Page 4 of Natalie's Nighthawk

“Maddie? Natalie?” a deep voice to their left called out, interrupting her attempt to appeal to the blonde’s sense of decency.

“David!” Maddie addressed the man who had just entered the room. Graham Whitaker’s brother was more handsome than Natalie remembered. He was tall, probably around six feet, his dark hair cut short suited him, as did the dark scruff that adorned his face. Maddie, her limp barely perceptible with the new prosthetic, walked over to David and embraced him. “Look at you all grown up! You’ve aged well!” she complimented, giving him a once-over.

“Look at you,” he parroted. “No more wheels?”

“Nope. I graduated to titanium!” She lifted her pant leg to show him the titanium prosthetic.

“Congrats! That is so cool! Looks good on you. You’ve aged extremely well yourself!”

“Thanks,” Maddie blushed. Briefly, Natalie wondered how David knew Maddie had been in a wheelchair since he had moved away right after the tornado. She was under the impression that none of the Whitakers had been in contact with her family since then. She felt her stomach knot. Maybe she was making too much of that day by the lake. It had only been a few hours, definitely not the magical unicorn moment that she continually measured all moments against.

“What are you doing here?” David asked after returning Natalie’s hug hello.

“We need your help,” Natalie blurted out. “I mean … we were hoping we could get Graham’s help. Two of my students have gone missing …”

“Say no more,” David pulled a radio out of his pocket. “Graham,” he said into the device. “You’re needed at the main office.”

“Now?” a voice squawked back. “I’m a little busy at the moment.”

“It’s an emergency.”

A sigh was heard through the radio. “Can’t you handle it?”

“I think you are going to want to handle this one,” David replied with a wink to the sisters.

“Fine!” the exasperated voice replied. “Be there in two minutes.”

“Copy.” Putting the device back in his pocket, David gestured for them to follow him into a conference room. The room was a typical fishbowl office space with a long, oval polished wood table and windows taking up two walls. Natalie moved to the windows on the side opposite the door and looked out over the grounds.

The facility was more impressive than Natalie had imagined. There were half a dozen buildings spread across the grounds resembling a college campus. Instead of students in the usual college attire, men and women in various types of training gear milled around.

Under a grouping of trees between the main building and a large four-story building, a crowd sat at a set of painted metal picnic tables enjoying a coffee break.

That’s where Natalie first spotted him, the man of her childhood dreams. He looked about the same as he had that day by the lake if a little wiser and older. And more … muscular? Just … more.

Her heart beat erratically as she watched him separate from the group and throw a leg over a nearby ATV. Lucy and Colin were counting on her; she shouldn’t be swooning at the mere glimpse of him. She reminded herself that she needed his help, not his obviously toned body.

But her thoughts betrayed her, flashing back to that day. The day Graham Whitaker had given her that first kiss.

Twelve Years Ago

The conversationmoved to othertopicsafterhe’dstudied her sketches.During a brief pause in their banter, theystared across the water, where dark clouds werebuildingup. “Looks like a storm’s coming,” Natalie stated.

“They were calling for storms this afternoon.”

“Right.”A gust of windwhippedher hair into her face.She pulled out her hair tieand fought the wind to redo her bun.“Sorry to hear you and Laney broke up.”

“I’m not,” he replied with a smilethat made her stomachflip.Those lips of his were too much.“She was way too into herself.”

“How many girls have you dated?” It was a bold question for her, but if the rumors of dozens were true,shewanted to understand what he was doing here with her.

Acorner of his lip turned up in amusement. “A few. You?”

Natalielowered her head,blushingfuriously.She grabbed her sketchbookfrom wherehe’dleft it and clutched it to her chest,though it madean inadequate shield.Turnabout was fair play,she supposed;still,shewasn’tsure she wanted him to know the answer. But then, who careswhat he thought about her answer. She was fine with it. Happy, even, that she had never?

“It’s none, isn’t it,” he guessed,interrupting her thoughts.Flickingthe corner of her sketchbookrepeatedly, she feltevery bit of confidencedeflating.“That’s cool,” he went on toreassure her. “You know who you are and what you want. None of the flitting around from guy toguy. You strike me as someonewhodoesn’tplay those games. I respect that,” he finished quietly. Clearly,he’dbeen played with too many times.

“I’m sorry,girls can be such bitches.”

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