Tiger (8 page)

WALLY WOKE TO THE CRACKLING SOUND OF THE FIRE, stoked with new logs and warming the big room. She peeled the wool blankets off herself and sat up, feeling thick in the head the way she usually did when she overslept. Kyle was gone from his sofa, his blankets folded into a pile with his pillow on top. The sound of a whistling teapot came from the kitchen.

“Kyle?”

He appeared, looking relaxed and upbeat as he set a cup of coffee down in front of her.

“Somehow I've become your coffee bitch,” he said.

“I'm feeling a little groggy. What time is it?”

“Almost ten. It's easy to sleep late here. It's so quiet, and the morning light hits the other side of the lodge.”

They ate instant apple-cinnamon oatmeal for breakfast, Wally slowly waking up with the help of the strong coffee.

“I have an idea about a hike,” he said. “There's a rocky point where I used to swim. It's really nice.”

“A hike?”

“Not too far. It's the best time of year for it—too early for the bugs to be out. They're like kamikazes once summer comes.”

He watched her with a hopeful look. His expression held a subtle sense of urgency that Wally picked up on. His anxiousness about going into his father's den and beginning the search for his birth mother had obviously carried over from last night.

“We're procrastinating, right?” she asked.

“Pretty much,” he admitted.

“Okay. A hike sounds good.”

They took a game trail through the woods that surrounded the lake. As she followed him along the path, it became clear to her—again—that she was witnessing Kyle in his natural element. The tortured guy she'd met in the city had given way to someone who was comfortable in his surroundings, navigating his way along the circuitous route as if he'd been born to it.

A full half hour passed before Kyle spoke.

“Is Tiger a person or an animal?” he asked.

Wally stopped in her tracks, taken aback.

“What do you mean?”

Kyle stopped and turned back to her. “In your sleep. You said something about Tiger. Like it was a name, not a thing.”

“Tiger is my brother,” she told him.

Another rule broken. Caseworkers at the Society were instructed not to share details about their personal lives with clients. She had violated the guidelines by allowing Kyle into her well-defended life, and now all the walls were coming down. Wally felt a little uneasy about it, but Kyle had trusted her with so many of his own secrets, and it seemed only fair to trust him back.

“What did I say?” she asked. Wally had no memory at all of dreaming. “In my sleep, I mean. What did I say?”

“Nothing that I could make sense of. But . . . did he run away? It was like you were calling after him.”

Wally remembered again the moment on Shelter Island when Tiger had disappeared into the woods, wounded and bleeding and on the run. It was just moments after he had saved her life by gunning down their father, Alexei Klesko.

“Yes, he ran away.”

The trail took them over several small rises—with occasional views of the surrounding terrain—and down into marshy streambeds, where Wally smelled lots of aromatic plants, such as wild mint and something like licorice. The air was warm but not humid, and Kyle had been right about the lack of bugs—Wally didn't feel a single bite.

Kyle pushed the pace, and before long they were both breathing hard.

“I was wondering something,” she started.

“Yeah?” he asked, continuing to push down the trail.

“When you said your father wouldn't think that you would come here . . . I think you said, ‘For all he knows I hate it there.' But that doesn't seem to be true at all.”

“Yeah. When I was a kid, we used to come here as a family—me, my mom, and dad. Back when things were good, this was our happiest place.”

“It's perfect here for a kid.”

“It was. But then sometime when I was around eleven or twelve, they started not getting along. After a while, they were living separate lives with me in the middle. My mom didn't want to come out here anymore, but my father made me go with him. Divide and conquer, you know? That would have been all right if we spent that time together, but he always had friends up here, drinking a lot and talking bullshit nonstop. They would start card games that ended up going on for days, and it was pretty much like I wasn't even there.”

“I'm sorry,” Wally said, reflecting on the days when her adoptive parents were splitting up. “Adults get so wrapped up in their own problems, they forget about all the collateral damage they're doing.”

“There were other women,” Kyle said, sounding embarrassed. “A lot of them.”

