6. CHAPTER SIX

Brooke was exhausted.

After lunch, she and the three little girls took off up into the hillside behind the houses to go pick wildflowers.

"We're free range," Talia said when Brooke asked her why she wasn't wearing any shoes. "Or at least that's what Dad calls us."

"Like chickens?" Brooke asked with a chuckle.

Talia merely shrugged. "I guess. We only wear shoes when we leave the property or if it's cold out. Otherwise, we don't have to."

"I guess that's one way to get callouses and boost your immunity," Brooke said. "Don't the rocks hurt, though?"

Talia frowned and shook her head. "Naw. I'm tough." Then she flexed her muscles. "I'm free range."

Before too long, Talia, Emerson, Aya and Brooke were joined by the girls' cousins, Silas and Griffin who were six and Jake who was eight.

At first, she wasn't sure she could handle all six kids on her own, but they didn't really seem to need her.

This was apparently the norm. They had free rein to be "free range" on the property and could come and go as they liked. They knew where their dads were, how to get help if they needed it, and each house had a snack cupboard the kids could raid if they were hungry.

So she didn't feel too terrible leaving the children to their own devices and heading into the house to lie down for a bit. Her muscles were fatigued, and her feet still really hurt. The bandages and ointment helped, but since she wore nothing more than Clint's over-sized sandals, and socks that nearly reached her knees as she climbed the hillside, she was limping by the time she got to the front yard.

And that was about the time the gravel crunched up the hill and Clint, in his white pickup truck, came into view. He had on sunglasses and what appeared to be a scowl on his face.

She hobbled to the front porch.

"Hey!" Clint called, his truck door slamming behind him. "What's going on?"

She paused on the steps and winced when she put too much pressure on her left foot. "I went up on the hillside with the kids. They assured me it was private and nobody could see me."

He nodded absentmindedly, but his focus seemed to be on her feet. "You're limping."

She smiled and shook her head to dismiss his concern. "I just overdid it. I'm tired. I think I'm going to lie down for a bit."

She took another step up, but the exhaustion of last night, muscle aches and her cut-up feet all combined together into a disaster-storm and she fell.

"Fuck," Clint grunted, lunging for her. "You okay?"

She was on her hands and knees on the top of the porch in front of the door. Embarrassment created a hot froth in her belly. "Yeah, I just ... I'm fine."

"The fuck you are," he grumbled, bending down and scooping her up like he had last night. He opened the front door and carried her across the threshold. "You're doing too much too soon. You nearly died last night, and your feet and legs are all cut up." He glanced at her bandaged knees and shins, since she was still in his shorts and tank top. "Take it easy."

She wrapped an arm around his neck and forced a small smile. "I'm not used to being so helpless."

"I'm sure you're not. But these are extenuating circumstances. You want to lie down upstairs?"

"If it's not too much trouble?"

He merely grunted, but he took off upstairs.

"Didn't get you anything at the store."

She stared at him in surprise. "Y-you know I can pay you back, right?"

"Not about the money," he said with a grumble. "It's the eyes. The gossipy islanders. Place is too small. They were all watching me in the women's clothing section."

She nodded in understanding. "And that could lead to people coming snooping around."

"Yeah. I'll give you my phone and you can order whatever you need. So if you're cool just wearing my stuff for another couple of days? I have spare toothbrushes—new—and deodorant."

It wasn't ideal, but she would deal. She was just grateful for his generosity. She really wanted to wear some underwear soon, though. She'd washed and rinsed out her thong last night, and put it on this morning after her shower since it had dried overnight, but she usually preferred briefs. And some moisturizer for her face would be lovely. All that time in the saltwater really dried out her skin.

He opened the bedroom door beside his room to reveal a guest room with a queen-size bed, a dresser and a nightstand. Just like his room, it was sparse, but clean. A framed print of the Puget Sound hung over the bed, but otherwise, there was no artwork.

He gently set her down on the bed, then fished his phone out of his pocket. His fingers flew across the screen for twenty seconds before he handed it to her. "Order what you need. Just throw it all in the cart. It'll be here in two days."

Brooke swallowed past the sudden lump in her throat and nodded, taking his phone from him. "Thank you."

"Just set my phone on the nightstand when you're done. I'll come grab it in a bit." Then he turned to go.

"Clint," she called after him, resisting the urge to actually reach for him, too.

He spun back around. "Yeah?"

The man got better and better looking the more time she spent with him. And he'd been handsome the first time she saw him. But it was the intense look in his eyes, and that roguish single dimple that had her belly flipping and her chest and cheeks getting warm. "Thank you ... for everything."

His smile stayed small. "Of course. Just let me know if you need anything else."

She nodded. "I will."

