Tutor, Nanny, Spit-up, Spy

by Perry Kirkpatrick

  The Accidental Cases of Emily Abbott, #4

  Tutor, Nanny, Spit-Up, Spy

  Perry Elisabeth Kirkpatrick

  Copyright ©2019 by Perry Elisabeth Kirkpatrick

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Cover design by www.PerryElisabethDesign.com with images from www.depositphotos.com

  www.perrykirkpatrick.com

  Contents

  Title Page

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Epilogue

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  Chapter 1

  Emily stared at the open drawer of her dresser, frowning at her neatly folded shirts. A navy-and-white striped top caught her eye, and she removed it from the stack. A black polo she’d only worn once or twice because it made her warm in the summer was the nicest thing left. Imagining the way the bright sunshine would heat up the fabric and make her warm, she grimaced as she grabbed it, too, from the drawer. The rest were t-shirts that were too faded and too casual.

  What do nannies typically wear? Is there some unofficial uniform I’m missing?

  She turned from her dresser and reached for the open folder lying on her bed. Brent had dropped it by not quite an hour ago, and she’d read through the contents within minutes. There wasn’t much information about her cover identity—just the basics—and certainly not much information on how to be a nanny. She suspected the ICS agent for whom she was filling in had more training, more experience, and more time to prepare.

  She sighed. Pulling open her closet, she stared at the few dresses hanging there. She usually saved these for church, but her normal wardrobe was too worn.

  “Church dresses, it is,” she said to herself. “I suppose I might look out of place, but so be it. I’d rather look over-dressed than too casual.”

  She kept repeating this to herself as she packed the clothing into the duffel bag on her bed. Her gaze strayed to the slim folder again. Was she actually prepared enough for this? What was the worst that could happen if the Gonzalez family saw through her cover and learned she was just a coffee barista living on next-to-nothing?

  She had to try, at least. It was worth it to help protect them.

  Rubbing her face, as if to scrub the worrisome thoughts away, Emily picked up the first page in the folder and read the name for her cover identity. Emily Tessier.

  “Tess-ee-er? Tess-yerr? Tess-ee-yay?” she mumbled. “I should probably figure out how to pronounce my own last name.” She slid her hand into her back pocket, reaching for her phone. Brent would know how she was supposed to pronounce it. The guy probably spoke French, being a spy and all.

  Brent had destroyed her cheap flip phone along with his smartphone. There was no way to know if the mole or hacker who had leaked ICS agents’ pictures to an enemy organization had infiltrated their phones. The whole agency was under digital lockdown until further notice.

  Emily stared at the lock screen of the cheap smartphone Brent had bought to replace her dumb-phone. “I don’t actually know if he has a new phone himself, and I certainly don’t know the number.” She tapped the phone’s screen thoughtfully for a moment. He had said her new plan came with a very small amount of cellular data, in case she needed to look something up online.

  This is one of those moments.

  She opened the browser and typed in, “Tessier pronunciation.” Skipping over the articles that wanted to spend time on diacritical marks and the history of the name, she tapped the first video result.

  A female voice pronounced the name beautifully and with ease.

  “It’s Tess-ee-yay —of course the ‘R’ doesn’t actually make a sound,” she murmured, starting the video over and listening as the woman’s voice pronounced the word a few more times.

  She tried saying it along with her.

  “It just doesn’t sound the same when I say it. Wish I had a French accent.”

  She cocked her head.

  Hmm… I hadn’t thought of that. Am I supposed to actually be a French nanny? Was the ICS agent French or good at pretending to be?

  Emily frowned. The last time she’d spoken with a fake accent was on the school playground when she and two other little girls had set up a royal court underneath the monkey bars. She’d been doling out some orders for them to gather their armies and prepare tea when one of the boys had decided to use the monkey bars and his swinging legs caught her in the side of the face.

  The school nurse had called her dad, but after a few, brief questions about the seriousness of her injury, he’d told the nurse he wanted her to go back to class. He said she’d have to toughen up someday and now was as good a time as any to start.

  Shaking away the unpleasant memory, Emily tucked her phone back into her pocket.

  “I believe that accent was an English one, anyway,” she said in her best imitation of a French accent.

  Okay, nobody else is even here, and I’m embarrassed by how bad that was. I’d better keep practicing.

  After a simple dinner—the preparation of which, she narrated in her fake accent as if on a cooking show—Emily settled down on her sagging couch to read the page about the Gonzalez family once more.

  The father was the president of San Martino, a small South American country. His itinerary while in the U.S. included a number of diplomatic functions, meet-and-greets with Spanish-speaking communities in several states, and meetings with a few U.S. officials. He had brought his wife and four young children along, and they seemed to have planned some outings together, as well. Disneyland, the Smithsonian Institute, and a charity concert being put on by a Latino children’s choir in Phoenix.

