“I’m the second. Alyssa—she’s the oldest—is the one who used to work for the NSA. Cici and Delaney are with Mom in Europe, and Kenzie lives in South Carolina.”
 
 Five daughters who needed their father. Five daughters Gavin Wright had neglected.
 
 Forbes’s father had owned a multimillion-dollar corporation, and he’d traveled a lot. But when he’d been home, he’d been a great dad. Good and kind and gentle and generous.
 
 Of course, Dad had gotten his whole family killed.
 
 If Forbes was ever blessed with a family of his own, he would be involved with his children, even more than his own father had been. And unlike Dad, he would protect his family above everything.
 
 Which was why Forbes couldn’t think about romance. Because he’d been in danger since the day he’d witnessed those murders. He wouldn’t drag any woman into the nightmare that was his life, no matter how beautiful she might be.
 
 No matter the way Brooklynn’s grace and generosity showed in her eyes.
 
 Or the way this nosy, beautiful, kindhearted trespasser made him yearn for things he couldn’t have.
 
 CHAPTERELEVEN
 
 “Anyway.” Brooklynn cringed at her too-perky tone, trying to brush off her father’s words as if they were irrelevant. As if the hurt they’d caused was a thing of the past.
 
 Which wasn’t even close to the truth. Twenty years later, she was still trying to prove she was more than just a nuisance to society.
 
 She tapped the next person in the photo. “This is Arthur’s wife, Lois. She’s a good friend of Mom’s, and after Arthur died, she took over as my mentor. She’s not a photographer herself, but she used to run Arthur’s gallery, and she’s given me a lot of business advice.”
 
 Ford leaned in. “She was younger.”
 
 “Almost twenty years. Lois was his second wife.” Brooklynn pointed to the chubby, curly-haired man beside Lois. “That’s Hollister Briggs. He’s an accountant.” Even though she and Hollister had been in the Chamber together for more than a year, he’d hardly said more than hello to her. She got the sense he wasn’t quiet so much as just…listening. Watching everything.
 
 “And this”—she moved on to the next person—“is Maury Stratton. She’s a Realtor.” Brooklynn looked up at Ford and rolled her eyes. “Not just a real estate agent, but aRealtor. Apparently, there’s a difference. One piece of advice—don’t ask her the difference because she will explain in excruciating detail.”
 
 Though he didn’t smile, there was a tiny quirk at the corner of his lips. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
 
 “Maury used to be married to Lois’s brother. He moved away years ago, but those two are close. She runs the Shadow Cove Historical Society. She’d be a good resource for you. She has her hands in everything.” Brooklynn pointed to the next person, a stocky man in his thirties at the time the photo was taken. “That’s Leo Taggart. He’s the police chief now.”
 
 “Taggart? As in your stalker?”
 
 “Lenny’s not a stalker, just…persistent.”
 
 “Brooklynn.” The way Ford said her name had her looking up. His brows were lowered, his lips pursed. “Someone who’s so persistent they follow you even after you tell them to go away? We call that person a stalker.”
 
 Right. Well…
 
 She knew that. She knew Lenny had pushed it too far. She wasn’t sure why she still balked at the term.
 
 “Speaking of,” Ford said, “your friendly neighborhood cop was staking out the house when I left this morning.” He explained how Lenny had pulled him over and illegally searched under the tarp on the bed of Ford’s truck. “I got a video of the whole thing.”
 
 Despite the guilt his words brought, Brooklynn didn’t share that she’d also searched his truck—and the garage, and the Cadillac.
 
 “He was looking for you, obviously,” Ford said.
 
 Her guilt dissipated, and fear crept in. She shouldn’t be afraid of Lenny. He’d never hurt her, but he’d been so hard to get rid of the first time. The thought that she might have to go through it again…
 
 “He knew you might be hidingfrom him,” Ford said, “which tells me everything I need to know about this guy. You need to stop making excuses for him and come to terms with the kind of person you’re dealing with.”
 
 Obviously, Ford felt passionate about this. And very irritated, considering all the sentences he’d strung together.
 
 “You’re right. I used to have feelings for him, so it’s hard.”
 
 “I threatened to report him to the police and send the video, but if the chief is his dad?—”