Page 5 of Rescued by the Single Dad

“On the beach,” Clint said, standing over Brooke, who was now buried in blankets. “She’s breathing, but she was unconscious.”

“And you found her naked like that?”

Clint gave his baby brother a hard glare. “You think I stripped her?”

“No—I ... never mind. So what do we do now? Does she have a husband?”

“I don’t know. Wasn’t she attached to some actor?”

“Don’t really follow the lives of celebrities. But she has to have a manager or an agent we can call.”

Clint stared at the blonde woman, unconscious on his couch.

“Hold off contacting anyone until she wakes up.”

Jagger’s blue eyes narrowed.

Clint shook his head. “I dunno ... I just have a feeling that we need to wait until she can speak. She was in the fucking Puget Sound in the middle of the night in early May. And she managed not to drown—somehow—and got herself to shore. If you look at what she’s wearing—the jewelry and residual makeup, I mean—she was probably at some event.”

Jagger peered over the couch to take in the fancy chandelier earrings encrusted with diamonds that hung from Brooke’s lobes, as well as the matching necklace. “Surprised she didn’t sink to the bottom with those things on,” he murmured.

“Maybe she ran from someone? Jumped off a boat? It could have been her only means of escape.”

“You’re jumping to some pretty radical ideas here, big brother,” Jagger said, copping a cheeky smile. “Maybe she was pushed?”

“Yeah,” Clint nodded with complete sincerity, “maybe she was.”

“Or maybe she tried to commit suicide?”

“Then why didn’t she just let herself drown?” Clint mused.

“Change of heart?”

Clint shrugged.

“If she was pushed, where are her clothes?” Jagger asked.

“A gown would weigh her down and surely drown her. She probably got rid of it. Which basically rules out suicide. Because if she wanted to die, she easily could have.”

“Smart.” Jagger’s smile remained playful. Out of the five of the McEvoy brothers, he was easily the most carefree and the least serious. Probably because he had no kids. He was still a child himself. Or at least acted like one a lot, even though he was in his thirties. “You’re really honing in on those detective skills of yours. Been rewatching all your favorite Sherlock Holmes shows?”

Heat burned in Clint’s cheeks. Yes, he had been, actually. And they were definitely teaching him to be a more observant person. “I’m home now. You can leave.”

The microwave beeped. Jagger headed back into the kitchen, but not before tossing over his shoulder, “And miss out on the fun of finding out how a Hollywood starlet ended up on our beach naked and half-frozen to death? I think not.” He returned with a warm beanbag, which he handed to Clint.

Clint tucked it under the blankets next to Brooke.

The sound of a vehicle pulling up in front of the house, along with the flash of headlights through the window, alerted him to Grayson arriving.

“You can head back to the beach and finish your wallowing if you need to,” Jagger said, a teasing grin tugging at his lips as he went to the door to open it for Grayson.

Clint growled.

Grayson Malone was a tall black man with short-cropped hair, soft brown eyes, and a very long stride. He was one of the three doctors that lived on San Camanez, and in the two years he’d lived on the island, had quickly become part of the McEvoy brothers’ extended family. He was a regular at the brewpub, and an unofficial taste-tester of Clint’s newest brews. The man was blunt and didn’t hold back his opinion when he thought something was too hoppy, not sour enough, or just plain crap.

“April Fools is over, guys,” Grayson said, toting his black medical bag with him as he stepped his tall frame through the door.

“I fucking know,” Clint said, shoving his fingers into his hair. “But this is no prank.”

---