by Ava Gray
“Don’t I have to pay you?”
She smiled. “Not for this.”
Though her heart clenched, she went to work. The mother cat was beyond saving; she could tell at a glance, but her kittens might not be. If she had been near term . . . yes, she had been. Three of them were dead. It hurt. It never stopped hurting. On days like today, she could almost see her mother’s point. Why do this?
Well, for the three of them she saved. That was why. Miraculously, they seemed to be as healthy as three orphaned kittens could be.
“Julie!” she shouted. “I need the heating pad, a box, a towel, and the kitten formula.”
She’d be sleeping here tonight, of course. That was why she kept a cot in the storeroom. Sometimes patients required overnight care and she couldn’t afford to pay a night attendant. The practice wasn’t hemorrhaging money but neither was she rolling in it. Corners had to be cut.
“Saving kitties, are we?”
“I’m sure going to try.”
“Do you need me to stay over?”
Smiling, she shook her head. Julie always asked and she always said no. Such rituals were comforting. “Just flip the ‘Closed’ sign. I can handle this.”
Neva used a warm, damp cloth to clean them up because it would feel to them like the comfort of their mother’s tongue. Once she’d done that, Neva set up the box with heating pad, covered that with the towel, and then started the feeding rotation. The next three weeks were going to be grueling since newborn kittens couldn’t eliminate without help. Ordinarily the mother cat would take care of it.
Now it was all up to her.
At some point, Zeke appeared beside her, and he seemed to know what to do, so she let him feed one of the kittens. It was late by the time they finished, and in two or three hours, it would be time to do it all again.
She arched her back, so tired she ached all over. It was a good feeling. Despite the four losses, she had three tiny wins snuggled up together in their box. The heating pad beneath them would keep them nice and warm; it was specially designed for newborns and post-op animals.
“This happen a lot?”
“Twice in two years. I don’t know if that qualifies as a lot.”
“Will they make it?”
She glanced up and found him closer than she’d realized. “I’ll do my damnedest to make sure they do.”
“Pleasure watching you with them.”
Maybe it was just because she was exhausted but the comment felt like it had a personal connotation. A happy flush suffused her. “I love animals, always have. My mother said I’d drive her wild, always dragging something home.”
“To fix it up,” he guessed.
“Yeah.” But she’d always had trouble letting go. Once she healed something, she never wanted to send it back into the wild. She wanted to keep it and love it, no matter how ill-advised that seemed.
To her surprise, Zeke sat down on a crate nearby, seeming in no hurry to leave. “My cousins hunted. Used to run around after them in the woods, making a racket so they’d get no game.”
“Did they hunt for sport or food?”
Though she loved animals, she wasn’t a vegetarian, and she understood the latter. Just . . . not the former. It seemed like the height of cruelty to kill something for the pleasure of it. Even worse to put its carcass on the wall as proof of the deed.
“Both.”
And he still hadn’t wanted to see the deer shot? Interesting . He was a puzzling man, one she had a hard time reading. She had the sense he was hiding something, but then, wasn’t everyone? With her family and Luke and Ben Reed, she didn’t exactly go around broadcasting her personal issues, either. As long as she could depend on him to do his job, things would be fine.
Now, the part she hated . . . dealing with the dead. A pet cremation service would pick up if she called, but it meant out-of-pocket expense on this one. Ordinarily she passed the cost along to the owner—and felt guilty doing so—but she couldn’t charge the woman for kindness. That discouraged people from doing the right thing.
“Could you—”
“Already did,” he said. “Bagged them. And cleaned the exam room.”
She gazed at him in stupefied weariness. “I’m not paying you enough. It’s well past six, and I can’t afford more hours.”
Her parents could. She couldn’t. She’d spent the money she’d gotten from Grandmother Devereaux on an education. The rest remained in trust, administered by her father, and he’d never give her a dime until she became the daughter he wanted instead of the one he had. It didn’t matter; she’d never be Luke, even if she broke her back trying. Better not to go down that road.
“Don’t need money to do the right thing.”
It seemed to Neva she had never heard anyone say that. Ever. In her parents’ world, it was all about appearances and fund-raisers and knowing the right people, going to the right parties. She’d walked away from that life at eighteen, and she felt as though she’d lost her place in the world at the same time. Apart from Julie and Travis, she belonged nowhere. She’d always been too emotional, unable to make the decisions that would’ve earned her favor.
“You’re a rare person,” she said softly.
Sadness rushed in. She didn’t know if it was the weight of the day or remembered grief, but she found herself drowning. To keep from losing it, she focused on the kittens. Tiny, curled up together. She watched them breathe and tried to fight back the tears. She hadn’t cried when Luke went missing. She never cried. Instead she worked and pretended and worked some more. As Julie had told her more than once, that wasn’t living, but it was the best she could do.
His hand lit on her shoulder, so light that if she flinched, he’d pull away. Tenuous heat filled her. Oh, to get inside his silence. Neva gazed up into his face. For the first time, she noticed he had a strong jaw and a well-shaped mouth. His wariness detracted from his appeal, made one see only his suspicion. She’d noticed his eyes before, but now she realized he was beautiful.
