The Dark Tide

by Andrew Gross

  “You know how to handle these things, Phil. I’ve got to go.”

  “One more thing,” Dietz said. “If the detective knows, there’s always the chance that she knows, too. I realize you’re friendly. That you have something to do with her kids.”

  “Yes,” Lennick muttered blankly. He was fond of Karen. And, having been like an uncle to them since they were small, in charge of their family trusts, you could say he did have something to do with the kids.

  But it was business. Lauer had been business, the Raymond kid had been business, too. The furrows on his face were carved deep and hard. They made him seem older—older than he’d felt in years.

  “Just do whatever it is you have to do.”

  Lennick clicked off. He splashed some water on his face, smoothed back his hair. Shuffling in his slippers, he trudged back to bed.

  The evening news had finished. Mimi had turned off the light. David Letterman was on. Lennick turned to her to see if she was asleep. “Shall we catch the monologue, dear?”

  CHAPTER SEVENTY

  Karen waited two days. Charles didn’t reply.

  She wasn’t sure he ever would.

  She knew Charles. She tried to imagine the shock and dismay that her e-mail must have caused.

  The same shock he had caused when she saw his face up on that screen.

  Karen checked her e-mails several times a day. She knew what must be going through him now. Sitting in some remote part of the globe, the careful construct of his new life suddenly crumbling. It must be killing him—retracing every step, running through a thousand possibilities.

  How could she possibly know?

  How many times, Karen imagined, he would have read over those two words. Replaying everything in his mind, racking his brain, all the preparations he had made. His bowels acting up. Not sleeping. Things always affected Charles that way. You owe me, she said to him silently, relishing this image of him, panicked, rocked. You owe me for the hurt you put me through. The lies…

  Still, she couldn’t forgive him. Not for what he’d done to her—to the kids. She no longer knew if there was love between them. If there was anything still between them, other than the memory of a life spent together. Still, it didn’t matter. She just wanted to hear from him. She wanted to see him—face-to-face.

  Answer me, Charlie…

  Finally, after three days, Karen typed out another message. She closed her eyes and begged him.

  Please, Charlie, please…. I know it’s you. I know you’re out there. Answer me, Charlie. You can’t hide any longer. I know what you’ve done.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE

  I know what you’ve done!

  Charles sat in the corner of a quiet Internet café in the harbor on Mustique, where he had put in, staring in horror at Karen’s latest message.

  A collection of dreadlocked locals drinking Jamaican beer and a party of itinerant German surfers in tattoos and bandannas. He had a pressing fear, even here, that everything was closing in on him.

  I know what you’ve done!

  What? What do you know I’ve done, Karen? And how? Hidden behind his shades, he took a sip of a Caribe and read the message over for the tenth time. He knew she would keep at it. He knew her. This was no longer something he could just ignore.

  And how in hell did you find me?

  What do you want me to say to you, Karen? That I’m a bastard? That I betrayed you? Charles could sense the anger resonating in her words. And he didn’t blame her. He deserved whatever she felt. To have left them as he did. To have put them through that anguish. The loss of a husband, a father. Then, after it all finally subsided, to suddenly find out he was alive!

  Answer me, Charlie.

  What do you know, Karen?

  If you knew, truly knew, you would understand. At least a little. That it was never to hurt you. That would have been the last thing in my heart.

  But to protect you, Karen. To keep you safe. To keep Sam and Alex safe as well. You would know why I had to stay away. Why, when the door opened and the path presented itself, I had to “die.”

  Please, Charlie, please…. Answer me, Charlie.

  The surfers were cackling loudly in German at something they had found on YouTube. A heavyset island woman in a colorful shift sat down across from him, towing a young daughter sipping on a Fanta. Charles realized he had spent so much of the past year hiding, in shadows, turning away from who he was. From everything he once loved.

  But all of a sudden it was like he felt alive again. For the first time in a year! It was clear to him, you could never fully kill it. What was inside you. Who you are.

