Nanny Witness

by Hope White

  “I want to trust you, Carly,” he finally said.

  “And I, you. Can’t you accept that I have good instincts and in that moment I trusted them, much like you would have trusted yours?”

  He wanted to understand where she was coming from, why she chose to keep the stranger’s presence a secret. Instead he was struggling with the thought of what could have happened. He wasn’t able to see past his frustration and he’d keep his mouth shut until he could find the right words to make her hear him.

  “Did you see Susan when she was pregnant?” Carly asked.

  “No.”

  “Did you ever wonder why she and Harry never invited the family to the christening?”

  “They...christened her?” That was news to Whit.

  “Yes, shortly after they hired me. I came to the christening and cared for Mia during the party.”

  “There was a party,” he said, his tone flat.

  “A lovely party. At the house.”

  He thought about that for a few minutes, puzzling over why his brother wouldn’t have at least invited their mom and stepdad to the christening. Sure, Harry had distanced himself from the family, yet he still spoke to Mom every few weeks.

  “We aren’t a religious family,” Whit started. “Maybe Harry thought that wasn’t our thing.”

  “I’m not totally surprised by the possibility of Mia being adopted.”

  “Why would you say that?”

  “A few things. Mrs. B. didn’t nurse the baby, even a little, and studies show that nursing helps build an infant’s immunity. Plus, she didn’t seem to be recovering from childbirth.”

  “Why would they keep the adoption a secret from the family?”

  “Maybe it just never came up. You said you weren’t close.”

  True. They weren’t close because they couldn’t talk about their personal truths, couldn’t share their emotional pain and ask for forgiveness.

  Well, that wasn’t totally true. Years ago Whit had tried apologizing to his brother for not taking better care of him. Harry blew him off, acted like he didn’t remember the incident. Although Whit wasn’t a share-your-feelings type of guy, he understood the importance of being honest and open with people you cared about, people who were important in your life.

  In this case, Carly Winslow.

  “I can’t fail my brother again,” Whit admitted.

  “I understand.”

  “That’s why it upsets me that you didn’t let me know you were in trouble.”

  “I wasn’t, Whit, honest. I—” she hesitated “—I felt sorry for Sam.”

  “Why?”

  “You didn’t see the look in her eyes. She was so broken and sad.”

  He suspected the woman reminded Carly of herself on some level except that as Carly made a credible argument for her actions, she didn’t seem broken and sad. She sounded strong and determined.

  You know I’d never let anything happen to Mia.

  He couldn’t argue with that. He might be frustrated beyond words, but he knew in his heart she was devoted to his niece.

  So why was he still upset about her choice not to call out for his help?

  He wanted to be the one to save her and Mia, to protect them. By doing so, he could potentially find some semblance of redemption for failing his brother.

  He could be the honorable protector, not a self-centered jerk.

  “You trust my love for your niece, right?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Good.” She sighed. “That’s what counts.”

  Whit wanted more. He wanted to trust Carly implicitly, especially if they were going to act as a team in order to protect Mia.

  This tension between them was due to Whit not fully trusting her and wanting to play hero, wanting to protect Carly and Mia on his own. Wasn’t that in itself a selfish, ego-driven motivation?

  He started questioning everything from his own motivations to Carly’s actions. It was times like these he wished he had access to God so he could pray for guidance and listen for the answers. He admired that about Carly, and wondered if her faith had anything to do with her calm nature when confronted by the stranger.

  “You’re awfully quiet,” she said.

  “My head hurts.” The concussion had triggered a dull headache he’d been unable to shake for hours.

  “I bought extra pain reliever for you.”

  He heard her rustling in a bag.

  “Let’s wait until we get back to the inn,” he said.

  “Okay. I’ll redress your wound, as well.”

  Even after he’d berated her for tonight’s actions, she still offered to tend to his injury. He wasn’t sure he would be so compassionate if their roles were reversed. And why had he berated her? For protecting his niece from a stranger and hoping to get information that could help authorities find his missing brother and sister-in-law?

  Whit needed to stop trying to be the hero and accept the possibility that Carly was a solid ally, that she could be trusted.

  “Weren’t you scared?” he said.

  “Of Sam?”

  “Yeah.”

  “No, we made a connection. I could see the love in her eyes for Mia.”

  Love. That was Carly’s barometer. That’s how she found her truth, and ability to trust.

  Whit’s cell phone rang and he hit the answer button on the radio.

  “Whittaker.”

  “It’s Harper. You alone?”

  “No, I’ve got Carly and the baby with me.”

  Harper hesitated.

  “What is it?” Whit said.

  “Your sister-in-law was involved in raising millions of dollars for Serenity Resort, filed as a nonprofit corporation. Something doesn’t add up and she’s under investigation by the feds.”

