“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.

CHAPTER FOUR

After Jagger left, Brooke found the tension in Clint’s home between him and Bennett to be a welcomed distraction from her own tumultuous present.

The brothers murmured among themselves as they made quick work of the breakfast dishes.

Brooke offered to help, but they told her it wasn’t necessary, so before she even had a chance to say that she didn’t want to be a freeloader, a comb and a brush were shoved into her hands and three little girls lined up to get their hair braided.

“I like Dutch braids more than French braids,” Talia said, sitting up taller on her knees and pushing her shoulders back while Brooke twisted her hair into two elaborate braids.

“I agree,” Brooke said, smiling.

She’d already finished Emerson’s hair, and the little girl couldn’t keep her hands off the braids. She kept running her fingers over the back of her head, then she’d giggle.

“So, like, what are you going to do?” Talia asked.

“You mean about the world thinking I’m dead?” Brooke asked, reaching forward for one of the small hair elastics Talia had in her hand.

“Yeah.”