  And now Charles realized that if he only touched this key, a flick of his hand, sent this message back, answered her, it reopened everything. The whole world changed again.

  I know what you’ve done.

  He took a swig of beer. Maybe it was time to move on again. To Vanuatu in the Indian Ocean. Or back to Panama. No one would find him. He had money there.

  He lifted his shades. He looked closely at the words he had written. Pandora’s box was about to open again. For her and for him. And this time there would be no closing it. No sudden bomb blast interfering—nowhere to hide.

  The hell with it, he said. He finished the last of his beer. She had found him. The iron fist in the velvet glove… he recalled fondly.

  She would never let up.

  Yes, I’m here. Yes, it’s me, he said. With one last reflection, he pushed the send key, sending his world spinning again.

  Hello, baby….

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO

  Hauck had gone out for an evening run around the cove. He’d sat at home for a couple of days, and still he hadn’t heard from Karen. The night was hot, sticky. The cicadas were buzzing. Finally he just had to calm the frustration that was bursting in his chest.

  He knew it wasn’t right to push. He knew how hard this had to be for her, to face her husband. It would be like a part of Norah suddenly brought up for him again. Ripping open wounds that hadn’t healed. He wasn’t sure whether to wait and see if she still wanted to find Charles. Or now that she knew the truth—at least parts of it—to simply pack it in. Bring what they’d found into Fitzpatrick.

  He’d have to reopen the case. AJ Raymond’s hit-and-run.

  That’s what had started him on it in the first place, right?

  To his surprise, as he headed back down Euclid toward his house, he spotted the familiar Lexus parked on the street. Karen sitting on his front stairs. When he came to a stop, she stood up.

  A slightly awkward smile. “Hey…”

  She was dressed in a fitted black shirt worn out over nice jeans, her caramel hair a little messy, a chunky, quartzlike bracelet dangling loosely from her wrist. It was a warm summer night. She looked great to him.

  “I’m sorry to barge in,” she said, a look that was almost forlorn, little-girl-ish, coming through on her face. “I just needed to talk to someone. I took a chance.”

  Hauck shook his head. “You’re not barging in.”

  He walked her up the steps and unlocked the door. He grabbed a towel off the kitchen counter and wiped down his face. He asked if she wanted a beer from the fridge.

  “No. Thanks.”

  Karen was like a bundle of nerves, and she walked around like she was holding something deep inside. She went up to the easel by the window. He followed her over, taking a seat on the stool.

  “I didn’t know you paint.”

  Hauck shrugged. “You better look at it closely before you use that word.”

  She stepped up to the easel. So close that Hauck could smell her scent—sweet, blossomy—his pulse climbing. He held back the urge to touch her.

  “It’s nice,” she said. “You’re always full of surprises, aren’t you, Lieutenant?”

  “That’s about the nicest thing anyone’s ever said about it.” He smiled.

  “You probably cook, too. I bet you—”

  “Karen…” He had never seen her so w
ound up. He swiveled around and went to grab her arm.

  She pulled away.

  “It was him,” she said. Her eyes were liquid, angry, almost glaring at him. “He answered me. It took three days. I had to write him twice.” She put a hand to the back of her neck. “I didn’t know what to say to him, Ty. What the hell could I say? ‘I know it’s you, Charles. Please answer me’? Finally he did.”

  “What did he say?”

  “What did he say?” She sniffed, blew out a derisive blast of air. “He said ‘Hello, baby.’”

  “That’s all?”

  “Yeah.” She smiled, hurt. “That was all.” She took a few steps around, as if she were holding back some torrent, checking out the view of the cove off the deck. She went over to a console against the wall. He kept a couple of pictures on it. She picked them up, one by one. A shot of the two girls when they were babies. He saw her staring at it. Another of Hauck’s boat, the Merrily.

  “Yours?”

