Night Prey (2 page)

A connection sparked between them, and she leaned closer. “Is it all coming back now?” she teased.

The change in mood was short-lived. A veil descended over his eyes, and he pulled away from her. “You look different, that's all.”

“People grow up. They change.” How much had he changed over the years? Was he still battling the same demons that had driven him to drink at seventeen?

“Been quiet for a while. Maybe it's safe for us to head back down the mountain, huh?” He leaned out, glancing from side to side.

Her heartbeat sped up as fear returned at the thought
of leaving their safe haven. Her stomach clenched as she wrestled with her choice. Part of her just wanted to leave, but she knew a flightless bird didn't stand a chance. He would starve or be eaten if she didn't catch him. If only Keith would stay with her. It wouldn't be so frightening if she wasn't alone.

A shrill cry pierced the forest.

“The hawk,” she whispered.

Keith pushed himself to his feet. He studied her for a moment. “So how hard is it to catch a wild bird?”

Relief spread through her. He had all but read her mind. “Not hard at all if I have help,” she gushed. Shielding herself behind the boulder, she eased to her feet. “But we need to catch him soon. He might be able to survive on bugs for a while but some creature is bound to decide he looks like a delicious main course before nightfall.”

“I can't leave you out here considering what just happened.” He rolled his eyes theatrically. “So I guess that means I have to help you.”

She scooted toward him and smiled. “I guess so.”

 

Keith stared at the petite, slim woman standing in front of him, her dimple showing as she smiled. One thing for sure hadn't changed about Jenna Murphy. She was as cheerfully determined as ever when it came to rescuing wild animals. “We need to be cautious.”

Anxiety flashed over her features, but then she squared her shoulders as if summoning courage. “I know. Let's go get the cage. With two of us, he shouldn't take any time at all. We can surround him.”

Keith squinted, studying the mountain and forest. The
shots had come from uphill. He suspected a long range rifle had been used. The knowledge that the shooter was far away didn't make him any less vigilant.

A slight breeze bent the boughs of the pines. He didn't detect any movement that might be human. “Okay, but be ready to drop to the ground if you hear anything.” He could handle being shot at, but the thought of anything happening to Jenna didn't sit well with him.

Jenna ran down the hill and picked up the cage. Keith trailed behind her, assessing the landscape for any movement or sound that was out of place. He stayed close, so if he had to, he could pull her to the ground quickly. Her reflexes weren't as fine-tuned as his, which meant he'd have to be doubly vigilant to protect her. And he
would
protect her.

Of course, he remembered her. Over the years, she had come to mind more than once, but he had always pushed those memories down to some hidden place, not wanting to visit the bittersweet emotions that came with remembering.

Seeing her again had shocked him. Jenna was a bright girl who could have done anything with her life. He had always assumed she would move away from the small town of Hope Creek. He never thought he would see her again. Memories threatened to swamp him now, but he refused to let himself get distracted.

Keith remained tuned in to the forest, watching the trees and listening.

Out of breath, she came up to him. “The last time I saw the little guy he was headed in that direction.” She pointed to a stand of lodgepole pine.

“What's the game plan here?”

Jenna pulled a cloth from her back pocket. “If we can get a covering on his head, it will calm him. Then I can get him in the cage for transport to the center.” She untied the silk scarf around her neck. “You'll have to use this.”

He nodded. “Let's get this done so you and the bird can get somewhere safe. And then maybe next time you can forego the trespassing.”

“I have to make the birds my priority. There is not always time to inform the landowner. Everyone around here knows me.” Strength had returned to her voice.

Keith clenched his jaw. When Jenna got an idea in her head, she was like a pit bull. She just wouldn't let go. “We need to be careful up here from now on, Jenna, even if it was just teenagers being stupid with guns this time.” He hoped that's all it was. That was bad enough. His grandparents were older and vulnerable. He didn't like the idea of some town kid taking advantage of that.

