21. CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

He didn't expect sex.

Not after the events of that night and Brooke's rattled state.

But the way she clung to him ... the way she climbed on top of him, sank her teeth into his shoulder and begged for him to help her forget ...

He gave her what she wanted—what she needed—and then some. Until she fell asleep in his arms. Safe.

He had a terrible feeling the entire time at Bonn Remmen's celebration of life, and that feeling was confirmed. When he left Brooke, things went to shit.

He didn't blame Rocco, but had Clint been there, Brooke never would have been spotted. She'd still be dead in the eyes of the world. She'd still be safe from whoever tried to kill her.

He still hadn't gotten any closer to figuring out who was after her, but all signs pointed to someone on her father's side of the family. It made the most amount of sense, anyway.

Holding Brooke in his arms was great, and he wanted her to sleep, but his brain remained wide awake and disastrous after disastrous thought cannoned around in his head like a bouncy ball in an empty warehouse.

Slowly, he extricated himself from around her, careful not to wake her. She rolled over onto her side and curled up into a ball, hugging her pillow.

He pressed a soft kiss to her bare shoulder, taking a moment to appreciate the perfect curve of her waist, running from her ribcage and over her hip. He'd kissed every inch of it earlier, but was no less taken with it now than he had been then.

Sucking in a deep breath, he sat against the headboard and brought up his phone.

He needed to dive deeper.

Who would be the first on his doorstep tomorrow?

They'd already increased security around the place, and the local authorities were on alert for any suspicious arrivals at the terminal.

His finger hovered over the "Compose" button in his email.

He could send out an island-wide email or text to all his contacts on the island, letting them know the situation. He knew that despite some of the benign rivalries forming over the acquisition of Bonn Remmen's land, everyone would band together if needed. If he asked for help in protecting Brooke, nobody would hesitate.

He was about to compose the email when a message with a link popped up in his texts. It was from Jagger. He clicked the link and had to scramble to turn down his volume when a video started to play.

It was of Brooke's assistant Inez. She was giving an interview.

"I'm going to miss Brooke every day for the rest of my life. She was like a sister to me." Then she laughed. "It's actually kind of funny. We went to high school together. Brooke was always more popular than me. But she was a nice popular girl. Our dads were cops together, too."

"How are you—a friend and employee—planning to honor Brooke's memory?"

Inez swallowed, and her bottom lip wobbled as tears fell down her cheeks. "I'm not sure yet, but it will be something I know Brooke would be happy with. Maybe I could write a movie about her life? Make her the heroine. Because she's certainly my hero." Inez forced a smile and batted thick, spiked lashes. Then the video ended.

Clint texted Jagger. This was obviously shot and aired before the world found out about Brooke being alive. He messaged his brothers to let them know the latest news and what happened with their cabin guests.

Yeah.Jagger texted back. Seems a little soon to be talking movies, though. I mean, they JUST "found" the body, right? It's been a week since she fell off the boat.

When he'd reached out to Sergeant Fox earlier that night, the cop had been less than thrilled with the news. He said it made the police force look incompetent. Clint suggested they spin it, that the cops knew of her being alive all along and that they were just playing along with the narrative. Sergeant Fox didn't confirm or deny that this was the way they were going to go.

When Brooke contacted her PR team, they responded immediately and planned to take care of "everything." Apparently, it would be "a piece of cake" to discredit two "blurry" photos of a blonde. The cabin guests would be painted as just two more desperate people trying to get their fifteen minutes of fame by capitalizing on a tragedy.

He scrolled through his phone reading articles and comments about Brooke's death, Brooke's "resurrection" and even some people said that they knew all along this was a farce. Eventually, his eyes grew heavy, but his brain just wouldn't shut off.

Because not only did this mean the world knew about her again, but so did her would-be killer.

It also meant that she might leave him.

Either move somewhere safer—but really, there wasn't anywhere safer than with him—or back to California to start her life again. They'd discussed long-distance, but he didn't see any realism there. She was an in-demand Hollywood starlet. He was a humble single dad brewmaster who hated crowds and lived on a hippy island. Nothing about them made sense. Not on paper, anyway.

He wasn't sure when he fell asleep, but when he woke up, it was to the pounding of someone on the door downstairs.

Early morning sun peeked around the corners of the blackout blinds, letting him know it was time to get up.

A quick glance at the other side of the bed revealed Brooke to still be asleep.