He turned to go again. Reluctance settled like a led balloon in her gut. She didn't want him to leave. As tired as she was, she didn't want to be in the room alone.

She liked being with the kids. It kept her mind off her problems. So did being with Clint. She could focus on the flecks of white in his eyes, rather than the fact that someone out there wanted her dead. She could speculate what the tattoo that peeked out from beneath his collar was, and what kind of a kisser he was with those full lips.

She brought up his phone, which thankfully, remained unlocked. She only ordered the necessities. Some shirts, pants, socks, pajamas, two bras, some underwear, deodorant, moisturizer and a pair of slip-on shoes.

Clint didn't tell her to complete the purchase, and it got harder and harder to keep her eyes open, so she set his phone down on the nightstand, rolled over onto her side, and pulled the blanket draped at the foot of the bed over her body. She was asleep in seconds.

By the time she woke up—from the sound of a door slamming and Talia and at least one other child yelling through the house—the sun shifted and less light poured in through the window than earlier.

She was about to check the time on Clint's phone, but when she reached for it, she found it gone.

Everything hurt.

Her head, her body, her heart. It all just ached. A throbbing, pulsating, debilitating pain that brought tears to her eyes.

Who wanted her dead? And why?

For the briefest of moments, she thought maybe it was her father. But she dismissed that notion almost as fast as it came. She was on excellent terms with her brother—he lived in Brazil—and her mother was dead.

That was it for family.

At least family she knew well. The rest were just distant cousins, aunts and uncles she never spoke to. So why they would want to kill her just didn't make sense.

No, it had to be somebody on that boat. Or at the very least, someone on that boat was hired to kill her.

But who?

A creak on the floor outside her bedroom door had her wiping her eyes and glancing up. The door wasn't completely closed, just open a crack, and two curious blue eyes stared back at her. She smiled at Talia. "Hi, sweetheart."

Talia smiled and pushed the door open wider. "Dad sent me to see if you were awake."

Brooke patted the side of the bed and Talia climbed on, sitting close. "Did you pick enough flowers to make bouquets for all the tables?"

She shook her head. "We started to, but then we got bored. We just made enough bouquets for our houses."

"Still great intentions."

Talia's face turned sad. "I don't want you to leave. I like having you here." Then before Brooke could say anything, not that she would have denied Talia, the little girl slid down onto her side so she lay next to Brooke facing her. Her little head on Brooke's pillow.

"I like being here," Brooke said. "And I think I'm going to be here for at least a little while longer. And when I finally do leave, we can definitely stay in touch. You can call me whenever you want."

Talia brightened a little. "I don't really remember my mom that much. But I know I miss her."

Emotion hung hard and uncomfortable at the back of Brooke's throat. She cupped Talia's face. "And I'm sure she misses you."

Talia heaved a sigh. "Dad asked me to ask you—if you were awake—if you're a vegetarian, or if you eat meat."

"I don't eat red meat. But I'll eat chicken and fish and stuff."

Talia nodded, then she craned her body around and hollered—startling Brooke with her volume, "Dad, she doesn't eat red meat."

"Okay," Clint called back.

Brooke smothered a smile and chuckle with her hand just as Talia turned back to face her. "He's going to barbecue."

"So, doesn't your dad work down at the pub?"

She nodded. "Yeah, usually. But I guess today he's not. He does have people that work in the brewery with him, so maybe he's letting them work. The place is always really busy. If you go outside, you can hear the music." She reached up and tugged on the end of Brooke's braid. "Your hair is really pretty. I wish I was blonde."

Brooke pursed her lips and shook her head. "Well, I wish I had your gorgeous dark, thick hair. Blonde isn't all it's cracked up to be." She brought her voice down low to a whisper. "This isn't even my natural color. I'm naturally a darker shade, but I got highlights."

Talia's eyes glimmered. "Dad said when I'm ten I can dye my hair. That's only two years to go."

"The countdown is on."

"How are your feet?"

"Sore," Brooke replied. "Everything hurts, actually. It's been a long time since I've had to swim so hard. My body is in shock."

"What do you normally do?"

"Pilates. Yoga. Running."

"I like gymnastics, but we don't really have a gymnastics program here on the island. Just the stuff at the school gym."

"I loved gymnastics when I was your age. I think I probably cartwheeled more than I walked."

Talia giggled and let go of Brooke's braid, only to take Brooke's hand instead and hold it.

This child was so sweet and affectionate. Brooke was falling in love with her. Which wasn't good. But Talia made it impossible not to.

She didn't think Clint wasn't the affectionate type with his daughter, but it was easy enough to see the little girl was starved for older female attention. Brooke just didn't want to lead the poor child on.

"Talia," came Clint's voice, right before he appeared in the door. His eyes found Brooke's, and he took in the way she and Talia were lying. He seemed genuinely startled at first, but recovered quickly. "She's not bothering you, is she?" he asked.

