Page 56 of Property of Anchor

“I’m gonna ruin the walls.”

I grinned.“Better the walls than Anchor’s sanity if he finds out you let me out of your sight.”

Lost reluctantly took the brush.“If I screw this up, you’re telling him it was your idea.”

“Oh, it absolutely was.”I handed him a bucket of primer.“Start here.”

Lost groaned like I was torturing him, but he dipped the brush in and followed me to the next wall.

We painted in silence for a few minutes, him grumbling under his breath, me trying to focus.But my mind kept drifting back to that photo.The one of me on the porch.The shirt I’d been wearing three days ago.The way my hands had been holding a cup of coffee and my eyes had been looking off into the woods.

Someone had taken that picture.

And they had been close.

Now Anchor was out there trying to find out who.

I just hoped whoever it was didn’t get to him before he did.

And if they did…

God help them.

Anchor

Monday on Skull Island arrived with the kind of peace that made my shoulders ache.No tourists.No boat horns.Just the wind rustling pine needles and haunted-house façades leaning in the silent morning.

We’d shut everything down until Saturday with my decree to protect Pearl and secure the island.It wasn’t just maintenance; it was surveillance, clearing brush, checking perimeters, and, above all, keeping eyes open in every direction.

I started out at sunrise and walked the outer trails with Skull and Push.Lost had been posted at Pearl’s door with strict instructions to stay right next to her.Our mission: install cameras and line-of-sight monitors where the last body had washed up.We lugged gear, tripods, solar panels, hard drives through thorns and tall grass that bent toward the afternoon sun.I snipped branches with my pocketknife, Skull carried the big camera poles, Push flagged the spots.

“You sure about this angle?”Skull asked as we positioned a camera facing the cove.

I nodded.“Edge of the water, but high enough to capture the trees behind.Anyone coming in or out will show.”

Push wove through the brush.“Feels like overkill.”

I shrugged.“That asshole got a picture of Pearl at her cabin.We’re not taking chances.”

No one argued.

By mid-afternoon, I was sweaty and filthy.My shirt was glued to my back, and I headed toward the haunted house.

As I approached, I spotted Brian, Jake, Molly, and Bert stepping out onto the dirt path in front of the house.

They nodded as I passed, but Bert paused and stepped five feet toward me with his arms folded over his chest.

I stopped.“Bert,” I said with a grin, though I could taste the tension in the air.

Bernice came down the stairs.She looked tired, like the day had already beaten her, and she hung a left toward the cabins, then paused with her hands planted on her hips.

“My back is killing me, and I just want my bed,” she called over her shoulder, voice loud enough for the lot to hear.“Don’t keep me up tonight, biker boy.”

Yup.Good ol’ Bernice.Zero filter, ninety percent sass.

“Will do, Bernice,” I shot back.

She huffed and swaggered down the path between cabins.

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