“He was cheating on your mom.”

Kyle nodded. “And by having me here, he made me his partner in crime, you know? I could either hide what was going on from my mother and become as much of a liar as my father was, or tell her everything and be responsible for breaking them up. I didn't tell her. As I got older, I refused to come anymore.”

Kyle's voice had become tense, and when he was done Wally was silent for a while, giving him a chance to shake it off as they trudged on through the trees.

“I'm sorry,” she finally said. “I didn't need to bring that up.”

“No, it's good. Sooner or later I'm going to have to learn how to think about things without letting myself get all worked up.”

“Okay,” she said, “but I'm sorry anyway.”

After a few miles, the trail led to the shore of the lake, where a rocky point stretched out onto the water for a hundred feet. A large, flat boulder marked the end of the point.

“I always called this Big Rock,” he said, “and I always came here alone. There was never anyone around to give it another name.”

She stepped to the edge and looked down into the impossibly clear water of the lake, the rocky bottom visible even though it looked to be very deep down, maybe thirty or forty feet. They sat down on the rock and took off their shoes, the fresh air feeling good on Wally's feet after the long walk.

“I don't see any other houses along the lake,” Wally said.

“No, it's all ours, four hundred acres. My father likes having his own domain up here, as far as he can see.”

“Private.”

“Very,” he said, and began pulling off his clothes.

Wally suddenly felt shy. Her attraction to Kyle had been growing since they'd arrived at the lodge, and it seemed obvious that swimming with him would take the connection between them to another level. She didn't know if she was ready for that.

Kyle perched himself at the edge of the rock and looked down into the water.

“I'm not going to lie to you,” he said. “This water will be damn cold. The good thing is, there's no one around—you can scream as loud as you want.”

Kyle dove in with a splash, then surfaced just a few seconds later with a yell.

“
Woooooo!
That feels good!”

He looked so happy, and all at once Wally was annoyed at herself for being such a wuss. She was hot and sticky from the hike, and she wanted to be in the water with Kyle. A lot. She quickly stripped down to her underwear and plunged deep into the clear lake. The shock was instantaneous—the water was colder than she would ever have thought possible, stinging every inch of her body all at once, and suddenly there was no air in her lungs. She kicked hard, gasping for breath as she burst up through the surface. Kyle's face was the first thing she saw, laughing out loud at her wild-eyed expression.

“
That's
what I'm talkin' about!” he yelled.

“Oh my God!” she said, having to take a quick breath of air before each word. “That's! The! Coldest! Thing! I! Ever! Felt!”

Wally was a strong swimmer, but the icy jolt of the plunge made her regress to a childhood state—she splashed around in a helter-skelter dog paddle, trying to keep her head as far out of the water as possible. Kyle swam up to her and put his hands on her waist, giving her a little boost up in the water.

“Okay?” he asked.

“Yeah . . . ”

The two of them faced each other in a half-embrace, their breathing slowly starting to normalize. As they stayed in this position, kicking hard to tread water, Wally could feel the water between them slowly growing warmer as it borrowed the heat from their bodies. Without warning, Kyle inched forward just a little and kissed Wally quickly—gently—on the mouth. His lips were as cold as ice, but his tongue was warm, and a thrilling sensation passed through her body, making her dizzy. Kyle pulled away and grinned at her—not cocky, exactly, but teasing.

“Okay—now I've lost all feeling in my legs,” Wally said, eager to take the focus off what had just happened.

He let her go, and the warmth of the oasis between them gave way to a fresh current of icy lake water that hit Wally's skin again, chilling her to the core. She scrambled out of the water, still trembling but exhilarated. She struggled to regain her breath, and appreciated the warmth and solidity of Big Rock beneath her. She lay down and stretched out on her back, pressing as much of her body as she could to its smooth stone surface.