  “What are we looking at here?”

  “Suspected fraud. According to the feds, money was transferred out of the official bank account into a Cayman Island bank a week ago.”

  “Did Susan transfer the money?”

  “Can’t confirm that,” Harper said. “Also, the female kidnapper’s minivan was stolen, so that’s a dead end. How are things with you?”

  “A woman claiming to be Mia’s biological mother found us...well, found Carly.”

  “The baby’s adopted?”

  “Not sure. Thought you should look into that angle,” Whit said.

  “We also found the SUV Miss Winslow described as the one parked in front of the house the day of the break-in. It was abandoned in a random subdivision.”

  “And?” Whit felt he was holding back.

  “There was blood in the back seat, torn clothing. Forensics is on it.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Not at present. You feel safe where you’re at?”

  “Relatively.”

  “Keep in touch.”

  “Thanks.” Whit ended the call. He’d feel safe when the case was solved and they found his brother. Alive.

  There was blood in the back seat, torn clothing.

  Reality hit him like a sucker punch to the gut: his brother might be dead or, at the very least, critically injured.

  No, he couldn’t go there.

  Carly’s gentle hand pressed against his shoulder, sending a wave of calm through his chest.

  “Let’s pray.”

  * * *

  Back at the inn, Carly gave Mia an oatmeal bath, which seemed to ease the itch, and dabbed the child’s skin with lotion. Singing softly, she rocked Mia and placed her in the crib.

  She quietly went into the second bedroom, where Whit sat at the desk next to the window. He seemed deep in thought as he studied his tablet.

  “She’s asleep,” Carly said.

  He glanced up, tension creasing his forehead.

  �
�Do you want me to redress your wound?” she said.

  “I did already.”

  “Oh, okay. Did you take a pain reliever for—”

  “Yes, when we got home.”

  Home. She didn’t correct him. She’d often dreamed of living in a home with a principled man who loved her, despite her background, and cared for her and their children. Aunt Vicky had reminded Carly, Our traumatic life experiences shape who we are. You’ve learned from yours and have become a wonderful woman.

  Since Whit was focused on whatever he was reading, Carly grabbed the shopping bag and started for the bathroom. He hadn’t spoken much since she’d offered to pray in the SUV, and she hoped he wasn’t upset that she’d suggested it. Sometimes people were uncomfortable praying, and even thought you were being condescending when you said you’d pray for them. Carly had wanted to offer Whit comfort because she sensed his desperation about his brother.

  “Are you going to sleep?” he said.

  She turned to him. “Not yet.”

  “Would you mind...talking for a while?” He shook his head slightly. “Never thought I’d hear those words come out of my mouth.”

  She went to the window seat next to the desk. “I’m sorry about before.”

  “Not telling me about the woman in the bathroom?”

  “Well, yes, but also about praying in the car. I got the impression it made you uncomfortable.”

  “It didn’t. It just felt—” he hesitated “—different.”

  “I sensed your pain and wanted to help. When I’m freaked out and don’t know what to do, prayer helps.”

  “I envy that about you,” he said softly.

  “You shouldn’t feel envious. You can do it, too. All by yourself. Well, not completely by yourself because God’s there.”

  “Can I ask you a question?”

  She nodded.

  “Did this Sam woman give you any clue as to who she might be protecting you and Mia from?”

  Carly sighed, thinking he was going to ask about God, not the case. “No, and I pressed her on it.”

  “She must have been keeping tabs on Mia if she knew about the break-in.”

  “I’d never seen her before, like when I was at the park with the baby.”

  “Tell me everything she said.”

  “She referred to herself as a coder. When I asked if she was a black hat, she seemed offended and said she had scruples, although her former employer didn’t, and he was a brutal guy.”

  “You didn’t get Sam’s last name?”

  “No.”

  “If she knew about the break-in, I’m thinking she tapped into the home video system.” Whit glanced at her. “I’m assuming my brother had one.”

  “He did.”

  He redirected his attention to his tablet.

  “Do you believe that Sam is Mia’s biological mother?” Carly asked.

  “I don’t know what to think. I’ve done a cursory search and can’t find evidence of Mia’s birth to Susan and Harry.”

  It had been a long day and he looked completely drained.

  “Why don’t you get some sleep and I’ll take care of Mia,” Carly offered.

  “I’ve got too many questions buzzing around in my brain, like who’s got my brother and sister-in-law, and why they’re after Mia.”

  “I know.” Carly sighed. “I mean Mia is an innocent child.”

  “I’d like to think my brother is innocent, as well.”

  “I’m sure he is.”

  Whit glanced at her with bloodshot eyes. “What is he like as a dad?”

