Authors: Kristen Heitzmann
Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Suspense, #Christian, #Thrillers
Indelible
Praise for
Kristen Heitzmann
“With a gifted pen, Kristen Heitzmann weaves a gripping tale of intense trials, and she peoples it with brave, ravaged souls who mold their limitations into blessings—and soar! Courageous. Remarkable. Insightful.
Indelible
is all that and more.”
—V
ICKI
H
INZE
, award-winning author of
Deadly Ties
“Kristen Heitzmann is a masterful storyteller. With compelling characters, lyrical prose, and spine-chilling suspense, she weaves another rich tapestry in
Indelible.
”
—C
OLLEEN
C
OBLE
, author of
Lonestar Angel
and the Rock Harbor series
“What she accordingly accomplishes here could be classified as rare and remarkable.… She creates scenes that are softly sensual and tension-filled, wrapped within a character-driven and ultimately uplifting mystery …
Indivisible
is a strongly written work with a quirky and believable cast of characters and a plot that, though tightly woven, gives its protagonists room to breathe and grow. In fact, the people you will meet here are so memorable that you will want more of them, a prayer that hopefully will be answered in the near future.”
—
BookReporter.com
“Heitzmann does a great job of weaving the back stories and too-present realities of each character into a unified tapestry of regret, hope, and redemption.”
—
FictionAddict.com
Other Books by Kristen Heitzmann
Indivisible
The Edge of Recall
Secrets
Unforgotten
Echoes
Freefall
Halos
A Rush of Wings
The Still of Night
Twilight
The Diamond of the Rockies Series
The Rose Legacy
Sweet Boundless
The Tender Vine
The Rocky Mountain Legacy Series
Honor’s Pledge
Honor’s Price
Honor’s Quest
Honor’s Disguise
Honor’s Reward
INDELIBLE
PUBLISHED BY WATERBROOK PRESS
12265 Oracle Boulevard, Suite 200
Colorado Springs, Colorado 80921
Scripture quotations are taken from The Holy Bible, English Standard Version, copyright © 2001 by Crossway Bibles, a division of Good News Publishers. Used by permission. All rights reserved.
The characters and events in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to actual persons or events is coincidental.
Chapter epigraphs are taken from
Paradise Lost
by John Milton.
eISBN: 978-0-307-45923-7
Copyright © 2011 by Kristen Heitzmann
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying and recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Published in the United States by WaterBrook Multnomah, an imprint of the Crown Publishing Group, a division of Random House Inc., New York.
WATERBROOK and its deer colophon are registered trademarks of Random House Inc.
The Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file with the Library of Congress.
v3.1
Dedicated to
Alfred Otto Heitzmann (1913–2011),
who enriched my life by his presence
.
Contents
The unconquerable will,
And study of revenge, immortal hate,
And courage never to submit or yield.
I
nto his mind came thoughts. Sparks. Bright points of fire seared with blistering clarity. He touched the scars and found truth. Goodness and purity, like scales, fell away. He had cowered in shame and impotence, hating in silence. Now he walked to where the other lay, unsuspecting in sleep. His gaze slid from the slack face to his timid hands and what they held. All things wicked began in innocence.
One
A
veined bolt of lightning sliced the ozone-scented sky as Trevor plunged down the craggy slope, dodging evergreen spires like slalom poles. Rocks and gravel spewed from his boots and caromed off the vertical pitch.
“Trevor.” Whit skidded behind him. “We’re not prepared for this.”
No. But he hurled himself after the tawny streak. He was not losing that kid.
“He’s suffocated,” Whit shouted. “His neck’s broken.”
Trevor leaped past a man—probably the dad—gripping his snapped shinbone. Whit could help there. Digging his heels into the shifting pine needles, Trevor gave chase, outmatched and unwavering. His heart pumped hard as he neared the base of the gulch, jumping from a lichen-crusted stone to a fallen trunk. The cougar jumped the creek, lost its grip, and dropped the toddler. Yes.
