Chapter 7: Hidden Heir: Chapter 7

It’s her.

After all these years, it’s really her. My mysterious girl, Brooke.

She was the best night of my life yet as quickly as she entered it she vanished. I’ve wondered at times if she was just a dream, her taste and those lips forever haunting me. She was definitely real but vanished like a ghost.

Until now.

It’s three o’clock in the morning and here she is on my doorstep in a torrential rain storm, a frightened child in her arms and an unconscious man being dragged in behind her by my guards. I have so many questions flooding through my mind as I descend the stairs in my silk lounge pants, so eager to see her in the flesh that I didn’t even stop to dress properly.

Her hair hangs wet around her face. Her makeup is smudged and she’s dressed in loose jogging pants, an oversized sweatshirt, and sneakers. I’d been informed that her car gave out half way up the driveway so it’s no surprise that she’s drenched. Brooke’s eyes are locked on the child in her arms as she rocks her back and forth, clearly trying to soothe the scared and distressed cries that flow from her.

I don’t recognize the man, and an odd pulse of jealousy stabs through me at the sight of him. Reaching the hall, I wave my men away with a simple glance. He will be taken care of and visited by the in-house physician to determine why he’s unconscious. I ache to know his relation to Brooke but that fades when she finally lifts her head and our eyes meet.

In a flash, it’s four years ago, and she’s looking up at me from the bar with a playful smile on her lips.

I blink and we’re back in my hallway, a storm raging outside and several of my guards side-eyeing Brooke. They see her as a threat, a risk to me, but all I see is the woman I fell in love with the moment I kissed her, and for the first time in four years, my heart beats again.

“Brooke,” I say softly, and her brow lifts as if she’s surprised I remember her name. “What are you doing here?”

It’s obvious she’s been crying, and her voice is thick with emotion when she finally speaks. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

Her sadness and desperation scrapes against me like a thousand razor blades and I wince internally. I vow silently to myself that whatever has caused her such pain will be dealt with swiftly. I tentatively step forward. “What do you need?”

She blinks slowly and her exhaustion becomes evident. “Help,” she whispers. “Please.”

I don’t need to hear another word. With a snap of my fingers, the guards melt away and are replaced by Rik, my personal bodyguard. He moves like a shadow and follows me as I place an arm in the air around Brooke’s shoulders, guiding her upstairs to my room. The child, her child she tells me when we enter my bedroom, is beyond distraught. Brooke asks for dry clothes and a place where she can give Tiffany a warm bath. I show her the en suite and tell her to take all the time she needs. She nods before vanishing inside and closing the door.

“Boss?” Rik begins as he approaches. “Who is she?”

I stare at the bathroom door. My chest aches knowing that I’ve seen her for five minutes and already there’s a door between us. Turning away, I cross the bedroom and step down into the seating area. “Do you remember that night in the club?”

“Which night?”

“Four years ago, give or take. After I secured the Middle Eastern contracts.”

Rik nods.

“That’s the woman from the bar, the one for whom I bought a glass of wine or two. Brooke is her name.” My tongue seems to curl as I say her name aloud. I then turn and stare at the bathroom door before whispering, “Why is she here?”

“Are you thinking it’s something sinister?” Rik asks.

“I don’t know what to think.” Turning back to him, I sigh deeply. “Am I dreaming?”

“Want me to slap you?”

“No need.” I chuckle dryly. “See what you can dig up on her. And check the car outside. I want to know everywhere it was before it ended up here. But before you do that, please bring up some clothes for her and the child.”

“Sir.” Rik bows his head and hurries from the room, leaving me alone with my swirling thoughts.

My desire to see through to the other side of the door is met with silence. My rooms are the only ones without cameras, so I’m forced to wait and decipher sounds. Running water, splashing sounds, and quiet murmurs. By the time the door finally opens, Tiffany has calmed down and appears to be asleep in Brooke’s arms, the color returned to her cheeks. Wrapped in a thick, fluffy robe, Brooke moves toward my bed and tucks her daughter in without a word. I don’t complain. I’m too enraptured by her presence to question anything until she leans over the bed to kiss Tiffany’s head.