“I'll be careful, but this is serious. Someone shot at that eagle on your grandparents' land. That is against the law.” Her voice, fused with emotion, broke. “I don't like it when people hurt the birds. I won't know what's going on with that hawk until I can get a look at him. What if someone has been shooting at him, too?” She turned and stalked up the hill.

The scent of Jenna's perfume lingered on the scarf she had given him. He held it for a moment before putting it in his front pocket as he followed her uphill. It would be so easy to get caught up in the whirlwind of Jenna Murphy trying to save all the wild animals. Twelve years ago, the house where Jenna and her father
had lived had been a menagerie of the songbirds her father took care of and all the unwanted and injured animals Jenna had adopted. He smiled at the memory.

She stopped and turned to face him. “If you don't want me tromping on your grandfather's land, you can come with me each time.” Her tone was playful.

Heat swept up Keith's face. She was standing so close. “I've got a lot of work to do for my grandfather.” His heart hammered in his chest. Did she have any idea what kind of effect she had on him, even after twelve years?

Jenna pivoted. “I saw movement over there.” She craned her neck. “That's the hawk.” With the cage banging against her thigh, she darted toward the trees.

Keith followed behind. She stopped abruptly on the edge of a clearing. He peered over her shoulder and saw a medium-size bird with gray-brown feathers. Jenna stepped back and slipped behind a tree, pulling Keith with her. He towered over her by at least ten inches. She stood on tiptoe and pulled his head toward her to whisper in his ear.

“He hasn't seen us. If you circle around to the other side, we have double the chance of getting him. Wait for a moment when you have a clean shot to throw the cloth on his head, and I'll do the same. Whoever gets to him first, the other person needs to move in quickly.”

His heartbeat sped up when she stood this close. Her breath made his ear hot. Twelve years ago, he had just begun to see her as a young woman and not a buddy. The feelings that had barely blossomed before she rejected him were still as strong as ever.

After squeezing her shoulder to indicate he under
stood, he slipped into the evergreens, careful not to step on any underbrush. He knew plenty about moving silently through the woods. He had trained for cold weather combat and then they sent him to the desert. Sometimes, the military didn't make any sense. He walked until he estimated that he was positioned opposite Jenna. He edged closer toward the clearing, still using the trees for cover.

A gust of wind blew through the trees. The hawk hopped off a log to the ground. The bird cocked his head and flapped his wings before settling. Almost indiscernible movement on the other side of the clearing told him where Jenna was. The bird fluttered as though alarmed and turned so he was facing Keith. Jenna materialized in the clearing and tossed the cloth over the bird. In a flurry of movement, Keith dove in. His vision filled with feathers and a sharp object pierced his hand. He swallowed a groan of pain.

When he oriented himself, Jenna had secured the cloth on the bird's head with a piece of leather. Her fingers wrapped around the animal's feet.

Blood oozed from the cut on his hand as the pain radiated up his arm. He followed Jenna to where she had set the cage.

Jenna made soothing sounds as she slipped the now still bird into the cage and secured the door. Her voice was like a lullaby. She turned to face Keith. A gasp escaped her lips as she grabbed his hand. “You're bleeding.”

He pulled away, tugging the cuff of his shirt so it covered his wrist. “It's all right. I can take care of it.” He didn't want her looking at his arms.

“I should have warned you—their talons are like knives.”

“So I discovered.” Keith held out his uninjured hand for the cage. “I can take that.”

They hiked toward Jenna's Subaru with the sun low on the horizon and the sky just starting to turn gray and pink. His old Dodge truck was farther down the road.

“Thanks for helping me,” Jenna said. “I always thought we worked together pretty well.”

Flashes of memory, of kayaking and rock climbing with Jenna, surfaced. They had had fun together. “We didn't work. We played.”

“Still, we were a good team.”

Keith studied Jenna's wide brown eyes. Being with her opened too many doors to the past and the painful memory of her turning her back on him when he had needed her most.

A muffled mechanical sound caused them both to stop in their tracks. In the distance, just beyond the rocks where they had taken cover, a helicopter rose into view. The machine angled to one side moving away from them.