His light brown hair had been cropped close. She wanted to run her palms over it and see if the new growth prickled. And his deep blue eyes—God, he has such haunted eyes. She’d only seen eyes like that before in animals that had been tied and whipped, starved of all human affection.
“Don’t,” he said, and she didn’t even know what he was asking her not to do.
The moment ended when one of the kittens needed to burp, a good thing, too. Zeke hated how she’d been looking at him, like she saw more than she was supposed to, more than he could let anyone see. Thankfully she went back to caring for them. She truly loved her work, but there was loneliness about her as well. Yet he understood why she preferred the company of animals.
She was busy, so he took the spare key from the hook in her office—one day maybe he’d have one of his own—and slipped out back. It was dark; the lights didn’t go all around the building, but he could see just fine. Another side effect of whatever they’d done to him.
Halfway to Armando’s, he froze. Footfalls sounded behind him, as if the person was trying to be quiet. But he wasn’t very good at it. Shit. Someone’s creeping toward the back door of the clinic.
He wheeled and loped along the edge of the pavement, alert for more movement. A man rounded the corner, heading for the back door. It locked automatically, but a determined thief could get in. Unlike the other man, Zeke could move silently. He was on him before the guy sensed a presence and turned.
“Need something?”
“I wanted to speak to Neva.” He had a polished, news-caster accent. “I know she’s working late. Would you get her for me?”
Close up, Zeke could see he was wearing expensive clothes and he had a hundred-dollar haircut. He didn’t like the look of him any better.
“Don’t think so. Go home and call her.”
The other man’s mouth curled. “Which are you, her social secretary or her bodyguard?”
“She pays me, not you.”
“Are you as
king for a bribe?” He reached for his wallet.
“No. Go on now. Clinic’s closed.”
Zeke folded his arms and waited. Silence would drive the guy away; he knew the type. With a muttered curse, he left. Zeke waited until he was sure it was safe and then he retraced his steps toward the sub shop.
Armando’s was deserted when he stepped inside. No surprise, since it was nearly eight. Julie was right: Neva did work hard. With the money he had from cashing his first paycheck, he bought her a turkey sandwich, a drink, and a cookie. He didn’t have a lot of money, but it pleased him to provide for her in a small way, even if she didn’t notice or care. She’d given him back his pride, and that was a priceless gift. Now he could afford to get the power back on and stop living in the dark. Tomorrow he’d buy some groceries and try to remember how to be a man instead of the monster they’d made him.
Bag in hand, he scouted the place, front to back, and to his surprise, he found the asshole in a car out front. The headlights were off and he was there, sitting, hands on the wheel. His face was tight with anger, and something else. He didn’t know what to call that look; it was almost greed, but it went deeper, too. Ownership? Zeke fought back an instinctive territorial growl. Though he hadn’t been here that long, he thought of this place as his. That meant the two women who came with it were his to protect, Neva more than Julie.
But by now she would be hungry. She often worked through lunch and he didn’t know if she had breakfast before coming to the clinic. Before anything else, he’d give her the food and tell her about the guy watching the place. Maybe she knew him and would like to talk to him. He pushed back a surge of anger at the idea, knowing he had no right to it.
Zeke used the key to let himself in the back door. She was where he’d left her, sitting with the kittens, but her eyes shone, wet, as if she wanted to cry but couldn’t.
“Brought you dinner,” he said.
She shifted, obviously startled. “I thought you left. You didn’t have to, Zeke. I didn’t even give you any money.”
“Wanted to. Need anything else tonight?”
“I should probably take a bathroom break and get the cot set up in here.”
“Go on then.” He took her place beside the kitten box.
They slept now, all their physical needs tended for a little while. She moved off and he felt them in a way he couldn’t explain: tiny, questing things, scared and uncertain. They got inside his head. Loss. It was a blurry feeling, but these kittens knew they had lost something. They just didn’t know what. They huddled together and took comfort in each other while looking for something that wasn’t there.
When Neva came back, he asked, “Got a stuffed toy to put in with them?”
He expected her to ask why he’d suggest such a thing. Instead her face brightened. Her smile reminded him of the time he’d skipped school to go fishing with his best friend, Danny, so long ago now. It was a hazy, springtime memory. They hadn’t caught anything, but instead lay on the grassy banks of the river, listening to the birds and feeling the sun on their skin. She warmed him like that, only backward, from the inside out.
“Good idea. I have a few plushies for sale out front. Sometimes parents bring their kids and I convince them to take home a toy as a gauge of whether they’re ready for the responsibility of a real one.”
Zeke stayed while she got the surrogate mama cat and tucked her in the box. He wondered what it would be like if she touched him with such gentleness. But he couldn’t let himself want her. In all ways, she stood above him. Dinner at the diner proved that much—everyone had been so shocked to see her in his company. They were probably still talking about it.
“Guy tried to get in the back,” he said then.
“Let me guess . . .” And then she described him to a tee.
“Know him?” Zeke could go get the guy, easy enough. He just didn’t want to. He’d rather be whipped. The angry beast stirred in him again.
“Yes. But I’m not interested in talking. He’s my ex,” she added, as if she owed him any explanations. Still, he appreciated it. “He just won’t accept we’re done.”