He needed to keep her there. Keep her safe and hopefully dreaming something wonderful—like his face between her thighs.

Throwing on a pair of gray sweats, he bounded down the stairs, meeting a sleepy-eyed Rocco. He wore nothing but a pair of board shorts, and his blond hair stuck up like he'd just rubbed a balloon all over it.

"What the fuck?" Rocco growled.

"This better not be what I think it is," Clint said, mimicking Rocco's bearish noises. It was only seven in the morning. And on a fucking Sunday to boot. Nobody needed to be up. And definitely not Brooke or Talia. Even if it was just Jagger or one of his nieces or nephews, Clint would be delivering some stern words.

Peering through the peephole, he saw neither brother nor a niece or nephew.

He did, however, see a familiar blonde woman with muddy brown eyes.

Pausing for a moment, he wracked his brain where he'd seen this woman before. And recently.

It hit him like a bolt of lightning.

Inez.

Brooke's assistant. It was the same woman from the video Jagger sent him last night.

He unbolted the door and opened it a crack.

She smiled widely at him. Besides the shape of her face, which was rounder, she looked an awful lot like Brooke.

"Can I help you?" he asked.

"Hi," she greeted with too much pep for the time of day. "I'm Inez. Brooke's assistant."

"Uhhhh ... hi." He blinked a few times. "It's ... it's a little early, don't you think?"

"Oh, I know, but as soon as I got the news, I booked a jet, then paid a fisherman to bring me here when he left the docks for the morning catch. Then I borrowed a truck from some guy named Willy at the docks. He said he was heading out crabbing so he wouldn't need his vehicle until later." She pointed to Willy Reilly's beat up old maroon Chevy with the gray passenger side door panel. Inez made a move to peer into the house, but Clint kept the door firmly three inches open. "Brooke's here, right? She's alive? Can I come in?"

Rocco opened the door a little more.

Inez's eyes went wide, then hooded almost immediately as she raked his bare torso from the drawstring of his shorts to his Adam's apple. "Rocco," she breathed.

"Inez," he said flatly.

Something flickered between them, but it wasn't necessarily lust or sexual tension. Clint knew what that felt like, and he wasn't getting those vibes from these two.

"It's seven o'clock in the morning, Inez." Rocco threaded his fingers through his hair, trying to tame the mess.

"And Brooke is my best friend—my sister. I'm guessing as soon as you found out she was alive, you raced here?"

"Because she actually is my fucking sister," he replied.

"Inez?" came a soft, slightly hoarse voice from the midway landing of the stairs.

Inez's face filled with relief, and tears sprang to her eyes. "Brooke. Oh, thank God." Not waiting to be invited in, she pushed between Clint and Rocco and launched herself into Brooke's arms as Brooke reached the bottom of the stairs. "I knew you weren't dead. Not in my heart, anyway. I just felt it. Like two kindred souls, you know?"

Brooke hugged her assistant. "I'm sorry I didn't reach out to you. I couldn't."

"It's okay. It's okay. I've been an absolute mess. But that doesn't matter now. You're alive!"

Brooke chuckled, but even Clint, who'd only known her a week, could tell it was forced.

"I'm here to bring you home," Inez said, finally releasing Brooke. "I've arranged for everything. I have a car coming over on the first ferry to take us to the airport. The charter plane I booked will take us home whenever we get to SeaTac. We can leave now. Rocco can follow when he's ready." She glanced at Brooke's brother. "Or not. Whatever."

Rocco looked incredibly put out and was about to say something, then decided against it.

"I ..." Brooke started, seeking help from Clint with a quick look at him.

"The killer is still out there," Clint said, stepping in. "She's safest here until they've been brought to justice."

Inez's light brown brows spiked up her forehead, and her muddy eyes went wide. "You can't be serious?" She faced Brooke again. "Brooke?"

Brooke nibbled on her bottom lip.

"I've spoken with Seattle PD, and they agree that the best course of action is to tread carefully and keep Brooke out of the public eye for as long as possible. Give the killer less of an opportunity to get to her again. I'm here, my brothers are here. We've upped security. She's safe." Clint informed her.

Inez released Brooke and plunked a hand on her hip. "She's safe with me, too. We have bodyguards and surveillance all set up at her home. I would never let anything happen to her."

"You let her get pushed off a boat," Rocco murmured, which earned him a dark glare from Brooke's assistant.

"I wasn't even on the boat," Inez argued, shooting Rocco an intense, fevered glower.

