Page 71 of Property of Anchor

Lost tilted his head and looked out the door where she’d gone, then shrugged and flopped down onto the top porch step to stretch out his legs.“She kinda reminds me of my nana.Spooky little old lady who said she could smell ghosts.”

I gave him a look.“That’s not helping.”

He grinned.“Didn’t think it would.”

I sighed and enjoyed the early afternoon sun filtering through the trees.It should’ve been peaceful, but that unease stuck with me, clinging like a cobweb I couldn’t quite find.

“So,” Lost said, pulling out a can of soda and cracking it open.“You think you’re gonna finish on time?”

I leaned against the railing and nodded.“We better.We’ve got two more rooms to detail and then just final touch-ups.I think we can finish by Friday.”

He took a long drink.“Guess that means I’ll have to go back to my real job, huh?”

I laughed softly.“I think Anchor wants me to stick around.”I watched Lost to gauge his reaction to that.

He didn’t have one.

“Then I’ll probably be stuck to your shadow then, too.”

Yeah, he would be as long as the psycho wanting me dead was out there.

We sat in silence for a few minutes, watching squirrels dart across the trees, and Cross and Piney rolled past on a golf cart toward the dock.

“You know,” I said, “for being a motorcycle club, I don’t really see you guys ride motorcycles.”

Lost chuckled.“We normally do, but things are a bit different right now.Anchor doesn’t really want any of us straying too far from the island.”

That made sense.“So, when this is over, you think Anchor will give me a ride on his bike?”

Lost nodded.“I guarantee you will be on the back of his bike.That’s where an ol’ lady belongs.”

That wasn’t the first time I had heardol’ lady.

It had a ring to it that I oddly liked.Just like with anyone else who said they owned me wouldn’t fly, but with Anchor, it all felt right.

Maybe that was my sign that thiswasright.Even though it was a bit crazy right now.

By the time the crew returned from lunch, the strangeness of Bernice’s words had mostly been pushed to the back of my mind.We all filed into the haunted house and got back to work.Jake was taping off the ghost bride’s mirror frame, Brian was painting smoke tendrils on the ceiling, and Molly was crouched down, painting cryptic messages on the floorboards in glow-in-the-dark paint.

Lost stayed close, too close, but he did it quietly, sitting on the stairs again, thumbing through his phone and glancing up every now and then like he wasn’t watching, but totally was.

I was detailing cracks in the plaster with a tiny brush when the heavy creak of the front door had everyone pausing.Even the haunted house seemed to hold its breath.

And then he stepped in.

Anchor.

He walked in like he belonged there.Which, I guess, he did.President and all.But when his eyes locked on me, the tension in my shoulders unraveled.

He crossed the space without hesitation, ignoring the crew, and cupped the back of my neck.

His lips met mine in a kiss that was all heat and promise.My brush clattered to the floor.When we finally broke apart, I was breathless, and everyone was watching.

Molly let out a low whistle.“Damn.”

“Get a room,” Jake muttered.

Brian grinned.“I mean, technically, they’re in a haunted one already.”

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