Like a merman without the fins, he emerged from the depths, well-built and muscular, dripping water and an air of danger. He strode up the beach, wearing nothing but a pair of almost see-through shorts—I tried not to stare—his eyes tracing the tree line with an intensity that held me completely still. He was clearly hunting something—or someone. He radiated power. He looked a little like Charley described, but this guy had no dreadlocks, and Charley had clearly said Rives had dreads. He stopped halfway to the trees, his square jaw hard, his broad shoulders braced and tight. Involuntarily, I took a step back. Then he sighed heavily, his eyes still on the trees. His fury was gone, taking the aura of danger with it. Now his expression vacillated between worried and frustrated, and standing silently with his hands on his hips, he looked every inch the confident Leader Charley had described. But no dreads. I frowned. He drew closer, close enough for me to see his eyes. Rives, I thought.