Brooke left Inez's side and joined Clint. "I'm going to stay here. I've been safe here so far."

"Because the world thought you were dead," Inez said, throwing her hands in the air. "Now, the world is questioning again if you're not. So whoever tried to kill you might come here and double check their dirty work."

"We won't let that happen," Clint said matter-of-factly. "We have incredible security here, and the entire island is being made aware and on high alert. Not much happens without the locals knowing about it. We're a tight-knit community."

"Maybe it was someone from this tight-knit community that tried to hurt Brooke the first time," Inez challenged.

"They tried to kill her," Rocco corrected. "And that doesn't make any sense. Nobody from the island was on the boat."

"How do you know?" Inez snapped at him, anger in her glare.

"As her brother, I was provided with a list of all those on the boat, and Clint and I have cross-referenced it with all people who live on the island and adjacent islands." His smug smile had Clint's lip twitching and wanting to curl up, too, but he refrained.

He needed to get the history of Rocco and Inez. There was clearly bad blood here. But why?

Inez tried to appeal to Brooke again. "Brooke, come on. It's me. I'd never let anything happen to you. Wouldn't you rather be home in Monterey?"

"I'm actually quite happy here right now," Brooke said, looking up at Clint. He looped an arm around her waist and gazed down at her, hoping his brain kept his feelings and that he was absolutely falling in love with this woman, quiet. He could feel those things, he just sure as shit couldn't say them. Not right now. Maybe never.

Fire ignited in Inez's eyes.

"I will return home, Inez. Just ... not yet. Maybe once things quiet down a bit and we find the person who tried to kill me." Brooke swallowed and trembled a little beside Clint. He tightened his hold on her.

Inez sucked in a breath through her nose, let her shoulders relax, and plastered on a huge smile. "Very well. I will take your lead on this. Just ... don't go no-contact again, okay? Keep in touch, and just know that I can have a car here and a plane ready in three hours." She stepped forward and embraced Brooke again. But Clint didn't release Brooke from his own possessive hold, so it was awkward for Inez—and a little awkward for Brooke.

He didn't care.

Inez met his eyes. "Thank you for taking care of our girl. I don't know what I'd do if I lost her."

"I'll see you out," Clint said, reluctantly releasing Brooke and walking Inez to the door. Rocco swooped in and held onto his sister with a protective arm around her.

Inez's eyes were on Brooke, though. "Call me, okay?"

"Of course," Brooke said, nodding.

Inez smiled, then Clint closed the door on her.

He returned in three strides, pulling her from her brother's arms and into his. His mouth fell to her neck, and he shut his eyes, inhaling her deep, imprinting her on his memory for as long and best as he could.

Once Rocco confirmed that Willy's truck was gone, they all exhaled.

"What the fuck is between you two?" Clint asked as the three of them made their way into the kitchen. He still hadn't released Brooke. He wasn't ready to. He wasn't sure he'd ever be ready.

"Goes back to high school, actually," Rocco said, sitting down at the table, plunking his elbows on it and raking all ten fingers through his floppy blond hair. "I was a year ahead of Inez, which put Brooke two years ahead of her. Our dads were friends—both being cops and all—and Inez had a major crush on me."

"Most of the girls in school did. You had—and still do have—heartthrob good looks," Brooke said, rising up to her tiptoes to press a kiss to Clint's cheek as a way to let him know he could let go of her. He released her, and she joined her brother at the table.

"Yeah, well, Inez was obsessed."

"And you broke her poor little sophomore heart," Brooke teased.

"She cut out pictures of her face and mine, then glued them onto existing faces of couples and had them all over her locker—and from what I heard, bedroom, too. If you don't call that obsessed ..."

"How'd you let her down?" Clint asked, filling the kettle up for the French press and Brooke's tea.

"As nicely as I could, but some of the guys on the wrestling team caught wind of it—I didn't tell a fucking soul, I swear—and they took it to the next level. She got harassed for the rest of that year. A lot of people called her ‘stalker-girl'."

Brooke made a sad face. "She's always been a little intense. But it's harmless. You apologized for what happened to her, even though you didn't do anything. You were very kind to her. You let her know you didn't feel the same way, but that didn't mean you couldn't be friends. You didn't even date in high school, so it's not like there was someone else."

"Wrestling and getting good grades so I could get the hell out of that town and away from Aunt and Uncle Fuckface was my primary goal. I couldn't let girls and drama blockade that."

