“There was an accident?”
Vera picked up a random piece of paper from the desk, then put it down and picked up a folder instead. “I’m sorry. I must go and help.”
“Wait,” Zoe said, but she was already disappearing through the treatment room door.
Well. An accident? Something that changed him, so that he was never the same…and on top of his mother’s death. What had happened? She suspected he wouldn’t be in a hurry to tell her himself, and Vera obviously wasn’t going to…but maybe Greta would. His story must have more layers than she knew.
Then again, didn’t everyone’s?
She could hear activity in the treatment room, and wondered how Brynjar was faring. It was some kind of luck that she’d found him—surely he was meant to make it.
The phone on the reception desk rang a couple of times, but Vera must have been answering it on another line behind the scenes. No one else knocked to come in, and when she looked out the window, she could see why—it had started to snow heavily. Under the street light just outside the clinic, Jakob’s truck was slowly accumulating a white topping. It was warm inside, but she shivered at the sight. She remembered Greta saying that Jakob didn’t like to drive in bad weather. It could be a difficult trip back to the lodge if that kept up.
After a while, she took off her boots, swung her legs up onto the window seat, and leaned back on the cushions sitting against the side wall. In the warmth and quiet, drowsiness started to creep over her. Maybe she could read to pass the time. She got out her phone, pulled her coat over her legs, and settled in to wait.
* * *
Several chapters later, she jumped, suddenly aware that Jakob was standing right next to her seat. He looked world-weary. It suited him.
He raised his hand in a half-wave. “Hej.”
“Oh! Hej.” She looked around. “How did it go?”
“Okay, I think. Emil is finished for now. Vera went home.”
She tucked her phone in her back pocket and shifted her legs to make room, and he sat next to her on the window seat. The strain showed on his face as he ran his fingers though his hair.
“And Brynjar—will he be okay?”
He leaned back. “We don’t know yet. Emil will sleep here and check him in the night.”
“Oh, God. I hope he’ll make it through. Do you know what’s wrong with him?”
His expression became even darker. “We think maybe it was poison.”
“Wait. Do you mean he ate something poisonous, or someone poisoned him?”
Emil came in just in time to hear her question.
“Someone poisoned him,” he said. “I’m doing tests, but the symptoms are there.”
“Who would do that?”
He rubbed his head, looking tired too. “A lot of people.”
Jakob nodded in agreement.
She thought back to what Greta had told her. Wolves were hunted in Sweden, but no one would shoot a wolf on the Nilssons’ land. No local person, anyway. Leaving poison, though, was a quiet and efficient way to get the job done. There were people who didn’t want the wolves around, and would do anything to stop them. Hell, she was working for a bunch of them herself. A wave of guilt went through her, and she bit her lip.
She looked out the window, where the snow had formed a small drift against one side of Jakob’s truck. “The weather is getting worse.”
Jakob nodded. “It is.”
“You can drive,” Emil told him. “It’s not so bad.”
He hesitated. “Maybe.”
“You have winter tyres?”
“Yes, but…” He cleared his throat. “I’d rather stay here. Until he’s out of danger.”
“I can send you a message,” Emil said. Then light dawned on his face, as he seemed to realise something. “But the cabin is there, of course, if you want to stay.”
Jakob looked at her. “Would you mind?”
Suddenly her heart picked up speed, and a little part of her whispered that it might be more than snow and wolf that made him want to stay. But she brushed the thought away. He was a dedicated wildlife ecologist, and clearly a sensible outdoorsman—it wasn’t about her. But…staying the night in a cabin with him would be tempting a fate she was trying to avoid. Not that she had much choice at this point—she could hardly take his truck and go, even if she felt confident about navigating snowy roads at night. Which she totally did not.
“Oh, no, that’s fine,” she said, her voice betraying none of her thoughts. “I don’t mind.”
Emil rummaged in one of the reception desk draws and pulled out a key. “There’s some food in there, so please help yourself. See you in the morning.”
He gave Jakob the key, then went back into the treatment room, leaving them alone. Alone, with each other.
Sixteen
They left the truck parked outside the clinic and walked across to the cabin. It was only a short distance, but the snow was gusting around them, and the chill was vicious on her bare cheeks. She was grateful to make it to the porch, and out of the wind.
Jakob unlocked the door and stepped back for her to go in. They took off their boots by the door, then she looked around. It was more basic than her little retreat at the Nilssons’ place, but the layout was almost the same. And just like her own cabin, the bedroom at the back had only one big bed.
She took a breath. “This is nice.”
He nodded as he hung their coats on a stand in the corner. Was he thinking the same thing as her: where would they sleep? Well, if he wasn’t mentioning it, she wouldn’t either. It obviously wasn’t any kind of big deal to him…so it shouldn’t be to her either. She smoothed her ponytail and straightened her woolly jumper. In this state she was about as alluring as a llama anyway, so there was no danger of tempting him. Which was good.
No, really, it was.
Just don’t think about that porch kiss.