He splashed into the icy flow, dispersing scattered leaves like startled goldfish. After driving his hand into the water, he gripped a stone and raised it. Not heavy, not nearly heavy enough.
Lowering its head over the helpless prey, the mountain lion snarled a spine-chilling warning. There was no contest, but the cat, an immature male, might not realize its advantage, might not know its fear of man was mere illusion. Thunder crackled. Trevor tasted blood where he’d bitten his tongue.
Advancing, he engaged the cat’s eyes, taunting it to charge or run. The cat backed up, hissing. A yearling cub, able to snatch a tot from the trail, but unprepared for this fearless challenge. Too much adrenaline for fear. Too much blood on the ground.
With a shout, he heaved the rock. As the cat streaked up the mountainside, he charged across the creek to the victim. He’d steeled himself for carnage, but even so, the nearly severed arm, the battered, bloody feet …
His nose filled with the musky lion scent, the rusty smell of blood. He reached out. No pulse.
He dropped to his knees as Whit joined him from behind, on guard. He returned the boy’s arm to the socket, and holding it there with one trembling hand, Trevor began CPR with his other. On a victim so small, it took hardly any force, his fingers alone performing the compressions. The lion had failed to trap the victim’s face in its mouth. By grabbing the back of the head, neck, and shoulder, it had actually protected those vulnerable parts. But blood streamed over the toddler’s face from a deep cut high on the scalp, and he still wasn’t breathing.
Trevor bent to puff air into the tiny lungs, compressed again with his fingers, and puffed as lightly as he would to put out a match.
Come on
. He puffed and compressed while Whit watched for the cat’s return. Predators fought for their kills—even startled ones.
A whine escaped the child’s mouth. He jerked his legs, emitting a high-pitched moan. Trevor shucked his jacket and tugged his T-shirt off over his head. He tied the sleeves around the toddler’s arm and shoulder, pulled the rest around, and swaddled the damaged feet—shoes and socks long gone.
Thunder reverberated. The first hard drops smacked his skin. Tenderly, he pulled the child into his chest and draped the jacket over as a different rumble chopped the air. They had started up the mountain to find two elderly hikers who’d been separated from their party. Whit must have radioed the helicopter. He looked up. This baby might live because two old guys had gotten lost.
In the melee at the trailhead, Natalie clutched her sister-in-law’s hands, the horror of the ordeal still rocking them. As Aaron and little Cody were airlifted from the mountain, she breathed, “They’re going to be all right.”
“You don’t know that.” Face splotched and pale, Paige swung her head. Though her hair hung in wet blond strands, her makeup was weatherproof, her cologne still detectable. Even dazed, her brother’s wife looked and smelled expensive.
“The lion’s grip protected Cody’s head and neck,” one of the paramedics had told them. “It could have been so much worse.”
Paige started to sob. “His poor arm. What if he loses his arm?”
“Don’t go there.” What good was there in thinking it?
“How will he do the stuff boys do? I thought he’d be like Aaron, the best kid on the team.”
“He’ll be the best kid no matter what.”
“In the Special Olympics?”
Natalie recoiled at the droplets of spit that punctuated the bitter words. “He’s alive, Paige. What were the odds those men from search and rescue would be right there with a helicopter already on standby?”
“We shouldn’t have needed it.” Paige clenched her teeth. “Aaron’s supposed to be recovering. He would have been if you weren’t such a freak.”
“What?” She’d endured Paige’s unsubtle resentment, but
“freak”
?
“Let me go.” Paige jerked away, careening toward the SUV.
Natalie heard the engine roar, the gravel flung by the spinning tires, but all she saw was the hate in Paige’s eyes, the pain twisting her brother’s face as he held his fractured leg, little Cody in the lion’s maw, the man leaping after.
She needed to clear the images, but it wouldn’t happen here. Around her, press vans and emergency vehicles drained from the lot, leaving the scent of exhaust and tire scars in the rusty mud.
