Page 127 of Rescued by the Single Dad

This time, he knew right away who it was.

Or at least what they wanted.

And he shut that shit down pronto.

“Lakelyn Boss of Channel Four News WXTG Los Angeles,” said a very coiffed woman with a microphone and a cameraman behind her. “Is this where Brooke Barker has been hiding since she fell off the yacht just eight days ago?” She held the microphone out for Clint to comment.

“Not sure what to tell you, but Brooke Barker’s dead.”

“But she was tagged as being alive and here,” Lakelyn said, shoving a microphone into his face. “Are you saying she’s missing?”

“Pretty sure the cops said she’s not anymore. That they found a body, now get off my property or I’ll remove you myself.” Then he slammed the door and sent out an angry mass text to his brothers to up the security.

What the fuck are we supposed to do? Shut down the pub? Wyatt texted back. They probably came pretending to be patrons, then snuck up the hill.

Dom and Bennett both liked Wyatt’s comment, which just made Clint’s blood boil even more.

We need someone posted at the main gate before they even get down the laneway. I want every person who arrives on this property vetted. He texted back, already knowing what his brothers were going to say.

Vetted how? Dom asked, which got likes from the other four.

Fuck!

He didn’t have an answer for that.

How did you vet someone and determine whether they were there for lunch or to pick up some beer, or to sneak up the hill and harass Brooke?

He responded with a Just fucking do it. Then shoved his phone into his pocket.

Pacing the living room, trying to figure out how they could better screen people, while also worrying about Brooke’s safety—and Talia’s safety—he barely registered Brooke coming into the room. He heard her, of course, saw her out of the corner of his eye, but he was too swept up in his spiraling thoughts to stop and go to her.

“I hate that my presence here is doing this to you,” she whispered.

He snapped back to reality and stopped mid-pace. Then he was on her, taking her in his arms. “Don’t. It’s not your fault. None of this is your fault.”

She trembled a little, and he squeezed her tighter.

“Where’s Rocco?” he asked.

“Returning some work emails.”

“And Talia?”

“She went to go play with Aya and Emme.”

He was about to say they’d go upstairs and let the world slip away when the ear-piercing scream of a child—his child—made his blood turn to ice.

A few of the windows were open, just a touch to let in some of the warm breeze, and the scream came from outside. He and Brooke were both out the front door and racing over to Bennett’s, but Brooke stopped before he did, then changed course and headed down the hill toward the pub and cabins.

“Where are you—”

“It came from here,” she said, in nothing but flip-flops and running on the gravel at full speed down the hill. When they reached the bottom, there was Talia, on the ground with the rear of a black SUV right in front of her. Her arm was at a weird angle, and she had a cut on her head. Emme and Aya were standing there with stunned looks on their faces, and nearly two dozen people had come out of the pub.

Dom and Wyatt were both there as well, and Jagger was yanking open the driver’s side door and hauling the driver out by the front of his shirt. “What the fuck, man? We told you to get lost.”

“I ... I didn’t see her,” the man stammered.

“Doesn’t fucking matter. Did you not see the signs posted everywhere to drive slowly? You came barreling through here like happy hour ends in two minutes, then backed out the same fucking way.”

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