Jenna's expression indicated fear. “Tell me your grandfather has recently purchased a helicopter.”

Keith shook his head.

Jenna's fingers dug into his upper arm. Her voice trembled. “Do you still believe this is just foolish kids with firearms?”

J
enna placed some live grasshoppers in the rescued hawk's cage. Though the sense of panic had subsided, she still felt stirred up by what had happened. She tried to calm her nerves by focusing on doing routine things around the rescue center. She could deal with anything a wild bird did, but being shot at was an entirely different story. The hawk picked hungrily at the food. Except for the occasional beating of wings, the rescue center was quiet this time of night. All the volunteers and the one other staff person had gone home.

Outside, she heard Keith's truck start up. Their encounter with the helicopter and being used for target practice had left her feeling vulnerable. When Keith had seen how shaken she was, he'd offered to follow her in his truck to the rescue center.

She had phoned Sheriff Douglas and told him about the helicopter and being shot at on the King Ranch on the drive home. Even then, as she retold the events to the sheriff, it had been a comfort to look in the rearview mirror and see Keith following her.

She didn't know what to think about Keith Roland. He seemed like a different person from the one he'd
been that last summer, but the memory of his destructive teenage behavior made her cautious. And there was no denying he was more distant now. She thought of how he had jerked away when she'd tried to pull back the cuff on his shirt to check the wound from the hawk's talons. But he still was able to make her feel safe. She wouldn't have had the courage to get the hawk without his help.

She grabbed a torn sheet and safety pins from a bottom shelf where medical supplies were stored. As she pinned the sheet onto the cage, the beating of wings and scratching sounds slowed and then stopped altogether. She'd done an initial exam but couldn't find a reason why the rescued hawk couldn't fly. It had been a relief not to find any sign that this bird had been shot. Both dark and pale mottling on the bird's breast and flanks indicated that he was a fairly immature Swainson's hawk. She had a theory about this bird. Flying was part instinct and part learned skill.

In the morning when her assistant Cassidy came in, they'd be able to do an X-ray to make sure there was no physiological reason the bird was flightless. Cassidy was on call 24/7, but Jenna had decided that the bird had been traumatized enough for one day. The X-ray would go better once the bird was hydrated and had his strength back. And Jenna would do a better job after a good night's rest let her shake off the last of her jitters. Maybe by morning the sheriff would call with a perfectly logical explanation for the gunshots and helicopter…and even if he didn't, it would be easier to feel brave in the daylight. For now, she'd just finish up things at the
center and head home—hoping that her hands would stop trembling somewhere along the way.

Jenna checked on the bald eagle she had found yesterday, Greta. They had done an X-ray to make sure they'd gotten all the buckshot but that didn't mean the bird was out of the woods yet. Infection from the wound was still a concern. The eagle didn't react when Jenna looked in on her. She was still weak.

Jenna skirted the area that housed the cages filled with smaller birds and stepped into the office. An owl sat on a perch by her desk. She made clicking noises at Freddy, who responded by stepping side to side on his perch. Freddy was one of the center's permanent residents, who served as an ambassador bird when Jenna did her presentations to schools and groups. Only the birds who would die if released in the wild got to stay at the center on a long-term basis. Freddy had fallen out of his nest and been rescued by a boy. The bird had imprinted on humans. As an owlet, Freddy thought he was a person. He was capable of flight but probably wouldn't last long in the wild.

Jenna filed through the stack of papers on her desk. There was still work to do, but she could do some of it from her house, located just behind the center. She grabbed the camera from a drawer. She had a bunch of photos she needed to transfer to her laptop for the center's newsletter. Once she had everything she needed to take home with her, she stepped out the back door into the cool evening of late summer. The flight barn to her right and a separate building up the hill that housed the other ambassador birds were silhouetted against the night sky, and she smiled at the sight of them. She loved
the world she'd built for herself and her birds—and she wouldn't let anyone harm it.

