I advised you to stay home, Bob,” Dr. Phil reminded me. “Repeatedly. But you just couldn’t stay away, could you?” His hand steady at Luce’s neck, he nodded toward Stan, who had rolled off of Montgomery. “If he moves, Luce gets the shot. It’ll stop her heart.”
“I’m not moving,” Stan said. “What do you want?”
“Get up, Margaret,” Dr. Phil ordered. “We’re going to do it right this time.”
Montgomery sat up, obviously dazed from her impact with Stan and the ground.
“This time?” My voice rasped.
“If you want something done right, you have to do it yourself,” the doctor said, exasperation plain in his tone. “First Andrew and now this.”
He turned his attention back to Montgomery, who was now on her feet, though somewhat shaky. She took a step or two and stopped, then bent over to catch her breath, her hands on her knees.
“Margaret, there’s a cord here behind me,” Dr. Phil instructed her. “Take it and tie Bob up first. Tightly. We’ll get Mr. Commando there in a minute. For now, I just want him to lie there where I can see him.” He tightened his grip around Luce’s head. “Don’t try it, Luce. The needle’s faster than you.”
I had to look away. The feeling of complete helplessness, seeing Luce immobilized in Dr. Phil’s hold, a deadly needle at her neck, was making my head spin and my vision blur. On top of that, I couldn’t believe that Dr. Phil—a man I’d known and respected for years—was the one with the needle, and somehow involved in Rahr’s murder. In desperation, I glanced at Stan, flat on his back, staring straight up into the trees.
He didn’t look desperate at all. In fact, he was grinning, his teeth shining white in his camouflaged face.
I followed his gaze.
About thirty feet above the ground, a Great Horned Owl was poised on a limb, looking down and weaving back and forth, a behavior that allow him to pinpoint his prey all the better. He was about to grab tonight’s dinner.
And I suddenly knew why Stan was smiling.
Tonight’s dinner wasn’t a rodent.
Tonight’s target was Dr. Phil’s bush of a silver toupee. Dr. Phil was about to join Uncle Gus in a very exclusive club.
The owl spread his wings, ready to launch himself in a silent, deadly attack.
I felt the surge of pure adrenaline in my legs.
Margaret was coming toward me with the rope, but that wasn’t my concern at the moment. I prayed that both the owl and I were faster than the needle.
Another heartbeat, and the owl and I were both flying through the night.
I dove straight for Luce, wrenching her out of Dr. Phil’s grip at the very moment the enormous owl reached the doctor’s head. With a vicious swipe of his powerful, inch-long talons, the owl raked the man’s scalp, capturing the tempting toupee and leaving bloody gashes on the dome of his bald head. By the time Dr. Phil could even realize what had happened, Stan had chopped him on the neck, knocking him out, and once again had Margaret pinned to the ground.
Shaking and gasping for air, I lay in a pile of wet leaves, holding Luce as close as I could, waiting for the tremors of the post-adrenaline rush to subside. Against my neck I could feel her breath warming the chilled skin between my woolen cap and my parka collar. I wanted to hold her right there forever.
“Are you all right?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
“Yeah,” I told her. “Never better. I’m having a great time. How about you?”
She took a deep breath. “I’m okay. A little shook, maybe. I’ve never been very fond of needles, and I don’t think that’s going to change in the foreseeable future.”
I stroked her back in understanding. “I can appreciate that. I’m not especially crazy about them, either. So, I guess we’re not going to take up needlepoint, huh?”
And then Stan was looming above us. “I called Knott. He’s on the way.” He pointed towards Dr. Phil and Montgomery, who were both face-down in the earth, their hands tied together with the cord Dr. Phil had pointed out to Montgomery. “They’re not going anywhere.”
“Thanks, Stan.” I pulled myself to my feet and helped Luce up. Then I offered my hand to him. “You can chase birds with me any time, buddy.”
He clasped my hand with his own. “Ditto.”
“Ssh,” Luce hissed at us. Slowly raising her hand, she pointed up into the branches over our heads. It took me a minute to see it, but once I found the intense yellow eyes staring at me, the rest of the little owl’s body became distinguishable from the surrounding blackness.
“You little devil,” I whispered.
Because, if nothing else, it had been one hell of a chase.