by Anna Martin
A soft, dry head nudged into his palm, and he gently rubbed at the back of Dizzy’s neck.
“I really want to understand her perception of language,” Kit said. He wrinkled his nose. “Does it make me a bad person to hope her herd rejects her again?”
Logan huffed. “No. Trust me, I want to keep her too. I just… I’ve done conservation work. Animals deserve to be in the wild. Carefully protected, but wild. That’s how they’re supposed to be.”
“You’ve been hand-rearing her. Hand-feeding. That makes a difference.”
“Yeah. I don’t know if she imprinted on me or not. I think she thinks of me as a mother, though.”
Kit grinned.
“Don’t say anything,” Logan said, pointing a finger in his general direction. “Don’t you dare.”
“You’re a very good mama.”
“How is that not saying anything?”
Kit just laughed.
LOGAN WAS packing up the back of the truck—he was going out with the fully armored vehicle this time—and doing his final checks when he spotted Kit coming around the building. He was still wearing his long white lab coat, those gray wool trousers that clung to his ass so invitingly, and a dark blue shirt. And those tortoiseshell glasses that drove Logan crazy. God, was he beautiful.
“Hi,” Logan called.
“Hey. Thought I’d come say goodbye before you leave.”
Logan finished securing the cover over the flatbed of the truck and leaned against it. “You gonna miss me?” he teased.
“No.” Kit licked his lips and blushed. “Maybe.”
Logan reached an arm out and pulled Kit to his chest, not caring if anyone saw. Hardly anyone came back to this parking lot anyway, just the other rangers.
“I’ll be back before the end of the week.”
“You’re not doing the trip out there in one go, are you?”
“Nah. Driving that long is too much, even for me. I’ll sleep on the back seat tonight, get there tomorrow afternoon.”
“You think Dizzy will be okay with that much traveling?”
“I’m going to let her out every hour or so,” he said. “I was thinking of getting her a leash or something to make sure she doesn’t run away… but she doesn’t move very quickly anyway. I just need to keep an eye on her and make sure she doesn’t wander off.”
“She sticks pretty close to you,” Kit said, looking down at where Dizzy was nuzzling at his ankles.
“Yeah,” Logan said and brushed his hand over Kit’s head. “I get patchy phone reception out there, so I’ll try and send you a few messages. Honestly, though, I’ll be back in a few days. Hopefully with a trunk full of new samples and data to keep you busy doing… whatever it is that you do.”
“Okay. Be safe. You restocked the tranq guns?”
“Yes.” Logan didn’t tease, knowing how Kit felt about Logan’s safety. “I’ll see you soon.”
Kit nodded, and Logan took the clear invitation to lean down and press his lips against Kit’s. It was a quiet kiss, chaste enough that if anyone was looking it wouldn’t be too scandalous. Though Logan was very okay with his sex life not being dragged through the rumor mill just yet.
He rubbed his thumb along Kit’s jaw and kissed him again, quick this time.
“Come on, Dizzy,” Logan called. He let her into the passenger side of the car—she could get in on her own these days—and grinned back at Kit. “Later, sweetheart.”
Chapter Eighteen
KIT WATCHED with his arms folded over his chest so he wasn’t tempted to blow kisses. Logan did, though, as he pulled the heavy truck out of the parking lot and headed up toward the bridge. It was stupid. Logan went out on these trips on a regular basis, and Kit had never felt like this watching him leave.
He ducked back into the building before anyone spotted him waving like a war bride. He was sure it wasn’t a good look on him.
Kit had been in the middle of a supervision session when he’d gotten Logan’s message that he was leaving, so he headed back to the lab and found his colleague Mei at her bench.
“Sorry about that,” he said, taking the seat at the desk next to her bench so they could chat while she worked.
“No problem. You timed that just right—Loud Refrigerator just shut up.”
Kit laughed. Loud Refrigerator was a pain in the ass. They had a habit around here of labeling and naming everything, whether it was needed or not.