Her feet padded on the stone path to her house. The cool breeze caressed her skin, and a handful of stars spread out above her. God had done some nice artwork tonight. Late summer in Montana was her favorite time of year. The center stayed busy, and the weather was perfect. Jenna opened the door and stepped inside her living room. She left the door open to allow the evening breeze to air out the stuffy house.

After retrieving the computer cord for her camera from a kitchen drawer, she shifted a stack of magazines and bills she had piled on her coffee table and flipped open her laptop. The wallpaper on her desktop was of an eagle perched on a tree. Now that people had been shot at, the sheriff seemed more concerned.

He had been dismissive yesterday when she had called him about the eagle. He had theorized that the bird had been in the wrong place at the wrong time and had been shot by accident. She had reported the incident to the game warden, as well, who had expressed a little more concern. She didn't expect everyone to be as upset about injured birds as she was, but shooting at eagles was illegal even if they weren't on the endangered species list anymore. Jenna shuddered. She cared about the birds, but after what had happened today, going out into the forest alone would be no easy task.

She wasn't going to let herself get hopeful. In her experience, poachers were almost impossible to catch unless they were discovered with the dead animal or there were witnesses. Because Greta had been injured with a shotgun, there was no bullet to trace.

Knowing Sheriff Douglas, his looking into the events on the King Ranch would probably not happen until the next afternoon. Finding out who had shot the eagle was probably even lower on his priority list, and she doubted he was giving any weight to her theory that the two shootings might be related—that someone could be targeting the birds.

A crashing noise emanated from inside the rescue center. Jenna jumped to her feet. What on earth was going on? She ran through the open door and raced up the stone path. The sound had come from the side where the birds were housed. Jenna pushed open the back door, and gasped.

The sheets had been torn off all five of the cages. A golden eagle fluttered and bashed itself against the wooden bars. A red-tailed hawk let out its distinctive cry, like a baby's scream. Medical equipment and the X-ray table had been pushed over. Two small Kestrel hawks flew wildly around the room, making high pitched noises that indicated agitation.

Jenna stepped toward one of the cages, then knelt and picked up the torn fabric that had covered it. Twisting the cloth, she turned a quick half circle. Fear spread through her. It looked like someone had gone through and randomly tossed off the cage covers to stir up the birds. It didn't look like any of the birds had been hurt, but they
had
been spooked, and so had she.

She shook her head as her mind raced. Who would do such a thing? And why? And most frightening of all—was the person still there?

The sharp slap of one object slamming against another startled her. It had come from the office. Her heart
pounded. Someone was in the next room. She wished she could call for help—she had the sudden memory of Keith from before, sheltering and protecting her—but her house had the only land line. They used cell phones for the center, and her cell was in the Subaru.

Grabbing a pair of surgical scissors for a weapon, she pushed open the door that separated the birds' cages from the office area. She scanned the room. Freddy's perch had been knocked over. That must have been the noise she heard. Freddy might have been alarmed and pushed it over himself…or someone could have knocked it over. Her eyes darted from the top of a low file cabinet to her desk, Freddy's other favorite places to perch.

“Freddy?”

Her stomach twisted into a knot. If someone had hurt or stolen that little bird… She checked several more places before finding Freddy backed into a corner behind an empty bucket. Poor little guy. After settling Freddy again on his perch, she surveyed the rest of the room. Her breath caught. The front door was slightly ajar. Someone had been in the office, too. She raced across the room, slammed the door shut and dead bolted it. Then she grabbed the keys off a hook and exited the rear door, careful to lock it behind her. Was the intruder still around? She was going to have to call the sheriff right now. Her feet pounded the stone walkway. She glanced from side to side. She'd have to check on the birds in the other buildings and clear up the mess the vandals had made later.

By the time she burst through the open door to her house, her legs were wobbly. Her sweating hand fumbled with the lock, and then she turned her attention to the
phone. She had just heard the dial tone when she noticed her laptop had been turned around. She walked over to the coffee table and stared at the screen. The photograph of a bird had been replaced by a message.

