A Ghost of a Chance by Minnette Meador Page B

another car that obviously wasn’t going fast enough for her tastes and said, “Don’t worry, Kee. Haven’t killed anyone…yet.”
    The nickname startled him and he tightened his grip with purpose. “Okay…Is,” he said pointedly. “Promise me I won’t be the first and I’ll let go.”
    A frightening chuckle escaped her lovely lips. “No promises, my friend. Hang on!” The car careened through traffic and Keenan closed his eyes. His hand stayed put.
    When they arrived at The Hotcake House , the lot was packed, but there were still a couple of slots open, so Isabella shoehorned the car into one. Keenan knew if they could get into the lot, they could get into the building and have breakfast. The place was one of the most popular in Portland and had been the size of a shoebox for fifty years, despite that. The owners had no interest in expanding.
    Keenan opened the door for Isabella and a waft of pancakes, syrup, bacon, and chatter closed in around them.
    “Two?” a young woman asked.
    “Yes.”
    A flush of embarrassment ran through Keenan’s arms when he looked down at his clothes; they were wrinkled and dirty from the previous night’s adventure. In a sudden panic, he realized he didn’t know where his wallet was, but then remembered. He opened the clear envelope still clutched in his arms and saw it snug inside, along with his keys and cell phone. With nimble dexterity, he pulled them out and tucked them into his pockets. The rubbing bulges felt good, familiar, the first normalcy of the day. When he tossed the empty evidence envelope on the reception counter, the hostess gave him a patient nod. Obviously, she had seen it all.
    She escorted them to the front of the building next to an immense plate-glass window facing Powell and handed them menus. The menus were a single laminated sheet with food items on only one side; all they served were eggs, sausage, bacon, hash browns, toast, steaks, hamburgers, french-fries, and the best hotcakes in the country.
    When the woman left, Isabella leaned across the table and touched Keenan’s hand. The heat of her fingers went straight to his core. All his muscles, except one, relaxed at her touch. That one was doing aerobics.
    “Are you all right?”
    He placed his hand on top of hers and a flicker of satisfaction spread like wildfire through him. Despite everything that had happened the last twenty-four hours, none of that mattered when he was with her. He surrendered without a fight.
    “Fine,” he said, examining the soft features on the back of her hand. “Just tired.” He searched her eyes and had to smile. “Sorry I’ve been such a pain in the ass.”
    “Apology accepted. Don’t worry, Kee…my lips are sealed.”
    I’d love to seal your lips.
    Keenan shook the thought out of his head and sipped his coffee.
    “You’re good,” he said. “If it were me, I doubt I’d take the risk on a relative stranger. I really appreciate it.”
    “Oh, I think if I were busted for exposing myself you’d be the first in line.” Isabella’s eyes softened and Keenan’s mouth fell.
    “Naughty girl.”
    The enigmatic smile that dusted her lips made her look like a goddess in the early morning light. “Oh, much worse than that. You’d be surprised.”
    “I guess so.” Was there a hidden hot cauldron of desire buried under that professional façade? Keenan only hoped. “Why’d you do it?”
    Isabella took in a deep breath of coffee fumes and tilted the cup. Watching the clouds of cream swirl through the dark liquid, she wrapped both hands around the cup. “Not sure,” she said, and Keenan thought he saw a moment of regret pass through her face. “I’ll lose my job if they find out. Not exactly professional to bail out an employee, even if I ended up not having to. I’m supposed to report it.”
    “They’ll have to torture the truth out of me,” he said gallantly. The sound of Isabella’s laugh was like a drug.
    “You’d probably like that.”
    Another