Tutor, Nanny, Spit-up, Spy

by Perry Kirkpatrick

  “Papa!” The children sprang out of the van toward their father.

  Emily stepped back to let the family enjoy their reunion, but Mr. Gonzalez half-turned and said, his voice thick with emotion, “You are not really a nanny, are you.” He glanced at Brent. “And I think you are not really a tutor. You were watching over us. Although your method was highly unusual—I am indebted to you for my life.” He looked back at Emily. “And to you for my family’s safety. Without them—I wouldn’t even want life, I think.”

  Emily’s throat felt suddenly thick, so she just nodded.

  Chapter 20

  After a moment, she approached the ever-watchful Diaz. “I don’t know if it means anything,” she said, “but I spotted a suspicious-looking black van on my way back to the house. It looked to me like one of those dark surveillance vans they always use in the movies. And I hear you’re missing an evil mastermind…”

  “That sounds like something we would definitely wish to check out,” Diaz said, regarding her with interest. “Can you show us where you saw it?”

  “Yes, it’s this way.” She gestured in its general direction.

  “Moreno, Morales—escort the family back to the house,” Diaz ordered. “I’ll go investigate this suspicious van.”

  “I’ll come along,” Brent said.

  Diaz raised an eyebrow but nodded in agreement.

  Emily picked her way through the desert plants, angling slightly away from the wash. “Right over there,” she whispered, pointing to the black shape looming just behind the scrubby tree.

  The two men following her nodded. “Stay here,” Brent warned in a low voice. Emily crouched low and watched as he and the head guard drew their guns and crept slowly forward through the darkness.

  When they were close enough to the van, Diaz took a position facing the sliding door and nodded at Brent to open it. Brent paused for just a moment and then yanked the door back in one swift motion.

  Light spilled out, revealing racks of high-tech equipment and monitors and a silver-haired man who whirled in surprise, his hand going to the gun on his waistband.

  “Suelta el arma,” Diaz barked.

  I don’t need to know Spanish to know he just told him to drop the gun.

  The man scowled, but dropped his pistol to the floor of the van with a clatter.

  “So you were right after all, Tutor,” Diaz said, reaching into the van and jerking the man out by his collar. “My boss was plotting the whole thing, and with the equipment here, he hacked our security and radios. You are under arrest, Senor Hernandez, for treason against San Martino.”

  Brent jumped up into the van and poked around a moment before holding up two zip ties. “Don’t they use these as improvised handcuffs in TV shows and stuff?”

  Pop culture references sound a lot less convincing coming from you for some reason, Brent.

  Diaz didn’t seem to notice, though. He nodded and took the zip ties. “Vamos.” He shoved the scowling man forward into the darkness in the direction of the house.

  Brent headed for Emily’s position. “Well, that was festive,” he said to her, running a hand through his hair and making it stand on end. “Took a fair amount of explaining to convince them I wasn’t really an assassin.”

  Emily tried to give him an “I-told-you-so” look, but it was too dark for it to be really effective.

  “And I just found this in the black van,” Brent slid an envelope out of his pocket, tilting it to catch what little moonlight shone. A black symbol was printed on the outside.

  Emily gasped and glanced up at him. “The X with the bar across the top! The Roman numeral for 10,000! It matches the tattoos on those two guys ICS picked up! What was that doing in the van?”

  Brent slid it back into his pocket and said grimly, “I don’t know. I really don’t know.”

  As they slipped through the hedge at the back of the yard, they noticed red and blue lights flashing from in front of the house. Brent put out a hand and stopped Emily. “It’s best if we steer clear of law enforcement. They’re too fond of question-asking. It’s time to disappear, Houdini.” He steered her into a deep shadow near the hedge. “Hang tight. I’ll be right back.” Jogging silently, and nearly invisible in his all-black outfit, Brent crossed the yard and slipped into the house through the French doors.

  After what felt like an eternity, he appeared in the window Emily had escaped out of earlier. He dropped her packed duffel bag down onto the grass below and then descended the ladder himself.

  “C’mon,” he whispered, taking her elbow with a gloved hand. “Let’s get out of here.”

  They crept around to the south end of the house where her car was parked. Brent took a moment to remove her license plate as she stowed her duffel bag in the back seat and climbed into the passenger’s side.

  He pulled his balaclava over his head. “We’re going to have to drive right past all the police out front. Hunker down a bit and trust the window tinting. They won’t be able to identify your car without the license plate.”

  Emily did as he said. He started the car, whipping it around in the parking area and heading for the circle drive. Emily sank low in the front seat, just barely peering out. As they zoomed past the crowd of Gonzalezes, guards, and police clustered in front of the house, Emily saw a familiar face staring after them.

  Detective Jennifer Lark?!

  “Hello again, Detective Frank,” Brent murmured, stepping on the gas. “Goodbye, Detective Frank.”

  Epilogue

  Emily sighed and scrubbed harder at the coffee ring on the preparation counter.

  “Tell me your woes,” Brent said, leaning against the edge of the counter and crossing his arms.

  “For one thing, your apron strings are coming untied again,” she said. “And for another, I miss those kids.”