After he finished their review, Kit headed over to the tissue culture room to check on a few samples, then went back to his office. He was working on a huge report that was going to take weeks, and he kept rewriting sections, which didn’t help anything. That was his plan for the next few days while Logan was away—working on his report, girls’ night with Leilani, and getting shit done. Logan was a very sexy, very interesting distraction… but a distraction nonetheless.
He startled when his desk phone rang midafternoon.
“Hello?” he said, instinctively saving his work as he turned away from the computer.
“Dr. Sterling, this is Ellen. Mr. Johansson has asked if you’re able to come to his office for a quick meeting.”
Kit felt a flash of annoyance, partly that he was being summoned out of the blue, partly because Johansson was an asshole, and partly because they all knew setting up meetings wasn’t Ellen’s job. Asking her to do it was a dick move.
“Sure,” he said, forcing himself to be polite. “I can be there in fifteen minutes?”
“I’ll let him know. Thanks, Dr. Sterling.”
He was still frowning at the phone when he hung up.
Kit took the long detour to Johansson’s office, via the bathroom and an out-of-the-way corridor so he was just late enough to be rude right back when he arrived. He knocked lightly, then went into the office and shut the door behind himself when he was called in.
“Dr. Sterling, thanks for coming over,” Simon Johansson said.
Kit had never liked the guy. He tried not to be that person who hated his boss, especially because he didn’t actually report to Johansson. There was no chain of command between them, except for Johansson’s insistence on being involved with everything. Including things that were none of his business, and things he definitely didn’t understand.
“No problem,” he said tightly. “How can I help?”
“Dr. Sterling, I recently heard some troubling news. I understand you have… acquired an infant dissimosaur, is that correct?” Johansson asked.
Kit worked very hard on not squirming in his seat. He’d never been very good at taking reprimands, even for the smallest of infractions.
“Yes,” he said, seeing no point in lying.
“Were you planning on letting us know?”
Kit cleared his throat. “Of course,” he lied. “The animal was gravely injured”—a little lie now wasn’t going to make anything worse, right?—“and we’ve been working to diagnose the injury.”
“We?”
Oh shit.
“Dr. Logan Beck and myself.”
“I see.” Johansson rustled some paperwork around on his desk. “Dr. Beck is currently on a field trip, is that right?”
“Yes. He’s going to make an attempt to integrate the dissimosaur back into the herd.”
Johansson hummed to himself and tipped his glasses down his nose to read something on one of the pieces of paper. Kit decided this was an intimidation technique and he would not be intimidated. He wouldn’t.
“You understand that removing an animal from its natural habitat is strongly prohibited? Hmm? It’s part of your contract of employment, Dr. Sterling. This is gross misconduct.”
Kit clenched his jaw. If he was going to get fired, he was going to go out all guns blazing.
“The animal was injured—” he started, before Johansson interrupted him again.
“Then it becomes part of the food chain.”
“Yes, sir. Dr. Beck and I saw an unparalleled opportunity to study the dissimosaur in closer detail, to
possibly rehabilitate it and subsequently reintroduce her back into the herd.”
“And have you? Rehabilitated it, I mean.”
“We’ve identified that it suffers from a congenital defect to the acetabulofemoral joint and acetabulum.” Kit was confident Johansson had no idea what that meant. Kit could do intimidation techniques right back. “Long-term prognosis for survival is good, though it is yet to be determined whether the animal can move at sufficient speed to escape any predator.”
“Why was it rejected from the herd?”
“Unknown,” Kit said crisply. “There could be a range of reasons, sir. The animal was severely malnourished, the effects of which have been reversed in the time Dr. Beck and I have been observing her.”
Johansson hummed again and tapped his silver pen against the edge of the desk. “I am in a difficult position here, you understand,” he said. “I do not want to let you go, Dr. Sterling.”
“I’m pleased to hear that.”
“What will you do if the animal is not successfully reintegrated back into the herd?”
