Page 28 of Anchor
His gaze stayed locked on hers, steady as an anchor in heavy seas. “But you do.”
The pain in her chest softened at that, and she gave a short nod. Her shoulders loosened, just enough to breathe.
CHASE EMPLOYEE APARTMENTS – 0901 HOURS
The lobby smelled faintly of stone polish and fresh paint—new, precise, unmistakably Chase. Brass-edged sign-in desk, discreet cameras, a security officer with perfect posture.
Reid pressed his palm to the console. His ID chip blinked green. “Guest with me.”
The officer’s gaze shifted to Claire. “Photo ID?”
She handed over her license. A chime sounded. “Signed and logged, Miss Bowman. You’re clear.”
Reid nodded and motioned to the elevators. “Come on.”
The ride to the ninth floor was silent. Claire’s reflection hovered beside his in the steel walls—damp ponytail, soft tee, jeans. His jacket still around her shoulders. Reid hadn’t questioned it when they left.
Reid stood beside her, tux shirt unbuttoned at the collar, tie hanging loose. Calm. Unreadable. But she’d seen the scuffed shoes, the bruises he hadn’t mentioned.
The elevator opened to a quiet hall. Four doors. He keyed into the third.
The apartment matched his description: pale walls, minimal furniture, spotless kitchen. Living room, office, bedroom—nothing personal, nothing out of place.
Claire stepped in, eyes scanning. “Bare-bones,” she murmured.
Reid hung his keys. “Provided by Chase. What you see is what you get.”
She gave him a look. “It’s not bare-bones. It’s emotionally repressed architecture.”
He smirked. “Efficient.”
She laughed, tension slipping from her shoulders. “You mean soulless.”
He didn’t argue. He slid his jacket off her shoulders and disappeared down the hall.
When he came back, he’d traded the tux for jeans and a navy t-shirt. Damp hair pushed back, boots half-laced. He looked normal. Human.
Claire smiled. “That’s better. You looked like you were about to sell me a high-yield bond.”
Reid’s eyes narrowed. “Careful.”
She leaned against the counter, arms folded. “You let me into your lair, Hanlon. That’s leverage.”
He stepped closer, gaze steady. “Anchor doesn’t give up leverage.”
She tasted the word. “Anchor. It fits.”
The look they shared was quiet, amused. It was something easy growing between them, neither sharp nor fragile. Not yet.
Target.Then furniture. Then housewares. Reid hadn’t set foot in this many stores since he was ten, trailing behind Tuck on grocery runs. Even then, they never lingered.
Claire lingered with purpose. She moved through aisles like she was casing the place, fingers brushing shelves, eyes scanning every label. Not slow, just… methodical. Like she was taming the chaos.
Reid pushed the cart. He hadn’t planned to, but she’d raised one eyebrow at it sitting idle, and somehow his hands ended up on the handle.
“You have four plates,” she said flatly, holding up a boxed set. “That’s not minimalist. That’s a cry for help.”
“They were issued,” he replied.
