3. CHAPTER THREE

It made sense that she'd want to shower again.

He did some of his best thinking in the shower. It was his place to literally wash away his worries and reemerge fresh and with a clear mind.

Brooke could have as many showers as she needed.

It would take time for her to go through all the emotions that came with nearly being murdered, and finding out that someone wanted you dead. Not to mention the fight she just had on her hands swimming to shore against the current and struggling not to freeze to death.

He still wasn't sure how she'd done it, and was impressed that she had.

He made his way downstairs, greeted by voices in the kitchen.

Most of those voices were of the small human variety, higher pitched and doused in giggles, but there was one deeper timbre he recognized.

He came around the corner into the kitchen to find his next oldest brother, Bennett and his two daughters, Aya and Emerson, who were sitting at the kitchen island with Talia while Bennett was mixing up pancake batter.

"I told you I'd get to it," Clint said to his daughter.

"I know, but Uncle Ben makes better pancakes, anyway. He adds way more chocolate chips than you do."

"Were there not any left from yesterday's pancakes?" Clint asked.

"Uncle Jagger ate them all last night," Talia said, unbothered.

Bennett tipped his gaze up toward Clint and smirked. "Heard you have a mermaid in your house."

"Did Talia run next door and spill the beans?"

"Sure did," Talia said, beaming with pride. "But she's not a mermaid. She's a lady who washed up on shore like Ariel after she got her legs. And she can talk, too. So it's not totally like the Little Mermaid."

Aya, seven, gasped. Then her brown eyes went wide, and she gaped at Clint. "Do you have to kiss her so she can keep her legs?"

Emme, nine, snorted and reached for a freshly washed strawberry from a bowl on the island. "You know that's just a fairy tale, right?"

Aya glared at her sister. "Fairy tales have some truths in them. Daddy says so." She glanced up at Bennett. "Right, Dad?"

"Sprinkles of truth, maybe. But I don't think the lady upstairs is a mermaid who was granted legs and now needs to kiss Uncle Clint in order to remain human." Then Bennett shot a look at Clint. "Right?"

Clint sucked in a deep breath through his nose before he went to fill up his coffee mug from the carafe. "It's too early for this."

Bennett dolloped pancake batter onto the griddle, four in a line, two lines deep. "So is it really Brooke Barker?"

"Jag is such a blabbermouth," Clint grumbled, then added a splash of cream to his coffee.

"To be fair, I texted him, asking if he knew about the mermaid after Talia came next door. That's when he said that it was Brooke Barker."

Well, that was a little better.

Clint nodded. "Yeah, it is. And the worst part of all of it is that she's convinced she was pushed off a yacht. So someone out there tried to kill her."

All three little girls gasped.

Shit.

Bennett rolled his blue eyes.

"Someone is trying to kill the mermaid?" Aya asked.

"She's not a mermaid," Emme said impatiently. "At least probably not."

"Someone is trying to kill the nice lady who is not a mermaid?" Talia asked. "Who would do that?"

"That's what we're trying to figure out," Clint said.

"We?" Bennett asked. "I know you're big into the detective shows lately, but there's a difference between watching Sherlock and playing Sherlock."

"She said she doesn't know who she can trust."

"Uh, maybe the cops?" Bennett gave him a look like Clint just said he was going to pull out his magnifying glass and go sleuthing around dark alleyways.

"But will going to the cops alert the media and others in her life to her whereabouts? To her lack of being dead? Maybe this is the safest place for her until we can come up with a better way to figure out who her unsub is."

"Oh God, now you're using Criminal Minds lingo?" Bennett rolled his eyes. "Enough with the detective shows, bro."

Clint met his brother's eye roll with one of his own. "I like them. It's made me a far more—"

"Suspicious person," Bennett finished. "You were born suspicious."

"I'm two years older than you. You don't know how I was born."

"Mom said you were born suspicious."

Clint shot him a glare. "I was going to say observant. But yes, I am highly suspicious, too. Someone tried to kill Brooke, and she just so happened to wash up on shore right by the brewery. That has to mean something."

"It means she's brought her troubles to our doorstep," Bennett countered, his tone verging on stern. "To our children's doorstep."

As they were arguing, three sets of little eyes ping-ponged between them.

"I want to help the mermaid," Talia said.

"Me, too," Aya and Emme echoed in unison.

