Eloise hopped off the woodpile and strutted toward the trees.
A new plan formed as she got closer. One way or the other, that chicken was going to set off a ruckus. But first I needed to catch her.
As she neared the tree line, I crept closer, trying not to spook her. She continued to ignore me and do her own thing. I tipped my head, trying to decide how to do this. If I just pounced on her, she’d screech the forest down. She’d also peck and scratch me to death. How did people keep birds calm?
I thought about the falcon rescue places. They put hoods over the birds’ eyes. So, darkness, maybe?
It was worth a shot.
I took off my hoodie. It wasn’t the best thing for the job, but it would have to do.
Eloise pecked at the ground and walked within a few feet of the first line of pines.
That’s right, you little beast. Come closer…I edged toward her.
When I got within five feet of her, I waited until she turned her back to me, then pounced, throwing my sweatshirt over her head. Immediately, she sank to the ground, quiet.
Holy shit, it actually worked.
I scooped up the bird, tucking her under my arm and keeping the hoodie over her head. Retreating deeper into the forest, I walked back to where I left the feed, then glanced toward the porch. The rest of the chickens still pecked at the ground where I left them. A couple more had joined in.
Perfect.
I was only going to get one shot at this, so it had to be timed just right.
Tossing out a little more of the grain, I waited for the hens to get into a tighter group. When they were all nestled together, I maneuvered Eloise in front of me, still encased in the hoodie. She purred softly, content.
I shook my head. Who knew she could behave so nicely?
But right now, I didn’t need nice Eloise. I needed the war criminal who liked the taste of my blood.
Taking a deep, fortifying breath, I stepped out from behind the tree and threw the chicken as far as I could.
Chapter 33
Toren
One second, the only sound in the house was my own voice, droning on about how we set up our early warning system after we recognized we’d walked into something bigger than we thought. The next, the unmistakable, blood-curdling war cry of one particular red hen rose from just outside the front door.
Eloise.
Immediately after her outburst, the shrieks of several other hens joined the cacophony.
I turned to look at the door and saw a flurry of feathers rising into the air through the window.
Deke looked too.
Whatever set them off, I didn’t care. It provided the opening I needed.
Knowing I wouldn’t get another chance, I pushed off my good foot, flying out of my chair to close the few feet of space between us before he could bring his gaze back around. I couldn’t run or do any of the other things I would do in a fight. But I could fall on him like a dropped tree, and I weighed enough to make it feel like that too.
I hit him mid-turn and we went over, the chair breaking between us as we hit the ground. Deke’s gun went off, the crackof it deafening in the small room. The round went into the ceiling, raining dust and bits of wood down on us.
I pinned his shoulders to the floor with my left forearm, reaching across to grasp his right wrist, which held the gun. I was off balance and had little leverage like this, but I still managed to get a good grip and slam his hand into the floor. The gun discharged again, sending a round into the wall. I slammed his hand down once more, and his fingers sprang open. The pistol skittered away under the couch.
Dammit. I’d wanted that, but I didn’t have time to dwell on it too much.
Deke had figured out that, even though I had six or seven inches and at least fifty pounds on him, my injuries put me at a disadvantage. He was faster than I expected and drove the heel of his hand into my casted left, right where the pins held my fingers together