“Dr. Beck and I haven’t discussed that in detail,” Kit said. “Though I would expect Dr. Beck would prefer to continue hand-rearing the animal, allowing us the opportunity to study the effects of the defect as the animal continues to grow.”
He felt slightly proud of himself, being able to detach from Dizzy, the adorable almost-pet they’d adopted, and this “it” he was talking about with Johansson.
“I’m not sure that’s acceptable,” Johansson said. “If the animal returns with Dr. Beck, then your colleagues across departments deserve the same right to study it as you have had. I’m sure we can arrange some sort of enclosure within the labs to house it.”
“Are you talking about vivisection?” Kit said, hot bile rising in his chest. “Mr. Johansson, please be serious.”
Johansson shrugged. “I am constantly being asked for live test subjects for your colleagues to observe. I cannot undo the damage you have already done by separating the dissimosaur from its herd. If it returns here, then every scientist employed by the South Pacific Archipelago Trust should have access to it in order to progress their work.”
“And what of the progress Dr. Beck and I have already made?” Kit demanded. “We are learning much more about dissimosaur behavior by observing her in an environment she’s familiar with than anyone would gain by locking her in a cage.”
“A cage, please,” Johansson scoffed. “You’re being unnecessarily emotive. We will create a… a habitat for her. One that you and Dr. Beck will certainly have access to.”
“Dissimosaurs are pack animals,” Kit said. He took a breath, forcing himself not to be desperate. They were not going to carve Dizzy up between different departments. “We are emulating that behavior with her by keeping her in a domestic environment. To remove her from it would be unspeakably cruel.”
“Then maybe your friend Dr. Beck could retrieve a few more test subjects while he is on his little field trip. We can have a herd right here in the lab.”
Johansson leaned back and spread his arms wide, a smug grin plastered on his face. Kit had never really hated anyone in his life, but in that moment he really wanted to smack the expression off Johansson’s mouth.
“Okay, Mr. Johansson,” Kit said, folding his arms and jutting his chin. “What will it take?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t think I understand.”
“Don’t bullshit me. If you want a trade, then name your terms. I’ll outline mine first: you allow the dissimosaur to continue living with Dr. Beck. Any experimentation on the animal will need to be reviewed and approved by myself before my colleagues are allowed access to it. Name your terms. Sir.”
Johansson chuckled. The fucking bastard. “I want many things, Dr. Sterling. I am under great pressure to expand current tourism options on the island.”
“You want safaris,” Kit said. He’d heard rumors around the office but had dismissed them, sure that no one would be so stupid as to actually do it.
“Nothing so crude as a safari,” Johansson said. “I want to offer very exclusive, very expensive tours to very, very rich people. Dr. Beck is in the perfect position to do this, and yet he continues to refuse when the subject is broached with him.”
“I can’t give you that without discussing with Dr. Beck first.” But he’d agree, Kit thought. If it meant keeping Dizzy out of this bastard’s grubby hands, he’d agree.
“Of course.”
“And this depends on whether Lo—whether Dr. Beck is able to integrate the infant back into the herd in the first place. Which is obviously our preference.”
“Obviously,” Johansson drawled.
Kit forced himself to keep his spine straight as he stared down his boss.
“Do you have any other concerns with my research, Mr. Johansson?” he asked stiffly.
“I don’t think so.” He still looked like he’d won, which infuriated Kit. “You can get back to your test tubes now.”
Kit gritted his teeth as he nodded and stalked from the office. He wanted to punch something, which was so out of character he was almost scaring himself. By the time he reached his office, he was fuming, wanting to rant and scream and curse Simon fucking Johansson to hell and back.
Instead he called his mama.
There was a webcam on his computer and a second clock on the wall that told him what time it was back home. His mama would have finished work by now, so he video-called her.
“Hey, baby,” she said, her smiling face filling up his screen. Then she frowned. “What’s wrong?”
“You are not going to believe this,” Kit started. He took a deep breath and let it all out.
