17. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

"Iwasn't sure you wanted to sleep in here after everything that happened today," Clint rumbled as Brooke climbed into his bed, the heat of his gaze making gooseflesh break out across her arms. She ordered a pair of shorts and tank top pajamas that were butter-soft, and she nearly burst into tears of joy when she put them on after her shower. It was the simple things that she'd missed. Even though she didn't mind wearing Clint's clothes—in fact, she rather liked it—just wearing something that was hers, even if it was brand new, carried a weight of normalcy that she wasn't entirely prepared for.

Smiling at him, she pumped some lotion—that she'd ordered—into her hands and worked it up her arms. "After what happened today, I don't want to be alone." She finished massaging the cardamon and olive oil lotion into her elbows, then snuggled under the covers and turned to him. "My life is in complete shambles right now." Then she snorted before she could stop herself, burying her face in his naked chest. "And besides a handful of people, nobody even knows that I still have an actual life to be shambled." She lifted her head and wrinkled her nose. "Is shambled even a word?"

"If it's not, I'll email Webster's Dictionary tomorrow and request it. It should be."

That made her smile.

Especially because she truly believed that he would email the dictionary people and request something like that for her.

He glanced over at his closed bedroom door. Talia had gone to bed hours ago, and Rocco, claiming jet lag exhaustion, retired to bed in the study a little over an hour ago. "It's just us in here. The door is closed. The rest of the house is asleep. You don't need to be strong anymore. Let me be the strong one. You crumble if you have to. I'll pick up the pieces."

Emotion formed a thick, hard lump in her throat, and the back of her eyes burned.

She cupped his stubbly jaw. "This feels really real." Rubbing her thumb over the bristles, she allowed a tear to fall down her cheek.

"I know," he said, his words coming out choked.

"The more time I spend here—with you and Talia—the less eager I am to return to my old life. A life that will never be what it once was now that the world is learning about my past. Who my father is and what happened to my mother." A stuttered breath fled her thinly parted lips. "I know my PR team is still probably doing their best to put a lid on things. But they're not wizards. They can't shut down the internet and stop everything. Information will get out. If not now, soon."

There really was no reason to be upset with Rocco for telling Clint what happened all those years ago. Not when the media was all over it. Reporters and nosy Nellies had already started digging through all the old court files, splashing everything about Brooke—including her elementary school pictures—all over the internet. You couldn't open social media without being inundated with tabloid articles about her wretched old life. Just because her team sent out cease and desist letters and had articles removed, didn't mean much. Once the information was published, it took on a life of its own. Her PR team was no match for shares and reposts.

"Silver lining," Clint started, "they're not exactly painting your dad as a hero. Looks like chatting with the media shot him in the foot in the end."

She exhaled and nodded, though it didn't really feel like a silver lining, just a reminder that her father was in prison for killing her mother and the media was going to milk that cow until it ran dry. "Yeah. Silver lining."

"Listen," he said, spinning them so they were in the spoon position. He cradled her against him, wrapping a protective arm around her and tucking her butt right against his pelvis. He wasn't hard, and even though she wanted this man possibly more than she'd ever wanted any man—particularly one she'd only just met—she was also mentally exhausted and her brain craved sleep. "You are welcome to stay here for as long as you need. Even when the world knows all about you again."

The idea of her resurrection felt surreal and almost daunting at the moment. As soon as it was revealed she was alive, television stations and social media channels would be inundating her with requests for interviews. They'd all ask the same stupid arsenal of questions until her brain overheated and she actually died in front of Braxlyn from Celebrity Buzz.

"I'm not ready for the world to know I'm alive," she whispered. "Now that my past is being unearthed—after I worked so hard to bury it—I can't even bring myself to think about what my life is going to be like now. The family that is going to come out of the garbage pile, looking for some kind of book deal ..." Her gut spun. "We can try to sue them and stop them getting a book deal, but that won't stop the information from getting out there. I'll forever have the shadow of that part of my life hanging over my head now. My father killed my mother, and I was the one who put him away for it."

"If the world doesn't see you as brave and amazing, then fuck the world and burn it to the ground. I'll get my fucking blow torch."

No man had ever offered to burn the world to the ground for her before. No man had ever tried to protect her before, either. Well, except for Rocco.

