I ease over to her, slow, and cut my motor a few feet off her stern. Up close she's got the kind of face that makes a man lose track of the conversation—sharp cheekbones, a full mouth, dark eyes that are currently sizing me up like I'm a variable she hasn't accounted for. There's a smear of what might be lake mud on her jaw. It doesn't hurt her looks one bit.
"Let it sit thirty seconds," I tell her. "Then hold the throttle wide open, no choke, and give it one clean pull. I'll keep the cable from slipping shut."
She raises an eyebrow but does it. I brace the sticky cable while she waits. Then she gives the cord one clean pull.
The motor catches and settles into an idle.
She stares at it. Then at me.
"That's annoying," she says.
"You're welcome."
Her mouth twitches at one corner like it wants to smile and she won't let it. I decide, right then, that I'd very much like to see what happens when she loses that particular fight.
"You're one of the fishing guides," she says. It's not a question. She's looking at the rods laid along my gunwale, the net, the livewell.
"Forrest," I say.
"Right." She nods slowly. "Everybody in town keeps telling me I need to talk to Forrest."
That surprises me. "Do they?”
"Apparently you know this lake better than anyone." She says it a little grudgingly, like she resents needing anyone’s help. She unclips the clipboard from the bench and holds it against her chest like a shield. "I'm Dr. Halloway. Aileen. I'm the fisheries biologist doing the summer population survey out here."
A biologist. That explains the nets and the antennas and the tote full of gadgets.
"So, you're the reason there's a truck with government tags parked at the launch every morning," I say.
"That's me." She glances at my livewell. "You keep what you catch?"
"No, ma'am. I’m a catch-and-release guy.”
Something in her face shifts—just barely, just a small easing at the corners of her eyes.
We sit there a second in the golden light with both motors idling, and I get the strangest feeling that I've been out here every dawn for fifteen years waiting for exactly this boat to break down in exactly this cove.
Then she clears her throat and reaches for her throttle. "Well. Thanks. I've got sampling sites to hit before the lake gets busy."
"You know your way to the north basin?"
"I have the state bathymetric map, current GPS layers, and three years of survey notes."
"Good maps," I say. "The east channel shifted after the spring floods."
Her eyes narrow. "That is not in the update I downloaded yesterday."
"Wouldn't be. The marker disappeared last week, and Bobby hasn't replaced it yet." I glance at her equipment. "Follow me. I'll take you through the west cut."
She narrows her eyes. "I didn't ask for a chaperone."
"Nope," I agree, and drop my motor into gear. "Try to keep up, Doc."
I don't look back. But I hear her engine fall into line behind mine, and I have to work pretty hard to keep the grin off my face.
Chapter Two
Aileen
