by Nikki Logan
‘Are all the Marque boys this smooth?’ she hedged.
‘Smoother, generally speaking. I’m the rough-round-the-edges one, if you recall.’ He stared. ‘So, would you like me to beg?’
Not demeaning himself. Not for her. ‘No, I would not. It’s not going to happen, Gabe.’
Damn him and his height. He had so much further to lean and he gobbled up another few inches now.
‘Why not? The job is no longer between us.’ He traced her jaw with a fingertip. ‘You ignite under my touch. We were born to be together.’
Her skin tightened again. Any more and bones were going to start poking through. ‘Because it’s not just up to you.’
His snort was as good and every bit as challenging as a bull in an arena. ‘Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t want me.’
And there it was. Ingrid knew she couldn’t stare into those all-knowing eyes and convince him she wasn’t interested. And she couldn’t hide behind the job any more. But anything else just wasn’t possible.
‘I don’t want a relationship. With anyone.’ Just saying it aloud was awful. Was she condemning herself to being alone for ever?
That stopped him cold. ‘Why?’
‘Because I don’t. I know your monumental French ego will make this all about you, but it’s not. It’s about me. And I make the decisions about me.’
‘I don’t believe you,’ he said, eyes narrow.
‘Your loss.’
‘You’re pushing me away?’
‘I’m trying to.’
‘Why?’
‘I’m not actually required to defend myself to you, Gabriel Marque.’
‘No. But I’m asking you to tell me why you’re rejecting me. Do me the courtesy.’
Rejecting me. The words came from way down deep, where child-like Gabe hid.
‘I’m not...’ She sighed. ‘It’s not rejection. It’s choice. Free choice.’
‘You’re choosing to be alone rather than be with me?’
‘I’m choosing—’ work, my career, the safe path ‘—to decline.’
He slumped back in his chair. ‘I see.’
No. He didn’t. The wounded look at the back of his confused eyes confirmed that. But telling him the truth was just too messy. And too hard. ‘Come on, Gabe. You’re seriously going to pout because I choose to put my needs before yours? That’s not you.’
And lying wasn’t her, but it was coming more and more easily. Desperate times...
‘It’s not that I’m not attracted to you. I’m just choosing not to do anything about it.’
His lips pressed together, as if in trying to make it easier for him she’d said something horrible.
‘You speak as though any of this is in our hands. As if there is a choice.’ He pushed up onto his feet. ‘The fact you can make that choice without blinking tells me everything I need to know.’
And with that he was gone, out into the bright morning light. She’d cover his duties until he was able to come back, but then she’d go. It was time to end the lazy make-believe world they’d created for themselves in their concrete bunker.
The pups were safe. Either of them could manage to vaccinate, chip and weigh them alone if Mjawi left the den. It would just take twice as long. She’d been foolish to let that be her excuse for staying.
She and Gabe would just go back to politely ignoring each other. Life would go on. The sun would keep rising.
It just wouldn’t shine as brightly.
* * *
IT HAD TAKEN Gabe two furious circuits of the still-waking zoo to burn off the uncomfortable sensation of being judged and found lacking. But then he’d walked back in and found Ingrid with bag and keys in hand—just waiting to get out of there—and that utterly innocent gesture had undone all his good work.
Even the dogs had conspired to be utterly uninteresting all day after she’d gone home, and they’d failed to take his mind off the fact that, while he hadn’t been able to get her out of his head for the past twelve months, Ingrid was entirely take-it-or-leave-it about him.
Not the greatest stroke for his ego.
Section staff had come to check on the pups’ progress and gone again. His supervisor had hit the roof when he’d heard how they’d managed to pull off the den-swap, and then the director had got called in for a departmental investigation. They’d talked it all through and concluded that there had been no other viable option and that Gabe’s actions were warranted. Just not entirely desirable. He’d done his best to play down Ingrid’s role and keep her from direct scrutiny. This place was her whole world. She didn’t need any black marks against her name if she was hoping to get zookeeping work in the future.
Her whole world.
The vulnerable part inside of him leapt on that. Was she so focussed on her career that she didn’t want anything getting in the way? But a zookeeper was the perfect person for her to form a relationship with. Who better to understand the pressures of the unpredictable rosters, the extra hours, the emotional attachment, the highs of success and the devastating lows of the failures?
They were a great match professionally.
God knew they were physically suited, too. That instant whoosh when they touched; the perpetual hum that existed when they were in a room together; the simmering passion that she kept so buttoned-down most of the time...
He’d never wanted to conquer and cherish in such equal measure.
But obviously being good together wasn’t enough to counter whatever it was he lacked. He’d managed much bigger disappointments in life, but always when he had some understanding and control of the situation. He didn’t do powerless. It was infuriating not to measure up to a bar you couldn’t see.
The beast in him paced in circles that grew tighter and tighter as the afternoon wore on.
‘How are they doing?’