"We'll see what she wants to do once she gets out of the shower." Clint pinned his gaze on Bennett. "But you can't argue that this is a pretty safe place to hide out. Nobody knows she survived. We have the space and the privacy. Aside from patrons coming to the front of house in the pub, and the guests in the cabins, nobody bothers us. She can stay up here on the hill, and nobody will know. Besides us, the only person who knows she's here is Grayson, and he treated her so he's bound by his Hippocratic oath."

"The mermaid can have my bed," Talia piped up. "I can sleep on the floor."

"She's not a mermaid," Clint replied, casting another eye roll his daughter's way, followed by a smirk.

Talia's button nose wrinkled. "I know that. Doesn't mean I can't hope that maybe she is."

"We have a spare bedroom," Clint said. "I'm sure she'd rather stay there than in a room with a wiggly eight-year-old." He walked up behind her and tickled the nape of her neck, which made her squirm to prove his point that she was wiggly.

Talia giggled.

Bennett flipped the pancakes, and the five of them chatted about benign things until the stack of flapjacks reached twelve inches high. A creak on the stairs alerted them to Brooke's presence before they saw her, and a moment later, the Hollywood starlet who washed ashore like Ariel, emerged in the kitchen dressed in Clint's black tank top and board shorts. Just like the T-shirt and sweats, they were too big for her. But she looked more comfortable. She wore socks again and kept her braid. The puffiness around her green eyes drew his attention, and the way everyone's demeanor changed said they knew she'd been crying.

Brooke forced a smile. "Hello."

Aya and Emme leaped off their stools and went over to Brooke, taking her by the hand and leading her over to the kitchen table.

"You've been through so much," Emme said. "Sit down. Can we get you a coffee or tea?"

Brooke smiled at the girls, but her gaze pivoted to Clint. "Tea would be wonderful."

"Dad," Aya said. "A tea for the merma—I mean, for this lady."

"Call me Brooke, please," Brooke said.

Talia made her way over to where her cousins were standing in front of Brooke, ogling her like some artifact in a museum, or more accurately, Ariel, at an amusement park.

Bennett filled up Clint's electric kettle and turned it on. "Tea coming right up."

"Come on, girls. Breakfast time," Clint said. "Leave Ms. Barker alone."

"It's quite all right," Brooke said. "And, please, everyone, call me Brooke."

"Are you hungry, Brooke?" Talia asked, climbing onto one of the chairs at Clint's kitchen table just as Aya set the table, and Bennett plunked the stack of pancakes in the center on the lazy Susan.

"I'm starving, actually," Brooke said with a weary sigh, her eyes focused intently on the pancakes.

"Well, come join us," Bennett offered. "There's plenty to go around." He cleared his throat and came around the counter to offer Brooke his hand. She took it. "Bennett McEvoy, one of Clint's brothers. And that's Aya, and the taller one is Emme. He pointed to his daughters who beamed with pride.

Aya pointed to the extra place she'd set and nodded excitedly. "You can sit here, Brooke."

"It's nice to meet you all," Brooke said with a small but genuine smile. Bennett released her hand, and she moved slowly because she was probably achy from all the swimming, and pulled out the chair, sitting down.

A bowl of cut up fruit was set next to the pancakes by Bennett, and Emme grabbed the syrup and whipped cream from the fridge.

The kettle beeped, and since Clint felt like a freeloader in his own house, he made sure that he poured Brooke's tea.

"What kind of tea would you like?" he asked, fixing his gaze on her.

She smiled sadly. "I'm not picky. Whatever you have."

"Earl Grey?"

"Sounds perfect."

He tossed in the tea bag, then poured the hot water, bringing the mug over to her along with the two different kinds of milk they had in the fridge—cow and almond.

Brooke opted for the cow milk and poured a little bit into her mug before wrapping both hands around the mug like the life preserver she sorely needed last night. Clint could practically feel the heat of the tea seeping into his own bones. Brooke's look was so transformative. Even though the bath upstairs probably helped, he knew what it was like to be borderline hypothermic, and that was a chill that didn't just go away with a soak in a warm tub.

"Dig in," Bennett said. "Pancakes are always best when they're warm and fresh."

With a cute grunt, Talia leaned forward and tried to lift the entire plate of pancakes. It wobbled precariously in her hands, but she offered them to Brooke. "You first."