"Can I ask you something?" he said softly, his thumb tracing mesmerizing circles across her hip bone.

"Hmm?"

"You said the other day that I wasn't the first man to lose interest in you and I wouldn't be the last. What did you mean by that?"

Her back expanded against his chest as she took in a big inhale. "I've been dumped a lot. Every boyfriend I've ever had has either dumped me or cheated on me. They just … lost interest. Grew bored of me and so when you …"

"Bolted like a fucking coward," he croaked out.

"It hurt but it was also nothing new."

"It opened up old wounds, though …"

"I guess."

He encouraged her to roll over and face him. He swallowed hard and remorse filled his blue eyes. "I am so, so sorry, Brooke. For behaving the way I did. For opening up old wounds and triggers. And for all those other morons. I could never lose interest in you. You're one of the most fascinating people I've ever met. So fucking strong and brave and brilliant."

She closed her eyes for a long pause, allowing his words to sink in. But there were still a lot of resistant parts of her that refused to believe him.

"I don't think they grew bored of you, though. I think you were too bright of a star for them."

Her eyes opened, and she lifted a brow slightly.

"I'm serious. It might sound corny, and their actions were subconscious, but I bet they were jealous of you. Envious of your potential and strength."

Exhaling, she pressed her lips together in a thin line. "Well, I don't know about that, but thank you."

"Only the weak of character could grow bored of you."

"And that's not you?"

"I might run from confrontation, but I'm working on that. You're not someone I could ever lose interest in, though. And I mean that."

She cupped his jaw again and smiled as hot tears pricked the back of her eyes. "I'm falling hard for you, Clint McEvoy. You've made it impossible for me not to."

He smiled and leaned into her touch, inching a little closer and running a hand affectionately down her side. When he cupped her butt, there was no sexual suggestion in his touch, just affection. She welcomed it.

"You're making it damn near impossible not to fall for you, Brooke Barker. After the way you helped Talia today ..." Desire burned in his gaze. They had the bedside table lamp on, and she could only make out the white flecks in his irises. His pupils were dilating, black invading the blue. "I couldn't have helped her like that. Yes, my mother passed away, but I was an adult when it happened. She was here for all my major milestones. Your mom and Jacqueline weren't. Thank you for helping her. For reminiscing with her by looking through photos. I'm sure that couldn't have been easy."

Brooke tilted her head to the side. It wasn't effortless since she was lying with her head on a pillow. "Why do you think it was difficult?"

His shoulder lifted. "Because they were pictures of my wife."

"Who was beautiful and, from what I could tell, an amazing mother. I'm not jealous. If anything, I'm intrigued. Those albums gave me a greater glimpse into your life."

"She was an incredible mother. She loved Talia with every ounce of her being."

"As a mother should."

His fingers drew lazy circles on the top of her thigh. "Do you want kids one day?"

Heat and need ignited inside of her. They'd been operating under the assumption that this was temporary. And now he was asking her if she wanted kids? You didn't ask a temporary lover questions like that, did you?

You also don't tell a temporary lover that you're falling for them ...

Touché.

She nodded. "One day. I don't really care how it happens, though. You know? Like I don't need the kids to be mine. Adoption or foster or ..." She let him fill in the blanks. She also needed to change the subject. "How did your visit go with your dad?"

His face brightened. That one dimple came out to play, and her lower belly warmed and fluttered. "It was one of the best visits I've had with him in a long time. He thought I was his brother, and I played along. But our conversations were real. You know?"

"That's so great. Thank you again for picking up Rocco and letting him stay here."

"Have you seen our crazy clan? What's one more?"

That made her smile. She loved his crazy clan. She'd only really gotten to know Jagger and the children, but the other three brothers had popped up to the house to introduce themselves. They all seemed great. Hands-on dads who were doing the best they could given the circumstances.

"You're still sure about Rocco telling Sergeant Fox that you're alive?"

"If you think we can trust him, then yes. Having a cop as an ally might draw out my attacker."

"I think we can trust him," Clint said. "He's former military, too. Was a marine."

"Oorah," she said with a giggle at the end.

He rolled on top of her, caging her beneath him. "Oorah," he repeated, brushing her hair off her face. "We don't have to do anything tonight. I just want to make sure you're okay."