Brooke shook her head and smiled. "Not at all. I'm happy for the company."

Talia beamed.

"So you don't eat red meat. Any allergies?"

"No. I'm not picky either. Thank you."

He nodded curtly, but didn't move. He studied them with interest. Brooke and Talia, lying side by side, facing each other on the bed.

She couldn't quite pinpoint what passed behind his eyes when he watched Brooke with his daughter. His smile grew grim as he pressed his lips together, then his gaze moved down to her feet. "How are your feet?"

"Better. Still sore, though. I shouldn't have gone traipsing up the hillside. It was foolish."

"Dominic brought over some balm that he put on his arms when he got into a wrestling match with a wild blackberry bush. Thought maybe it would help your feet and shins." He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a small, shallow pot, then stepped into the bedroom. "Here."

She groaned as she sat up, all her muscles still achy and complained from last night's "exercise."

"Careful," Talia said, her voice full of concern. Her little hand fell to Brooke's back, and she rubbed. "Take it easy."

Clint made a noise of amusement in his throat and when Brooke glanced at him, he tried—and failed—to hide a smirk.

"I'll be okay with Nurse Talia here helping me," Brooke said.

She removed her socks and the bandages, and with an audience, applied the balm. It didn't sting, but when she got a glimpse of her feet, she cringed. They were bad. Going up that uneven hillside had been really stupid.

But she needed the fresh air.

Ugh.

"I'll get you some fresh bandages," Clint said, leaving the room. He returned a moment later with a stack of big bandages, medical tape, and gauze. Then, sitting down at the foot of the bed, he pulled her feet into his lap, and carefully, gently, bandaged up her feet.

The care and attention, along with his delicate, but deliberate touch hypnotized her. Brooke fought to keep her eyes open, and from moaning.

"All done," Clint said, lifting his blue gaze back to her. "Would you like help downstairs?"

Her lips twisted, then she tugged her bottom lip beneath her top teeth.

"Of course, she does, Dad. She can't walk on those feet. Carry her." Talia gave her dad an incredulous look. "She's injured."

Clint chuckled, then stood up from the bed. "The boss has spoken." He held out his hand and Brooke took it, the warmth and strength of him making her belly flutter and her knees turn to jelly. Even if her feet weren't cut up, she probably couldn't hold herself up if she tried.

He hinged forward and scooped her up. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and their eyes locked. His smile—and that wicked dimple—stole the oxygen clean from her lungs. She smiled back and told the butterflies in her belly to get a grip.

"Easy does it, Dad," Talia said behind them. "You've got precious cargo."

Clint's chuckle was deep and raspy in his throat, and Brooke's nipples grew hard from the sound. "Yes, ma'am. Carrying Brooke like she's a Faberge egg."

"What's that?" Talia asked.

"A very expensive piece of breakable art," Brooke said just as they reached the landing at the bottom of the stairs.

"Well, treat her like an egg, then," Talia said, skipping around them so she was in front of Brooke and Clint.

Clint set Brooke down on the couch. "Just gotta throw the shrimp on the barbie, then we'll eat."

"Are we actually having shrimp?" Brooke asked.

His smile became sexy and lopsided. "No. We're having chicken and vegetable skewers."

Talia hopped up onto the couch beside Brooke, excitement and innocence in her big, blue eyes. "I'm having hotdogs. I don't like chicken. Or vegetables."

"You'll eat some vegetables," Clint said, his tone stern. "Cucumbers, at least."

Talia rolled her eyes. "I'll eat a few. As long as you slice them thin."

Clint ignored his offspring and focused his attention on Brooke. "Would you like the tablet to check up on things?"

She nibbled her lip again and thought for a moment, but then nodded.

He grabbed it from where it was plugged in on a credenza and handed it to her.

She thanked him.

She did want to know what was going on in the world. How her disappearance and presumed death were being handled.

Guilt formed a nauseous tidal wave in her gut. She needed to at least reach out to her brother. Rocco, a veterinarian, worked at a conservation and rehab facility for endangered animals in Rio. They mainly dealt with animals that were rescued from trafficking, but they also had animals that had been injured or orphaned.

She visited Rocco last year, and he took her to the facility. She got to snuggle with a baby howler monkey and hang out with a sleepy sloth.

Surely, someone would call Rocco, or he'd hear it on the news.

She needed to reach out to him.

But then ... if her brother didn't react to her death, that could be a red flag to her killer.

A hot tear slid down her cheek.

"What's wrong?" Talia asked, concern in her voice. "Dad! Brooke is crying. Something is wrong."

"It's fine," Brooke said, smiling through the pain in her heart and wiping her eyes just as Clint came barreling back into the living room from the kitchen.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"She's crying. She must be hurt," Talia said. "Are you hurt?"

