Rita Herron - The Man From Falcon Ridge

Jeez, he was only feeling this way because of the town’s reaction. That and the natural attraction of man to woman. Not because Hailey was special or could be anything important in his life.

Rattled, he suddenly felt a desperate need to escape her for a while, and an even more desperate need to focus on his reason for returning to Falcon Ridge.

“I’m going to the house to pick up some tools to repair the kitchen sink,” he said curtly. “And I need to check on this injured hawk I found in the woods. I’ll be back later.”

Her cheeks glowed with the cold as she nodded, her body relaxing slightly as if she was relieved to see him leave.

He jumped in the Jeep and started the engine, then ripped across the icy dirt drive, eager to put Hailey out of his mind.

He’d hike in the woods, clear his head, talk to the only creatures in life who understood him—the birds of prey.

Then he’d drive back to town and question the sheriff to see what he remembered about the murders.

AN ODD ODOR PERMEATED the house. It smelled like gardenias… A pile of dead ones lay on the table.

Hailey’s breath caught.

What in the world? How… Who had put dead flowers on her table?

Was the person still inside?

She paused and listened, her breath wheezing in the tense silence. Nothing. Except another scent—cigarette smoke…and aftershave. Old Spice?

The smell turned her stomach, reminded her of her third foster father.

A creaking sound jerked her head toward the stairs.

Maybe there was a vagrant nearby who wanted her to leave? Or a ghost? Or had Thad found her already?

Perhaps she should call the police, or Rex. But then she’d have to tell them about Thad. For all she knew, he’d spread the word that she’d stabbed him in the eye, and the cops were looking for her. They might even arrest her. With Thad’s connections, she’d end up rotting in a jail cell for assault and battery when she’d only been defending herself.

Grabbing her cell phone from her purse and a kitchen knife for protection, she slowly moved through the parlor. The floor squeaked again as she walked, a sharp wind whistling off the thin windowpanes. Nothing downstairs, so she slowly climbed the staircase. An ominous foreboding tickled her neck as if she wasn’t alone.

Then she spotted the attic door. A note had been stuck on the wooden frame. “Leave the Hatchet House or you’ll end up like the Lyles.”

She swallowed hard, then inched closer to study the photograph taped below the note. In the picture, the family was lying in a river of blood, gashes from the hatchet exposing bare bones, their eyes bulging in horror.

Her stomach convulsed as she staggered down the steps to escape. The sound of footsteps creaked again.

Whoever had put the picture on her wall was still inside and they were right behind her….

Hailey’s heart pounded as she ran down the stairs. She had to escape. Get help. The gruesome murder scene flashed into her mind again. So much blood. Raw bones exposed. Gaping slashes on the woman’s chest, scratches and stab wounds on her hands. The man was the same, his right hand nearly severed, his bloody injuries beyond ghastly.

And the child…

A sob welled in her throat. The little boy…he had died so young. It wasn’t fair….

Tears filled her eyes, grief for the family welling in her throat. What kind of crazy person could do that to another human?

She swayed, her stomach lurching, and gripped the banister in an effort to hold herself upright. The floor creaked behind her, and she skipped a step, lost her footing and fell. Shrieking, she grappled for control, but her bottom hit the corner of the step with a painful thud. Flailing, she bounced down the last two steps and fell on her hands and knees. She tasted blood and realized she’d bitten her tongue. The furnace rumbled. The floor creaked again.

She shoved herself up, and darted toward the front door. Shadows rose behind her. Her vision blurred. The dim light in the hallway flickered, then went off, cloaking the house in darkness. She screamed and jiggled the door to open it, but the knob wouldn’t turn. He’d locked her inside.

He was going to kill her.

Panicked, she yanked at the knob again, then flung open the door. Cold air nipped at her cheeks as she ran across the porch and down the steps to her car. Her palms stung as she pulled at the door. But the car was locked, and she didn’t have her keys.

No! He was going to get her.

She had to think.

The screen door screeched behind her, flapping in the wind. No. No time to think. Pivoting, she tried to decide where to go. But the screen door hit the casing with a whack, and she took off running again, this time into the bowels of the forest. Maybe she could outrun him. Lose him. Hide behind a rock or in an old mine.

Or maybe she could make it to Rex’s house, and he’d help her.

She shoved through the bramble, forcing herself not to turn around. Every second counted. Steep, jagged red rocks coated in snow and ice rose around her. Massive pines and aspens stood like giant boulders, creating a maze. She turned to the right, sprinting through layers of icy slush and dead leaves, then veered to the left, reminding herself that Rex’s house was on the northern slope only a mile away.

It seemed like hundreds, though, as she forced her rubbery legs forward. A gunshot rang out, and she shrieked, picking up her pace. Was the man firing at her?

A bullet pinged past her head, and she ducked, losing her breath. Yes, he was going to kill her. And if he buried her in the snow, no one would ever know.

THE SOUND OF a gunshot blast from the forest sent a jolt through Rex. A hunter maybe? He parked and rushed to the edge of the woods, searching the depths. He had enough damn problems without some loose cannon of a shot coming this close to his property.

His trip into town with Hailey returned to haunt him. Facing the town who’d labeled his father the Hatchet Murderer had resurrected painful memories. He didn’t want Hailey to think of him as a cold-blooded killer’s son.

Although God knows why he cared. She certainly hadn’t looked at him with interest. Just a wariness that spoke volumes about the past she was running from.

Through the trees, he glanced at the property down the hill, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. He could still see the blood-soaked floor, the listless eyes, could smell the foul stench of body odors and death inside that kitchen.

Shadows and ghosts lurched all around him.

Just as he had twenty years ago, he strode deeper into the forest to purge his emotions. He had to free his father, get revenge against the person who’d butchered the Lyles and stolen his father’s life by letting him take the rap.

He couldn’t worry about Hailey and her secrets.

Inhaling the fresh cold air, the tension from his body dissipated slightly as the earthy scents and sounds of the forest engulfed him. Becoming one with the untamed wilderness, with the hawks soaring above, had become his solace. The only place he felt free, at peace.

The endless long nights of hearing his mother cry whispered from the snow-laden bellies of the aspens and fir trees. And then there were his little brothers. Deke had cloaked himself in anger and Brack had withdrawn into a shell made of human mortar that still kept him prisoner, barring anyone from getting too close. And both of them had had trouble with the law.

His father’s parting words, “Take care of your mother and brothers,” echoed in Rex’s mind.

He’d tried. But he’d failed so many times.

A squirrel scampered up a nearby pine, snow swirling from the branches in a white cloud as a gust of wind whistled through the spiny needles. Fresh blood marked the white, and he frowned, squinting at the spatters, trying to decide their origin. Human or animal? Another gunshot shattered the tranquility, bouncing off the rocks. He froze, senses honed to detect its source. He didn’t want to be mistaken for a deer or elk.