Talons of the Falcon Read Online Free

jailers know what she was doing? She felt like an actress thrown into an important role without time to study the script.
    Eden scanned the shoreline, trying to pierce the facade of rich-man’s playground that the island presented. Gordon had told her as much as he could about the frightening drama being enacted there. In order to play her part, she’d have to keep a lid on her own doubts and emotions.
    The launch was close enough now that she could make out more details—gnarled oaks heavy with Spanish moss and a rambling stucco house reminiscent of a squared-off sand castle, only it was pink. But the charm of the picture was marred by a number of large signs posted around the shoreline:
    Private Property
    Trespassers Will Be Prosecuted To The
    Full Extent Of The Law
    A young man with blond, close-clipped hair waited on the narrow private dock. Dressed in blue jeans and a white T-shirt, he was obviously meant to be mistaken for a handyman. However, Eden noted that he walked with a definite military bearing. From reading Gordon’s briefing sheets, she knew he was Sergeant Blackwell.
    Even his weaponry was not standard military issue. She drew in her breath when she noticed the double-barreled shotgun leaning casually against a bench.
    As he saw her eyes flick to it and then quickly away, he grinned. It wasn’t a friendly gesture. Instead it was calculated to establish immediately who had the upper hand at this supersecret installation.
    “Come into the guard station,” he said as soon as she disembarked and her suitcases were deposited on the pier. The words were an order, not a request.
    Silently Eden followed him along the rough gray boards to what looked like a shed meant to hold fishing tackle and other paraphernalia. Inside, however, it was equipped with a computer terminal and a telephone. There was no attempt to hide the closed-circuit TV camera mounted in one corner. The red light under the lens was on.
    Without offering his visitor a seat, the guard picked up the receiver and dialed. “Sir, Dr. Sommers has arrived,” he announced.
    Eden couldn’t hear the other side of the conversation, but it was punctuated on her end by frequent Yes, sir s. When the guard finally hung up, his face was impassive.
    “I’ll have to get your fingerprints and search your luggage,” Blackwell relayed. “But Major Downing is busy now, anyway, so the delay won’t make much difference.”
    Eden had been warned about security precautions, but not something like this. “My luggage...” she began.
    “Could inadvertently contain materials that are off-limits here. I’m sorry, Doctor.” The clipped cadence of his words told Eden that he wasn’t.
    Trying to appear unconcerned, she watched as he opened a suitcase and began to feel through the contents, unfolding blouses and skirts at random. He even sifted through the contents of the small jewelry bag tucked in the corner. One piece seemed to be of particular interest: an antique pin Connie had said would look nice with Eden’s good dress. Blackwell held up the ornate piece, inspecting the amethyst and gold design curiously.
    “Not much chance to wear something like this down here,” he muttered.
    Eden remained impassive. But when he pulled out a lacy bra and held it up for special scrutiny, she had to bite back a protest. There was no use calling attention to her clothing. Although supplied by the Peregrine Connection, the wardrobe fit her slender, five-foot-seven frame as though she had bought it herself. Constance McGuire had assured her that everything had been washed so that it would look broken in. Would the ploy work? Eden’s reception committee of one made no comment.
    Mindful of the camera and trying to appear serene, she gazed out the window. It was already well past dinner, and the setting sun had painted the western sky a rich shade of pink tinged with orange.
    Finished with Eden’s luggage, Blackwell brought out an old-fashioned fingerprint record card and