One of her legs stretches out for balance and her robe slips up a bit, revealing raw and bloodied skin on her feet.

Ice forms in my veins. What the hell happened to her?

“Thank you,” Brooke mumbles as she approaches me. “For accepting me and taking us in.” Her eyes dart around the room from the silken drapes to the extravagant paintings to the plush couches. She looks like she’s never seen anything so fancy before, and there’s awe twinkling in her tired eyes.

“I couldn’t turn you away at this time of night.”

“You sure?” She chuckles dryly and hugs herself. “Your security seemed determined to do just that.”

“They’re well trained and their main goal is to protect me.”

“Mmm-hmm.” She nods but she doesn’t offer anything in the way of explanation. I recognize the tightness across her shoulders and the jerky way she moves. She’s on edge, defensive and protective of her child. I could press the issue but something tells me I won’t be getting answers tonight. So instead, I change tactics.

“Sit.” I point at the couch and Brooke hesitates, glancing back at her daughter.

“I…”

“Sit,” I repeat. “You can still see her from here.”

Brooke lingers for a few seconds before moving toward the couch and sitting on the edge. She remains tight, like a bowstring pulled taut.

“Let me see your feet.”

“What?” Brooke snorts gently and glances up at me. “Why do you want to see my feet?”

“Please just let me look.” I leave her for a moment and head to the bathroom where I locate the medical kit then return to where she’s perched. “Brooke, I saw you’re injured. I want to help, please.”

Her eyes narrow but she doesn’t speak. Instead, she slowly lifts the hem of the robe. I gesture to my knee and offer an upturned palm. After a few seconds, she lifts her leg and offers me one of her injured feet. There’s a day or two old bruise on the outside of her ankle but the sole of her foot is where my concern lies. The skin is scraped and bruised. I’m familiar with what could have caused such injuries.

I’ve dealt with many people who have tried to escape, and these kinds of injuries come from running barefoot over ground. Given the state she was in when she arrived, I have a few guesses as to the reason for her injuries, each one igniting another flame of anger in my gut.

“Do you want to tell me what happened?”

Brooke shakes her head then hisses as I apply the first dab of antiseptic to her foot. Her silence ignites a tight sensation in my chest. I’m a man of immediate action and I want answers. But Brooke’s signals are clear—any force I use now will only cause her to shut down and that will get me nowhere.

So I focus instead on aiding her. Using tweezers, I remove small stones embedded in her skin, cleaning the wounds and washing away the blood and dirt. Then I wrap her foot with thick gauze after placing cushioned bandages against her wounds to help her walk later. I repeat the action with her other foot, and despite a few hisses of pain, she remains silent. As I work, I notice a few other wounds on her. One cheekbone is swollen and her lower lip has a small split in it. Someone hit her.

My grip tightens briefly on her ankle at the thought of someone placing their hands on her, and I have to swallow down the rising anger. When I find out who it was, I will kill them. Brooke has been on my mind for years, and whoever sent her to my doorstep, injured and scared, won’t be able to fathom the fury I will bring down on them.

“There,” I say, cradling her calf while lowering her leg to the ground. “I will get you some shoes that won’t aggravate your wounds while you heal. Is there anywhere else that needs treatment?”

“No,” Brooke says softly, unable to meet my eyes.

“What about this?” I lift my hand to her face and Brooke flinches slightly before shaking her head. I touch her cheek, just below the shadow of a bruise forming. “Someone hit you, Brooke.”

She closes her eyes and then briefly turns her face into my touch. “Please…”

“If you tell me what happened, I can help you.”

Brooke looks at me, a haunted sorrow in the depths of her blue eyes. “I can’t. Not right now.”

I nod. It’s incredible enough that she’s here, I don’t want to press her for details quite yet.

“Understood.” I’m about to pull my hand away when suddenly Brooke surges forward. Her hands land on my bare shoulders and just like I’ve dreamed a thousand times since we met, her lips collide with mine.