The Man From Falcon Ridge

Just returning to Falcon Ridge, Rex felt those damning eyes as if the past twenty years hadn’t passed, as if he was that same child who’d been ostracized as a killer’s child.

Telling himself Hailey Hitchcock was not his concern, that his job here was to find the man who’d framed his father, he strode through the ten-foot-tall stone walls that shaped his homestead on Falcon Ridge. The icy, cavernous rooms echoed with age, like a fortress that had stood the test of time against the bitter Colorado elements.

Although his mother had hated the monastery-like house and stone walls, the fact that they’d been virtually cut off from civilization during the long winter months, the house resurrected happy memories of his childhood. Of running through the mammoth structure, hiding in the labyrinth of rooms in the basement. Hiking with his dad into the woods to watch the birds of prey.

He went to his basement office, the space he had set up for his P.I. business, booted up his computer and pulled up the old case files on his father’s arrest. The Lyles’ son, eight-year-old Steven, had been the apple of his father’s eye. Mrs. Lyle had become a recluse, though, and kept the little girl, who was supposedly autistic, at home. According to the locals, Lyle, an attorney, had been charismatic, covering for his wife with excuses.

Rex’s father had been the caretaker of the grounds. He’d claimed Mrs. Lyle was afraid of her husband, that he was abusing his wife and daughter. But no one else could corroborate his story. And Rex’s father’s long trek alone into the woods that day had robbed him of an alibi.

Rex skimmed further, trying to figure out the motive they’d attached to his father’s alleged crimes. If he’d had an affair with Mrs. Lyle, why murder her and the children? Why not kill the abusive husband?

Frustrated, he rammed a hand through his hair. In fact, they’d never found the hatchet itself or any bloody clothes or fingerprints. Were they somewhere in the house or on the grounds?

He stood and paced, thinking about Hailey Hitchcock in that house alone. She hadn’t brought much with her, just a suitcase or two he’d seen in the back seat and whatever had fit in her trunk. Was she having her other things shipped, or did her lack of belongings suggest she’d left in a hurry?

He pictured those reddish-brown eyes and his body hardened, a surge of lust burning through him.

Was she sleeping in that house tonight? Thinking of the people who’d lived there before her?

SHE WAS LOCKED IN A ROOM.

Alone. Frightened. Only a child.

She curled within the darkness, listening for footsteps, but the house was silent. The air felt heavy around her. Sickening. Stale. Deathly quiet.

Was he coming back for her?

She opened one eye and scanned the interior of her prison, the whisper of a breath cascading through the dust-filled room.

“I’ll be back for you,” he’d said.

She shivered. She wanted out. But she didn’t want him to come. No, not him. He scared her so bad she’d wet her pants once. And that had made him madder.

A sob welled in her throat, and she rubbed her arms, fighting panic. Then footsteps pounded up the steps. The shuffling sounded familiar. It was him.

One. Two. Three. Four. He was getting closer.

A scream locked in her throat. The shadow below the doorway moved, blocking the tiny sliver of light she’d latched on to.

Her safety net. It was gone.

Then the doorknob rattled, and he opened the door. She shrank back against the closet door as he stalked toward her…

Hailey jerked awake, sweat-soaked from her nightmare. Her breathing erratic, she searched the darkness for intruders, trying to orient herself in the predawn light. Where was she?

She had been dreaming, hadn’t she? Or had she been remembering one of her foster homes?

The floor creaked in the old house. Was that a footstep?

She hugged the sheets, listening carefully. Another squeak. It was coming from the attic. Chipmunks or mice maybe?

Struggling for calm, she pulled on a robe, rose and peeked into the hall. Shadows claimed the corners, then something moved at the opposite end. A shadow. Almost ghostlike, it floated into one of the extra bedrooms, the ones where the children had slept.

Her throat muscles worked to swallow. She had to have imagined it.

But another creaking sound broke the quiet. A foot-step maybe. The distinct sensation of air moving around her caused her to pause, the scent of lilacs drifting nearer. She wasn’t alone, the smell, the sound of someone walking—this time it was real.

AS USUAL, REX WOKE with the dawn. He slid on the protective gloves he used to work with the hawks, lifted the cloth from the cage and looked inside. Sutter, he called him, a ferruginous hawk who’d been hit by a pellet gun, stared up at him with caution. After the pellets had been removed the bird needed rest, but soon he’d be able to hunt again. A few quiet moments passed as they assessed one another. Rex felt the connection, the bond of trust forming between himself and the animal.

Sutter’s wings fluttered slightly, revealing his dark brown underbelly, and the whitish comma at the wrist, a good sign. Rex reassured the hawk that he was a friend, then eased open the cage and left him some food. The bird wasn’t ready to come out just yet, maybe the next day.

Finally, he went inside and gathered his work tools. He’d start at the Hatchet House this morning. His suspicions over the young woman who’d bought the place rose again, so he’d run a background check on her. The more information he had, the better equipped he’d be to handle her.

His phone jangled. “Falcon here.”

“Are you settled in?” Brack asked.

“Pretty much. I’ve got the computer system up and running, and installed a fireproof safe for backup files. The security system was a bitch, but it’s in, too.” He paused. “How’s Mom?”

“She’s fine, just worried about you. She’s afraid reopening Dad’s case might be dangerous.”

It probably would be. He drummed his fingers on the desk. “Remind her that her boys are grown now.”

“Yeah, like that’ll pacify her.” Brack barked a laugh. “Be careful, Rex.”

Rex sighed. “Listen, there’s a slight complication. This woman named Hailey Hitchcock moved into the Hatchet House.” Rex explained his offer to work for her. “I pulled up some information on her. She was living in Denver, where she worked at an antiques auction house. Apparently there’s a missing person’s report out on her. It was filed by a local attorney.”

He couldn’t stop wondering why exactly the man had been looking for her. Had the two been involved or was their relationship work related?

“You want me to check into it?”

“Yeah, it seems too damn coincidental that she showed up right after I moved back.”

“You think someone might have hired her to come there?”

“I don’t know. But I don’t like her being in that house.”

It was too dangerous for one thing. Not that he cared about the woman…

Brack promised to investigate Hailey, and Rex hung up, his thoughts jumbled. If she was in trouble, he needed to know exactly what kind.

THE WIND HURLED a branch against the window, the scraping sound reminding Hailey that she was alone. But she was in Colorado, inside her new house on top of the mountain. No one could find her here. She was safe. Starting over.

Putting the past behind her.

Thankfully, the sound of footsteps had died. She combed the upstairs, but found nothing. No sign of the ghost of the child she thought she’d seen. The noise must have been the wind blowing debris on the roof.

Still shaken, though, she pushed back the heavy drapes and stared into the darkness, searching for signs that someone had been nearby. A light snow had fallen overnight, with promises of more to come. If she managed any renovations to the house, it needed to be within the next few weeks before winter seized the land and immobilized everything. A light burned from the big stone house at the top of the hill.