Page 50 of Hired By the Enemy
“Are you kidding me, Matthew? Surely the guy who masterminded framing me for the whole school play set debacle can handle a few obstacles suspended in the air.”
His eyes met mine. “But the school play set malfunction had the added incentive of getting you in trouble,” he says.
“Don’t forget, I’ll be right here,” I say.
Matthew takes a deep breath. “I guess if I’m plummeting to my death, it’s only fitting you’re by my side.”
“Don’t forget making Ms. Beauton happy would be the silver lining,” I say.
I can feel the vibrations of his laugh. “Okay, let’s do this.”
We step to the edge and tension radiates from Matthew’s whole body. “You ready?” I ask.
He takes a deep breath. “I’m ready.”
“On the count of three. One…two…three. Jump!”
We launch off the platform into the air.
And we’re flying together, the wind in our faces, Matthew pressed against me.
I whoop, and he makes a more choked noise as the ground rushes up to meet us.
We hit the safety net, and Matthew leans back into me, and I brace his weight, my arms instinctively going around him.
“See, that wasn’t too bad, was it?”
Matthew’s face is flushed. “I guess it’s not the worst thing I’ve ever done.”
The instructor comes forward to unclip us.
When I look up, I see Paul and Annette are only halfway around the course, inching their way through the log challenge.
I nudge Matthew’s shoulder, and he follows my line of sight.
“Guess their orienteering superiority isn’t much help up high,” I say.
“Still a long way to go before we reach the treasure,” Matthew warns.
Once we’re out of our harnesses, the instructor hands us our next clue.
Head to where patrons laze and children play on the sand
Palm trees sway and the edge of the water reaches the land
“Okay, so it’s on a beach, but what beach?” Matthew asks.
“Patrons laze…maybe the south beach. It’s got the most sun loungers?” I suggest.
“Good thinking. Let’s try there.”
Sure enough, when we reach the south beach, there’s a series of tables with complex cryptic puzzles set up.
Most of the puzzles are gobbledygook to me, but Matthew races through them like they’re as simple as a color-by-number activity.
“I kind of love your brain when it’s not conspiring ways to get at me,” I say.
He looks up as he clicks the last piece into place. “That’s probably the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
