Page 70 of One Last Promise

“I like brunettes, and not quite.” He sat on the sofa, and she sat next to him and couldn’t help but compare it to the feeling she’d had in the cave.

No, he wasn’t going anywhere.

And frankly, she didn’t want to either. There was a chance that Rigger would finally leave her and Hazel alone—now thathe had the money.

So maybe, yes, there were fresh starts.

Moose picked up the remote and turned on the television, queued up the first season ofDownton. “No sleeping.”

She leaned against him. “You do know that’s not a thing, right?”

He grinned at her.

And she grinned back.

Yeah, well, no promises. Because she’d very much like to think that tomorrow she’d wake up to a happy ending.

CHAPTER 7

Moose’s jaw hurt from reading through Rigger’s bio, the one he had dug up on his computer, propped at the kitchen table.

A bio that didn’t even come close to matching what Tillie had told him. And Moose didn’t know what to do with the gap.

He sat in his pajamas and a white T-shirt, feeling frowzy and unkempt, a little grumpy, his black coffee unable to cut through his mood.

Something didn’t add up, and the information on the screen only confirmed it. Someone was lying.

Please, let it not be Tillie.

“Moose. You’re up early.”

Shep came walking out of the family office-slash-guest room, wearing a pair of jeans and a flannel shirt—the attire he’d worn yesterday under his jumpsuit—his brown hair askew, looking like he’d slept poorly on the lumpy pullout. He carried a toothbrush and paste, probably from the toiletries kit he kept in his car. “Tillie in bed?”

“We were ten minutes into the first episodeofDowntonand she was out. I woke her up at the start of episode two, and that lasted about five minutes. I finally woke her up to go to bed halfway through episode three.”

“As long as she didn’t seem confused or ill . . .”

“Nope. But I’m a little confused and a little sick after reading up on this Rigger guy.” He turned the computer toward Shep. The screen showed a picture of a bald fighter flexing his arms down, teeth gritted, on the cover ofThe Ultimate Fight, a decade ago.

“That’s the guy?” Shep gave him a side eye. “You went mano a mano with him?”

Moose turned the computer back. “I held my own, but yeah. His ring name was Rigger, real name Julian Richer, out of Florida. Married, with two children, ages seven and nine. He won two MMA light heavyweight championships when he was younger—ten and eight years ago. He also founded a series of MMA-specialty gyms and started a franchise that put his net worth in the millions. He’s running for mayor in Hollywood, north of Miami.”

“And he kidnapped Hazel.”

“I wouldn’t call it kidnapping. More of a threat, with some hostage thrown in. But yes, that was him.”

“Seems like a strange side gig while on vacation to Alaska with his family.”

“Right?” Moose finished his coffee. “And he’s got money. So why would he be after some prize money that legally doesn’t even belong to him?”

Shep nodded.

“Unless he’s here for his daughter.” The voice came from Axel, who’d come down the stairs from the loft. He wore a pair of jeans, his hair still shower wet, and he’d shaved. He walked over and looked at the screen. “Oof. He’s pretty.”

Moose nodded. He didn’t even for a little want his brain to wander over to the connection between Rigger and Tillie.

Especially since the easy math said that Hazel’sbirthday landed after the man’s marriage to—“He’s married to a former exotic model, too. Courtney Baker.”

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