As he turned up the heating, she looked around in hopes of a distraction. Coffee, maybe. In the kitchen alcove she opened a cupboard, in search of mugs, and discovered a treasure trove. Vodka, gin, wine, whiskey, akvavit…it was enough to warm the cockles of the most frozen traveller.
“Wow.”
He came in, and smiled when he saw the array of bottles. “Still the same. We used to have some big parties here.”
In the small room, she was hyper-aware of his height, the breadth of his shoulders, and his nearness. She wanted to find a reason to step closer—pick an imaginary thread off his jumper? pretend she was suddenly hard of hearing? feign a heart attack?—but instead she made herself lean against the counter.
“Who does the cabin belong to?”
“Emil’s family. There’s a lake behind here. We used to come out from town every summer. And sometimes in the winter.”
“But now he lives here?”
He nodded. “Yes, he bought some land next door. He specialises in large animals, and he’s interested in the wolves too.” Mentioning the wolves seemed to jolt him out of his reminiscences, and he frowned. “He said he’ll text if there’s any news.”
“That’s good.”
“I told Bengt where we are too.”
“Okay. Thanks.” She was glad they wouldn’t be worrying…although this would give Greta some great ammunition over the next batch of dishes. That would make her happy.
She watched as he went back out to the living area and pulled out his phone. He set it on the coffee table and sat in an armchair, elbows on his knees, waiting. She was tempted to open one of the bottles in the cupboard and have a little something to settle her own edginess. A night in here with him was going to be one long exercise in self-restraint.
“Can I get you anything?” she asked. “Coffee? Something to eat?”
“No thanks.” He eyed the phone.
“Okay.” She came out and sat on the sofa, then tucked her sock-clad feet under her. Might as well get comfy. It could be a long wait.
He looked over. “I didn’t say thank you for what you did.�
�
She shrugged. “I didn’t do anything. It was sheer chance that I found him.”
“Well…thank you.”
His voice was suddenly low, and it sent a hum through her body. She swallowed. “You’re welcome.”
All at once, the distance between them seemed very small—just a few feet from armchair to sofa, bridged by one long look between them. She thought back to the moment in the boathouse, and glanced down at his hands. Which were now sitting in his lap. Which meant that she was actually glancing in the direction of his…she ripped her eyes away. Oh, classy.
When she met his eyes again, there was something new there—a knowing, and a sort of assessment, as though he was trying to get the measure of her. If she hadn’t given herself away with the hundred and one times she’d stolen surreptitious glances at him, before and after that single post-party kiss on her doorstep, she definitely had now. That night, she’d closed the door on him…but now he knew that, actually, she’d left it the tiniest bit ajar.
Outside, the snow fell, but inside, it was definitely getting warmer…
Then his phone beeped, and they both jumped. Her chest tightened, and she saw the worry reclaim his face. He stood up as he picked up the phone, and she did too. It seemed the right thing to do, to learn the fate of such an amazing creature. She came closer, wanting to read the screen, but of course it was in Swedish, a collection of letters scattered with double dots and little circles that made no sense at all.
But one look at him told her what the message conveyed. Every bit of weight seemed lifted from his shoulders, and from his expression.
“He’s okay,” he said, his face clear with relief. “He’s awake, and drinking some water.”
Her hands went to her mouth, and she let out the breath she’d been holding. “That was fast. Thank God.”
“We can’t be completely sure yet,” he said. “And we have to wait for the test results. But it’s a good start.”
“Do you want to go over and see him?”
“I do,” he said. “But Emil wants to keep everything quiet, so Brynjar can rest while the medication starts to work.”
“That makes sense, I suppose,” she said. “Doctor’s orders.”
“Exactly.” He texted back, then threw the phone onto the sofa. “Let’s have that drink now.”
She hesitated. “I thought maybe you didn’t drink.”
“I don’t drink and drive.”
“Oh…okay.”
What she really meant was, uh-oh. Already, she was teetering on the brink…if they started drinking together, she knew her wafer-thin shred of resolve would crumble. As it was, she was fighting the urge to fling herself across the space between them and hope for the best. It wasn’t like anything that happened here would last—she’d be back in London, or wherever, and he’d be here, or in Scotland. And when she got back to Vertex, she’d make sure they never crossed paths from opposite sides of the wolf campaign. But the thought of him knowing, after the event, that she had lied so thoroughly…
He went into the kitchen, and she heard bottles clinking, then he emerged with a three-quarters full bottle of Absolut Kurant and a couple of small glasses.
“There’s nothing to mix with it. You’ll have to drink Swedish style.”
She straightened her shoulders. “I can do that.”
For the first time, she saw him grin. It transformed his face with a flash of dimples, making him look younger, and freer, and yes, even a little wolfish. Or maybe that was her imagination. Her imagination was becoming pretty damn creative lately.
“I believe you,” he said, filling the glasses. “I saw you win against the akvavit.”
“I don’t know if I won,” she said, taking the drink he offered. “But it was a good night.”
“Not that good,” he said.
She paused, the glass almost at her lips. He was looking at her, a level challenge that made her blush as she remembered the kiss, and the night’s end. Then he smiled.
“Skål,” he said, and threw back the shot.
