25. CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

"You know we could figure it out, right?" Jagger said to him as they stood in the foyer, the door still open. The kids had gone back to the table to continue making bracelets, their conversations sad and mostly about Brooke. "If you love her, if you want to make a go of it with her, we could figure it out. All of us."

Clint shook his head. "She doesn't belong here."

"Did she say that? Because I'm pretty sure she fucking does."

"Talia already got hurt once ..."

"Because we didn't have proper security in place and the world went apeshit when Brooke resurrected from the dead. Let things cool down for a few weeks, a month, and people won't be hounding us anymore. And if they are, we up security. Not a biggie."

Clint pulled in a deep breath, scrubbed his hand over his scruff, and exhaled loudly. "What if she starts to hate it here? Resents me?"

"She's not Jacqueline. You saw how much she loved it here from day-one. Jacqueline didn't. She never considered the island home. Never got comfortable. She was always complaining, always looking for more excitement and a way off the rock. It seems like Brooke is trying to escape some of that excitement. She wants calm in her life."

"Did you get a weird vibe from her assistant?" Clint asked, changing the subject as alarm bells started to quietly ring in the back of his head. They were getting louder, though.

"A bit abrupt, but I just took that as someone from the city. Not a lot of manners. Go-go-go." He tugged on his beard. "Why?"

"I just got a weird feeling about her. She looks an awful lot like Brooke, right?"

"Aren't all women in L.A. blonde?"

"No." He elbowed his brother. "But the eyes, too. Didn't she have brown eyes when she showed up here last week? And in that video you sent me." He answered his own question. "I'm pretty sure she did. Her hair was a darker shade of blonde, too. Now it's the same fucking shade as Brooke's."

"Okaaayyy ... what are you getting at?"

Just then, Clint's phone buzzed in his pocket. It was Sergeant Fox.

Those alarm bells in his head were now deafening.

"Sergeant Fox," Clint greeted, his jaw tightening.

"Where's Brooke?"

"She just left with her assistant, why?"

"Was a false confession. The guy who says he pushed Brooke off the yacht only confessed because he's being blackmailed. His kid has nude photos out there, and someone is sextorting them. Said if our guy didn't confess, the photos would get leaked to kiddie porn sites and shit. But he broke down and told the truth."

"Did he say who was blackmailing him?"

"No. No name, hidden voice. Can't even get a bead on the IP address."

"Fuck."

"She's probably safe with her assistant, though. If she's headed home and they're getting security in place there."

But Clint didn't think the Sergeant was right. Something was off about Inez.

"What do you know about Inez? Brooke's assistant?" he asked, jerking his chin at Jagger and telling him to watch the kids. He ran to his truck and hopped in.

"We did a full background check on her since she worked so closely with Brooke. But she wasn't even on the yacht. Why?"

Clint turned on his truck and peeled out of the driveway. The gate took way too fucking long to open. Then he drove way too fucking fast down the laneway.

"When she came here last week, her eye color was different than it was today. Her hair was blonder today, too. She was also set to star as Brooke in a biopic about her life when Brooke was dead. Now that she's not ..."

"This is a lot of conjecture, Mr. McEvoy ..."

"And people have been found guilty when hunches have been formed on less."

"True ..."

"I've just got a weird feeling about her, okay? Like Brooke isn't safe with her."

She was safe with him. In his arms. In his house. In his bed.

"Look, Brooke said that a few actors—females—either ended up in accidents or died. They looked a lot like Brooke, and their roles were then handed to Brooke. Does that not seem fishy to you?"

"Seems like Brooke would be the one to benefit from that."

"So would her assistant. And maybe Inez has sights on her own stardom ..." He reached the T in the road where nearly two dozen signs pointed to various island attractions. He should have gone right to the ferry, but something in his gut told him to go left. And when he looked left, he saw the glint of a chrome bumper flash in the sunlight.

He went left.

"So you think her assistant pushed her over the yacht to kill her to basically take over her life?" Sergeant Fox asked. "Seems awfully far-fetched."

"Maybe not take over. But, yeah. And ... they've known each other since they were kids. Since high school. Inez's dad was a cop. One of the cops that Brooke helped put away."

