Page 76 of Looking for Love in All the Haunted Places
“Those are very admirable sentiments,” Lucky said. “But I’m afraid not everyone thinks like you.”
Rebel turned left toward a conference room. “Let’s look in here.”
They walked inside a long rectangular room with a large oval-shaped table in the center. As expected, there were no chairs. Rebel narrated as she looked under the table, behind the doors, and inside of an already-open closet. “No one in here. I don’t understand how they moved so fast. We should’ve caught up to them by now.”
“Maybe they don’t want to be found.”
“You’re doing great,” Maverick whispered close to her ear. His fingers covertly traced the lines in her palm. The surprising intimacy of the moment nearly took her breath away.
Sometimes, she wished she’d been born with that reckless abandon she’d read in some people. The desire for physical connection burning like smothered coal inside of them, the smoke fogging up their brain and blurring their senses, including the common one. So overwhelmed and confused as to how suddenly, the only thing that mattered, that made sense in the world, was the person standing in front of her. But she thought too much. Considered every angle. Her body perpetually stuck in neutral, rolling along.
Her desire for Maverick Phillips wasn’t like that at all, but she wasn’t empty. It wasn’t a passive want. It wasyearning—a desperate ache pulling her heartstrings taut as hot wire.
Now yearning? That one could make her jump, make her bold and daring, but even still she would never lose control. Make a fool of herself? Sure. Absolutely. But lose control? Never. Being honest, she’d never experienced this specific flavor of yearning before. It was like a new ingredient waiting to be identified and added to her arsenal.
They’d almost made a full loop of the first floor and the elevator doors were in sight when an office door began to open. Light spilled into the hallway from somewhere farther in the room.
Rebel stumbled before backing up against the far wall.
Lucky’s attention snapped toward her. On guard, she asked, “Are we okay?”
“Do you think someone is in there?”
“I don’t know.”
Rebel began to whine, biting her lip while her breathing became uneven.
Lucky could practically feel Maverick shift from producer to dad, ready to tell her she could stop. “R—” The sound had barely left his mouth when Lucky put her hand up. She eyed him seriously, shaking her head. She felt just as in tune as she had on the elevator. Rebel needed reassurance and it was Lucky’s job to give that to her.
“Why don’t we try a new angle?” Lucky knelt in front of Rebel, carefully pushing the camera away and toward the open door. “How about a bird’s-eye view?”
She whimpered, “What’s that?”
“I’ll give you a piggyback ride. You film, I walk.”
“What if there’s a ghost?”
“I’ll beat him up,” she said with certainty.
The smallest smile broke through her terror. “You can’t beat up a ghost.”
“Oh yeah? How do you know that?”
“They don’t have a corporeal form,” she said. “And you’re not supposed to hit people. Or former people. You’re supposed to use your words.”
“Well, where I’m from we use our legs, which would technically be kicking. You know what else legs are good for? Running. I’m really good at that too.” She lowered her voice to make a vow she intended to keep; ghosts be damned. “I won’t let anything bad happen to you.”
“Do you promise?”
Lucky smiled. “Cross my heart, Shortcake.” She turned around and Rebel climbed on her back. She stood up and asked, “Camera in focus?”
“Yes.”
“Ready?”
“Maybe.”
“Which way? I’m only going where you tell me.”