He spun around at the tentative words behind him. The tautness of his muscles was amplified in his voice. ‘I wondered if you were coming back.’ And just like that he understood his slowly growing tension.
Her brows lifted just slightly at his tone and her entire body stiffened. ‘I’m not late.’
‘You weren’t here. What if something had happened?’
‘Then I was only twenty minutes away.’
‘Your mobile is probably inside a wild dog.’
‘I left my home number on the observation sheet.’
She might as well have gouged it into the table; it stank of her desperation to be gone.
‘You must really want the money. I thought for sure you’d swap shifts with someone else.’
‘I want the experience, not the money.’
Right. That was why she’d stayed. He should have realised it was nothing to do with him. He swallowed the rest of his umbrage before he said something even more inappropriate.
‘Are you staying?’ she offered, to break the silence.
‘We’re too close now to bail.’
Her lips thinned. ‘I didn’t bail. I went home. And I came back for my shift. I’m doing my job.’
‘Oui, I can always rely on you to do the minimum, Ingrid.’
Her gasp was overly loud in the concrete building. ‘That’s not fair. I work very hard.’
It wasn’t fair. But he wasn’t feeling fair. He was feeling hurt. And defensive. And a tiny bit curious. If he pressed the right button would he get the answers he was after?
He shrugged. ‘At some things.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘It means that giving any part of yourself to someone else is hard work, and you’re not up to it.’
‘Are we back to this, Gabe?’
‘Too hard to talk about?’
‘I’m not enjoying hurting your feelings,’ she h
issed.
‘My feelings are just fine. Thanks for the concern.’
‘What do you want from me?’
‘I want to know why you’re backing away from this thing we have.’
‘I’m not.’
‘It started the day after you let yourself be with me.’
‘I told you. I thought you’d—’
‘Yeah, you told me. But I don’t believe it was about the job. I think that’s what you told yourself. What was really going on, Ingrid?’
Her face grew strained and distressed. ‘Please don’t make me say it again...’
She didn’t want to hurt him. Even now her compassion moved him. And infuriated him. He pushed it down hard. He wanted to know. ‘What is it, Ingrid? Holding out for something better?’
‘Gabe—’
But the path to self-destruction felt too good. And any second now he’d have the truth. He’d know what it was that he was lacking for woman after woman after woman. ‘I want to know, Ingrid. What kind of a man would it take to crack your hard exterior?’
That knocked her back physically in the doorway. He saw the impact of it in the slight curve of her body as it accommodated the pain. Like catching a football.
He was an ass.
‘I’m not hard.’ But the affirmation was quiet enough to be doubtful. And tight enough to be right on the edge of a deeper emotion. ‘I’m just careful.’
‘What have I done to deserve such caution? Am I a man who betrays trust? Who lies or sleeps around or steals?’
She spoke, but he didn’t hear the mumbled words. She shook her hair across her downturned face.
‘Huh?’ His best French one-shoulder shrug. A classic Marque trait. It occurred to him that this emotional post-mortem was classic Marque, too. Sometimes he realised how much of his parents he had in him.
She cleared her throat. ‘I said before. It’s not about you.’
‘Yeah, you did. But I don’t believe you.’
‘I can’t help that. Your insecurities are your own to deal with.’
For seconds time stopped. How proud his father would have been of a son who flayed a woman alive rather than face his own inadequacies. Ingrid didn’t want him—so be it. Why wasn’t he able to take that like a man and walk away with his dignity intact? Why was he demeaning himself like this for a woman? For love?
In the same moment that word hit his consciousness a single tear hit the floor at Ingrid’s feet.
He froze, breathless, and stared at the tiny glistening spot.
He’d never got over her. Despite a year of trying. And now he was foisting the blame for his own weakness onto his beautiful, bright Ingrid—punishing her for not sharing his feelings. For not loving him back sufficiently. Just because he wanted it.
And she was bowed before him, weeping.
His eyes fell shut. He was his father’s son.
He tried to speak and failed. He swallowed and tried again.
‘I’ll sleep in my car,’ he finally murmured, though it was more of a sigh. Apologies weren’t going to help. Not right now. The kindest thing he could do for her was just get out of her face and leave her in peace. ‘If you need me, call me from the feed shed phone.’
She nodded again. Still silent. Eyes still downcast.
He collected up a few things and squeezed past her in the doorway. He stopped halfway. Turned out he was too not like his father to walk out of there without apologising for his behaviour.
‘I’m sorry, Ingrid,’ he breathed, touching her shoulder. ‘I accept your choice. I won’t raise it again.’
He wouldn’t. Though it would kill him always to wonder what it was that she wanted. What it was that he lacked.
He pressed his lips together even as he pressed past her in the doorway. Then he was through and heading off into the growing darkness. The sounds of the zoo at night wafted all around him. The throaty rumbles of lion grumbling, the overhead clucking of roosting egrets, the sudden puffs of elephants settling for the night.
The half-choked sound of a woman’s sob.