"Well, next time fucking lead with that," Sergeant Fox said, his tone holding immediacy and irritation. "That didn't come up in the background check. And if it did, it wasn't flagged. Fuck. Okay, I'm dispatching someone now. We'll have port authorities down at the docks to retrieve Inez and Ms. Barker and bring them to the station for questioning."

"They're not there. I see them," Clint said, gaining ground, but also hanging back so he wouldn't be spotted. He knew that was Inez's rental car, though. They turned a slight corner.

What the fuck were they doing at Heaven's Leap?

He pulled off to the side of the road and parked. "Inez took her to a fucking lookout with a cliff," Clint said into the phone.

"What?"

"I ... I can't talk."

"Put it on speaker, but don't hang up. Don't be an idiot, Marine."

"Oorah," Clint whispered, doing as the sergeant said, then climbing out of his truck. He was careful not to slam the door. It was a brisk jog to get to the parking lot. He kept to the bushes and remained hidden. His training kicked in, and he was grateful for the dark khaki shorts and brown and black flannel shirt. He blended in with his surroundings well. Though, with his level of training, he could be wearing a fucking day-glo orange jumpsuit and still keep himself from being spotted.

Just as he reached the parking lot, the bottom of his stomach nearly fell out of his gut.

Inez had a gun pointed at Brooke, and Brooke was just steps away from backing over the motherfucking cliff.

Her hands were up, and it seemed like she was pleading with Inez. Trying to reason with her.

But as she spoke, Inez kept stepping forward, and Brooke kept inching back. Maybe she wasn't even aware of it, but she grew dangerously close to the edge.

And Clint knew what waited at the bottom of that drop.

It was over a hundred feet down, and unlike falling off a yacht into the Puget Sound, there wouldn't just be water below to catch her fall.

There were jagged rocks, driftwood and an unrelenting surf. If she didn't die from the fall, the water battering her against the shore would finish the job.

Fear dug sharp talons into his chest and squeezed.

He couldn't lose her.

He was a fool to let her leave in the first place. But he was also scared.

Scared for his heart. And for Talia's.

Her eyes flicked in his direction, and a twinkle of recognition and relief creased her face before she stowed it again. That's when he realized his dog tags were out over his shirt and the sun must have caught on them briefly. He tucked them back under his collar.

How could he get to Brooke and get the gun away from Inez? Brooke was terrifyingly close to the edge now. If the gun didn't go off, Inez could just as easily push her over.

"Inez, you don't want to do this," Brooke hollered over the wind, her gaze flitting over to Clint for just a fraction of a second. But in that second, she shook her head. Like she was telling him no.

No?

No, what?

No, don't save her?

Fuck that.

If Clint could sneak up behind Inez without her hearing him, he might be able to startle her and wrestle the gun out of her hand. At this point, he saw no other option. Brooke was four steps away from the edge. He needed to act now.

He stalked her like prey. Prey that he intended to take down.

Brooke's eyes went wide, but she continued to plead with Inez, ignoring Clint—well, mostly. He ate up the distance between them, careful where he put each foot. Even a dead leaf stepped on wrong could alert her.

Though, with the way the wind was whipping up from the water, she probably wouldn't hear a crunched leaf. Both women had to yell.

"Nobody needs to get hurt," Brooke cried.

"It's too late for that," Inez said. "You ruined my life."

"You're only thirty. You have lots of life left. A chance to rebuild and do better. We don't need to define ourselves by where we came from or our pasts. I don't let my family or my past define me. Neither should you. You're better than that. You're better than your father. We both are."

"Why couldn't you just stay dead?" Inez hollered. "Once the world forgot about you, I could finally shine. I could finally be free. You don't love me. You don't want me. And you don't appreciate all that I've done for you. You should have died when I pushed you into the water the first time."

"I appreciate you, Inez. And that you worked so hard to help my career. I'm not happy that you hurt Maren, or that Carol and Phoebe died. But I understand your reasoning. You wanted me to succeed. My success was your success. And it still can be. I can help you. I see you now, Inez. I'm sorry if I didn't before. I'm sorry if you didn't feel like I appreciated you before, but I do. You're my sister. Please don't do this."

At this point, Clint had gotten close enough that he could reach out and touch Inez. He didn't want to give Brooke any warning, in case she made some kind of acknowledgment and alerted the deranged woman. So he swept her legs out from under her, causing her to fall sideways to the ground. The gun went flying to the side.

