Indelible (37 page)

She heard him slide it into place and said, “I made a lot of fuss.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“You must think I’m self-absorbed.”

“Who isn’t?”

Again she smiled. He could have denied it, but went for honesty instead.

“So, I guess I’d better get back.”

“Thank you.” She touched his arm.

“I’ll let myself out.”

She heard the door close, then lifted the cloth and slowly stretched her fingers to the clay, seeing through them what Jonah and Seth had seen.

Art thou that traitor angel? Art thou he,
Who first broke peace in Heaven and faith, till then
Unbroken, and in proud rebellious arms
Drew after him the third part of Heaven’s sons.

T
hirst drew him out from hiding. Next came hunger, and then fear. Everywhere they looked for him, and he’d almost been caught. A female cop had stopped just short of searching deeper shadow, the shade that held him ill-concealed if she pursued it further.

The injured girl awakened in this hushed, complacent vale a sense of indignation that such a one as he could contemplate an interruption of their peace.

Hounded, hunted, cringing, cowed, he hid and waited, shamed by fear. Where now the confidence that thought to challenge heaven’s choice? Where the strength, the will? From what could he find power? Yet he must! Or leave the dare unmet. Could he depart in silence, as so many times before?

No. In this, his closing act, he must illuminate the darkness before its last embrace.

Twenty-Two

T
revor joined the crowd outside the gallery that all but blocked off commerce to his place—not irrelevant, but so far down the list of concerns that it hardly registered. While Aaron sat with Natalie, he’d hurried home to shower and pack what he needed for the long haul, stopping here to get answers before driving back to the hospital.

Ready to talk his way through to the chief, he paused when Jaz called out his name. Of all the hassles he didn’t need, all the irritations he had no energy for … He glared. “Not now.”

She lasered him with her eyes. “Now.” Her red hair ignited in a streak of autumn sunlight. She swore the color was real, and there was nothing to indicate otherwise in her peaked, rust-colored eyebrows and the coppery freckles over all the skin he’d seen, which was less than she’d wanted to show him.

He said, “I need to see the chief,” but went along when she tugged his arm. “Okay, what?”

“I gave him the original drawing. He thinks it’s connected.”

He doubted Jonah told her that, but Jaz made her own assumptions and pawned them off as truth.

“You’re at the center of this, aren’t you?” She studied his face, but she couldn’t read him as Natalie did—as she had.

“What do you want, Jaz?”

He’d asked it gently, but she glared. “What do
I
want? I thought
you
might want to know while there’s nothing on swamp-boy, I found the baby in the tree.”

That caught him. “You did?”

“It was Podunk, Missouri, so it never made national news. The couple claims someone took the baby from his crib and put him in a fir in their backyard. They heard him crying and got him down. He’s alive, Trevor.”

The pulse throbbed in his neck. “Any suspects?”

“They questioned an old boyfriend, but no arrest.”

He drew a slow breath through his nose. The baby was alive. “Jaz …”

“I know. You owe me big.”

“Maybe it’s the same with the others. Found with no incident, no criminal report. Not even a story.”

“It’s a story now. Don’t forget you promised me exclusive rights.” She pressed in so close he smelled her fruity lip gloss. “And I want updates on Natalie.”

He furrowed his brow.

“Don’t pretend you weren’t just there, wherever they’ve taken her. You look like you slept in a chair.”

He’d spent the night in the surgical waiting room, hoping fruitlessly to see her this morning.

“I want to know everything you know.”

“She’s alive.”

“What about her stuff?”

“Stuff?”

“The savant thing.”

“You know about that?”

“She told me.” At his incredulous expression, she cocked her head. “What, you don’t want your girlfriends talking?”

“If she told you, you’d know she’s not a savant.”

“Whatever.” She waved a hand. “Is her gift at risk?”

“Everything’s at risk with TBI, Jaz.” His voice thickened. “It’s not good.”

She took a step back, gaping. “You’re in love.”

He jammed his fingers into his hair. “Can we avoid a scene?”

“Scene?” She held up a hand. “I’m so over you.”

Please, God
.

“But I’m sitting on Natalie’s story. And it’s mine. Entirely.”

“Well, that’s between you girls.” He pulled a wry smile.

She said, “I really hate you,” but the sting was gone.

He nodded. “I know. Now I need to see the chief and get back.”

Something moved over her face, passing into something else. Natalie would have captured and understood both expressions. Not his concern.

He needed answers, but Chief Westfall had left the crime scene.