"But there's still bad blood between you two?" Clint asked.

"She never believed me when I said I didn't tell anybody. That I didn't start the nickname. And I still think she's not quite right in the head. She's also still probably embarrassed over what happened. I doubt there's still a crush there, though."

"Agree to disagree," Brooke said dryly. "Inez is fine in the head. She's just intense. And I honestly think the wrong person saw her locker and the pictures, and that's how people found out. I mean, she wasn't exactly discreet about it. If she wanted to keep it a secret, why put those pictures up in your locker? Just leave them on your bedroom wall?"

Rocco nodded. "I still think she's nuts."

"How'd Inez come to be your assistant?" Clint asked Brooke as he scooped coffee grounds into the French press.

"It was kind of serendipitous, honestly," Brooke said. "I had an assistant, but she got pregnant and decided to stay home with the baby. Her husband developed some software that he sold for a lot of money, so she didn't even need the job anymore, anyway. I hadn't even put out any feelers for a new assistant when I bumped into Inez at a Starbucks in Los Angeles. She said she just moved to California and was looking for work. Turns out she'd been a receptionist, event planner and personal shopper before. It was perfect. I basically hired her on the spot."

"You didn't call any of her references?" Clint asked, a little bewildered.

"I mean, I've known her since we were kids. I called the references, but mostly as a formality. Everything checked out." She shrugged. "I also saw it as a way of making things right. After what happened with her and Rocco."

"And how did you feel about your sister hiring Inez?" Clint asked, directing his question to Rocco.

"I wasn't thrilled about it. But since you hired her nearly three years ago, she seems to do her job well enough."

"She's the best assistant I've ever had," Brooke agreed. "I do wish the two of you got along better, though. It's been over ten years since high school. Let things die."

Rocco didn't say anything.

"She's not going to make a bigger stink about you staying here, is she?" Clint asked.

"Oh, no, she shouldn't. I mean, I don't think so anyway. She's always only ever wanted what's best for me."

The kettle beeped, and he poured it over the coffee grounds, then over the tea bag in the mug for Brooke.

Talia joined them before he was finished with his second cup, then he was in full-on pancake making mode until ten o'clock when there was another knock at the door.

He hesitated to open it and used the peephole first.

This time, he knew right away who it was.

Or at least what they wanted.

And he shut that shit down pronto.

"Lakelyn Boss of Channel Four News WXTG Los Angeles," said a very coiffed woman with a microphone and a cameraman behind her. "Is this where Brooke Barker has been hiding since she fell off the yacht just eight days ago?" She held the microphone out for Clint to comment.

"Not sure what to tell you, but Brooke Barker's dead."

"But she was tagged as being alive and here," Lakelyn said, shoving a microphone into his face. "Are you saying she's missing?"

"Pretty sure the cops said she's not anymore. That they found a body, now get off my property or I'll remove you myself." Then he slammed the door and sent out an angry mass text to his brothers to up the security.

What the fuck are we supposed to do? Shut down the pub? Wyatt texted back. They probably came pretending to be patrons, then snuck up the hill.

Dom and Bennett both liked Wyatt's comment, which just made Clint's blood boil even more.

We need someone posted at the main gate before they even get down the laneway. I want every person who arrives on this property vetted.He texted back, already knowing what his brothers were going to say.

Vetted how?Dom asked, which got likes from the other four.

Fuck!

He didn't have an answer for that.

How did you vet someone and determine whether they were there for lunch or to pick up some beer, or to sneak up the hill and harass Brooke?

He responded with a Just fucking do it. Then shoved his phone into his pocket.

Pacing the living room, trying to figure out how they could better screen people, while also worrying about Brooke's safety—and Talia's safety—he barely registered Brooke coming into the room. He heard her, of course, saw her out of the corner of his eye, but he was too swept up in his spiraling thoughts to stop and go to her.

"I hate that my presence here is doing this to you," she whispered.

He snapped back to reality and stopped mid-pace. Then he was on her, taking her in his arms. "Don't. It's not your fault. None of this is your fault."

She trembled a little, and he squeezed her tighter.

"Where's Rocco?" he asked.

"Returning some work emails."

"And Talia?"

"She went to go play with Aya and Emme."

He was about to say they'd go upstairs and let the world slip away when the ear-piercing scream of a child—his child—made his blood turn to ice.