She was startled at first, but recovered faster than he anticipated, surging to her feet and, with a growl of rage, charged Clint. She made contact with him, and this pushed them both closer to the uneven edge.

"NO!" Brooke screamed, having moved further away from the cliff edge. "Clint, no!"

He didn't want to hurt Inez. The woman deserved to go to prison for what she'd done.

He fought her just as much as he fought to stay upright and away from the fucking cliff edge.

They couldn't both tumble over the side.

He needed to get them the fuck away from the crumbling ledge.

She was a dirty fighter. Screaming and clawing at him. Scratches burned his arms and face. He fought to protect himself. To deflect her blows and guide her backward toward the parking lot. Her hair flew wildly around them. Then she grabbed at his hair and ripped out a chunk.

He roared from the pain, and Brooke's cries in the background barely registered with him as he battled the unhinged woman, who was hellbent on killing him.

He finally managed to grab her by the wrists and started to walk her backward, her disheveled hair covering her face as she growled, but then she did the dirtiest of all moves and kneed him hard in the groin.

He went down to his knees with a groan, cupping himself.

Everything hurt.

He was going to puke.

Opening his eyes briefly, he realized he was on the edge. Half a roll to the right and he'd be flying—it'd be a short flight though and with a crash landing.

Behind him, the sound of women fighting drew his attention. Brooke and Inez were locked in a death battle. They had each other by the shoulders. Brooke kept trying to get them further away from the edge, while Inez had lost her goddamn mind and was just trying to inflict as much damage and pain as possible. It was clear she had no endgame any more.

She had Brooke by the hair; both women were screaming. The pain between his legs dwindled, and he no longer felt like he was going to throw up. It was tougher than he thought to get back to his feet, but he managed. Inez's foot slipped, and the earth crumbled away from her. Her eyes went wide as terror shot through her.

She grappled for Brooke.

Brooke went into savior mode instantly, trying to pull her back.

"Help me," Inez screamed.

"I ... I'm trying," Brooke said.

Clint scrambled over to where they were.

"What are you doing?" Brooke asked Inez, as Inez grabbed onto Brooke's arm with both hands and started to pull. One of her feet dangled over the crashing surf and rocks below.

A demonic glint flickered in Inez's eyes. "Two for one?" She pulled harder, and Brooke lost her footing and started to fall forward with Inez. Inez let go and fell, just as Clint got there and grabbed Brooke, hauling her backward so they tumbled and fell to the earth with a thud, her on top of him.

Their chests heaved.

Her ear was against his heart, and they lay there for a moment.

A seagull screeched overhead, then the sound of sirens filled the air.

Car doors slammed and heavy boots running toward them made the ground vibrate.

"What the fuck is going on?" came the dark rumble of Officer Everett Jacobs. "We got a call from some cop in Seattle saying we needed to get here ASAP."

"Clint?" said the second cop, who Clint recognized as Officer Myla Bruce.

He gave Brooke a tight, reassuring squeeze, then she slowly climbed off him.

"Brooke Barker?" asked Officer Jacobs in surprise.

Clint stood up and reached into his back pocket. He handed his phone to Officer Jacobs.

Officer Jacobs put the phone to his ear. "Hello?" He stepped away to speak with Sergeant Fox, finding Inez's gun on his little wander.

"What happened?" Officer Bruce asked. "Your face, Clint ...?"

Clint touched his cheeks. They stung like a bitch. "Yeah ... uh. I'll be fine."

"My assistant ... Inez, she ... I tried to save her. I swear I did," Brooke said, the shock kicking in and causing her to tremble and stammer. "She brought me here and had me a—at gunpoint. Clint came. They fought. Then she and I fought. She lost her footing. I tried. I tried so hard." Tears erupted in her eyes, and she crumpled to her knees, burying her face in her hands. "I didn't want her to die."

Officer Bruce took careful steps to the edge and peered over. "I don't see anything."

"Oh God," Brooke gasped.

Clint went to her and sank to his knees, wrapping an arm around her and absorbing her pain. Her shock and her grief. Because even though Inez had just tried to kill her, up until a few moments ago, Brooke thought the two of them were friends.

