Free The Book Keeper by Amelia Grace Page B

snatched the book from me, and flicked through the entire book rapidly, as if in a panic.
    ‘Cohen….Cohen, that is impossible.  Clearly there are black handwritten words in this book.  Look again.’  Georgia thrust the book back into my hands.  Again I fingered through each of the pages, and saw nothing. I looked into her eyes, and shook my head.
    ‘Read to me Georgia.  I want to hear what I cannot see,’ I insisted, keeping m y voice calm.
    ‘Not here Cohen.  We will have to meet again at a different place.  A place where your trackers will not be.  How did you know that I owned the book, if you cannot see any words in the book?’ she asked, her voice a whisper.
    I leaned in closer to her, her sweet perfume exciting my sense of smell.
    ‘I accidently discovered that if I held it on an angle, under a certain soft light, the indentations of the words could be seen.  Then I took it to my study, and did a soft pencil rubbing.  That is when you name, address, email and phone number appeared, and I contacted you,’ I explained, my voice quiet, clear and succinct.
    Georgia blinked at me, closed the book, and wiped a tear away.
    ‘We really must talk Cohen, but not here.’  Georgia sipped her tea, looking into my eyes.
    ‘I will organise a time and place to meet Tim. And, you should really get your eyes tested Cohen.  You obviously can’t see properly.’
    I smiled at her audacity. I’ve only known her for a split second, and she is telling me what to do.
    I sipped my tea slowly and gazed at the beautiful Georgia. She looked deeply into my eyes, then closed her eyes and licked her full lips, sucking her bottom lip before opening her eyes again. Oh my……I don’t do girls, or do I?
    ‘Well, if we are done here.  I will go,’ she said, as if detached from the situation, puzzling me.  I laughed quietly at her.
    ‘You are the one who wanted to meet Georgia.  If you say we are done, then we are done,’ I responded, and then stood when she did.
    ‘Good then.  I am sure that if we had met at 3:07pm, the outcome of this meeting would have been different Cohen,’ she remarked.
    ‘Time is relative Miss Georgia.  I enjoyed tea for two with you.  The company was interesting, and pleasant.’  I smiled coyly at her, and nodded my head slightly.
    Her cheeks flushed as she smiled gently back at me.
    ‘Cohen,’ she breathed as she rolled her eyes at me, before she turned and left the Café. I watched her walk confidently out of the café, heads turning to admire her. 
    I left almost immediately after her.  I decided it was my turn to be a tracker.
    I followed Georgia from a safe distance along the street.  I did not know what she did for a living.  She had said that she designed, researched, created.  She also said that she could not tell me what she was working on, or where she worked.
    She turned into the entrance of a medical research centre, and then was lost to my view.  At least I knew the name of the medical research facility now.  I would look it up to see what they did there.
    4 pm. It was still early.  I did not want to return to CAI, nor to my apartment.  I headed to the park to clear my head, and sat under the shade of a beautiful old oak tree, overlooking the lake.  My tracker and his tracker were within my proximity. They did their best to look ‘normal’, but their odd little behaviours told me that they were working, watching me closely, reporting my behaviours, my location.  I smiled to myself.  What an odd occupation.  It was like playing spies at school in the playtime, hiding behind trees, spying on others, pretending that you were invisible.  I wonder if the tracker knew that he was being tracked?  Surely he would.  If you were a tracker, wouldn’t your observation of surroundings and people be astute. Surely he would know if he was being tracked?
    I relaxed and emptied my mind for a couple of hours. I was good at that . I had discovered the ability to disconnect