Indelible (19 page)

“Well, that’s all there is.” To the nurse that came in, he said, “Don’t worry. We’re through here.”

In the hall, he slid his arm around Tia’s waist.

“Wow.” She walked beside him. “Is this as twisted as it seems?”

“Pretty much. Your dad’s looking good.” He stuck his tongue between his side teeth.

Groaning, she elbowed his ribs. “Is it wrong that I wanted to wipe off that politician’s grin by calling him Dad?”

“Not at all. It was admirable restraint.” He rubbed the back of her neck. “Can’t store it, though.”

She sighed. “What was he doing here?”

“He and the former chief were cronies. I guess he’s still friends with my mother.”

“Doesn’t he mind being connected to that scandal?”

Jonah shrugged. “Maybe he’s afraid she’ll mumble something damaging. He’s up for reelection.”

“You think there are things she could mumble?”

“Not as putrid as my dad’s maybe, but you’d better believe there are corpses in his closet.”

She slid her fingers through his belt loop and whispered, “Like me.”

“I’m not sure he knows, Ti. I’d bet against it.”

“Why?”

“Because he looked at you and saw your mother.”

“What do you mean?”

“He found you attractive.” She jerked to a stop.

“You’re very close to Stella physically. If he even suspected he provided the rest of your DNA, he wouldn’t have had that glint in his eye.”

“If he didn’t know, she had no reason to blame me for losing him.”

“People don’t need reasons to blame.” Though it was true his dad would not have shotgunned his own head if Jonah hadn’t held him accountable for the teenage girl he’d raped and killed. His mother knew the score and still wanted her man—for better or worse.

Tia pushed the elevator’s down arrow. “I guess it’s better he didn’t know.”

“Are you going to leave it that way?”

She shrugged. “Shaking his hand was weird.”

“I bet.” They got into the elevator.

“He knew about the candles, but not what I do now, so his only interest was in connection to my mother’s store.”

“Think he carries a torch?”

“I can’t imagine it.”

“I can. You Manning women are hard to get over.”

She gave him a dusky look.

As the doors closed them in, he pulled her up against him. “Thanks for speaking up to my mom.”

“Our families turned coal into diamonds.”

“You’d dull the Hope itself.” He lowered his face to hers.

The cab settled. The doors opened. A man said, “Good morning, Chief,” and came in.

Jonah broke the kiss and said, “Morning, Russ.”

The district attorney nodded to Tia. “Mrs. Westfall.”

“Visiting someone?” Jonah asked.

“Getting a statement. The Axley case.”

They reached the lobby and stopped once more. DA Cutler gave them a wave. “Nice to see you both.”

“That was awkward,” Tia murmured.

“Nah.” She was as beautiful and mysterious and consuming as the first time he’d seen her on the playground.

“I know that look.” She nudged him with an elbow. “Don’t start something you can’t finish.”

“I have—”

“An appointment with Dave Wolton, city manager.”

He checked his watch and sighed.

Natalie picked up the package outside her studio door and realized it was for High Country Outfitters. Buffeted by a chilly wind that smelled of fresh-mowed grass—fire prevention along the highway—she headed next door.

She didn’t notice Whit until he greeted her from a rack of trail books. “I thought you went with Trevor.”

“No, he runs off. I run the business.” He pulled a comically pained face.

“I see. Well, this came to me by mistake.” She held out the package.

He took it, checked the label with a disquieting expression, then relaxed.

She tipped her head. “Did you expect something else?”

“Just checking the source.” He patted the box. “Water purification tablets.”

“Whit. Has there been more mail?” He knew what kind she meant.

“Just the three envelopes, so packages are probably—”

“Three.” Trevor hadn’t mentioned any but the one she’d seen him open. “With photos?” One could be a prank, an insult. Three was a campaign.

Before he could answer, Jaz charged through the door. “Where is he?”

Whit planted his hands on his hips. “Can I help you, Jaz?”

“I need to see Trevor.”

“That’ll be difficult. He’s out with the wilderness class. Three more days.”

She arched a brow. “That’s why he’s not returning my calls?”

Whit spread his hands. “Nothing personal, I’m sure.”

She glared. “This came to the magazine that carried my article.” From an envelope she removed a copy of the magazine photo—modified.

Natalie stared. It was Trevor, but with huge arching wings and a fiery sword, so much like she’d imagined him, it took her breath away. “What is this?”

Jaz seemed only now to notice her. “A joke?”

Whit shifted his weight, surprised and uncomfortable.

“Is this what he thought I sent him?”

“What are you talking about?” Whit frowned.

“The hate mail he got.”

“You know—”

“Trust me, if I drew him, it would have horns and a tail.” At their confusion she narrowed her eyes. “It’s not what he got, is it?”

Whit cleared his throat. “Why don’t you two talk when he gets back?”

“Oh, I intend to.” She stuffed the picture into the envelope and stalked out.

“Well.” Natalie shivered. “That was weird.”

Whit pulled a pad from his pocket. “Do you mind?”

She looked from the pad to him, then took the pen he offered next. In moments, she had recreated the picture, including the parts someone added by hand.

“Thanks. He’ll want to see it.”

“What’s this about, Whit?”

He shrugged. “It might not be connected.”

“What are the chances of that?”

“The photos have all come here, but that went to Jaz.” He studied the drawing and frowned. “It seems weirdly more sinister.”

“It proves it’s personal. Someone knows who he is and what he does.”

“That’s not hard. He’s been in the spotlight.”

Spotlight. Celebrity. “Blackmail?”

Whit shifted his stance. “He has no connection to those kids.”

