It was another rainy, wretched afternoon, but on January 21 Seattle Mayor Greg Nickels was at his avuncular best, glad-handing those he encountered on his "walking tour" of White Center.

Residents of this working-class town just southwest of Seattle might soon be voting on Nickels's proposal to annex their community and the surrounding neighborhood of North Highline, an area of about 34,000 people that also includes Boulevard Park. "The future of White Center is in Seattle," said happy signs in the mayor's entourage.

But there was another sign-toting group, not visible in the video released by the mayor's office. Their placards: "Say no to Seattle," and "No Nickels in White Center."

"The cameraman decided to wipe his lens when they walked past us," smirks Liz Giba, a White Center resident who was among the protesters. Giba and the rest of the anti-Seattle contingent don't know why Nickels wants North Highline and White Center, only that it probably isn't for the reasons he has publicly stated: that he wants to help.

Indeed, even Seattle residents are suspicious of their mayor's intentions—and the more his office talks, the more bewildering the issue becomes.

Addressing the Southwest District Council on February 1, the mayor's outreach assistant, Julien Loh, said the mayor has expressed concern that services in North Highline—which are currently provided by King County—"continue to decline." Loh added, "It's in (Seattle's) interest to keep a stable neighborhood south of its border."

These are noble sentiments—and when they come from politicians they arouse heavy skepticism, as they did for Mary Ellen Cunningham, a neighborhood-council member who raised her hand several times. She wanted to know why the mayor's office was so determined to annex North Highline if the financial impact the acquisition would have on Seattle remained unsettled. "He didn't answer a single one of my questions," she said later.

Sunday, over dinner at Viva Mexico in downtown White Center, Steve Cox, member of the North Highline Unincorporated Council, considered whether Nickels has a hidden motive.

"That's the million-dollar question," says Cox. "His political answer is going to be, 'I want to help the people of North Highline.' Well, that's bullshit. He's a politician and he has an agenda and he's going to do what's best for him."

During his tenure on the King County Council, Nickels represented North Highline, and some in the community wonder whether Nickels believes North Highline residents will give him votes in the next election.

His reasons may be even more benign. Perhaps Nickels is leery of big suburbs and the increasing say they could have on issues of regional governance.

King County certainly has a role in placing this item on Nickels's agenda. North Highline is a "donut hole," in the words of Ryan Bayne, of County Executive Ron Sims's office: It is surrounded by cities, any of which could provide services to North Highline and relieve the county's obligation.

Burien has also considered annexing the neighborhood, since the two communities already share police and fire services. But Burien's studies showed the region needs more in city services than it can give back in taxes: Annexation would mean a $2.4 million drain on Burien's annual budget.

The potential cost to Seattle won't be known until next month, when the mayor's office releases a financial assessment. Kenny Pittman, Nickels's senior policy analyst, says that any short-term expenses would be offset by Seattle's economic development programs.

Because the communities are similar in size, annexation by Burien would give North Highline voters political muscle. Conversely, North Highline would have little influence on city politics in Seattle.

Cox and others on the region's elected council believe residents value the current police and fire service, as well as the area's diversity and relatively low-density planning.

For the same reasons, Nickels's overtures get a rude reception: Seattle's promise of more services is met with skepticism by North Highline residents who see a lack of services in Seattle's South Delridge and South Park.

When mayoral staffers talk of "economic development," it sounds like "high density"—and people settle in North Highline to escape density. The higher property values associated with Seattle would be a plus—except if price increases threaten North Highline's working-class core and immigrant population.

Ultimately, the region appears to control its own destiny: Annexation requires a vote by North Highline residents. Before that, Burien and Seattle both have to convince their respective city councils of the virtues of the plan. And Nickels hasn't yet proven he can sell it to anyone.