Chapter Nineteen
THE FIRST thing Logan did when he arrived back on the South Island was to text Kit. It made him feel a bit squirmy inside. It had only been five days, for fuck’s sake, but Logan had missed him. A lot. He wasn’t used to missing someone like this. It was a new experience.
He knew he still had a huge amount of work to do—writing reports and checking all his equipment back in. First, though, he wanted a damn shower. He felt the twitches of a headache behind his eyes and wanted nothing more than to crawl back to his lovely, dark apartment, crack open a beer, and watch some TV with his dissimosaur.
Not many people got to say that.
She was getting better at walking as she grew, though she still had a lopsided sort of gait from her deformed hips. Sometimes Logan desperately wanted to ask her if she was hurting. There was no journal of medicine for dissimosaurs; they barely had a complete skeleton to make assumptions from.
“Come on, Dizzy,” he said.
His voice sounded rough as hell.
She blinked up at him with sad eyes, and he immediately caved and ushered her into his arms. She made a soft noise of protest, probably about the way he stank. It had been five days in the forest; what did she expect?
“Here we go,” Logan said, opening the door to the apartment and letting Dizzy in first. She scuttled on the hardwood floor, and Logan chuckled. He decided he didn’t want to open any of the blinds. Cool and dark was fine by him.
They’d found a good rhythm to living together, he and Dizzy. She was an undemanding roommate, even if she was still struggling with the litter-training. Logan had never litter-trained anything before, let alone a dinosaur, and just kept persisting with it. She’d pick it up eventually.
He stripped out of his clothes and shoes and left them by the door, knowing if he took them any farther into the apartment that they’d soon start stinking up the place. He’d need to air the boots. For days, preferably.
Comfortably naked in his own space, Logan went to the bathroom and set the shower to boil. A minute later Dizzy found him, squawked her all clear, and sat down to watch him wash. He wasn’t sure how he felt having an audience for this, or what it meant that his dissimosaur was a voyeur.
It took a long time for Logan to be convinced he’d scrubbed himself clean. He’d gotten o
ut of the habit of living rough, out with the animals, and even the relative security of his little hut wasn’t enough to protect him from the elements.
While Dizzy made another circuit of the apartment, Logan dried off and changed into cutoff sweatpants and a T-shirt, stuffing his feet into the fluffy boot slippers his brother had bought him for a joke. The joke was on Tom. Logan loved them.
It only took a low whistle to call Dizzy over.
“Good girl.”
There was a new six-pack of beer in his fridge, perfectly chilled, and Logan thanked his past self—the one who had thought he’d better stock up on beer. That had been a great idea.
He wasn’t in the mood for much external stimulation tonight. Sometimes he got like that; overwhelmed with all the stuff going on around him. For entertainment, Logan grabbed his acoustic guitar from behind the couch and sprawled out on his back on the couch cushions, the guitar on his belly.
He’d never been much of a musician, but working out in the middle of nowhere, with no plugs to charge electronics and no signal for even a radio, he’d been persuaded to learn. These days he could strum a few chords, play a few Oasis tunes, campfire stuff. Dizzy settled on the floor next to the couch and sighed heavily.
Still picking at the strings, Logan reached down and ran his palm over her head. She huffed as she settled, her back against his thigh, and Logan placed a protective hand on her. Though he didn’t expect to nap, it didn’t take long for him to fall into an exhausted sleep.
HE WOKE an hour or so later because Dizzy was nibbling at his fingertips, her way of letting him know she was hungry and unimpressed. He groaned, stretched, and muttered something nonsensical as he hauled himself off the sofa, stretching out his aches before he made them both some dinner.
A glance at the clock in the hall told him it was more like a very late lunch.
He threw a frozen pizza in the oven and pulled out the tub of greens and grains he kept on hand for Dizzy. She’d been eating mostly wild food while they’d been out. Logan had substituted a few meals with the tubs he’d packed so she could eat while he was driving.