“Get that,” he said, before he could stop himself.
She straightened, eyes on his, and they shared another of those long moments where he feared he might do something wrong. Because that look of hers tore straight through him like a gunshot wound. He had to close his hands so he didn’t brush away the dark strands that had slipped out of her ponytail.
“You mean you understand why somebody wouldn’t want to let me go?”
Zeke flinched. But he couldn’t disown the truth. “Yeah.”
“That’s sweet. But it isn’t me he wants. It’s just because I’m a Harper. He wants to go into politics.” Her expression reflected surprise, as if she couldn’t believe she’d said that aloud. “You’re almost too easy to talk to.”
“Won’t repeat it,” he promised.
“No, I know you wouldn’t. And thanks for making him go away.”
“Part of the job.” He found himself smiling, a little lighter in some way he couldn’t name. “Sure you’ll be all right?”
“I’ll turn on the alarm after you leave. Don’t worry, this isn’t the first time I’ve pulled an all-nighter.”
“’Night, then.”
He’d planned to pay the electric bill today, but the office had long since closed. That would have to wait until tomorrow morning. But he could hit the grocery store. He’d been eating from cans and whatever Aunt Sid brought by.
In the morning he’d run his errand at the power company and then get home to do some repairs on the farm. He could make it livable again. He could do this.
CHAPTER 5
“It’s time,” the shrink said.
Emil Hebert had been in counseling for almost four months. The knife in his gut had almost killed him, and the loss of his partner did worse than that; it shook his faith in himself. He’d worked with Rina for almost ten years.
In that time, she’d started as his colleague and became his best friend. He didn’t make them easily. Life had taught him too much about how to shut people out. Not enough about letting them in. But Rina hadn’t minded his brusqueness or that he focused on the job too much. When they were paired up, she was the experienced one, four years on the job already, and a lot wiser. He’d learned so much from her.
Belatedly he noticed the doc waiting for a reply. “I’m ready.”
“Then go see Birch.”
Nodding, he pushed to his feet and offered the other man a firm handshake. It was funny how they thought certain things had a shelf life or an expiration date. Make him talk about her once a week for X number of months and he’ll be fine. Ready to get back out there.
And he was, but not because they’d worked some magical cure. He just couldn’t stand the silence of his apartment anymore. He left and made his way to Birch’s office on the third floor. Hebert tapped lightly on the closed door. Waited.
“Come on in.” His immediate boss was a man in his early fifties with salt-and-pepper hair. He’d softened up some from his years on the desk. Birch was a career man; he’d retire from the ABI one day. Pictures dotted the wall behind his desk; he’d shaken hands with some important people in his time.
“Got my clearance papers here. My brain’s fixed.”
The other man grinned, but Hebert could see he was uneasy. Everyone was, these days. They didn’t know whether to console him, bake him cookies, or treat him like they always had. “You feeling all right?”
He’d spent some time on leave, after the surgery that put his guts back together. Eight times. The knife went in eight times. And while I was bleeding—
“Nothing I can’t handle.”
“Good. I wanted to talk to you because there are two things we can do, here.”
“What do you mean?” He just wanted to get back to work, however difficult that might be at first.
“Given your track record, they want me to offer you a promotion.” Birch hel
d up a hand, forestalling protest. “There’s a vacancy in region six. So it would mean a move. We’d miss you, but maybe a change of scenery would do you good.”
Hebert considered the offer for all of thirty seconds. “And the other option?”
“You come back to work.” Birch hesitated. “But we won’t be replacing Rina. Hiring freeze, budgetary considerations.”
A promotion, or work alone? A smart man would take the first offer. Get out of the field and start a new chapter in life. But right now, he felt like that’d be turning his back on everything he’d accomplished with his partner, and maybe just a hint of running scared. He’d never know if he had the stones to do the job if he didn’t try.
“I don’t want to work the desk,” he said. “Ask me again in ten years.”
Birch grinned. “In ten years, I’ll be fishing off a boat in Cabo. But maybe I’ll make you take my job when I’m ready to go.”
“I may be fine with it by then.”
“And Emil . . .” That told him something serious was coming. Birch never used his first name. “I’m really sorry.”
Me, too.
He’d missed her funeral, hadn’t been there to say good-bye. I wasn’t there when she died. The one time we split up to chase down separate leads . . .
Well, there was no point going down that road. In the early days after his discharge from the hospital, he’d spent some time fondling his gun and chasing pain meds with cheap whiskey. But in the end, it was unworthy of her. He could almost hear Rina saying, Man the fuck up, Hebert. You gonna cry in your beer forever?
And remembering her made him smile. That smile gave him the strength to pour the liquor down the drain, ease off on the medications, and start climbing out of that dark hole. People had lost their best friends before. They went on. So could he.
“It was just a bad break,” he said then, and was surprised at how rough his own voice sounded.
“I’m glad you know it wasn’t your fault. Sometimes there just isn’t anything you can do, and it doesn’t matter that you did everything right.” By the man’s tone, he’d suffered a loss, too, but one just didn’t ask Hal Birch to talk about his feelings.