Looping her arms around his neck, she spread her legs so he could settle between them. "I was tired and needing sleep."

"Was?" He hiked a brow.

"Yeah, was."

"Now?"

"Now, I want you to make me forget about everything but who you are and how lucky I am to have washed up on your beach." Then she pulled him down to her and took his mouth, savoring the minty flavor of his toothpaste and the way being with him, covered by him and adored by him, gave her a sense of unparalleled peace.

Clint did just like she asked. He made her forget the entire world and just focus on him, focus on them, and how everything made sense when they were together. When he was inside of her.

Before she fell asleep in his arms, with his lips against her shoulder, she had to keep herself from saying the words that practically bellowed in her heart out loud.

So she said it in her head. "I love you, Clint McEvoy." Then drifted off to sleep with a smile on her face, surrounded by Clint's protective embrace, because there, she knew she was safe.

The next day, after Talia went to school and Clint went down to the brewery, Rocco and Brooke sat on Clint's couch and called Sergeant Fox.

"Isaac Fox," the sergeant answered, all business, but not unkindly.

"Sergeant Fox, it's Rocco Barber we met yesterday when I came to the police station to discuss the disappearance of my sister."

"I remember," he said. "I saw the news and the interview with your father. That's not going to help things. We're being inundated with reporters even more than before. Not to mention idiot civilians calling in with false leads to Brooke's whereabouts."

Rocco grunted. "Yeah, dear old Dad is certainly a piece of work. However, I have some news."

"Hang on," the sergeant said. "Let me get somewhere I won't be overheard."

Rocco glanced at Brooke and gave her a lopsided smile of reassurance.

A door closed on the other end of the phone. "Okay, what is the news?"

"Can you video chat by chance?" Rocco asked.

"I can ..." Suspicion clung to the sergeant's words. "Hang on."

Rocco requested a video chat from his phone, and a moment later, a handsome man with dark red hair and a strong jaw appeared on the screen. His eyes nearly popped clean out of his head when he saw who sat next to Rocco.

Brooke gave the same lopsided smile and waved like an idiot at the cop. "Hi."

"Okay, what's going on?" the sergeant asked, more than just a dash of wariness in his tone. His right eyebrow looked like it was trying to escape formation and join the rest of his hair.

"Well, for one, I'm not dead," Brooke started. "I was able to swim to shore where someone found me and helped me. I have received medical attention and am okay."

Sergeant Fox shoved his fingers into his hair and shook his head, exhaling in frustration. "I ... I don't understand."

"I'm not revealing myself until we find who tried to kill me. Someone pushed me off that yacht. They thought my dress and how far we were from land would drown me, but I removed my dress and swam for my life."

"Where are you now?"

Rocco and Brooke exchanged looks.

"Maybe it's best you don't know that," Rocco said slowly. "At least for now. The less you know the better."

Sergeant Fox blew out another breath of exasperation. "Okay ... so ..."

"My father's interview opened up a huge can of worms about my past. A can of worms I pay a lot of people a lot of money to keep buried."

"You think your dad had something to do with your attempted murder?"

Brooke and Rocco both shrugged. "Maybe," she said. "But I feel like the longer I stay hidden, the more the person who tried to kill me will think they got away with it. Maybe get complacent. So perhaps we do have you rule it as a suicide so the world can go back to normal. Forget about me and then my wanna-be killer will—"

"Think they're in the clear and slip up and make it easier to catch them," Rocco finished.

"Exactly," Brooke added.

"I'm going to reach out to that Tinsley McTavish, the one who interviewed my dad, and set the record straight," Rocco said. "I mean, the world doesn't exactly love Fletcher Barber anyway, but I'd like to throw my own egg at his face."

"You don't worry that by making yourself known, you're putting a target on your own back?" the sergeant asked Rocco.

"Let them try," Rocco said. Brooke rolled her eyes.

Sergeant Fox didn't like that response very much. "So, you want me to do exactly what you asked me not to do, which is rule the attempted murder on your sister as a successful suicide?" The poor man looked like he was one piece of information short of having his brain explode.

"Yes," Brooke said sheepishly, "please. Just do your police wizardry."