  “Mine.” Hauck nodded. He stood up. “Not exactly like the sultan of Brunei’s, but Jessie likes it. In the summer we go up to Newington or out to Shelter Island. Fish. When the weather’s nice, I’ve been known to—”

  “You do it all, don’t you, Ty?” Her eyes were ablaze, flashing at him. “You’re what they call a good man.”

  Hauck wasn’t sure if that was a compliment. Karen compressed her lips tightly, ran a hand through her tousled hair. It was like she was ready to explode.

  He stepped forward. “Karen…”

  “‘ Hello, baby,’” she said again, her voice cracking. “That’s all he fucking said to me, Ty. Like, ‘What have you been up to, hon? Anything new with the kids?’ It was Charles! The man I buried. The man I slept next to for eighteen years! ‘Hello, baby.’ What the hell do I say to him now, Ty? What the hell happens now?”

  Hauck went to her and took her in his arms. This time as he had always dreamed of holding her tightly, pressing her close to his chest, hard. His blood almost burst out of his veins.

  At first she tried to pull away, anger coursing. Then she let him, tears smearing on his shirt, her hair honey-scented and disarrayed, her breasts full against his chest.

  He kissed her. Karen didn’t resist. Instead she parted her lips in response, her tongue seeming just as eager to seek out his, something beyond their control taking hold of them, her scent deep in his nostrils—an intoxication, something sweet, jasmine—driving him wild.

  His hand traveled down the curve of her back, his fingers crawling underneath the belt on her jeans. Arousing him. He drew it back, her blouse loose, finding the warmth of the exposed flesh of her belly, drew it past the breathless sigh of her breasts, and cupped her face in his hands.

  “You don’t have to do anything,” he said.

  “I can’t.” Karen looked at him, tears glistening off her cheeks. “I can’t be there alone.”

  He kissed her again. This time their tongues lingered in a sweet, slow dance. “I just can’t….”

  Hauck wiped the tears off her face. “You don’t have to,” he said. “You don’t have to do anything.”

  Then he picked her up in his arms.

  THEY MADE LOVE in the bedroom.

  Slowly, he unbuttoned her shirt, ran his hands over the black lace of her bra, tenderly down to her groin, as she drew back, a little afraid, parts of her that hadn’t been touched in a year.

  Her breathing heavy, Karen tilted her head against his bare chest. “Ty, I haven’t done this in a long time.”

  “I know,” he said, gently pulling her arms through her sleeves, running his hand along her thigh, underneath her jeans.

  She tensed with anticipation.

  “I mean with someone else,” she said. “I’ve been with Charles for twenty years.”

  “That’s okay,” he said. “I know.”

  He laid her back on the bed, drew her jeans out from under her firm thighs a leg at a time, slipped his hand underneath her panties, felt the tremor of anticipation there. The throbbing in her womb was driving Karen wild. She looked up at him. He had been there for her, steadied her, when everything else was just insanity. He had been the one thing in which she could believe. She reached up and gently touched his side, the marks healing, and kissed them, his perspiration sweet. Hauck, tensing, unbuckled his shorts. He was the one thing that held her together. Without him she didn’t know what she would have done.

  She put her face close to him. “Ty…”

  He moved his body firmly over hers, his buttocks tight, arms strong, athletic. Their bodies came together like a warm wave, electricity shooting down Karen’s spine. She arched her back. Her breasts, his chest came together, a hundred degrees.

  Suddenly there was nothing holding them back. She felt this yearning rising up from her center. Karen let her head fall back, fall from side to side as he entered her, a tremor shooting through her from the tips of her fingers to her toes, like a current, a long-awaited prize. She cupped his rear and drew him into her deeply. A wildness taking over. Gasping, their bodies became a tangle of pelvises and thighs. She clung to him. This man had risked everything for her. She didn’t want to hold anything back. They rocked. She wanted to give him everything. A part of her she had never given to anyone. Even Charles. A part of her she had always held back.