Keith lifted the cover off the painting he had been working on and dipped his brush in a shade of blue he thought would capture the intensity of the Montana sky. He clicked on a light and positioned it so it shone on the canvas. This attic room in Gramps's house, which he had set up as his living space, was hardly an ideal artist's studio. It had small windows. At this hour, there wasn't any natural light at all. Lack of ventilation made the space hot in the evening. But even with all its flaws, he liked the place for the quiet it provided.

In the corner of the sparsely furnished space, a German shepherd rested on a bed. With only a little brown on his nose and at the ends of his paws, Jet was an appropriate name for the therapy dog the V.A. had provided.

Keith took in a deep breath. It had to be past midnight. He slept on an erratic schedule and when he couldn't sleep, he painted. Originally, his physical therapist had prescribed painting as a way of getting his dexterity back, but the hobby had proven to be useful for working out emotions, as well.

Seeing Jenna again had stirred him up. Had it been a mistake to come back here? After the death of his
mother, it had seemed as though God was leading him back to the ranch to heal things between him and his grandparents since they were his only living relatives. Now he wasn't so sure.

Grandma and Gramps had long ago turned off the evening news and gone to bed. They had adjusted to their night owl in the attic. The arrangement seemed to be working out well. The attic had a separate entrance with outside stairs, so he could come and go without bothering them. He helped out as much as they would let him. In the two weeks since he had been here, he and Gramps had mended some fence and repaired the dilapidated barn. He had tiled an entryway for his grandmother and weeded her garden. It felt good to make amends for what had happened twelve years ago, and they had welcomed him back with open arms.

The summer he had his first drink, a fellow kayaker who had been like a father to him had drowned on a run that Keith had decided not to go on at the last minute. Keith had spent a week in turmoil wondering if he would have been able to save his friend if he'd been there. At seventeen, he hadn't known why he'd started drinking. Only when he was in treatment did he realize the alcohol numbed the guilt and confusion. His brush swirled across the canvas. In the left-hand corner, he'd painted an eagle in flight. He'd done that before he had ever run into Jenna Murphy. Jenna with the bright brown eyes. Jenna who had been a skinny-legged ten-year-old the first time he had seen her sitting in the park reading a book. Jenna who had become a beautiful woman.

He angled away from the easel and massaged his chest where it had grown tight. He had kept all those
memories behind some closed door. Whenever he allowed the good memories in, the bad ones were bound to follow.

The last time he had seen her, she had been fifteen, standing with her back pressed against the door of her house. The silence of the summer night had surrounded them as she looked up at him. That night, he'd come to her house for a reason. He hadn't expected her cold response.

“Keith, I heard about what you have been doing…about the drinking.”

“I haven't had anything to drink for a week.” She had refused to be a part of his drinking life, so they hadn't seen each other for two weeks. The time apart made him realize how much she meant to him. His grandparents' lectures hadn't stopped his craving for alcohol, but he'd quit for Jenna…if she'd help him. He didn't want to lose her.

“I know about all the bad things you did. Everyone is talking.” Her voice held a desperate pleading quality. “You're my friend, but we—we can't stay friends if you're going to act this way.”

“I'm trying to change here, Jenna. I have changed.” He pressed the heels of his hands against his forehead. “I know this summer has been a mistake.”

Her lips pressed together, disbelief evident in her features, like she didn't have any faith in him. Didn't she know who he really was?

“Jenna, I've realized something. That's why I came here tonight. To talk to you. To tell you I don't want to be just your friend.” He leaned toward her, close enough to be enveloped by her floral perfume. “Please.”

She studied him for a long moment. She turned her head away. “You need to go. You're scaring me.” Her voice fused with fear.

He had seen his life as being at a crossroads that night. He was looking for a safe harbor to escape the destructive storm he had created. Her friendship had always been a stabilizing force in his life. After two weeks apart, he had thought maybe he knew what she meant to him. He had gone there with plans to kiss her for the first time, to let her see how important she was, how badly he needed her help. Apparently, the friendship had just been about fun to her. She hadn't been willing to listen to him or weather the challenge he faced. Her rejection had propelled him back to his drinking buddies.