  ICS had picked up chatter about a plot to assassinate Mr. Gonzalez while he was on U.S. soil. This could not be allowed to happen. They needed more info, however—they needed a man on the inside. Or a woman, as it happened. They had arranged to provide a nanny for the Gonzalez children during their time in Arizona.

  And then their agent got injured at the last minute. So here I am getting ready to pretend I know anything about being a nanny.

  Emily carefully read the information on each of the four children.

  Juan, codenamed Eeny, was the eldest at 7 years old. The paper said he enjoyed soccer and was very serious about his schoolwork.

  Sofia, codenamed Meeny, was next. She was 6 and the only daughter. According to ICS, she was a bit of an enigma as she drifted from tea parties to getting muddy with her brothers. As for school, she only really enjoyed her history lessons, according to the dossier.

  Daniel, codenamed Miney, was 3. He already knew the alphabet and was doing informal preschool work. Most of his day was spent eating, playing, and napping, however.

  The littlest member of the Gonzalez family was just 10 months old, ano
ther boy. His name was Mateo, codenamed Mo, and he, too, spent most of his time eating, playing, and napping.

  “I’ll bet he’s a little sweetheart,” Emily said to herself, trying to picture exactly what size a 10-month-old was. “And, I have a pretty good guess who codenamed these kids. Poor Sofia.” She tucked the paper back into her folder and headed to her bedroom. She placed the folder in the duffel bag, working it underneath the folded clothes so it was hidden, and got ready for bed.

  Big day tomorrow. I have to be the French Mary Poppins!

  Chapter 2

  Emily pressed the buzzer. After a moment, a metallic-sounding man’s voice answered.

  “State your business, please.”

  Swallowing, and eyeing the ornate iron gates still closed just ahead of her Subaru, she answered.

  “Hello, I’m—” in the nick of time she remembered the accent. “Emily Tessier, the temporary nanny hired by the Gonzalez family.”

  She hoped the quavering she felt in her middle didn’t come through her voice. She’d never done this on her own before; Brent had always been there with her. This time, he was unreachable, and the instructions in her folder from ICS had merely said to report to the house the family was renting in Scottsdale at 7am sharp.

  “Proceed to the north entrance,” the voice said. The gates swung open and Emily eased her car through them.

  The driveway curved through an immaculately-manicured lawn toward a sprawling, white house, set back among a group of large trees. Not many places in the Phoenix valley were lucky enough to have trees as old and tall as these, and Emily couldn’t help but notice and admire them.

  The driveway circled around a splashing fountain, but she passed the grand front door and turned off on the narrow road that led to the north side of the house. Parking, she took a deep breath and got out. Two men with tanned skin and dark hair waited by the door, their black suits, rigid stances, and ear-pieces telling her they were part of the president’s security. She approached, clutching her duffel bag in one hand.

  “I am Raul Diaz, head of security for Senor Gonzalez and his family,” said the stockier of the two, uncrossing his arms and opening the door. “We will verify your identity and check your bag.”

  “Right this way, miss,” said the taller, lankier man, taking her bag. His gaze was sharp, almost unnervingly alert.

  They left the hot, bright sunshine outdoors and entered the house. The room they stepped into appeared to be something of a guard station and surveillance center. Several monitors cycled through security camera views of the house and grounds. The guard holding Emily’s duffel bag set it on the desk, and Diaz unzipped it.

  She held her breath, glad that she had thought to put her ICS folder underneath all her clothes, and hoping that the head of security wouldn’t look that deeply into the bag. He peered inside and then held out his hand, saying to the sharp-eyed guard, “Moreno, the metal detector.” He waved the stick over Emily’s luggage, and then nodded, satisfied.

  “Now I must pass this around you as well,” he said, turning to Emily. “Don’t worry—it won’t hurt.”

  She couldn’t help but smile a little at his reassurance.

  “And please give Moreno your identification card.”

  For a moment, Emily’s brain froze up.

  Is there some kind of International Association of Licensed Nannies I’m supposed to be a part of? Oh, wait. I think he just means my driver’s license.

  Nodding, she opened the small purse slung over her shoulder and provided the fake driver’s license ICS had made for her cover identity. She prayed it was a good enough fake that sharp-eyed Moreno wouldn’t know she wasn’t truly Emily Tessier.

  Holding out her arms like she’d seen in TV shows, Emily waited as Diaz passed the metal detector wand over her. Moreno turned from a nearby computer and nodded to his boss before handing the driver’s license back to Emily.

  “Thank you for your cooperation, Miss Tessier,” Diaz said.

  “Of course,” she murmured, trying to be as brief as possible, not confident her French accent would pass muster with a man who obviously spoke French—from the way he’d easily pronounced her last name.

  “I wish to explain the workings of this house to you and then I will lead you to meet the children and Senora Gonzalez.” He once again crossed his arms over his broad chest as he spoke. “As I said, I am Raul Diaz, head of security for Senor Gonzalez.”

  Emily found herself wishing he’d tell her more about himself. He seemed like he might be the San Martino equivalent of a Navy Seal.