The rock was empty, neither warm nor cold, the water flowing, though dimly as beneath overcast skies. The gold-flecked bed looked muddy as the water dragged over the rocks. She lay down on the chalky gray surface, lethargy cleaving her flesh to the stone. It was clay, cracked and powdered by the sun, the water dissolving the edges and washing it away. What would happen when it was gone?

“Nattie.” The voice was barely a whisper. The creek or the breeze.

“Listen to me, Nattie.”

She breathed the scent of clay, drew it into her lungs. She was more clay than flesh now.

“You have to come back. You can’t let go.”

Let go? She wasn’t letting go. Just …

“I love you. Are you listening?”

Her hands were gray—gray as the clay. She used to make the clay into what she wanted. Now it was taking her into itself.

“Don’t you leave, Nattie. We’re not done here. Do you hear me? We’re not done.”

She heard him. She knew him, but how?

“We have too much ahead of us to quit now.”

Her hand felt strange. Warm. Held. Color infused the gray. The breeze moved her hair. No, a touch. Fingers through the strands.

“I won’t let go, and you can’t either.”

Her hair turned brown, deepened. The skin of her neck warmed. Her lips, her mouth warmed.

“I don’t care if you don’t kiss me back. I know you want to.”

Hands cradled her face. The water seemed far away. The stone softened, the clay dissolving. Breath fled her lungs, then rushed back in. Her eyes fluttered. She moaned, hurting and reveling as her body awakened.

“There you are.”

The face was suntanned and strong, his eyes the color of deep, shady moss. The edges crinkled with a smile that creased his sandpaper cheeks. He was spectacular—whoever he was. She startled when he tipped her face and kissed her, stroking her hair, her neck.

“I’m so sorry, Nattie. I shouldn’t have left you alone.”

She breathed his scent as he kissed her again, then held his forehead to hers.

“Are you okay?”

She held his eyes. She must know him. Love him?

“Nattie”—his voice broke and he changed course—“Aaron had a rehab session with his trainer. He said he’d come tomorrow.”

Aaron.

“And Cody’s fine. He wanted you to know.”

Why did thoughts of Cody resonate with this man? Something scary. Danger.

She gripped his wrist. Where was she?

“It’s okay. Calm down.”

She groped the bandage on her head, pleading with her eyes. What happened?

“Someone attacked you, hit you over the head. You’ve been unconscious two days. But you’re going to be all right, okay? You’re going to be all right.”

She moaned.

He reached over and pressed the Call button. “That’ll bring the nurse. Can you stay awake another minute, so they believe me?”

She didn’t know. A minute was so long.

His heart pumped like a piston. Wherever she’d been, she was back. Confused, but conscious. No long-term vegetative state, no suspended coma sleep, year after year after year.

She closed her eyes. He wanted to shout her name, but forced his mouth to stay shut. Let her be. Let her take it as slowly as she needed to. Each waking would be better. Wouldn’t it?

His throat felt like someone had drilled a new tunnel through it by the time not only the nurse but the doctor came in. Please let her wake again.

When the nurse rubbed her hand, Natalie opened her eyes and looked from one of them to the others. The tendons in her throat worked. Her lips parted. No words came.

“Ms. Reeve, you suffered an acute head trauma, including skull fracture and hematoma.” Dr. Derozier checked her eyes with a light. “Blink if you understand me.”

She did.

“Squeeze my hand.”

A squeeze. Trevor’s hands clenched in solidarity.

“Blink if you know who you are.”

She blinked.

“Taylor Swift, pop star?”

Her brows puckered slightly. She stared.

“Good. No one should have that delusion.”

Taylor Swift was a fine young singer—if not in the doctor’s opinion—but Natalie’s reaction to the ploy had been genuine. She was in there.

“You have swelling in your brain that’s affecting your speech center. As that swelling decreases, functionality may return.”

The doctor turned to him and said, “Waking up was the first hurdle. Now we’ll see.” Then he was gone.

The nurse completed her tasks, asked if he needed anything, then left. Natalie slept.

After three hours, nurse and doctor returned. They ran through the same basic routine. Natalie wasn’t Sandra Bullock.

Dr. Derozier left for the night. The day-shift nurses turned into night-shift nurses. Trevor had another cup of coffee, another unidentifiable meal from the cafeteria. Aaron called to say he had to fly to Scottsdale to meet with Paige’s doctor. Trevor reclined the chair that didn’t fit him even sitting and tried to sleep.

Buried in her covers, with hardly enough air to breathe, Fleur trembled. The down and cotton shield offered no defense, but she couldn’t pull them off. The world had been safe, and now it wasn’t.