She watched as Kyle swam a few hundred yards out into the lake with a powerful racer's crawl, then turned back to shore. She had wanted to continue kissing him, but at the same time she'd felt unmistakable relief when he'd pulled back. The reason why wasn't so complicated. The last person she'd cared about—that way—was Tevin, and the pain of losing him was still with her every day. How could she risk that kind of pain again, and so soon?

Kyle reached Big Rock and climbed out of the water, lying down beside Wally. Their arms touched, cold droplets of water tickling her skin as they rolled off his sleek body, sending shivers through her. Kyle was still breathing hard from the exercise, and each deep exhalation pressed him closer to her, her body responding with every touch. She wondered if he could possibly know the effect he had on her, the raw magnetic force of him.

She looked at Kyle and saw him smiling over at her. The two of them lying there together—it felt perfect.

 

THAT NIGHT, WALLY AND KYLE RAIDED THE GAME
cabinet in the great room. It was stocked full of playing cards, dice, and faded, dusty board games that hadn't seen the light of day since Kyle was a kid. When the sun went down and the temperature dropped with it, Kyle built another big fire. They avoided another pancake-batter tragedy by making pasta for dinner.

The two of them ate in front of the fire while playing Candyland—it was goofy but also more fun than Wally expected. The simple act of rolling the dice and moving the colorful plastic pieces around the board transported Wally to an innocent, contented time in her life, and the game seemed to have the same effect on Kyle—his mood was lighter, as if there was nothing weighing on him at all.

“You seem like you're feeling good,” she observed, keeping her voice casual.

“I do feel good,” he said. “I've sort of arrived at a decision, and I've been wanting to tell you, but I was worried you'd be disappointed.” He rolled the dice and moved his gingerbread man ahead four spaces, avoiding Wally's eyes.

“What did you decide?”

He nodded toward his father's den. The door had been like an unwelcome guest during their short time at the lodge, its presence constantly looming.

“I think you were right all along,” he said. “I'm not ready. I don't know what's in there, but whatever it is can wait.”

Wally was taken aback by this reversal—
what had changed?
She felt a little frustrated, having taken two days away from her life because Kyle had absolutely insisted on visiting that room, but could she complain? Not really, since he now seemed to be following her advice.

“Okay. I mean, if that's how you're feeling—”

“I dragged you all the way up here.”

“It hasn't exactly been torture.” Wally was surprised to hear herself saying that, but it was true—she'd had a really nice time.

“It's because of you,” he said, his eyes meeting hers. “You've taken my mind off the stuff that was driving me kind of crazy. It's so easy to get caught up in bullshit, and you helped me set it all aside.”

“It's not what we expected, I guess,” Wally acknowledged, “but I'm glad it turned out that way. Funny how things work out sometimes.” She felt genuinely touched by what he'd said.

He nodded, his expression serious.

“I will find her,” Kyle said. “Sometime. Will you still be around to help me?”

“Of course.”

It was getting late. The two of them made up their couches, and Kyle put out the lamps, leaving the flickering light from the fireplace to cast a warm yellow glow in the huge room. Wally lay awake, watching Kyle for a long time. She couldn't see his eyes but was sure he was still awake too, and thinking about her. She thought about the two of them lying on Big Rock together and how that moment was a perfect version of something she had never really experienced before. She climbed out from under her blanket and took the few steps to his couch, where she knelt down so that her face was near his.

“Hi,” he whispered. His eyes were obscured by shadow, but she could feel them focused on her.

Wally leaned forward slowly, her pulse accelerating, and gently kissed Kyle on the lips. She felt his muscles tensing as he brought one hand to the back of her neck, drawing her closer, while the other moved down to her waist and lingered there. The kiss was long and slow.

“I'm glad,” he said when she finally pulled away. “Before, in the lake, I thought—”

“No,” she interrupted. “That's what I wanted too.”

“If you—”

She silenced him with another kiss, this one even more passionate than the first as she allowed her misgivings to fall away completely. Wally felt their hearts and bodies reaching out to each other, the electric rush of it surging through every inch of her body and threatening to overwhelm her.

