Page 95 of Rescued by the Single Dad

“Be mad at me if you need to be angry with someone. But Clint hasn’t done anything wrong,” Rocco went on. “I should have checked with you before I said anything. I know, and I’m sorry.” Much like Brooke, the man clenched his molars, and a muscle wiggled in his jaw. At that moment, the siblings doing their weird stare-off thing, they looked a hell of a lot alike.

Clint ached to touch her. To reach out, rest a hand on her shoulder, lace her fingers through his and just comfort her. Reassure her that her secret was safe with him and that he’d never betray her.

Her eyes left Rocco’s face and fell on Clint’s. “It does feel good not keeping this secret from you anymore. That you understand why I don’t trust the cops and why trust in general is something that doesn’t come easily to me. And of course, Flynn and his betrayals didn’t help with my trust issues.”

Clint offered her a small, reassured but also encouraged smile. “No, I’m sure they didn’t.”

Finally, she took a deep inhale through her nose, held it there, and released it loudly out through her mouth. Her shoulders relaxed even more, and the last remaining embers of frustration in her eyes finally snuffed themselves out. “What are the cops going to do?” she asked, focusing on her brother.

Clint blinked a bunch of times, and his gaze snapped to Rocco.

He wasn’t sure what he expected, but her calmly taking a deep breath and then addressing her brother rationally was not even on the potential docket for reactions.

Rocco remained unaffected and nodded. “They’re going to look into things. See if Dad has had contact with anybody on the outside or if any of the guys that also went away when he did have been in contact with someone who might be suspect. The first cop we talked to was a lazy S.O.B. and seemed resigned to writing it off as a suicide and moving on to his next porkchop. But then another cop came out, and took things seriously. He’s not a detective and wasn’t assigned to the case, but he’s going to take a special interest in things and look deeper.”

“You think we can trust him?” Brooke asked.

Rocco shrugged and scoffed. “He’s a cop. I think we can trust him as much as we are able to given our relationship with cops.”

With that comment, they both turned to Clint.

“I appreciate that you don’t pity me,” Brooke said softly. “I guess if I can trust you to keep my identity hidden until the person who tried to kill me has been found, then I guess I can trust you to keep my past a secret, too.”

Clint nodded solemnly. “I won’t tell a soul. Not even my brothers.”

“Thank you.” She exhaled another deep breath through her mouth. “To be honest, there’s a weight off my shoulders knowing you know.”

Rocco’s head bobbed. “I know you don’t want the world knowing our dirty laundry, and I’m all for that, but this seems different.” His eyes shifted between Clint and Brooke. “So what is going on with you two?”

Clint clapped his hands together loud enough to make Brooke startle. “Beer? How about a beer, Rocco?”

Rocco’s lip twitched. Then he let the smile out. “Sure.”

“Lager? Ale? IPA? Sour? What’s your preference?”

“Surprise me,” Brooke’s brother said before leaning over and whispering something to Brooke Clint couldn’t hear since he’d opened the fridge and had his head in there, searching for something to impress Rocco with.

Their murmurs made him nervous, but it was also none of his business, so he waited until their chatting stopped before grabbing the blackberry IPA and closing the fridge.

He was just popping off the cap of the tallboy bottle when his phone vibrated in the back of his pocket. He ignored it until he’d poured the three of them glasses.

“It’s five o’clock somewhere, right?” he asked, handing Brooke and her brother each a glass, then pulling out his phone.

Rocco took a sip and made an mmm of approval. “Blackberry?”

Clint nodded. “Yeah. IPA.”

“It’s really good. Not too sweet.”

“Thanks.” Clint clicked the link that Jagger just sent him. It opened to a video with a picture of a gray-haired man with familiar green eyes, dressed in an orange jumpsuit with numbers printed on the corner below his shoulder. The caption below said, “Fletcher Barber.”

“Oh no,” Clint whispered, as dread caused chills to race up his spine.

“What?” Brooke asked, wiping a small bit of froth from her upper lip. “Or I guess I should say, what now?”

He hit play, then turned his phone so they could all watch. Rocco and Brooke crowded in.

“Oh fuck,” Rocco muttered. “God, he looks old.”

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