A few of the windows were open, just a touch to let in some of the warm breeze, and the scream came from outside. He and Brooke were both out the front door and racing over to Bennett's, but Brooke stopped before he did, then changed course and headed down the hill toward the pub and cabins.

"Where are you—"

"It came from here," she said, in nothing but flip-flops and running on the gravel at full speed down the hill. When they reached the bottom, there was Talia, on the ground with the rear of a black SUV right in front of her. Her arm was at a weird angle, and she had a cut on her head. Emme and Aya were standing there with stunned looks on their faces, and nearly two dozen people had come out of the pub.

Dom and Wyatt were both there as well, and Jagger was yanking open the driver's side door and hauling the driver out by the front of his shirt. "What the fuck, man? We told you to get lost."

"I ... I didn't see her," the man stammered.

"Doesn't fucking matter. Did you not see the signs posted everywhere to drive slowly? You came barreling through here like happy hour ends in two minutes, then backed out the same fucking way."

The man's eyes darted to the people around him, landing finally on Brooke. They went wide. "Brooke! Brooke Barker! So it is true! You're alive."

Magma filled Clint's veins.

He crouched down and checked Talia out from head to toe, making sure he didn't move her before he knew her spine and neck could handle being picked up.

"It's just my arm and my face, daddy," Talia said as she started to quiver in his arms. Shock was already setting in.

The argument between Jagger and the driver was white noise in Clint's ears as he gripped his daughter tighter. "If you're not here to eat, get the fuck off my property," he bellowed, making sure he locked eyes with the driver of the SUV. "And you'll be hearing from my fucking lawyer. We have cameras everywhere."

The man had the wherewithal to gulp, at least. Then Clint spun away and carried Talia up the hill.

"I've already called Grayson," Bennett said, falling in line with Clint. "He knows you're on your way with Talia for an X-ray and whatever."

Clint grunted.

The muffled sounds of his daughter crying as she buried her face in his neck, tore into his heart until it resembled nothing but tatters.

He reached the house and set her down on the couch, then he went to his first aid kit and got her set up with a sling. "This will have to do until we get to Dr. Malone, okay, pumpkin?"

Talia nodded. Her tears had already dried up. She was such a tough cookie.

"Aya suggested we go down and get Uncle Dom to make us some smoothies, so we were heading to the restaurant when this big black truck thing backed out of the stall way too fast and hit me."

"Christ all fucking mighty," Clint barely muttered under his breath. He took a few deep breaths, then sunk down to a crouch beside his daughter. "On a scale of one to ten, ten being the worst, how badly does it hurt?"

Talia's bottom lip wobbled. "Maybe ... maybe an eight."

Clint nodded. "We need to get you to Dr. Malone, okay?" Then he scooped her up in his arms again just as the front door opened to reveal Brooke, a stricken and sick look on her face.

Rocco came out of the study at the same time, too. "What's going on?"

"Talia got hit by some jackass who reversed in the parking lot. But they're here for Brooke."

Rocco and Brooke locked eyes.

"I need to get Talia to the doctor for an X-ray," Clint said, pushing past Brooke, who stood in the doorway.

"Clint," she croaked, "I never meant for this to happen."

He knew she didn't. How could she?

Nevertheless, her presence there had ultimately resulted in his child getting hurt.

He had feelings for Brooke, but Talia was and always would be his number one priority.

She watched him climb into his truck after placing Talia in the back seat. He didn't have the energy to reassure her right now. He needed to make sure his kid was okay.

Brooke probably understood. She was a smart woman. She would know that he needed to focus on Talia. They could talk about things when he got home.

He drove away, only rolling down his window at the bottom of the hill long enough to tell Jagger—who was still dealing with the asshole who backed into Talia—where he was going.

The SUV driver paled. "I'm just here to speak with Brooke. I didn't mean to hurt her. I'm—"

"Don't care," Jagger said, cutting him off. The crowd had dispersed back into the pub, aside from Dom, Wyatt, and Jagger. "You came into the pub asking about Brooke, and we told you to get lost."

"The world has a right to know the true story," he protested.

"No, it fucking doesn't. Brooke has a right to peace and privacy. We all do." Then Clint rolled up his window and headed off down the laneway at a speed much too slow for his liking. But he couldn't exactly be a hypocrite and speed off when Jagger just chastised that fucker back there for speeding.

"Daddy, what's going to happen?" Talia asked.

"To who?"

"To Brooke."

"I don't know," he whispered as he pulled onto the main road and headed in the direction of Grayson's clinic. "I don't know."