He snorted and rolled his eyes before heaving a weary sigh. "Okay, I'll release a statement to the press later today. I'll say we found a body or … something. Mention that Rocco is coming to identify it. I'll make it believable. Not sure I'll make an official ruling that it was suicide since we'll need a coroner's report and other shit, but I'll figure it out." He raked his fingers through his hair. "Definitely never done anything like this before." He focused on Rocco. "Did you know she was alive when you came to the station yesterday?"

Rocco hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "Yes. I just needed to be convincing and also see if we could trust you."

The cop's nostrils flared. "And do you?"

"We wouldn't be calling you with Brooke in this video if we didn't."

The magnitude of their words hit Sergeant Fox hard, and his gaze softened. "I'm glad you're okay and safe, Brooke."

She smiled. "Thanks. Me, too."

He looked at Rocco. "You're thinking that by insulting your dad on social media or YouTube or whatever that'll flush out whoever is working for him and put a target on your back?"

"That's the idea," Rocco said. "Dad never did like having his character dragged through the mud. I mean, the media is doing it for him, but when his own son jumps on screen, that should really push him over the edge."

"Depends on how much access to social media he gets in prison," Sergeant Fox said.

"He'll see it eventually," Rocco replied. "The man is resourceful when he wants to be."

"I'm not going to say I like this idea, but," the cop exhaled and shook his head, "at the moment, I can't think of anything better. And as long as nobody knows where either of you are, you should be reasonably safe."

"We just want my would-be killer to think they're no longer a suspect because you found my body. And if it's deemed a suicide, then the person who pushed me will think they're in the clear and come out of hiding, or slip up. Revisit the scene of the crime. I don't know. But right now, you have no leads, so by announcing a body and my cause of death, maybe you'll get some leads."

"Then Seattle's finest can do what they do best and arrest the person who pushed my sister off a yacht," Rocco said with anger. "Before I get my hands on them myself."

"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that last bit," Sergeant Fox said, shaking his head again, clearly frustrated by the entire situation Brooke and her brother had forced him into.

"I'm sorry you're caught in this," Brooke said. "But we need somebody we can trust."

"You can trust me," the sergeant said, all earlier aggravation leaving his tone and eyes. "I promise."

They thanked the sergeant once more, then hung up, the teasing irony of learning to trust a police officer through lies and misconduct hitting them in the face.

Rocco stood up from the couch. "Now it's time to reach out to Ms. Tinsley McTavish."

Brooke could only bring herself to smile grimly as her brother took off to the study. She wasn't sure if he intended to slide into Ms. McTavish's DMs or video cold-call the woman, but either way, Brooke didn't want to be around for it.

A chill crept into her bones, and she stood up and went to the kitchen to turn on the electric kettle. The fact that she could walk without limping weirdly, or butt shuffling around the house was not lost on her. Her feet had healed enough that she could walk with little to no pain, and she was even wearing socks—that she ordered—and slippers. Not to mention a bra, underwear, a tight black T-shirt and cropped lilac yoga pants. She felt more like herself than she had since she washed up on shore four days ago.

Her conversation with Talia yesterday played on a loop in her head since waking up this morning. Her heart went out to the little girl. To all the McEvoy children, really.

Mother's Day had to be a tough time for them. Not to mention Christmas and their birthdays and all other major celebratory occasions. But Mother's Day in particular, since a lot of schools planned crafts or gifts for the children to make. She knew the gesture behind the activity was kind, but given all the different kinds of families there were out there now, it seemed a bit exclusive to her.

She wanted to do something to help Talia and her cousins, but at the same time not overstep.

Her first Mother's Day without her mom had been a brutal one. She and Rocco were living with their paternal aunt and uncle, and the lack of compassion Brooke and her brother experienced was debilitating. Her cousins, of course, showered their mother with gifts, calling her the best mom in the entire world. That they were so happy she was still alive and they weren't sure what they would do if she ever died.

Brooke and Rocco's aunt ate it all up with glee, not telling her children to tone it down in the least. Meanwhile, Brooke and Rocco were forced to sit there with fake smiles on their faces and hear their cousins gloat about having a mother who was alive. Then, whether this was a slight or a blessing, Brooke could never quite decide, her cousins, aunt and uncle all went out for a Mother's Day brunch, leaving Brooke and Rocco at home with a can of Beefaroni to split between them.

