Chapter 7
CHAPTER 7
L exi watched Hawk through the open window, making sure to stay out of sight. She was still riding the high from the interview, but a kind of euphoria had settled in, and she was feeling pretty good about herself. She’d been a nervous wreck leading up to it, but she’d pulled it off. She could still hear Dan’s praise and Hawk’s steady, low voice telling her she’d done a great job.
Publicity wasn’t her thing—never had been. Growing up in New York’s social scene, she’d learned to hate the spotlight, unlike her mother, who thrived on it. Her family’s name had carried weight, drawing cameras and questions everywhere they went. Lexi had always felt like an accessory, expected to smile and look pretty while everyone else played their roles. She chuckled softly, wondering what they’d say if they could see her now.
Her gaze drifted back to Hawk. He was standing a few yards away, deep in conversation with Jasper, his broad shoulders and easy stance commanding attention even when he wasn’t trying. Gone were the crisp chinos and tailored shirt he’d worn when he first arrived. Today, he was in worn khaki pants and a plain gray t-shirt that clung just enough to hint at the strength beneath. It wasn’t an outfit designed to impress, but somehow, it did.
Casual as his clothes were, he still carried that air of authority, like he could take charge of the entire sanctuary if he wanted to. Maybe she hadn’t picked up on it before because she’d been too wrapped up in her own nerves, but now it struck her how comfortable he looked in this setting—as though the jungle didn’t intimidate him in the slightest. That confidence, quiet and unshakable, was impossible to ignore.
As she watched, he broke off from Jasper and crossed the clearing toward a small boy crouched in the dirt. Lexi recognized him immediately—Moyo. The orphaned boy had been taken in by the sanctuary after losing his parents to the violence in the region. He was around eleven, maybe twelve, though he looked younger, his wiry frame swamped by a button-up shirt at least two sizes too big. His shorts were frayed and patched in places, and his feet were bare, calloused from the dusty ground.
Moyo was building something—a house of sticks, she realized. His tiny hands moved with precision, carefully balancing twigs on top of each other in what was clearly supposed to be a miniature home. Hawk crouched down beside him.
Lexi tilted her head, intrigued. Moyo kept his eyes down, unsure of what to make of the tall white man now watching him work. Hawk said something—she couldn’t hear what—and the boy nodded in reply, his movements a little more hesitant.
Lexi smiled faintly.
Hawk didn’t press him. Instead, he studied the little twig house, nodded, and then stood. Lexi frowned as he walked toward the edge of the jungle, disappearing into the trees.
What was he doing?
A few moments later, he reappeared with an armful of branches and leaves. Lexi leaned forward, resting her arms on the windowsill as curiosity got the better of her. Hawk dropped the pile next to Moyo and pulled a lethal-looking folding knife from his back pocket.
Crap. That was not something your run of the mill businessman kept in his back pocket. A calculator, maybe, but not a hunting weapon.
He knelt beside the boy again, opening the knife and showing him the various tools. Moyo’s eyes widened, his curiosity outweighing his shyness. With slow, deliberate movements, Hawk began to build a new house, showing Moyo how to create a solid base with thicker branches before layering the smaller twigs for walls. He used strips of leaves to tie the pieces together, twisting the vines like he’d done it a hundred times before. Finally, he added a roof, draping palm fronds so they sloped just enough to keep out the imaginary rain.
Moyo sat in stunned silence, his small hands hovering uncertainly over the half-finished house. Hawk handed him a piece of vine and showed him how to tie a knot. The boy caught on quickly, his face breaking into a wide grin as the structure came together.
Lexi couldn’t look away. The scene in front of her was so simple, so human. Moyo’s laughter rang out as he clapped his hands, the house standing proudly in front of him. It was small and crooked, but to the boy, it might as well have been a palace.
When they were done, Hawk ruffled Moyo’s hair affectionately before handing him the knife. Lexi’s breath caught in her throat.
The boy just stared, his grin fading into shock. The knife was bright and shiny, and Lexi could see the hesitation in his eyes. This wasn’t just a tool—it was a weapon and a treasure. Something extremely valuable.
Hawk smiled gently and unfolded the blades again, showing Moyo each one as if to say, It’s yours. You can handle this.
Slowly, tentatively, Moyo reached out and took the knife, holding it in his open palm like it was made of gold. His wide eyes darted between Hawk and the knife, disbelief giving way to pure, unfiltered joy.
Then, with a laugh, the boy jumped to his feet and shook Hawk’s hand so enthusiastically that even the stoic engineer cracked a grin. Without a word, Moyo spun around and bolted across the clearing, his laughter trailing behind him.
Lexi leaned back against the window frame, unable to take her eyes off him.
He straightened, brushed the dirt off his knees and watched the boy run off. There was no fanfare, no self-congratulation in his expression—just quiet satisfaction.
For a man so concerned with his company’s reputation, he sure as hell had a way of surprising her. She’d thought she had him all figured out. Arrogant, self-assured, the kind of man who bulldozed his way through life without looking back. But moments like this made her wonder if there was more to him—if maybe he cared more than he let on.
“That was a nice thing you did today,” Lexi said softly, her voice cutting through the low hum of conversation in the lodge.
The group had gathered for Robert’s evening briefing, but Lexi’s attention wasn’t on the discussion. It was on Hawk, who leaned against the wall, a bottle of beer dangling loosely in his hand. He wore the same clothes from earlier, but the day had left its mark on him—his hair was windswept, giving him a rugged, untamed look, and the sun had kissed his skin, deepening it to a light golden brown.