"You're sure you saw her go over?" Officer Bruce asked.

Clint nodded. "She went over. Trust me."

Officer Bruce looked over again. "Oh, fuck."

Brooke sobbed even harder.

Officer Jacobs returned with the gun and Clint's phone. He handed the phone back to Clint. "Well, that was Sergeant Fox of Seattle PD. He heard everything that went on here. I'm going to call him again later and get more information. After we get your statements."

"Need to call the coastguard to come and retrieve the body," Officer Bruce said.

He leaned over and winced. "Shit. The Coast Guard will be jigging for that one."

These cops were young. Late twenties maybe, possibly early thirties. But they lacked tact and decorum sometimes. They also had it really easy here on the island.

In addition to being one of the four island cops, Myla Bruce also co-owned the cidery with four other women. The other four had children, though, and seemed to be more mature. Myla had a bit more growing up to do.

Officer Bruce pulled out her phone and started making a call.

"If you don't mind, Everett," Clint started, "I think it's probably better if we get home. You can come and take our statements there."

Officer Jacobs nodded. "Yeah, yeah, of course. Want me to call Grayson and have him come take a look at your face?" He winced again. "It looks like you shaved with razor wire."

Normally, Clint would decline, but based on the young cop's cringing expression and crass description of his face, maybe having Grayson take a look wasn't such a bad idea.

"Yeah, sure."

Officer Jacobs got on the phone as well, which lent Clint a moment alone with Brooke. "You okay, baby?"

She shook her head.

Yeah, he'd be worried if she was.

"I'm going to get the truck, okay? Don't move."

She nodded and didn't move.

He practically sprinted to his truck, then he drove to the parking lot, hopped out, and scooped up Brooke, carrying her to the passenger side.

Officer Jacobs said he'd meet them at Clint's a little later. But they had to stay and wait for the coast guard. The area was also a crime scene, so no tourists or lookiloos could come for an Instagram photo.

Brooke stayed quiet on the drive home.

Clint texted ahead to Jagger, simply telling him to get the kids out of the house.

Jagger just said, "On it."

When he pulled back up to the house, he hopped out first and made sure the kids were gone before he ran out to grab Brooke.

Jagger arrived just as he was carrying her inside. She was catatonic. Still in shock.

That's when he also noticed the scratches on her neck and face and the chunk of hair missing from her scalp.

"What the fuck happened?" Jagger asked, his eyes wide in horror as he took in the scene.

"Inez," Clint said, laying Brooke down.

But she shook her head and sat up. "No. No, I'm fine."

"You're not fine," he protested. "Not after that."

"Somebody needs to fucking fill me in," Jagger said.

"Inez tried to kill us. Took Brooke to Heaven's Leap, pulled a gun on her. It was either a bullet in the head or over the cliff. I got there, but she went psycho on me."

"I'll fucking say," Jagger said. "Dude, you're missing hair—you both are. And your face looks like you got into a fight with a wolverine."

"I'll be fine," he said dismissively, turning his attention back to Brooke.

Jagger's phone buzzed. "Grayson's here?" he asked, checking the text message, then hitting a button on his phone to open the gate.

"Everett figured we should call him to check us out."

Jagger went to the front door and opened it enough that Grayson could just come in. "Where's Inez?"

Clint met his brother's gaze.

Jagger's mouth dropped open.

Brooke ditched her shoes and curled up into a tight ball, her knees next to her face. "She just ... fell ..."

An unnecessary double knock at the door alerted them to Grayson, and he stepped inside, mouth going as wide as his eyes as he took in the scene. "Everett called and ... Jesus Christ."

"Can I just ... I just need a minute," Brooke whispered, not looking at any of them.

"Yeah, of course, of course," Clint said. He went to sit up from where he was beside her, but her hand shot out, and she gripped him by the arm, digging her nails into his fresh scratches. He winced, but didn't pull away. "Stay. You. Please."

"We'll just duck out to the patio for a sec," Jagger said, jerking his head to the side to tell Grayson to follow him.

Once they were alone, Clint pried Brooke's hand off his arm and laced their fingers together. "It's just us now. You're okay."

Lifting her gaze, she blinked several times, the tears tracing paths in her dirt-stained cheeks. "Don't make me leave. Ever. Please."