The kettle beeped that it was ready, and she poured the steaming water into the mug over an apple cinnamon flavored tea bag. The floral and fruity aroma wafted up her nostrils, instantly soothing her aching heart. This was her mother's favorite tea blend. She always drank it in the evenings. Brooke added it to her online order at the last minute, and she was glad she did.

She lifted the mug up and held it under her nose, closing her eyes and remembering her mother sitting in her favorite chair, cradling her favorite mug with her favorite tea while watching The Young and the Restless (her favorite guilty pleasure).

Brooke's eyes flew open.

An epiphany.

Maybe she could talk to the kids and find out what some of their mothers' favorite things were. Then, on Sunday, they could have a Mother's Day celebration. Put framed pictures around, serve their favorite food and drinks, play their favorite music and the dads and kids could all talk about their mothers and how wonderful they were.

Brooke would have loved it if someone did that for her.

A smile curled her mouth as the plan took shape. She took a sip. It was a little too hot, but she didn't mind.

Hopefully, Clint wouldn't think she was overstepping.

It needed to be a secret between her and the kids—and maybe Jagger, too, since he would need to help with favorite foods and gathering photos.

Yes, this was exactly what she needed. A distraction from what was currently going on in the world. In her world.

Because even though having Rocco with her kept her off social media, she knew better than to think the world was already on to a new gossip topic. Not that she thought she was worth the attention. But, since her father's interview, the wolves were probably hunting in packs for fresh meat. And the juicier the better.

She took her tea back into the living room and sat down on the couch, staring at the tablet on the coffee table.

"Don't even think about it," came Rocco's voice, making her jump. He sauntered down the hallway in that unique Rocco way. His broad shoulders moved gracefully. Then he did a little head toss and flipped that swath of hair that had fallen over his eyes back on top of his head. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes at his model-like strut. "Don't you dare get on social media. You made me promise to stop you, and I'm sticking to that promise."

She sipped her tea. "How'd it go with Tinsley McTavish?"

A smirk pulled at the left corner of his mouth as he took a seat on the opposite end of the couch. "She's just about to have her lashes refilled, but she'd love to talk to me in about two hours."

Brooke rolled her eyes. "Okay, so now what?"

He shrugged. "No idea. But stay the fuck away from that tablet."

She pouted, but knew he was right. "Got any sloths you're nurturing back to health?"

His eyes lit up, and he pulled his phone out of the back pocket of his khaki shorts. "As a matter of fact ..." Then they spent the next hour catching up and flipping through photos of rehabilitated animals on his phone. She'd topped up her tea twice and made Rocco some coffee. It felt good to be with her brother. To be with family.

It really was just the two of them against the world.

But there was nobody she'd rather fight the dragons with than him.

His phone vibrated with a message when they were standing in the kitchen, staring up at the grassy hillside behind the house. "Ah, that must be Ms. McTavish." He bobbed his dark blond brows and wandered off to the study.

Brooke needed to remain quiet.

It was a beautiful spring day, so she opened the patio door and stepped outside, pulling the warm, fresh air into her lungs. It was cleansing and bolstering.

She didn't even hear the front door open, so when Jagger said, "Brought your lunch," she nearly jumped out of her skin.

"You scared me," she said, her heart hammering against her ribcage.

Clint's youngest brother grinned beneath his thick beard. "Sorry." He set the recyclable container on the patio table. "Left Rocco's on the kitchen counter. I heard him on the phone."

She leaned forward in her fire engine-red Adirondack chair to open the container. Mediterranean spices drifted up her nostrils, and her belly grumbled. "He's talking with Tinsley McTavish, the same reporter—if you can even call her that—that interviewed my father. Rocco's going to set the record straight."

"Good idea."

Brooke grabbed the compostable fork Jagger brought and dove in.

"That's Wyatt's Mediterranean couscous bowl with beet hummus and falafel."

"It's delicious," she said with her mouth full.

He turned to go, but when she gave a chin lift and a look that said stay, he stopped in the doorway.

Jagger's smiles often seemed borderline flirtatious, but always mischievous. This one was no different. He waited for her to chew and swallow the too big of a bite she took.