Brooke shook her head and sucked in a sharp breath. "It's fine. I was just thinking about my brother and how I wish I could tell him I'm okay. But I know that if he acts like I'm fine—"

"That could be a red flag to the killer," Clint finished. Understanding dawned in his eyes.

Brooke nodded. "Yeah."

"Can't we just tell your brother to act like you're dead?" Talia asked.

"Where is he?" Clint asked.

"Rio de Janeiro."

"You think he'll fly back here?" He plunked his hands on his hips.

"He might."

Clint sucked in a deep inhale through his nose and pondered. Then he stroked his chin and pondered some more.

Brooke could watch the man ponder all day. It was a sexy look, and it eased the ache in her chest.

"Email him," Clint finally said. "Tell him you're okay, but that he needs to act like you're dead. Be vague about what happened, but reassure him you're safe." His brows narrowed. "Is he your next of kin?"

"Yeah."

"Good. Then he'll be in charge of all your funeral arrangements and stuff, anyway. So tell him to hold off. To tell the press that he's going to hold out hope that you're okay. Since they haven't found a body, he's not going to accept your death."

Brooke nodded and opened a browser. She logged into her email and brought up her inbox. It was flooded with messages.

Did people think there was email in heaven?

Or hell …?

She cringed at that thought.

She hit compose and typed out a quick message to Rocco, reassuring him of her existence. She was about to hit send when Clint's abrupt voice made her jump. "Stop!"

She and Talia both glanced at him.

"Who else has access to your email?"

"My assistant. But I've ruled out Inez. It couldn't be her. She wouldn't hurt a fly. She also wasn't on the boat."

He cocked his head to the side. "She wasn't?"

"No." Brooke shook her head. "She was supposed to be, but came down with terrible food poisoning at the last minute so she had to stay in the hotel. But even if she was on that boat, I know it wasn't her. Inez is the one person in the world—besides Rocco—that knows everything about me. We've known each other since we were kids. I trust her implicitly. She would never hurt me."

"Don't send it. At least not from your regular email address. Open up a new one and send it to your brother from there."

"But what if it goes into his spam?"

"Let's hope he checks his spam."

Brooke nodded and deleted her composed but unsent message. Then she did what Clint instructed and created a new email address. She sent the same message to Rocco, and after Clint checked it over, she hit send.

"I suppose I should have asked before you sent the email, but there's definitely no way it was your brother who tried to kill you?" Clint asked.

Brooke shot him a look. "Never."

All he did was nod, then headed back to the kitchen.

Talia had retreated to the kitchen, but joined Brooke back on the couch. "Can you quiz me on my spelling words, please?"

Brooke took the binder from Talia and scanned the pages. Nostalgia hit her hard, accompanied by a lump in her throat. She remembered fondly her mother quizzing her every night for her Friday spelling quiz. Brooke had always been a champion speller. And her mother, always the optimist, would make sure to remind Brooke to look at the glass half full. "Don't look at it like you got two wrong, sweetie. Think of it as you got eight right. You studied really hard, and those words are extra tough."

Her mother had always been Brooke's biggest champion. She cheered Brooke on from the sidelines of every spelling bee and every swim meet, clapping and hollering louder than any other parent in the stands, all while tears of pride rolled down her cheeks.

She set down the tablet.

Maybe it was best she didn't dive too deep into social media just yet. She could do that later.

Talia sat back against the far arm of the couch, her pencil poised readily on the pad of paper. "Hit me with the hardest one first. I'm ready."

The tightness around Brooke's heart eased, and she smiled. "All right. Catastrophe."

"Can you use it in a sentence?"

Clint stepped back into the house from the sliding doors leading out onto the patio. Brooke's eyes found his. "Yes. If your father hadn't saved me last night, it could have been a catastrophe,and I probably would have died."

Talia's brows bunched, then flew apart and up to her hairline as she stuck her tongue between her lips at one corner and scribbled down her answer. She glanced up at Brooke a moment later. "Next one. And this time make it hard. That was an easy one."

Smiling at this cheeky, wonderful little human, Brooke scanned the list of words for a tough word, finding one even more difficult than catastrophe.

"I'm ready," Talia said with an encouraging nod.

But Brooke had paused, her eyes focused on the word in front of her.

"You okay?" Talia probed, nudging Brooke's knee with her toe. "I know they're all C words. And I've seen the list. You're not going to surprise me."

Her little nudge was the lifeline that brought Brooke back to herself. She breathed with a slight startle and tipped her gaze up to a patiently waiting Talia, then her focus shifted to Clint.

She collected herself and returned to her quizzing duties with a poker face and, in a measured tone, uttered, "Conflicted.