With a bigger smile, Brooke used the fork on top of the pancakes to spear one and place it on her plate. "Thank you, Talia."

Talia beamed, then placed the plate of pancakes back down and used her fingers to grab one for herself.

"Syrup?" Emme asked, lifting up the glass bottle of maple syrup.

"I'm more of a whipped cream and fruit person myself," Brooke said.

"Me, too," Aya cheered, reaching for a pancake. "I like to cover my pancake with so much whipped cream you can't even see it."

"Only way to do it," Brooke replied.

Clint grabbed the bowl of homemade whipped cream and handed it to Brooke. She was modest in her dollops but made up for it with a liberal ladling of the stewed strawberries. Pancakes with whipped cream and strawberries was Talia's preferred birthday breakfast, so besides the pancakes themselves, everything else on the table was left over from yesterday.

Once everyone had a full plate, they dug in.

Brooke remained quiet as she daintily cut up her pancake and ate. She would sit up and smile to respond to questions from the children, then slouch back into her chair a moment later, no doubt pushed down by a sea of unanswerable questions swirling around in her mind.

Clint didn't begrudge her silence. She didn't know any of them, the world was probably learning of her fall that very moment, and someone out there wanted her dead—and assumed that she was. For anybody that would weigh heavily on their mind.

He cleared his throat and sipped his coffee before addressing her. "I'd like to help you however I can."

"You've already helped so much." Her voice was soft and slightly hoarse. "I'd be dead on that beach if you hadn't found me."

"I still can't get over the fact that you swam in that water," Bennett said.

Brooke lobbed a sarcastic huff of a laugh. "I swam for my high school and was state champion three years in a row. If I hadn't been, I wouldn't have survived. The current was strong, and the water was really cold."

"So, what would you like to do, Brooke?" Bennett asked before sipping his coffee. "I think going to the police is the best option." He made sure to pin a look on Clint that said any other option was stupid.

Brooke shook her head. "I don't."

"Is there someone else we should call then?" Bennett asked, a little flustered at her response.

Clint's chest puffed up ever so slightly that he was right and his brother—the know-it-all of the McEvoy family—was wrong.

Brooke shrugged. "I don't know. I went over all of this in my head in the shower—"

Suddenly, a very vivid, very sexy image of Brooke in the shower popped into Clint's brain. He shook his head to clear it. Not the time or place, bro. Not the time or place.

"Maybe it was a contract, you know?" Brooke went on.

"Like someone hired someone to kill you?" Bennett asked in disbelief.

"Maybe?" she said with another shrug. "Because I honestly can't think of anybody—besides Flynn's girlfriend, which is a stretch—who would want me dead. So ... maybe whoever wants me dead couldn't get an invitation to the boat, but they hired someone who could. Like waitstaff or something."

"It's a possibility," Clint mused.

"A bit of a farfetched one," Bennett countered.

Clint threw his brother a dirty look.

"Either way, I'm not ready to announce to the world that whoever tried to kill me didn't succeed. Because that will just make whoever tried to kill me attempt to do it again."

"And going to the cops is a bad idea why?" Bennett asked. "Is there a reason you can't trust them?"

A glint in Brooke's eyes said there was, but that she wasn't about to tell complete strangers her reason. So she simply smiled and said, "I just need a few days ... please? I'm happy to pay rent, and help out ..." She glanced around the house. "What is it you guys do?"

"We run a microbrewery and brewpub," Clint said. "Ever heard of San Camanez Brewery?"

"I have." She lit up. "Your beer is great. And I'm normally not much of a beer person. But I really liked your Citrus Twist white ale that you came out with. Was it two years ago?"

Pride swelled in Clint's chest. Not only did she have the timeline correct, it was his recipe, too, his microbrew masterpiece. Well, actually, all of the beers were his recipe, since he was the brewmaster. But he was really proud of how that one turned out. A continued fan favorite, many liquor stores and grocery stores couldn't keep it in stock; it sold out so fast.

"We also have cabins down below at the base of the hill that we rent out from spring to fall," Bennett added. "The five of us have houses up here with the kids."

"Five of you?" she asked, her fair brows lifting.

Bennett nodded. "Five brothers. Clint's the oldest, then me, then Wyatt, then Dominic, and Jagger is the baby and the only one without babies."