"There," she said, exhaling. "That was good, but I need to take smaller bites."

The mischief spread into his eyes.

Then she filled him in on her Mother's Day idea and how she would need his help. She planned to mention it to the children when they arrived home from school. Jagger thought it was a great idea and seemed to think they'd all be on board with it.

"I'll figure out their favorite foods, then talk to Burke, Wyatt's head chef, about helping out."

"Great." She beamed. "I don't want to overstep, but I know if someone had done something like this for me, I would have appreciated it."

"One hundred percent. I think it's a great idea."

Footsteps in the kitchen pulled their attention, and Rocco joined them on the patio a moment later, the same style container as Brooke's in his hand. He lifted it in Jagger's direction. "Lunch?"

Jagger nodded.

"Thanks, man."

Rocco sat down in the matching Adirondack chair beside Brooke's and opened his container. "Well, I guess Sergeant Fox had a lull fighting crime, you know, catching masked bandits stealing old ladies' purses or something and was able to make a statement to the press sooner than he anticipated."

Jagger's eyes widened. "Wait, you told the cops?"

"A cop. And yes. We think if they publicly say it was a suicide and mention that they found a body and Rocco is going to identify it, then whoever pushed me overboard will think they're in the clear, and it will be easier to find them. They'll go about their life again without a care in the world." Brooke shoveled another scoop of couscous into her mouth, making sure she speared a Kalamata olive and a chunk of feta on the fork prong. She loved feta.

Rocco popped a piece of falafel into his mouth. "According to the good sergeant, I'm on my way now to identify the body."

"Whose body did they find? ‘Cause it wasn't yours," Jagger asked.

"Tinsley asked me how I felt knowing they found a body and if I planned on taking anyone with me for support."."

"And?" Brooke probed.

"Well, obviously, it won't be your body. And there won't actually be a coroner call. Sergeant Fox is just staging it all. So who the fuck knows? I told her I wanted to go alone since it was just us against the world anyway."

She smiled at her brother, but her head hurt from just how much scheming they were doing.

"A body—your body—means the will proceedings can take place sooner. So prepare for long lost relatives to come out of the woodwork. At least without a body nothing could be done for seven years," Jagger added.

The lightbulb came on, and it glowed bright. It seemed the bulb in Rocco's brain flicked on, too.

"By having a body and will proceedings, we'll be able to flush out the family who may have done it. That actually makes sense," Brooke said. "I mean, obviously, you are my soul beneficiary."

"And you're mine."

"What happens if Brooke dies, then you die?" Jagger asked. "Or you die at the same time?"

All the color drained from Rocco's face, and she was sure it drained from hers as well.

"I think it would go to dad," she whispered. "I'm not sure I have a second person listed. Maybe Inez? But I'm not sure."

Rocco nodded. "I know for a fact that I don't. So since Dad's our closest living relative, if you die, then I die, he gets everything. Even if he is in prison."

She closed the lid on her to-go container and set it back on the table. Her appetite disappeared. "I need to change my will."

"Well, you're technically dead, so maybe wait until you're alive again?" Jagger said with mirth.

"But what if I actually die and then whoever tried to kill me goes after Rocco? He's already gone and painted a target on his back by trash-talking dad to the press." Panic coiled like a serpent around her insides, squeezing until she felt nauseous. "It had to be dad. Or Aunt Gina and Uncle Rick. Maybe he put them up to it. He gets the money, then splits it with them?"

Rocco nodded. "Maybe ... But why now?"

She shrugged. It didn't matter why now. The fact of the matter was, it was happening now. Even from prison, their father had orchestrated an attempted murder on her. Now Rocco was his next target, since he was Brooke's only beneficiary.

Her skull pounded. She pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes.

"Rocco, call your lawyer and change your will now."

Her brother looked at her like she'd sprouted another head. "I don't think it works like that."

"Well, do something. If Fletcher succeeds, he stands to inherit millions."

Rocco spread his hands out, palms up, and shook his head. "Brooke, I—"

"Just do something," she exclaimed.

"Hey, hey, what's going on?" Clint's voice made her heart lurch in her chest. He came through the door and onto the patio, concern etched across his handsome features.

She surged to her feet and went to him. "It was my dad. Had to have been. And now he's coming after Rocco."

