bushy eyebrows climbed his forehead. “Mind telling me what you were doing out in the woods?”

“You know my family rescues injured birds. Lately there have been several attacks on the animals. I heard a loud screeching sound, and was out checking on them.”

“You were searching for wounded birds?” Suspicion laced the sheriff’s gruff voice.

“Yes. Then I heard a scream and found the woman on the ground. She’d been attacked. But she told me to look for her little girl.” He forced a steely calm to his voice although the memory of having to leave the woman alone haunted him. “I found Katie hiding in a cave, then carried them both to my house and phoned the paramedics.” He finished matter-of-factly, glaring at the sheriff, willing him to defy his statement.

“You know what attacked the woman?” Cohen asked.

Brack shook his head. “I didn’t see the actual attack.”

A doctor appeared through a set of double doors, then introduced himself to Brack and the sheriff. “Is Ms. Silverstein awake yet?” Sheriff Cohen asked. “I’d like to get her statement.”

Dr. Waverman shook his head. “She’s pretty heavily sedated, but we can go in for just a moment. Her daughter is with her.”

“Tell me about her injuries,” Sheriff Cohen ordered.

Dr. Waverman winced, then described the claw marks on Sonya’s back and hands. “I’ve never seen anything quite like it. The marks look like talons but some of them are so large…”

“Damn birds,” Sheriff Cohen said. “This is you and your brothers’ fault,” he snapped. “We never had trouble with birds attacking people before, not till you moved back and started providing a refuge for them. Are you breeding some special kind that feeds on humans?”

Brack’s blood ran cold at the man’s accusations. “That’s ridiculous. If the birds are attacking people, they must be sick.”

“Then they need to be destroyed,” Sheriff Cohen said.

Brack’s jaw tightened, his control teetering on the edge. What kind of ignorant moron was Cohen? “What they need is medical treatment.”

“Gentlemen, why don’t we see what Sonya has to say before we do anything rash,” Dr. Waverman suggested.

Brack and the sheriff exchanged silent, menacing looks, but followed quietly. The scent of antiseptic and medicines pervaded the halls; the beep of hospital machinery and rattling of medicine carts and gurneys added a layer of charged tension.

Brack’s gut clenched when he stepped inside. Sonya lay against the stark white sheets, her dark curly hair spread across the pillow, her face pale in sleep. Long dark lashes curled against ivory skin dotted with the faintest row of freckles. Her lips were a natural ruby color, her chin slightly pointed, her face heart-shaped. He hadn’t gotten a good look at her before, but she was stunning, like a real-life Sleeping Beauty. The childish story taunted him—if he kissed her, would she wake up and be healed?

Ridiculous.

His gaze landed on her bandaged hands and anger churned through him. A primitive surge of protective instincts swelled in his chest, as well.

The sheriff walked over and stared at Katie with a scowl. She looked impossibly small and fragile huddled in the chair beside her mother’s hospital bed. Someone, probably the nurse, had helped her into fresh dry pajamas and socks, and had thought to give her a pad of paper and some crayons. She was drawing intently, her pug nose scrunched in concentration.

“Katie, did you see the animal that attacked your mother?” Sheriff Cohen asked.

So much for tact.

Katie slowly tipped her face upward, but she cowered into the chair away from the hulking sheriff.

Brack strode forward and knelt beside her chair. She automatically reached for his hand, and he slid it around her trembling shoulder. “It’s all right, honey. We just need to know what happened to your mommy.”

“It was one of those hawks, wasn’t it?” Cohen asked. “They’ve been attacking each other, and tonight they attacked your mother, isn’t that right?”

Katie’s lower lip quivered. “I d-don’t k-know what it was.”

“What do you mean, honey?” Brack asked softly.

“It wooked wike a giant bird,” she whispered, “but it w-was a monster.”

Brack gritted his teeth, then glanced at the picture she’d drawn. Although it was crude, a four-year-old’s handiwork, the definite shape of a winged creature filled the page. Maybe a large eagle or hawk. Black and brown, with long, sharp talons.

Except this bird had the head of a human.