LITMIR.BIZ

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the old Thompson place in the woods.”

      “I did.” Jillian braced herself for yet another person telling her what a mistake she’d made.

      “Personally, I’m glad the old place is getting a makeover. All that nonsense about it being haunted is ridiculous.”

      Jillian released the breath she hadn’t even realized she was holding. “Thank you. You’re the first person who hasn’t tried to talk me out of it.”

      The older woman snorted. “Wouldn’t do that. All that work you’re doing to restore the building is keeping my son employed.”

      Jillian thought she knew everyone in Cape Churn. “Your son?”

      “Daryl.”

      Jillian smiled. “Oh, yes. Daryl’s helping out.”

      Mrs. Sims nodded. “He’s working with the contractor. They’ve been involved in the demolition so far.”

      “Still think you’re courtin’ disaster with that old house. Nothing good ever happened out there,” Mr. Runyan muttered.

      Jillian planted her fists on her hips. “Everyone is quick to believe in ghosts and hauntings. What concrete things have happened in that house that inspires all those tales?”

      Mr. Runyan glanced across at Mrs. Sims. “What was it, fifteen or twenty years ago when that little girl disappeared?”

      Mrs. Sims lips tightened. “Something like that. I still think her mother had something to do with that. Especially since they found the girl a month later.”

      Jillian’s breath caught. “Found? As in dead?”

      Mr. Runyan shoved a hand through his wiry white hair. “That was the dangedest thing. She appeared as suddenly as she disappeared, with no memory of where she’d been or what had happened.”

      A chill slipped down the back of Jillian’s neck. “Did she live in the house?”

      Mr. Runyan nodded. “It was her and her mother. Her father lived in town. They’d recently divorced. He’d lost his job, started drinkin’, and the wife wouldn’t put up with it. She kicked him out. Anyway, the girl probably got lost.”

      “Or maybe she was mad about the divorce and ran away,” Mrs. Sims said.

      “For a month?” Chance asked. “How old was she?”

      “Nine,” Bud answered.

      Jillian wasn’t buying it. “A nine-year-old ran away and survived on her own for a month? Doubtful.”

      The older woman raised her hands, palms up. “Since she wasn’t talking when she reappeared, no one knows what happened.”

      “And never will.” Mr. Runyan topped off the truck’s tank and hung up the nozzle. “Her mother packed her up and left the house, the town and the state, for all anyone knows. She and her daughter haven’t been heard from since.”

      Jillian dug in her purse for the correct amount of money and handed it to Mr. Runyan. “Why hasn’t any of this come up before?”

      Mr. Runyan took the money from Jillian. “When Mrs. Thompson and her daughter left, I suppose people forgot.”

      “No use living in the past,” Mrs. Sims said. “And there’s no such thing as ghosts, so don’t you worry about any of that. I’d love to see the house when you get done with the remodeling effort.” The woman turned toward her car. “What do I owe you, Bud?”

      Jillian climbed into the passenger seat of the truck, adjusted her seat belt and lifted the kitten onto her lap while Chance slipped behind the wheel.

      Without a word, he started the truck and pulled to the edge of the road. “Which way?”

      After giving him the directions to the marina, Jillian texted Dave to let him know they were on their way, and then she leaned back against the seat and stared out at the darkening sky. With the streetlights coming on, the stars were hard to see. That was one of the things she looked forward to when her house was finished—being able to gaze up at the sky at night and see the blanket of stars spread out in the heavens.

      “Does it worry you at all that your house has a history?” Chance asked.

      Jillian drew in a breath and let it out again before answering. “People are afraid of things they don’t understand.”

      “Meaning?”

      “Meaning, I need to do a little digging to find out what all the fuss is about.”

      Chance’s lips quirked upward. “And if there was a missing girl and the house is haunted, then what?”

      “Then I will at least know the truth from an old wives’ tale. By the time the contractors are finished remodeling my house, no one will remember it as the place where something bad happened, and the ghosts will love it so much, they’ll leave me alone. Who knows, if there are such things as ghosts, they might be mad because the place has been left to deteriorate.”

      Granted, she didn’t believe in ghosts or places being bad. People were bad. Not places. And since she’d bought the house and planned on living in it, she refused to believe differently. A cool draft found its way into the interior of the truck, stirring the fine hairs on the back of Jillian’s neck, and she shivered.

      * * *

      Chance shot a smile at Jillian. The woman was so feminine, yet she had a solid core and seemed perfectly capable of taking care of herself. “Nothing much scares you, does it?”

      “Nope.” She crossed her arms over her chest and tipped her chin. “I’ve been on my own for a few years. My mother made sure I was trained in self-defense, and I’m a black belt in tae kwon do. People should be afraid of me.”

      Chance held up his hand, schooling his face to be dead serious. “I’m shaking in my boots.” Then he couldn’t hold back the chuckle, ruining the effect. “Sorry. You don’t look very intimidating.”

      “Well, I am.” She glared at him, though a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “A black belt, that is.”

      “I believe you.” Chance pulled into the marina parking lot.

      Jillian pointed. “Park near the dock.”

      Following her directions, he pulled into a parking space and turned off the engine. By the time he got out and rounded to the other side of the truck, Jillian was already out, the kitten in her hands, and was walking toward the long wooden wharf.

      A tall, muscular man stepped out of a houseboat and waved. He crossed the dock and walked up the hill toward them, wearing sweatpants and a sweatshirt with Georgetown University embroidered on the front. “I didn’t expect you back with my truck until tomorrow.”

      Jillian handed him the keys and hugged him. “I had help to unload, so it took half the time.” She turned to Chance. “Chance, this is Dave Logsdon. Dave, Chance McCall.”

      Dave extended a hand and Chance took it. The man had a strong grip and a tattoo on his forearm.

      “Prior military?” Chance asked.

      “Army.”

      Chance nodded. “Same.”

      “Deployed?” Dave asked.

      “Four times.”

      Dave held up three fingers. “Three.” He dug in his pocket and pulled out a set of car keys. As he handed them to Jillian, he asked Chance, “Action?”

      “More than I cared for.”

      Dave stared at Chance for a long moment.

      Chance returned the stare, unwaveringly.

      Finally, the tension left Dave’s stance and he jerked his head to the side. “Care for a beer?”

      “Would

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