  He smiled. “They were a fun bunch.”

  A generic ring-tone shrilled from Brent’s apron pocket. He pulled out his burner phone and frowned at it.

  “How many people have your new number?” Emily asked, feeling suddenly nervous.

  “You. And —well, Santa, obviously.”

  “I’m completely sure it’s not him calling,” Emily said.

  “Why’s that?” Brent asked, still staring suspiciously at the ringing phone in his hand.

  “Because he just walked into the coffee shop,” she whispered.

  “Oh.” Brent seemed to come to a decision and punched the button to accept the call. He put it to his ear and didn’t say anything, just listened.

  Emily held her breath.

  After a long, anxious moment, Brent ended the call.

  “Who was it?” Emily whispered.

  “A robotic voice very interested in helping me fix a computer I don’t even own.”

  Emily giggled and then covered her mouth to try and stop it. “Seriously, Brent? That was a spam call?”

  “Yep,” his eyes twinkled with mirth. “And that’s how you know it’s time to switch burner phones.” He cracked open the back of the phone and removed the battery and SIM card. With a decisive—snap!—he broke the little card in half and tossed all the parts of the phone into his apron pocket.

  Emily sneaked a glance at Santa. He hadn’t ordered anything, but had simply sat down at one of the small bistro tables and begun reading a copy of the Arizona Republic. After a while, he folded the newspaper and set it on the table before standing and walking out the door without a backward glance.

  “I think I’ll go wipe down tables now,” Brent said suddenly.

  When he returned with his damp rag, he also carried Santa’s newspaper. He held it low behind the counter and unfolded it. Emily tried to watch without being too obvious. Inside the fold was a piece of paper with typewritten text on it. Brent read it quickly and then glanced sideways at her.

  He re-read it and then shrugged. “Here, have fun!” he whispered, passing the note to her before tossing the newspaper in the garbage bin under the counter.

  Emily mimi
cked his move of using the counter as cover as she read the note.

  - Got a hit on the faulty blueprints we allowed the Gremlin to pass to the Russian agent. The memory stick changed hands somewhere in South America. Not bringing them to Russia is unusual behavior on her part. Working theory is she may have gone rogue.

  - Investigation of agency personnel is ongoing. No mole detected yet as source of leak. Also pursuing possibility of a hack.

  - Continuing to seek intel on the men with the Roman numeral “10,000” tattoos. An agent purported to have intel on the subject has missed his check-in by 24 hours and may be in trouble. Agent Nighthawk, if this agent resurfaces, you will be going to Northern Arizona; be prepared.

  Emily raised her eyebrows and glanced over at Brent who was doing busy-work at the counter beside her. She passed the note to him and then turned, leaning against the counter. “It’s all so exciting,” she breathed. “I wish I could come!”

  Brent smiled. “Hey, don’t you have a normal life to live? One that doesn’t involve being in danger all the time?”

  “But what will you do for a vehicle without taking mine?” she teased.

  “Oh, didn’t I tell you? I got a new minivan.”

  “You did? You got a new man-van?”

  Brent grimaced. “Well, when you put it like that…”

  “Please tell me it isn’t the same, bland tan-gold color.”

  “If I did, I’d be lying.”

  Thank you for reading!

  IF YOU ENJOYED THIS book, be sure to check out the rest of the series! Emily's and Brent's missions continue in...

  1. Red Rover, Red Rover - May 6, 2019

  2. Plan to Fail - May 13, 2019

  3. Bad Things, Small Packages - May 27, 2019

  4. Tutor, Nanny, Spit-up, Spy - June 17, 2019

  5. A-Spying We Will Go - July 15, 2019

  6. Once Upon a Dime - August 12, 2019

  You might also enjoy reading my Kitten Files cozy mystery series: https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B07H4VRPYY

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  Acknowledgements

  A lot of people helped make this book possible…

  My siblings, who read and cheered.

  Tyler, who bought me animal-style fries when I finished the draft.

  My kiddos, who were very patient while mommy worked on her book.

  Katja, who came up with Emily’s undercover last name: Tessier.

  My amazing newsletter subscribers, who chose Eeny, Meeny, Miney, and Mo as the kids' codenames. You folks are a pretty cool bunch, and I love including you in my process!

  Misty, who answered my questions about the Spanish words and phrases.

  Jessica, who helped brainstorm fake country names and let me borrow a version of her last name for San Martino.

  Faith and Patty, who are terrific Patrons and who enjoyed an earlier version of this story, in spite of the typos.

  Brent's nerd glasses, which make me chuckle every time I see the cover.

  About the Author

  PERRY ELISABETH KIRKPATRICK lives in an undisclosed location outside of Phoenix where she and her husband chase their four little boys and an escape-artist dog. They don’t chase their cats, however, because cats hate that. She is the author of “The Kitten Files” mysteries, “The Accidental Cases of Emily Abbott” spy series, and multiple short stories.

  In addition to her writing, Perry enjoys graphic design, playing a number of musical instruments, and watching movies that make her laugh.

  Connect with her at www.perrykirkpatrick.com