  Everything.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE

  Afterward they lay on the bed, spent, Karen’s body slick with lovely sweat, still radiating fire. Hauck cooled her, blowing on her chest, her neck. Her hair was a tangled mess.

  “Must be your lucky day,” she mused, with an ironic roll of her eyes. “Normally I never give out until at least the third date. It’s a hard-and-fast rule at Match.com.”

  Hauck laughed, lifting a leg up on his other knee. “Listen, if it means anything, I promise I’ll still come through with a couple of meals.”

  “Whew!” Karen blew out a breath. “That’s a load off my mind.”

  She glanced around the cramped bedroom, looking for things about him she didn’t know. A simple wooden bed frame, a night table with a couple of books stacked—a biography of Einstein, a novel by Dennis Lehane—a pair of jeans tossed over a chair in the corner. A small TV.

  “What the hell is that?” Karen said, pointing to something against the wall.

  “Hockey stick,” Hauck said, falling back.

  Karen propped up on her elbow. “Tell me I didn’t just sleep with a man who keeps a hockey stick in his bedroom.”

  Hauck shrugged. “Winter league. Guess I never moved it.”

  “Ty, it’s fucking June.”

  He nodded, like a little boy discovered with a stash of cookies under his bed. “You’re lucky you weren’t here last week. My skates were in here, too.”

  Karen brushed her hand against his cheek. “It’s good to see you laugh, Lieutenant.”

  “I guess we could say we’re both a bit overdue.”

  For a while they lay like two starfish on the large bed, barely covered, just the tips of their fingers touching, still finding each other.

  “Ty…” Karen raised herself up. “There’s something I need to ask you about. I saw something when I came to your office that day. You had a picture on the credenza. Two young girls. When I saw you at the game that day, I met your daughter and you told me she was your only one. Then tonight I saw another of her, outside.” She leaned close to him. “I don’t mean to open something up—”

  “No.” He shook his head. “You’re not opening anything up.”

  Facing the ceiling, he told her. About Norah. At last. “She’d be nine now.”

  Karen felt a stab of sadness rush over her.

  He told her how they’d just come back from the store and forgotten something and had been in such a rush to get back there. There was his shift, he was running late. Beth was mad at him. They were living out in Queens then. He had bought the wrong dessert. “Pudding Snacks…”

  How he had somehow left the car in a rush, his shift in half an hour, rush
ing back in to grab the receipt.

  “Pudding Snacks,” Hauck said again, shrugging at Karen, an empty smile.

  “They’d been playing on the curb. Tugboat Annie, Jessie told us later. You know the song—‘Merrily, merrily, merrily… ’” He inhaled a breath. “The car backed out. I hadn’t put it in park. All we ever heard was Jessie. And Beth. I remember the look she gave me. ‘Oh, Ty, oh, my God!’ It all happened so suddenly.” He looked up at her and wet his lips. “She was four.”

  Karen sat up, and brushed her hand across his slick face. “You’re still carrying it, aren’t you? I can see it in your eyes. I saw it there the first time we met.”

  “You were the one who was forced to deal with something then.”

  “Yes, but I still saw it. I think that’s why I thanked you. For what you said. You made me feel like you understood. I don’t think you ever let it go.”

  “How do you let that go, Karen?”

  “I know.” Karen nodded. “I know…. What about your wife? Beth, right?”

  Hauck leaned up on his side, hunched his shoulders sort of helplessly. “I don’t think she’s ever forgiven me. The irony was, she was the reason I was running back to the store.” He turned and faced her. “You know how you always asked me why I’m doing this, Karen?”

  She nodded again. “Yeah.”

  “And one reason is that I think I was drawn to you from the first time we met. I couldn’t get you out of my mind.”

  Karen took his hand.

  “But the other,” he said, and shook his head, “that Raymond kid, lying there on the asphalt. I knew there was something about it from the get-go. Something about him just brought me back, to Norah. I couldn’t put it away…his image. I still can’t.”