The fire had been fading for a while, and without its heat the room had grown cold. She climbed onto his couch and slid in beside him. When she felt his hands on her bare skin—just one touch—she felt it over her entire body.

The fire had died down to a few glowing embers, but bright moonlight spilled in through the western windows of the great room. From the sound of his breathing beside her, Wally could tell Kyle was deep asleep. She slipped out from beneath their blankets and shivered, finding the air in the room much colder than she'd expected. Quietly, she pulled her clothes and boots on, then headed for the closed door in the corner of the room. On the way, she grabbed one of the oil lamps and a box of wooden matches and decided to bring her shoulder bag also, in case she found anything she wanted to take with her.

Kyle wasn't ready to learn the full circumstances of his birth, but Wally was. He'd asked her to take on his case, and now that her curiosity had been engaged there was no way she could resist the opportunity. The door in the corner was unlocked, and she stepped inside. The room was pitch black, and she realized that Kyle hadn't taken the shutters off the windows for this room—there was no moonlight—no light of any kind. She closed the door behind her and lit the oil lamp.

Nothing about the medium-sized den jumped out as unusual or particularly interesting. The decor matched the rest of the lodge: plush leather furniture and wood-paneled walls covered with artwork, mostly watercolor landscapes or ink drawings of fish. Apparently, Richard Townsend was not a sentimental man—there were no family photos anywhere, just a few random snapshots of him holding up large salmon and trout from the lake and nearby streams.

To one side of the room was a heavy oak desk, and Wally soon discovered that the desk drawers—three on each side—were locked. There was an unlocked, shallow center drawer, and Wally fished around inside. It contained a bottle of mouthwash and a half-used tube of Preparation H—
blech
—plus some prescription heart medications that had expired the year before. She discovered several pairs of cheap reading glasses and an old switchblade knife with a bone handle. The item she'd hoped to find—a key to the locked drawers—wasn't there.

Wally opened the jackknife and started working the lock on the top-right drawer, using the strong tip of the knife as a makeshift key. No luck. She then turned the blade on its side and slid it into the space between the drawer and the desk frame. The blade dug into the lock bolt and Wally edged it up, bit by bit, until finally the bolt rolled over with a loud click and all three drawers on that side of the desk were unlocked.

The contents of those drawers seemed to be all about the lodge itself—receipts and invoices from locals who had worked there over the years, from plumbers to groundskeepers and grocers. An expanding file held the statements for a checking account at a bank in Fair Haven, Vermont, the same town referenced in Kyle's birth certificate. The checking account had been used to pay invoices for the local services, but not recently.

Wally put the file down and moved to the drawers on the left side of the desk. Using the survival knife again, it took her less than a minute to open those as well. The top drawer had only one item in it, a framed photograph of a smug-looking Townsend holding a large lake trout in his hands. The glass over the photo was cracked. Townsend—or someone—had broken the frame and had probably set it aside to be fixed at a later time.

Wally scanned the room, and her eyes settled on an empty spot on the wall behind a banquette, directly across from where she was seated. She noticed that another photo—mounted next to that empty space—was hanging slightly askew. This struck her as curious, considering that every other item in the room seemed to be perfectly in place and squared away.

She stood and carried the oil lamp across the room to the banquette, propping her knee on the bench cushion as she leaned in for a closer look at the tilted photograph. The image was of little interest—yet another shot of Townsend and a trophy fish—but Wally noticed that the weight of her body on the bench made a distinctive creaking sound, as if the boards were loose beneath her. She set the oil lamp aside and removed the cushion from that section of the bench. Wally leaned her weight onto the boards once more and heard the creak again, the wood loose and flexing beneath her. She reached under the edge of the bench and pulled up—the boards flipped open on a hinge to reveal a hidden space beneath.

