Hoisting Oliver off the counter, I creep to the front window. I see a swanky black SUV in the driveway with a crib mattress hanging out the back. This must be Trace’s friends with a much-needed delivery.
Ignoring the little boy’s whines as he tries to lunge out of my arms to reach the donuts, I open the door a crack to find a thirtyish man standing on the stone-paved porch. He looks big and fit with dark hair so perfect it’s clear he spent a fortune on his super-precise cut. Expensive shades rest on top of his head. But it’s his eyes that get my attention. They’re the same striking green as Oliver’s.
“Hi, I’m Griff.” He sticks out his hand. “Trace said you need a crib?”
I’m confused, but I shake it. “Yeah. I’m Tanner. Come on in.”
“Thanks.” He steps over the threshold and shuts the door behind him. “Where’s Amanda?”
“Sleeping. Last night was…”
“A lot, I’m sure.” Then he directs his attention to Oliver, ruffling the boy’s hair. “There’s my little brother.”
He didn’t mean that literally…did he? “I’m sorry, what?”
“My little brother.” While I’m numb with shock, he plucks Oliver from my grasp. The boy goes happily with a grin. “But I’ve gotta tell you it’s weirder than hell to have a son older than my youngest sibling.”
I’m so confused. “Wait. You and Oliver are both…Barclay Reed’s children?”
“Yeah, you didn’t know? There are a bunch of us here on the island.”
So when Douglas Lund referenced his late friend’s other offspring, he didn’t just mean Cook. “Besides Evan?”
“Yeah. Maxon is my older brother. We grew up together, along with my younger sister, Harlow.”
“Noah Weston’s wife?”
“Yeah.”
Come to think of it, she had the green eyes, too. “I had no idea.”
“Bethany is my other sister.”
“She used to be Barclay’s right hand? That’s what I heard anyway.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t meet her until last Christmas.”
Mind blown. “Your dad had six kids by four different women?” As soon as the words are out, I realize he might think I’m being rude or judgmental. “Sorry. Just trying to understand who’s related to who here.”
He laughs. “It’s confusing. But I think you’re up to speed now, at least with what we know.”
It’s none of my business, but I’m curious. “You think there are more?”
“He fathered five of his six kids in a seven-year span—proudly. Then I’m supposed to believe he found the willpower or decency not to knock up any other woman for twenty-six years, before Oliver came along? Does that make sense to you?”
Given what he’s said? “No.”
“Me, either. So we’re all looking for others. But I didn’t come here to draw you our fucked-up family tree. Trace said you’re bodyguarding Amanda, and Oliver needs a crib.”
“Exactly.”
“Where do you want to set it up?”
“Since Amanda is sleeping in the bedroom, you can leave the pieces here.” I gesture to a corner. “I’ll figure out how to assemble it later.” Somehow.
Oliver chooses that moment to jerk out of Griff’s grasp. He barely manages to get a hand on the boy again before he falls to the floor. And once his little feet hit the tile, he makes a mad dash back to the donuts.
Griff laughs. “Oliver clearly knows what he likes.”
“And he’s hungry.”
“No doubt.” Griff frowns. “You weren’t going to give him milk out of a carton, were you?”
“Um…” I guess I’m not supposed to.
“It’ll wind up everywhere except in his mouth. Where’s his sippy cup?”
“No idea.” Hell, I’m only half sure what that is.
Over the next hour, Griff kindly helps me dig up an appropriate cup in Oliver’s diaper bag, sit him in a makeshift booster seat, then scramble him up a few eggs to go with all the sugar. As soon as the little boy is done demolishing his food, he seems content to sit with his thumb in his mouth and a toy truck in his hand.
And I dodged a bullet. If left to figure out how to take care of Oliver by myself, this morning would have been messy. “Thanks a lot. I’d offer you a beer…”
“It’s fine. I gotta drive home. Britta is holding down the fort with our two boys. Jamie is almost four. Gray isn’t quite three months old. Together, they’re more than a handful.”
“I’ll bet.” I’ve only got Oliver to contend with, and I’m already feeling out of my element. But Griff seems to have the Dad thing down. “So about that crib…”
Griff and I retrieve all the parts from his SUV, and he gives me a quick, dirty explanation of how to put it together before he grabs a bag with crib sheets and a few blankets, then sets everything together in a corner of the living room.
“Thanks.” I shake his hand. “Really. I know Amanda will appreciate it, too. And I’d appreciate it even more if you could keep our location on the downlow.”
“No sweat. Here’s my number, in case you need anything else.” He hands me a business card, then heads to the door. “I’ll see you around.”
Then it hits me. If he’s Barclay’s son and Amanda is Lund’s daughter, maybe he knows more about her, especially what happened between her and his father.
“A question before you go?”
Griff turns back. “Sure. What can I do for you?”
“I need help with Amanda. She wants protection. Someone is after her, and the explanation I’m getting feels…off. An asshole with murder in mind would try to shoot her or maybe set her place on fire. But this guy? He came after her with a knife. That’s a way more personal approach than a slighted client of Barclay’s would suggest.”
“I never thought about it, but since you have to get really close to someone to stab them, that makes sense.”
“She doesn’t want to tell me about her relationship with your dad…but I can’t shake the feeling that I won’t be able to figure out who wants her dead or why without more information. Can you tell me anything?”
“Besides the fact dear old Dad had a history of
