Search (SEEK book 1)

Majestic

On the hike down I think of a plan. Mr. Steed's friendly enough, it seems. I could probably convince him to hang out for a couple of days, do some sightseeing or whatever people do here. Then I'll ease the conversation into...what exactly? I wonder, kicking a rock over the edge of the trail. It ticks and pings all the way down to the bottom of the ravine.

It's not like I can just come out and ask him why he left the Brotherhood. Maybe if I smile a lot, and talk about how much I hate the government, he'll open up without much coercion. Maybe he's just dying to tell someone all about the big bad Brotherhood. I could be there for him. Console him. I jump down the rocky steps—meant to keep the novice hiker from slipping off the hilly trail I assume—and formulate my strategy.

"Convince him to join SEEK...or destroy him," Harnel's voice echoes in my head.

I can't—for one minute—let my guard down. I am here to play a part, not get played, I remind myself. I refuse to let Lindy be collateral damage.

"Keira," a breezy voice calls from the trees.

Hand over my mouth. I whirl in a circle, ready to defend myself. Nothing but red rocks and a few wind-ravaged trees stare back.

"Hello?" I call softly and hold my breath, not moving a muscle.

The only answer is that of a lonely magpie and a supple wind from the valley below lifting the hair around my ears.

Get it together. What is wrong with me? I break into a gallop.

Somewhere between that point and the bottom of the waterfall I conclude that this place is either haunted or I'm suffering from severe paranoia, the most likely scenario, given that I'm on a mission that's expected to fail. I shake out my hands, rolling my head in a circle like a prizefighter entering the ring and race the rest of the way down the embankment.

Silhouetted against rays of sunlight peeking through the trees, I find Mr. Steed in the middle of the clear basin. The specs of sunlight shimmering like twinkle-lights on the rippling water around him. For a moment, I just watch. He looks like a dream, lost in his own little world.

He doesn't notice me as I tuck my hair behind my ears, plaster a smile in place and step into the clearing. "How y'all doin'?" I drawl.

In a smooth movement, he turns – whether the slow-motion is in my head, or really happening I can't be sure – his face bathed in glittering rainbows, refracting over from the water. He guides the line through the air. I stand motionless, lost in the defined symmetry of his features. My brainwaves go haywire as he steps out of the shade like a sunrise cresting over the horizon. Dark curls peek out from under his khaki hat, a hint of a shadow outlining his jaw frames his inviting smile perfectly.

In that instant, my future disappears as though the continuously-running picture in my head suddenly fades to black and the scene ends.

"Not too bad." He jumps up on a boulder, his body language laid back and welcoming, keeping the pole carefully still behind his back.

My mind goes blank, erasing all memory of why I'm here. All I can do is gaze as his lean runner's body cautiously navigates the rocky riverbed, slipping twice. Suddenly the reel zings, handle spinning wildly. He whirls around to wrestle in his catch. I inch closer in my tattered sneakers, standing on tiptoe, curious to see the fish on the other end.

"Do you fish?" he asks, holding up a six inch trout.

My granddad taught me a thing or two about fishing and that little baby he's holding is a throw-back, too small for eating and no good as bait.

I blink, suddenly conscious of how crazy I must look staring at him unhooking his catch. I'm struggling to find my voice. "Not really." I finally manage, barely remembering to keep up Miss Monroe's southern accent.

"Would you like to?" he asks, flashing a dazzling grin.

"I'll give it a try." I nod and smile back, wishing I'd remembered to brush my teeth after breakfast.

In the few feet it takes to reach him, my pulse becomes increasingly erratic. The back of my head feels numb and my ears are buzzing. I slip the yellow elastic off my wrist, wrapping it shakily around my hair, and step up to the boulder beside him.

He watches me sheepishly, brushing his hand against my arm as he holds out the pole. He clears his throat.

"Right. Well, first you want to grip the pole like you're going to shake someone's hand. Are you left handed?" he asks, surprised when I hold the pole like him.

"Ambidextrous."

Why can't I breathe? I give myself a little shake trying to ignore the fact he's watching with the attention of a cat chasing a laser-pointer. It's nearly impossible to concentrate on his instructions.

"You've fished before?" He raises an eyebrow.

"Straight back and pause. Is this right?" No. It's not, I think, feeling awkward.

"Keep your wrist stiff, elbow at your side and pull back," he says, leaning down and placing my fingers properly on the pole.

My hands tremble beneath his, brain-fog creeping over every lucid thought. He's not at all what I expected, he's sweet and gentle. And very trusting to get this close to me. I squint down at the pole and jerk.

"Whoa there, not that stiff." His warm laugh blows against my neck. "Let it happen naturally."

Instant goosebumps. I hold my breath, trying to relax as he pushes my arms up to a forty-five degree angle.

"Let it happen. Forward and over and back—repeat—in steady swooshes. Think of it like making dragonfly puppets waltz over the river."

His right hand feeds the line for me as I concentrate on landing the feathery-fly gently on the water's surface.

"Cool!" I turn my face up excitedly, expecting to see his friendly smile. Instead, my head fills with molasses, as bright neon-green eyes peer back at me from under a mess of curly bangs.

Eyes just as green, just as radio-active, as mine.