Free Indelible by Kristen Heitzmann Page B

recall, that was Tia and Miles.”
    “You brought the cavalry.”
    He looked across at the party of four. That business last year had driven home his need for a stronger force—and he was still waiting. Thank you, Mr. Mayor, city manager, and council. “I like Piper’s optimism, but I’m not sure it’s all sunny skies and rainbows for this town.”
    “Well, of course not, Chief. We live in the real world.”
    “That we do.” He nodded as the cell phone vibrated in his pocket, knowing before he checked that it was dispatch. He could send any one of them to back up the officer on duty, but instead he wished Sue a happy birthday and headed out himself.

    Natalie demurred, but Miles insisted on paying for dinner, using the credit card Piper had convinced him was even better than uncirculated bills.
    “He resisted at first, because fingerprints show on plastic,” Piper said.
    “Germs on fingerprints,” Miles said. “Germs on everyone, everywhere.”
    “But”—Piper pointed when the server returned the card—“now he simply sanitizes.”
    Miles gave the card a good cleaning with a disinfecting wipe.
    Feeling lighter than she had since arriving, Natalie headed back to the studio to model Piper and especially Miles. His face had told her so much,lots of it sad and strained, but also joyful. There was even a playful streak. The release of their images wasn’t urgent, a quick study would do.
    She had just covered the clay and washed her hands and arms when the knocking came at her back door. She had not set the alarm and looked quickly for a protective weapon. Not finding anything of use, she went to the door and said, “Who is it?”
    “Trevor.”
    She dropped her forehead to the wall.
    “Natalie?”
    Groaning silently, she opened the door but kept her gaze lowered.
    He cleared his throat. “Can we talk?”
    She weighed the “No, thanks” option, then with a sigh, pulled her jacket on, locked up, and stepped outside. He seemed surprised but must have understood her reluctance to invite him into her private space again.
    He said, “It’s dark out.”
    “Dark is good.” She could see him by the single security light, if she wanted to—but she didn’t.
    “It’s cold.”
    The first week in September had that tendency at eight thousand feet. She folded her arms and waited.
    “Okay, so …” He expelled a breath. “I ended the other night badly.”
    The climbing, the opening, the studio. She wasn’t vindictive, but recognized a pattern.
    He shoved his hands into his pockets. “I can imagine what you thought.”
    “Oh, it was pretty clear.”
    He popped the vertebrae in his neck with a twist. “Can we at least get in my car?”
    “You saved my nephew, Trevor. I’m forever grateful.”
    “But …”
    She blinked her own car lights with the remote. “Let’s just leave it.”
    “You saw something I don’t show people.”
    “You showed me. And you made me show you.”
    “I realize that.” He leaned his arm on the outer wall. “I just didn’t expect it.”
    He should have. She’d revealed more of herself to him since they’d met than most people saw in her whole life. She shivered. He started to take off his coat.
    “No.” It came out sharply. “We can get in the car.”
    “Mine’s still warm.”
    His engine started with a heat blast that felt good but didn’t take away the chill. The dome light faded and died, leaving blue console lights illuminating words with no meaning in this moment, fuel, speed, and music settings. The stars outside were brilliant, cold white sparks, together but untouching in a blackened sky where she fixed her eyes to avoid the ghostly planes of his face.
    “I tried to call.”
    “I didn’t recognize the number.”
    “I went by the house, but you weren’t there, so I came here.”
    The corner of a receipt was pinched in the glove compartment flap, out of place in the otherwise orderly vehicle. “You went to a lot of trouble to say something you still