Gabe forced himself to keep walking. Though it was the hardest thing he’d ever had to do.
She didn’t want him the way he wanted her.
Time to deal with it and move on.
CHAPTER SEVEN
December 31st
THE CCTV CAMERAS had infra-red light on them but Ingrid didn’t need it. Not tonight. Tonight the fullness of the moon as it reached its zenith spilled soft light across the whole exhibit and bathed everything in beauty and silence.
Enjoy it while you can. Tomorrow night—tonight, really—the local council had a big New Year’s Eve celebration on the shore of the river right next door to the zoo. There’d be thumping music and the cheering of families right up until midnight.
Great. Just what she and Gabe needed to highlight the awkwardness between them even more. The celebration of a new year. New beginnings. Resolutions. Letting go of the past.
Easier said than done.
She’d done the right thing; stepping back before anything further happened between them. Before she got more attached. More immersed.
If it hurt this much now, imagine leaving it a few more weeks.
She’d busied herself the moment he left. The moment she had the strength to peel herself off the doorframe holding her up. She’d set up everything they needed—workbench, scales, medical equipment, microchip scanner, hessian sacks—so if Mjawi emerged for long enough she wouldn’t lose time scrabbling to get the gear assembled.
Lucky she worked with this sort of gear daily at the hospital, because it meant she could still function even while totally numb. Setting up the table, calibrating the equipment, estimating the dosages. Totally automatic. Why ripping Gabe permanently from her life—her future—should make her feel so dead inside...that was something she could look at another day. In the future, when she wasn’t feeling so raw and didn’t need to concentrate.
The distant future.
Now she stared, hypnotised, at the tranquil exhibit shown brightly on the monitor in the darkened room. Just as quiet but so much prettier than the ugly ache inside her. Like a ripple or an echo of the things they’d said to each other, softened and eased with distance.
On the outside, anyway.
Inside she was still churning—way down deep where her heart, not her head, ruled play. The part that was hoarse from shouting that she’d done the wrong thing in freeing herself from Gabe.
Her eyes lost focus on the screen.
She didn’t want a relationship and she couldn’t have anything less with Gabe. He wasn’t a man you could walk away from easily. She’d found that out once already. At least back then she’d been able to kid herself it was all about the job. She’d taken her anger then and used it to mask the disturbing sense that something really important had just died.
Ingrid sighed and murmured aloud, ‘We’ll never know.’
As if roused by her soft words, a dark shadow emerged from the entrance to A-den. Her heart leapt just slightly but she didn’t move from her seat. Another dog would swoop in the moment Mjawi left the pups unsupervised.
The shadow walked quietly down to her spot beside the waterhole and lay down.
Not sat.
Lay.
When she was just having a brief rest Mjawi dropped to her haunches, but when she was planning a long nap—Ingrid sat bolt upright, her pulse starting to thrum—she lay on her side.
Exactly like that.
Her eyes flicked back to the den entrance. No other dog was skulking about to assume puppy-sitting duties. They all slept soundly around the exhibit.
The pups were unsupervised.
Her heart lurched just as her mind cried out. Gabe!
Use the feed shed ph
one, he’d said. But that was across the compound; she could assess two pups in the time it would take to unlock the building and get to the phone. And every pup that was vaccinated tonight was one day further from being susceptible to the virus taking hold in the pack.
Her eyes snapped back to the hatch. To everything she needed all lined up near it, ready to go. It really wasn’t a choice. She knew what Gabe would want her to do.
In a heartbeat she was up, muffling the sound of unlocking the padlocks on the hatch and carefully removing them from their catches. Then she fixed on a night-vision headlamp and slipped her hands into a pair of heavy-duty gardening gloves with the putrid waste the dogs left lying around the holding yards already ground in. She slipped on a medical gown, tossed the hessian sacks over her shoulder, glanced once more at the monitor to make sure Mjawi hadn’t moved...then carefully opened the hatch.
Eight pairs of bright, inquisitive, fearless eyes stared back at her.
‘Hey...’ she murmured, low and non-threatening. They shifted—like a single writhing being—away from the hatch and the unfamiliar creature suddenly framed in it, scrabbling over her poor beleaguered mobile phone.
‘It’s okay. I won’t hurt you.’ They remained alarmed but didn’t cry out. If they did she’d have just seconds to slam the door before Mjawi came skidding back into the den. ‘Well, maybe just a tiny sting,’ she whispered, ‘but it’s going to keep you safe and healthy.’
Her low voice seemed to soothe them. She wondered briefly if they’d grown accustomed to hearing her through the hatch. She glanced at the monitor for signs of any adult life. Still nothing.
‘So who’s coming first?’ She bundled a folded sack into the den and quickly scooped three of the pups into it. Dark enough and snug enough to feel secure even as they were being handled by a human. She kept the monitor in her peripheral vision as she placed the writhing sack on the workbench. She stripped off one glove to prepare the vaccine, then loaded a microchip into a bigger syringe.
‘Here we go...’