The kids snickered.

"Because he still acts like a kid most of the time," Emme tossed in. "Right, Dad?"

Bennett smirked. "Right."

"Well, put me to work. Let me earn my keep," Brooke said. But panic quickly filled her eyes. "That is, if you have room. If you're okay with me staying for a few days until I can come up with a plan. I ... I don't mean to impose." She glanced around the house again. "I don't want to upset your wife."

"My mom died a few years ago," Talia said plainly; an arrow straight into Clint's heart. "Dad doesn't have a wife."

"All our moms died," Aya added. "They were in a car accident together, all four of them. Our dads have no wives."

God, kids could be brutally blunt.

Brooke's mouth dropped open. "I'm ... I'm so sorry. That's tragic."

The air in the kitchen turned thick.

Bennett and Clint both cleared their throats and exchanged pensive glances as they sipped their coffee.

The kids didn't seem too worse for wear.

"Yeah, it really sucked," Emme said. "Still sucks. But at least we have our dads. And uncles. It's getting easier." She perked up. "It'll be nice to have a lady around. I'm trying to learn how to do fancy braids, but it's hard with curly hair. Do you know how to do fancy braids?"

Brooke's smile was small, but her green eyes glittered. "I happened to be pretty darn skilled when it comes to fancy braids."

All three girls grew excited.

"Would you do our hair?" Talia asked.

Brooke nodded. "Absolutely." Then she pivoted her gaze to Clint. "That is, if it's okay?"

"You're more than welcome to stay," Clint said quickly, before Bennett could interject with a counter offer. "We have a guestroom upstairs you can stay in. And we can find you some proper clothes. There isn't much in the way of designer stores here on the island, but the Town Center Grocery Store has a clothing section at the back."

"I don't need designer," she said, her gaze turning a little hard. She leaned back. "Just some pants that fit. And maybe some underwear and a bra. The gown I wore last night had a built-in bra, so when I removed it so I could swim, I was just in my underwear."

The kids snickered again. "Dad's pants are way too big for you," Talia pointed out.

Clint cleared his throat. "My apologies. And there is no need to earn your keep. You need to keep a low profile."

Brooke simply nodded. "Well, I don't want to be a freeloader. So, let's come to some kind of an agreement. I love to garden, so if you need your lawns mowed, I'm your gal."

"One thing at a time," Clint replied, their eyes locking and something he couldn't quite label passing between them. When she said I'm your gal, a weird, warm sensation filled his chest. He liked it, but it was unusual and was instantly struck, thrown ashore by a wave of guilt like driftwood, only to be taken back out again—into uncertainty.

He was about to open his mouth when there was a knock at the door.

"I'll get it!" Talia announced, jumping out of her seat and racing to the door before Clint could even take a breath.

He peeled himself out of his seat, glanced at Bennett and Brooke curiously before following his precocious child. She opened the door to reveal Jagger.

"It's just Uncle Jagger," she called back into the house with disappointment, only giving Jagger a quick look before she skipped into the kitchen again.

"Nice to see you too, squirt," Jagger said sarcastically. His eyes followed Talia into the house, full of curiosity. "She still here?" he dropped his voice to a whisper.

"Yes," Clint said. "Why?"

"Because it's all over the news already. Social media is blowing up about the disappearance of Brooke Barker. They found her dress near Whidbey Island. It got caught in some fishing net. But they're putting out word to all the surrounding islands, and asking anyone with a beach to keep their eyes peeled."

Jagger's gaze lifted and softened, which made Clint shift around. Brooke joined them at the door. "Are they presuming I'm dead?"

"Nothing definitive has been said. It's all just speculation at this point. Experts weighing in and all that."

"Experts?" she asked.

Jagger shrugged. "People who know the water and the tides. They're discussing the minimal likelihood of anyone surviving that water for as long as you did. However, people like your assistant and manager mention that you were a champion swimmer in high school. But those water experts are saying that wouldn't be enough to keep you alive."

Clint snorted. "Well, it was."

"Are they ruling it an accident?" Brooke asked.

Jagger pulled his phone from his pocket, slid his finger across the screen for a few seconds, then handed it to Brooke. "See for yourself."

She held Jagger's phone and Clint squeezed in close to her to read, too. He smelled his body wash on her and fought the urge to close his eyes. It smelled way better on her than it did on him, or even in the bottle.