“Can he prove that?”

Whit’s brow lowered. “You have a dark side, Natalie.”

“Are you kidding? An insinuating Tweet is as good as accusation anymore. Whoever it is involved Jaz, a reporter whose animosity toward Trevor is no secret.”

“But this person thinks Trevor’s an angel.” He flicked the drawing.

Or they meant it ironically, but following Whit’s lead, “Could he have a stalker?”

“How does that fit the photos?”

“He’s a rescuer. Maybe she’s … calling him.” A frisson ran up her spine. “Using these incidents as bait.”

“You think it’s a woman?”

“Only guessing, if someone’s stalking him. Isn’t emotional or physical attraction a component?”

“I hadn’t thought in those terms, but it could be.”

She frowned. “In the pictures I didn’t see, did the children die?”

“They were all in dangerous situations, but none of the pictures except the one showed what happened. They might not even be crimes but … mishaps.”

She looked up. “Maybe she has access to a database.”

“Like a reporter?”

They landed on the same branch. “If it’s Jaz,” Whit said, “why come here with that drawing?”

“To force a confrontation? If Trevor thought she sent the photos, maybe he knows more than he’s saying.”

Whit frowned. “It has a sick sort of poetry. He really didn’t handle that one well. And Jaz takes vindictive to the max.”

But was she capable of subtlety? “When he gets back, you need to warn him, before Jaz confronts him with it.”

Whit nodded. “Or you, if you see him first.” By his tone, he considered that likely and didn’t seem distressed. Sara might be another story.

As she started for the door, he said, “Natalie. Be careful of anything that’s delivered, okay?”

Three sets of photos and the drawing. Someone was determined. But to what?

Lena raised warning brows as Natalie entered through the front door of her gallery. She wasn’t surprised Jaz had marched straight over. She’d expected it.

“Seriously?” The intrepid reporter stood before the statue of Trevor.

Finished and fired, it stood near the front windows. He was a local hero, and she’d captured the depth of his gift to her, to Cody and his family. People deserved to see. He deserved to have it seen.

“You’ve memorialized him?” Jaz’s lip curled.

“It’s for Cody. I want him to remember the man who saved his life.”

Jaz wrapped one arm across her waist, crooking the opposite hand beneath her chin. “You knew about that drawing.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“I saw recognition in your eyes.”

“That wasn’t recognition.” Though she supposed it could look that way.

“What then?”

“I’m an artist. I was interested.”

With a snarky tone, Jaz said, “Do the mustaches and spectacles people draw on faces fascinate you too?”

“I have a photographic memory. The drawing stuck, that’s all.”

Jaz arched a brow. “Prove it.”

Reluctantly, Natalie crossed to the podium, drew out a sheet of printing paper and reproduced the angel with Lena’s pen. Jaz carried the drawing over to the statue, obviously intrigued, just as obviously embittered. “All you missed were his wings.”

“Actually, I saw him as an angel that day, a great avenging guardian, saving my nephew.”

A little of the stiffness left her. “Who did you tell?”

“No one. Well, Trevor.”

“Bet he loved that.”

“No, actually not.”

Jaz shook her head. “He has you so snowed.”

“That’s really hard to do. The way my brain processes facial expressions, I get a pretty good picture of reality.”

“That’s why you won’t look at people?” To put it bluntly, as only Jaz could.

“I need to be careful. Once an image sticks, I have to sculpt it.”

“So the statue of Trevor …”

Natalie glanced over her shoulder. “He didn’t pose, if that’s what you mean.”

“Right now you could make my face?”

Natalie swallowed. “I already have. After the gallery opening I had to get everyone out of my head.”

Jaz planted her hands on her hips. “Let me see.”

It was probably a mistake, but she took her into the studio and uncovered the face mountain.

Jaz stared. “All this came out of your head that night?”

“I see every image on the clay. It’s just fleshing it out.”

Jaz circled around and found herself. “Ouch.”

“That’s why I don’t display these.”

Grimly, Jaz stared at her image, then at Trevor’s and a brief flick at Kirstin. “I was a mess.”

“You were reacting.”

Pressing her hands to her cheeks, she gave her head a slow shake. “I’m so tired of reacting to that man.” Seeing herself was having an impact—and it wasn’t feigned.

Jaz turned. “I would tell you to run hard and fast, but it’s too late, isn’t it?”

Natalie chewed her nail.

Jaz shook her head. “If you didn’t send the angel, then someone else sees him that way.”

Why was that such a terrifying thought?

Trevor crouched beside the young man shivering with fever. “How you doing, Mike?”

“Not great,” he croaked.

The flu had hit him overnight. They’d all heard its revenge on his digestive system, but today it made camp in his throat and chest. “Only thing worse than catching a virus is catching it in the wild.”

Michael turned his sweaty head and coughed. “I’ll do what I have to do.”

Trevor looked at Janise, senior counselor and chaperone.

With her wiry hair pulled back with a plain band, Janise looked like a stern African American schoolmarm, but he’d seen her wicked sense of humor. She didn’t employ it now, thankfully, merely stated the dilemma. “On the one hand, he needs to rest. On the other, we should get him off the mountain.”

They both looked up at the ominous skies. What might just be clouds in town had already been snow at their higher elevation. As more fell, the impact on Michael would be that much worse.

They’d reached the icy mountain lake, their final destination, and he was planning to teach them several vital things tomorrow. But they still had two days hiking back, and the fewer nights the kid was exposed to the elements the better. “All right, look, everyone. We’ve got a man down. Let’s brainstorm our options.”