“What do you mean?” His eyes slanted at her as he took a slow sip of his beer. She couldn’t believe he was so at ease here, like the jungle was where he belonged, not some glass-walled office or boardroom halfway across the world.
“The pocketknife,” she said, crossing her arms loosely over her chest. “The boy, Moyo.”
“Ah.” His expression softened, and he glanced down at his beer, as though embarrassed she’d noticed. “So that’s his name. I was wondering… Every boy should have a pocketknife. I know I did when I was his age.”
Lexi couldn’t help the image that sprang to mind—Hawk as a kid, scrappy and determined, probably carving sticks or building forts with the same intensity he seemed to bring to everything.
“It was a kind thing to do,” she said, her voice quieter now.
“It was nothing,” he replied with a casual shrug, though she noticed the faint color that crept up his neck. He clearly wasn’t used to being thanked for something so small.
“What’s his story?” he asked, steering the conversation away from himself. “Why isn’t he in school?”
Lexi sighed. “Moyo’s an orphan. His parents died last year in a raid on one of the villages. Patrick bought him here, otherwise he’d most likely have been kidnapped by some rebel group and forced to be a child soldier.”
Hawk’s brow furrowed. “It’s fucking tragic, what happens out here.”
She couldn’t agree more. The situation was beyond tragic—lives uprooted, futures stolen, an entire generation left to fend for itself. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. And yet, this was reality here.
“Most of the schools around here have closed because of the conflict. The routes aren’t safe.”
“So he’s living at the sanctuary?” His tone had shifted, quieter now, but laced with that same focused curiosity she’d come to recognize. He was always trying to piece things together, always searching for the full picture.
“Patrick’s family have taken him in. You know that African saying, it takes a village to raise a child?”
He nodded.
“Nowhere truer than here. He does odd jobs for the sanctuary, helps the carers when they need an extra pair of hands. It gives him a purpose, at least.”
He swirled the beer in his hand, his gaze drifting toward the open windows where the jungle stretched into the night, alive with the hum of crickets and the distant calls of wildlife. “It’s a damn shame,” he muttered.
She studied Hawk for a moment, his profile outlined against the warm glow of the lanterns. He wasn’t just making polite conversation—she could see that much. His questions weren’t for show. He genuinely wanted to understand, and that, more than anything, caught her off guard.
“You know,” she said after a pause, “I wasn’t sure about you when you first showed up.”
He turned to her, one eyebrow arching. “Oh? Should I be worried about where this is going?”
A laugh escaped her before she could stop it, and she shook her head. “I just mean… you seemed so polished. All business and image-focused. I figured you’d come in, get what you needed for your documentary, and leave without looking back.”
His lips quirked into a half-smile, and he leaned in just a fraction, enough that she caught the faint, woodsy scent of his cologne. “And now?” His voice dropped like they were sharing a secret.
Her pulse quickened under his steady gaze. “Now, I think there’s more to you than you make out.”
He didn’t respond right away. For a moment, the space between them felt charged, the air humming with an unspoken tension that had been building since the day they’d met. His gaze lingered on her, tracing her face as though searching for something she wasn’t sure she wanted him to find.
“I have a reputation to uphold,” he said finally. “It doesn’t always allow me the leeway to be myself.”
“Was that the real you, today? With Moyo?”
“There are many sides to everybody’s personality.”
She acknowledged that truth with a tilt of her head.
“But I could say the same about you.”
Her breath caught. “I don’t know what you mean.”
Across the room, Dan caught her eye and gave her an easy grin, the leather thong around his neck making him look like he’d been here for years instead of days. She smiled back, grateful for the distraction.
Hawk scowled. “I think you do.”
Lexi turned back to him. He had a way of commandeering her attention. When she was with him, it was impossible to concentrate on anyone else. He was still watching her, his expression unreadable.
“I make no pretenses about who I am.”
He was about to retort, when Robert’s voice rose above the low buzz of conversation. His tone was brisk, and Lexi could tell he was impatient to get the meeting underway. The filming schedule was a massive undertaking, involving extensive travel around the sanctuary, and she knew he had to anticipate the logistical challenges it would bring.
Behind him, Estelle followed with her usual stoicism, carrying a tray laden with a pitcher of lemonade and several glasses that clinked softly with every step.
“Let’s get started,” Robert began, but before he could say more, a sudden, frantic pounding on the front door shattered the calm.
Chaka, Robert’s black Labrador, bolted upright with a bark so loud and sharp it made Lexi jump. The dog tore out of the room, barking furiously, his claws clicking against the wooden floor.
“What on earth?” Estelle exclaimed, shaking her head as the commotion reached a fever pitch. “We’re not expecting anyone, are we?”
Lexi exchanged a wary glance with Hawk, whose sharp gaze was already locked on the doorway. His relaxed posture had stiffened, his body leaning slightly forward as if ready for action.
Blessing, the housekeeper, moved cautiously to the door. The pounding hadn’t stopped, and a low male voice could now be heard through the wood, urgent and strained. As soon as she opened it, chaos erupted.
A man stumbled into the entrance hall, his voice hoarse and broken, just as Estelle let out a sharp scream. Everyone rushed into the hall, but Lexi pushed through the crush of bodies to see what was happening.
“Erick!” she gasped, moving quickly to catch the man as he swayed dangerously on his feet. “What on earth happened? Come, sit down.”
The man was barely upright, his uniform—the dark green of the park rangers, with Usala’s gold badge still glinting on his chest—was torn and bloodied. His face was swollen, his cheek split open, as if he’d been in a brutal fight. His breath came in ragged gasps as he clutched his thigh.
“My leg,” he muttered, clutching his thigh. It was then Lexi noticed his trouser leg was dark with blood.