Page 123 of Rescued by the Single Dad

An actor, after all, and no audience to convince but herself, she could pretend she had more time.

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.

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