“Skål,” she echoed. Her own shot burned on the way down, but not as much as her cheeks.
They sat down again, and he poured them each another glass.
Time to change the subject. “How long have you been studying the wolves?” she asked.
“A long time,” he said. “After school, I left to go travelling. I needed to…get away for a while. You know. So I started university late. But I studied zoology, and when I had a choice I wrote about wolves. Then I did a master’s degree in wildlife ecology, in Scotland. And now the PhD.”
She tried to calculate how old he must be, but without knowing his age when he started university, she couldn’t guess. Getting to PhD level was pretty impressive though. “That’s a lot of studying.”
“It is. But there’s practical work too, fieldwork. You’re not in a classroom all the time.”
“You wouldn’t like that.”
He shook his head. “I would not.”
It was hard to imagine him trooping into a lecture theatre, confining his long legs behind a desk, submitting to exams and assessments. Looking at him now, filling the armchair, legs stretched out in front of him, was like observing a piece of the wild brought indoors. You could put four walls around him, but he’d always belong out there.
She should be asking him more about the research, trying to find out things that had gone wrong with the Swedish wolves. But while the conversation was flowing for once, she decided to take a chance. “And your family…?”
He curled a lip, suddenly darkening again. “Nothing to tell. You already know about my mother.” She started to say something, but he waved a hand, cutting her off. “The rest is not worth talking about.”
He downed his shot. The subject was closed.
“I don’t know you very well,” he said. “Tell me something.”
“Um…okay.” No problem. There was plenty she could tell without giving anything away. “Well, I grew up in eight different countries. No, wait—nine, if you count England.”
“That’s a lot. Was it fun?”
She shrugged. “Depends how you define fun.”
“That sounds like a no.”
She picked up the bottle and refilled her glass, then leaned across to fill his, but a splosh of vodka spilled onto the table. Huh. The glasses must be shrinking. She hadn’t had that many shots.
He got up and came to sit next to her on the sofa, then put his glass next to hers.
“Try again.”
Having him right next to her was not going to help. She sat forward, concentrating on keeping her arm steady, and managed to fill the glass. When she sat back, she sank into the sofa, tipping towards him where his weight deepened the seat cushion.
“Oops,” she said. “Sorry.” Even though she wasn’t. At that moment, though, she knew what The Shark would say if she could see this scene. Regretfully, she levered herself away towards her own side of the sofa.
“Tell me about your job,” he said.
Ack. Could he read her mind? She reeled off the speech she’d been giving anyone who asked. “I work for a communications company in London. Publicity, social media, branding.”
Upon hearing that, most people glazed over. But he didn’t.
“So is that marketing, or more like public relations?”
Oh, hell. Why was he the one person who wanted to know more? And damn his excellent English. “Uh…public relations. It’s not saving the world, but it’s okay.” She tossed back the shot, and reached for the bottle again.
“Public relations…” he mused. “Do you work for a good company?”
Why had she said public relations? She could have said anything at all. This was getting too close for comfort.
“Depends how you define good,” she said, and laughed. To her own ears, it sounded way too much like a nervous giggle. Please don’t let him notice, she chanted in her head. Please don’t let him notice.
“I mean not un…what�
��s the word? Unethical?”
“Yes. Unethical. I mean, that’s how you say it. I don’t mean they’re unethical.”
But they were. She was. It was the truth. She’d always thought she was better than the rest of them, but here she was, searching for ways to spin her story, misleading a perfectly decent person. And not even for some greater good, or for something she believed in. Only to prove a point.
“What’s the company called?”
Alarm bells started up in her head. Abort, abort.
She did the only thing she could think of. She put her hand on his thigh, leaned in, and kissed him.
And he kissed her back, a heady, blackcurrant-laced kiss. Well, what did she think he’d do? Oh lord, this was one distraction technique she liked. She turned and kneeled up slightly—he was so tall—and in one effortless movement he picked her up and brought her to him, so that she was straddling his legs. He wasn’t asking questions now—apart from the unspoken one that was growing between them as rapidly as his obvious desire. How far were they going to go?
In the back of her mind, a tiny memory remained, a niggling reminder that she was the unethical one. But the other ninety-nine point nine nine per cent of her was focused on only one thing—the man under her. And specifically, what that man had started to do with his lips, and his hands. This is what she should have done after the party, if she’d had any sense. Or no sense at all.
Then he pulled away, leaving her more than a little breathless.
“You kissed me,” she said.
He raised an eyebrow. “You kissed me.”
“Yes, but…before. After the party.”
“I did.”
“Why?”
He laughed. “Because I wanted to. And I thought you wanted me to. And now I think I was right.”
He ran one hand slowly, gently, around the back of her neck, and her head fell to the side, her eyes closing for a moment. Oh God, the luxury of being touched by this man, feeling his heat and hardness underneath her, knowing what was possible…
She looked over his shoulder towards the bedroom. He followed her gaze, then looked back at her. Neither of them needed to say anything, in English or in Swedish—their next step was sealed. She got off his lap, and he stood up and took her hand.
The Near & Far Series Page 11