  “There are five of us in the security detail, and I will ensure you are introduced to each. In some ways, we will all be working closely together—since you are caring for the children we protect.

  “Moreno, here, is my right-hand man. You’ll meet Morales when we go to the children. Duarte and Hincha are currently out with Senor Gonzalez. Ordinarily, Duarte and I accompany him, but I wanted to be here to meet you and the tutor.”

  Emily was about to ask, “The tutor?” when a buzzing noise sounded, and one of the monitors switched to a view of the front gate. Moreno answered with a demand that the person in the car state their business.

  “Hello, yes. I am Brandon Peters, I have been hired as the Gonzalez children’s tutor.”

  That’s Brent’s voice!

  Emily quickly schooled her features to hide her surprise and recognition of the voice on the other end of the intercom.

  “Proceed to the north entrance,” Moreno instructed, pressing the button that must operate the gates. He then spoke into his lapel mic. “Tutor is on the premises. Repeat, Tutor is on the premises and headed to security office.”

  I wonder what my codename is. Probably Nanny. These guys are not as creative about naming as Brent is.

  “Wait here,” Diaz instructed her. He left and in a moment returned with Brent in tow.

  Emily bit her lip and watched in amusement as Brent entered wearing an eclectic, rumpled shirt-tie-and-slacks combo and a pair of black-rimmed nerd glasses.

  The guards put him through the same process of ID-checking and metal-detecting. Diaz introduced himself, Moreno, and Emily.

  “If you both will follow me, I’ll take you to meet the children. They are nearly done with breakfast.” Diaz turned to the door leading to the rest of the house, mumbling something in Spanish into his lapel mic. Emily guessed he was updating the rest of the team that they were on the move.

  It’s funny how they have to track and report every move each person makes.

  The house was large and luxurious. Emily felt she’d probably spend at least a month getting lost in such a large place, but Diaz seemed to know the layout by heart even though the family had only arrived there the day before.

  That’s why he’s head of security.

  As they approached a set of closed doors, the sounds of children’s voices met Emily’s ears.

  “The informal dining room,” Diaz said, opening one of the double doors. The noise level immediately increased. They looked in at a scene of partial chaos.

  Mrs. Gonzalez was sopping up a glass of spilled milk while her two eldest argued noisily about what had happened. The baby sat in his high chair seeming determined to make just as much noise as his older siblings despite being unable to talk yet.

  Brent chuckled behind Emily. “It looks like your services are required, Nanny.”

  Chapter 3

  Emily leapt into the fray, grabbing a second napkin from the table—wincing when she saw that it was a pristine white one—and soaking up the milk that was dripping down to the floor. Startled by her sudden presence, the baby quieted, opting to suck on his fingers and watch her in suspicious silence.

  The children’s mother hushed the older two, speaking firmly in Spanish. Emily assumed she was telling them to stop arguing.

  Funny how you can tell so much from inflection and body language without understanding the words.

  Straightening, Emily refilled the small glass of
milk and reached across the baby’s highchair tray to set it by Sofia’s plate.

  “You must be Miss Tessier,” the woman said, balling her milk-soaked napkin in one hand and extending the other.

  Emily did the same and shook her hand.

  “A trial by fire, as they say,” Mrs. Gonzalez said, shaking her head and gracefully smoothing her hair back into place. “I do appreciate you jumping right in. I can see you will be a wonderful fit for us.” She checked her watch. “I’m supposed to be meeting my husband, and if I don’t hurry I’ll be late. Morales, if you would take these to the laundry—” She took Emily’s napkin and extended both to the young guard standing watchfully across the room. “Children, this is Miss Emily Tessier. She’ll be helping to take care of you while we’re in Arizona. Be good for her, and do introduce yourselves. Mama must run to meet Papa.”

  The children chorused goodbyes in a mixture of English and Spanish as she planted a kiss on each of their heads and then hurried out of the room, again checking her watch.

  “We must go with her,” Diaz said, gesturing to himself and his sharp-eyed subordinate. “Morales will be back from the laundry in a moment and can help you with anything else, I’m sure.”

  “Of course,” Brent said. “We will be fine.”

  With a second glance around the room, the head of security followed Mrs. Gonzalez and Moreno down the hall. Emily could hear him murmuring into his radio. “Songbird is on the move.”

  What a pretty codename for Mrs. Gonzalez. I’ll have to point that out to Brent.

  The children all stared at her silently for a moment and then switched their gazes to Brent. Emily found he’d been looking at her, too.

  Brent grinned at the children and said something rapidly in Spanish, wiggling his eyebrows as he spoke. “Ella es como una estrella!”

  Estrella? Like the mountain range? Or, wait, does that smean stars? What are you talking about, Brent?

  At his words, the children came to life. Juan, the eldest, rolled his eyes and made a gagging sound. Sofia gasped and giggled, her gaze darting quickly back to Emily. Daniel giggled and after moment, Mateo copied him, although Emily didn’t think the baby had any more idea what Brent was saying than she did.