Page 39 of Easy, Tiger

The library's warm glow spills across the sidewalk as I pull up to collect Halsey. Through the tall windows, I spot her bent over a reading table, surrounded by opened books and scattered notes. My breath shortens at the sight—she looks so absorbed, so naturally curious about everything around her.

Grace waves from behind the circulation desk as Halsey emerges with an armload of leather-bound journals, bright with the same excitement I've come to recognize when she discovers something fascinating.

"Find anything useful?" I ask, taking the heavy volumes from her arms.

"More than useful. Absolutely incredible." She climbs into the passenger seat, practically vibrating with enthusiasm. "Grace shared naturalist records going back over a century. The migration patterns are so detailed, so consistent."

Carefully, I place the books in the back seat. "That's great for your field guide."

"But here's the weird part." Halsey turns in her seat to face me as I start the engine. "There are tiger sightings documented throughout the 1800s and early 1900s. Multiple entries, different families, all describing the same thing—orange and black striped cats migrating through these exact mountain corridors."

"Probably misidentified mountain lions."

"That’s what I thought initially, but the descriptions are too specific. Eight-foot body lengths and distinctive stripe patterns combine into behaviors that defy any known North American predator." Her voice retains that analytical tone I love, the one that means she's piecing together a puzzle. "What if someone released captive tigers decades ago? Maybe a private collector or traveling circus?"

The truck feels instantly too small, the air too thin. I concentrate on the winding road ahead, grateful for the excuse to avoid her penetrating gaze.

"Could be. Wildlife does surprising things sometimes."

"The timing matches perfectly with modern deer and elk migrations. Almost like the tigers integrated into the existing ecosystem." Sliding out her phone, she scrolls through photos she took of the journal pages. "This entry from 1987 describes a tiger crossing Copper Ridge in October. That's the same ridge you told me about, isn't it? The hunting accident?"

Tension stiffens my hands on the wheel, and I force them to relax before she picks up on it. "Small mountains. Lots of overlap."

She's probing my profile with uncomfortable intensity.

"It's nothing, only interesting research material." But her voice rings with a new wariness, like she's testing my reaction. "Don't you think it's fascinating, though? The possibility of an established population surviving in secret for generations?"

"Nature finds ways to adapt." I arrive in her cabin's gravel driveway, relieved to have a reason to end this conversation. "Area's clear, by the way. Whoever was here earlier left no trace."

"You're sure?"

"Positive, but I need to run some errands tonight, check on a few things." I bring her books to the front door, noting how she gauges my every movement. "I'll swing by tomorrow morning."

"What kind of errands require checking at night?"

Her words catch me completely off guard. "Supply deliveries. Lumber yard stays open late for contractors."

She accepts her keys from my outstretched hand, her fingers brushing mine with a touch that sends familiar heat racing through my bloodstream. The mating bond hums stronger each time we touch, demanding I claim her properly and mark her as mine beyond any doubt.

"Thank you for today, for checking the cabin, for making sure I stayed safe." She rises on her toes to brush a soft kiss on my cheek. "I know I've been asking a lot of questions."

"You're curious about everything. It's one of the things I—" I catch myself before finishing the sentence before admitting how deeply I've fallen for her inquisitive mind and generous heart.

"One of the things you what?"

"One of the things that makes you good at what you do." A safe deflection, though the truth burns in my throat.

She searches for fissures in my composure. "Goodnight, Nolan."

"Night, Halsey."

Before returning to my truck, I wait until her cabin lights flicker on and the deadbolt clicks into place. Once I know she can't see me, I grab out my phone and scroll to Owen's contact.

Emergency meeting. One hour. Usual place.

The response comes immediately: What happened?

Staring at the cabin's glowing windows, I imagine Halsey inside poring over those historical records, connecting dots that could unravel everything we've worked to protect.