Clint rubbed her back. "What? How do you know?"

Tears spilled down her cheeks and onto his flannel shirt. "I'm Rocco's only beneficiary, and he's mine. If we're both dead and have no second in line, it defaults to our father. It all makes sense."

His hands on her back felt good. Reassuring. He also smelled wonderful, and the heat of his body soothed her chaotic soul. She exhaled a few stuttered breaths but could already feel her pulse settling. "I take it you heard the news about the police declaring it a suicide and that they found a body? That's why I came up. To see if you were okay after the news broke."

Brooke turned her face, pressing her cheek against Clint's chest, and looked at her brother. "Please, just call your lawyer. Make the animal sanctuary the beneficiary. Give it all away to charity. Just don't let that bastard get his hands on our money."

Rocco sucked in a deep breath through his nose and nodded, pulling out his phone and standing up, heading into the house.

"It's going to be okay," Clint said, rubbing her back. "We'll figure it all out. Hopefully now that the police investigation is closed, the person who tried to kill you will do something stupid, thinking they're no longer a suspect, and make it easy to catch them. People who think they've gotten away with something usually get cocky. Some even revisit the scene of the crime or attend vigils just to gloat about their success."

She blinked up at him with teary eyes. The love and concern that gazed back at her left her speechless.

Clint turned to Jagger, who stood off to the side, an unsure look on his face. "I'm going to stay up here for a bit. Can you help Cooper with the final batch we were working on this morning? He knows what he's doing. Then those watermelon sours need labels and tell him to start boiling the priming sugar for the kelp coast hefeweizen. I want to start bottling that later today."

Jagger nodded. "Sure thing." He disappeared into the house.

Clint paused, his lips pensive, then pulled out his phone. "Hang on." He didn't let go of Brooke, but he shot off a text with one hand to Cooper, reiterating everything he'd just told Jagger. He glanced down at Brooke when he shoved his phone back into his pocket. "It's not that I don't trust Jagger, it's just ... I'm a control freak. He's also like a golden retriever and gets easily distracted. A squirrel or a pretty girl could run past him, and he'd chase after them with his tongue hanging out, forgetting all about my beer."

Her smile remained small, but she appreciated his attempt to lighten the mood.

She also appreciated that he came to check on her. She knew he was a control freak and liked to do everything in the brewery. He trusted Cooper, but Clint still wanted to make sure every bottle got his thorough once-over before it went to market. The fact that he was leaving Cooper and Jagger to the brewery and staying with her spoke volumes. She always took note that he wasn't a control freak when they were together, but could take control at the right time. The man was more self-aware than most and seemed to have a decent handle on his emotions—unlike a lot of men she knew.

Clint sat down on the wicker patio sofa with the dark blue cushions and pulled her into his lap. "Your dad won't get your money because neither you nor Rocco are going to die. You're safe. Nobody knows you're here, and as long as Rocco stays hidden, too, nobody will ever know. We'll wait for the dust to settle and see if the killer comes out of hiding." He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, then tipped her chin up with a knuckle. "Okay?"

She nodded and bit her lip to keep it from wobbling. "Okay."

"Good girl."

Heat roared to life in her lower belly, despite how unsettled she still felt.

He always knew just what to say to rev her engine.

Glancing at the to-go container on the table, he picked it up and handed it to her. "You should eat."

She took it from him and opened it, his warm hands practically burning through her yoga pants as he placidly watched her eat. The couscous was delicious, and she did feel better the more she put in her stomach.

"You're going a little stir-crazy cooped up in here, aren't you?" he asked, tracing invisible lines on her thigh.

Swallowing, she nodded sheepishly. "Maybe a little."

"We'll wait until it's dark, which will be late, given that it's May, but I think it'll be safe enough for you to come out of hiding tonight. Maybe we can take a walk down the beach."

"Go where I washed up like a beached whale?"

"I prefer mermaid, but yeah."

That made her smile.

"It's going to be okay, Brooke. I promise." Then he took the fork from her and speared a piece of feta with it, holding it up until she opened her mouth. It should have felt weird to have him feed her, but it didn't. It was nice. He was taking care of her, and even if that care was temporary, she was going to soak it up for as long as she could.