The first thing she saw were the guns: two pump shotguns and two big-game hunting rifles with scopes, plus one handgun, a SIG SAUER automatic. Wally's adoptive father, Jason, had owned several guns himself, and he had insisted on educating her from an early age about the handling of weapons—a safety measure. He took Wally on regular trips to a local firing range, where she'd learned the basics of shooting and maintaining several types of guns, and her mother, Claire, had continued the practice even after the divorce.

Wally pulled the SIG SAUER out of the cache and caught the musky scent of gun oil. The weapon's firing mechanism had been cleaned sometime within the previous year. The clip was fully loaded with fourteen rounds. The rest of the weapons appeared to be in the same condition. Aside from the guns, the cache contained multiple boxes of ammunition to match each of them, plus two military-grade survival knives in nylon sheaths.

The hidden armory was not necessarily a sign of anything sinister: the lodge was probably empty for most of the year, and its remote location meant it would be vulnerable to break-ins and vandalism. Townsend could have bought a real gun safe, but something like that would immediately attract the attention of a burglar. The hidden cache made sense.

There was one other item in the secret space: a regular cardboard shoe box with the brand name of a popular work boot on it. Wally pulled out the shoe box and sat down on the banquette, placing the box on her lap. Wally sensed that something significant would be inside. She felt the familiar rush of excitement move through her, the downy hair on the back of her neck rising in response to the visceral thrill of the chase.

Wally opened the box. Inside were at least a hundred snapshots—some regular photos and many Polaroids—of women. They weren't porn shots or anything, just regular candid shots of women on the porch of the lodge, in fishing boats, at the dining table, cooking waffles in the lodge kitchen. Some must have been taken by a third party, because Townsend himself was included in a good many, often with a sly, drunken grin on his face and his arm around the woman. By their condition, Wally figured that none were recent, and in fact were probably well over ten or fifteen years old.

The Richard Townsend in the photos was at least that much younger than the most recent newspaper photo of him that Wally had found. He looked to be in his early forties and still quite lean, lacking the barrel chest that more-recent shots revealed. In the photos, his hair was still dark or salt-and-pepper gray, rather than the full silver of his latest photos. Wally was struck by how much he looked like Kyle in the shots, a similarity that was harder to see in some of the later images.

For their part, the women seemed happy enough to be in Townsend's company. From small details—clothing, hairstyle, makeup—Wally could also tell that they came from various socioeconomic groups. A few looked like they might be local women, while others had a prissy, refined look that suggested Townsend might have brought them to the lodge from the city.

There had been a time in his life when Richard Townsend was quite a player, and the lodge had been his getaway bachelor pad. The age of the photos suggested that his wild years had coincided with the time of Kyle's birth. Almost every one of the many, many women was a potential candidate to be his biological mother. Wally checked the photos front and back, finding no labels or marking that would help identify them individually.

For Wally it was an exciting discovery, but to Kyle it would feel like a disaster—the odds of tracking down more than a handful of these women were slim, and it would be nearly impossible to identify Kyle's birth mother without more clues. Wally emptied all the photographs into her messenger bag and included whatever documents from the desk might be helpful later on. She wouldn't tell Kyle about any of them, for now. Wally regretted the necessity of the lie, but it seemed like the right thing to do.

She was about to restore the banquette seat to its original position when she heard a sound—what was it? It was soon followed by the distinctive sound of footsteps, just outside on the porch. She froze. Was Kyle out there looking for her? Wally moved to the door of the den, opening it just enough to see that Kyle was still asleep on the couch they had shared. She closed the door again and stood still, listening. She soon heard another series of footsteps outside, louder and closer this time. A second person, larger than the first.

Wally tried to imagine who they could be, other than more of Townsend's men. They could be thieves who had come to burglarize the lodge, assuming it was too early in the season for the place to be occupied. In that case, they would have seen the rented Explorer parked outside and abandoned their plan. Could they be hunters, poaching the private land? Poachers often “spotlighted” deer from vehicles late at night, but then they wouldn't be on foot, scouting out the lodge. Neither of the options seemed likely, and Wally wondered how Townsend's men had tracked her and Kyle there. She had been so careful.