"They're speculating suicide?" she said, high-pitched. "Over the dissolution of my relationship with Flynn? And it's Kendall Blakely, who they're using as a source?"

Anger rolled off her in near tangible heat waves. She squeezed Jagger's phone, and her entire body trembled slightly. Then she relaxed and barked out a sarcastic laugh that made Jagger and Clint startle. "I was planning to celebrate the end of that relationship, not kill myself. Good God."

She clicked on a link to one of her social media platforms. Her photos and videos were flooded with comments about how much of an icon and positive role model she'd been. How she was taken too soon, and that Brooke Barker needed justice.

"They don't even have a body, and already people are planning a vigil," she said. "This is insane."

"Unless they have a body, you can't be legally declared dead for seven years," Clint added. "So if you think it was someone after your money, it's unlikely."

She shook her head in an almost absent-minded way. "No. I don't think that."

She clicked on another link. This one took them to a video of a young woman who looked a lot like Brooke with similar hair color—maybe a shade darker, but definitely the same length. Her nose was almost identical to Brooke's, too. Her muddy-brown eyes were full of tears.

Brooke hit play for the video and the woman's voice, all whiny because of the crying, burst out of the speakers. "She was the most amazing boss ever. More like a sister, really. We grew up together. I can't believe she'd jump. I just can't. But I honestly think the fame just got to her, you know? All that pressure. And Flynn—" the woman bared her teeth and a menacing glint flickered in her brown eyes, "He never deserved her. And to cheat and then throw it in her face." A tear slid down her cheek. "She didn't deserve that. He was such a terrible boyfriend. A terrible man."

"Wow, this woman sure hates your ex," Jagger said.

"That's my assistant, Inez Todd," Brooke said in disbelief. "And yeah, she really hates Flynn. Wait, does she also think I jumped? That I tried to kill myself?"

Inez continued to speak. "I just ... I just can't believe she's gone. She was so ... beautiful. So talented. Her star wasn't nearly close to shining as bright as I knew it could. She was a champion swimmer. I used to watch her races for goodness sake. I've seen the medals and trophies." She swept tears out from beneath her eyes. "I don't want to say what I think. I just … I just wish she would have talked to me. I could have helped her." That last word broke with a sob and Inez sucked in several stuttered, shallow breaths. "She was like a sister to me. More than a sister. She was also my best friend."

The video ended and Brooke handed the phone back to Jagger, her ire deflating like a balloon with a pin prick. Her shoulders rounded, and she shook her head. "Everyone's going to think I killed myself over Flynn."

"Until your resurrection, and you set the record straight," Clint interjected.

Her nod was half-hearted. "I guess."

Jagger's phone buzzed in his hand, and he glanced at it. "Shit."

"What is it now?" Clint asked, his nerves already shot.

"Bonn Remmen died."

Clint's mouth dropped open. "What?"

Jagger swallowed and nodded. "Last night."

Bennett joined them at the door. "Bonn Remmen died?"

Jagger and Clint nodded as the shock flickered through them.

"Who is Bonn Remmen?" Brooke asked, glancing between the three brothers.

Clint released a deep exhale through his nose. "He was an island elder. One of the founders here on San Camanez. He was a squatter for all intents and purposes. Got his land by just claiming it and not moving, way back in like the fifties or something."

"The island was founded by squatters and draft-dodgers. A lot fled to Canada, but some hid out here, too. Over the years, the founding members have created their own kind of sub-government. The Island Elders," Bennett added. "Land gets passed down through families. It's hard to buy land on the island since so much of it is just passed down. Property usually only comes up for sale if the family members don't want it—which was how we got this plot—or—"

"Like Bonn, you have no family," Jagger finished.

"So doesn't the land just become property of the United States Government?" Brooke asked.

Clint shook his head. "No."

"What happens to it?" she asked.

"We don't know," Bennett said slowly. "But Bonn Remmen had one of the most desirable pieces of land on this island—after ours—and everyone is going to be after it."

"Including us," Jagger added. "We need to expand."

A level of understanding and seriousness percolated through the three McEvoy brothers. They needed to find a way to get a meeting with the island elders and find out what was going to happen with Bonn's land.

And they needed to do it before anyone else got the same idea.