  “He’s amazing.” She hugged her knees to her chest. “He always offers to hold Mia and lies on the floor to play with her. He makes these animal noises and she bursts into happy giggles. He’s incredibly gentle and—”

  A loud boom shook the windows and the lights went out.

  NINE

  Carly instinctively started for Mia’s room and collided with Whit’s hard chest. Apparently they had the same instinct. Get to the baby.

  “Hang on a second.” The soft blue glow of his cell phone lit his concerned face. He activated the flashlight app and pointed it toward the bathroom. “Stay close.”

  She not only stayed close, she gripped the belt loop of his jeans.

  Mia, they had to get to Mia.

  “Could be a random power outage,” he said.

  His suggestion didn’t relieve her panic.

  They made it through the bathroom and into the nursery, where he aimed the beam of light at the crib. Mia slept contently, a pacifier in her mouth.

  “Thank the Lord,” Carly whispered.

  Another boom made Carly jerk. Whit put a firm arm around her shoulder.

  “Whit—”

  An alarm blared.

  Carly grabbed the baby and wrapped her in a blanket. Whit led them to the door.

  The hallway was filling with smoke.

  A woman screamed as she ran past their door. It was Ingrid, Roger’s wife. Roger was right behind her.

  “Is the house on fire?” Roger said to Whit.

  “Have no idea. Let’s get downstairs.”

  Roger, Whit, Carly and the baby went quickly down the hallway, the smoke getting thicker, making Carly cough. She had to get the baby out of there. Fast.

  They made it downstairs to the front door and out onto the porch.

  Another scream echoed from the house. This time it wasn’t Ingrid, who was trembling in her robe on the front lawn. Carly glanced at Whit. “The innkeepers?”

  Whit handed her his truck keys. “You know what to do.” He disappeared back into the house.

  He wanted her to leave the premises.

  To leave Whit behind.

  Carly gripped the baby tighter and prayed for Whit’s safety.

  * * *

  Talk about being pulled in opposite directions. Whit wanted to protect Mia and Carly, but he couldn’t ignore the cries of a woman trapped by fire.

  He raced into the kitchen, where a wall of smoke blocked a closed door beside the refrigerator. That’s where the woman’s cries were coming from. He remembered the innkeepers saying their room was off the kitchen. He pounded on the door with a closed fist.

  “Help!” Trish, the innkeeper, cried.

  Whit carefully touched the doorknob. It wasn’t hot, so he turned it, but the door was locked.

  “Unlock the door!”

  No response. Had she succumbed to the smoke and passed out?

  Whit kicked the door open. “Trish!” He spotted her on the floor and helped her up. “Where’s your husband?”

  “Not sure!”

  “Who else is in the house?”

  “Just your family, and Roger and his wife!”

  “They’re safe! Come on!”

  He helped her up and out of the kitchen. As they stumbled down the hall, she stopped short. “What if Kurt’s in the basement?”

  “I’ll check.”

  Covering his mouth with his shirtsleeve, Whit led her down the hall and made sure she got outside.

  He turned to go in search of Kurt. Halfway to the basement door, someone tackled him, sending him crashing into a table in the hallway. His attacker got Whit in a choke hold, probably hoping to make Whit pass out and die from smoke inhalation.

  No, Mia needed him.

  Whit struggled to free himself, but his arms were weakened by his injuries. His strength was in his legs.

  And his determination to protect his niece and Carly.

  With a guttural groan, he pushed backward, banging his attacker into the wall and loosening the death grip on Whit’s neck. Whit jammed his fist against the guy’s nose and broke free.

  Spun around to defend himself.

  And was pistol-whipped.

  Stars arced across his
vision. The smoke was making it hard to breathe, to think.

  Whit grabbed a lamp and swung it at the guy’s head.

  The gun went off.

  Racing across the living room, Whit grabbed a wooden chair and broke a window.

  Whit dived outside, landing on the side porch. Fighting to get air in his lungs, he scrambled away from the house.

  Another shot rang out.

  Whit didn’t feel the burn of a bullet ripping through his flesh. It was just a matter of time, maybe seconds, before the shooter easily picked him off.

  Leaving Carly and Mia vulnerable.

  His head started to spin, and he collapsed on the hard ground. No, he couldn’t fail. Whit started to get up.

  “Don’t move!” a man shouted.

  “What’s the matter with you?” It was Carly’s voice. Whit looked up. Carly stood protectively above Whit, clutching Mia in her arms.

  She shouldn’t be here. She should have left.

  “Get away,” he groaned.

  “Roger, help me!” she called over her shoulder.

  The other inn guest helped Whit stand.

  “Careful of the arm, he’s injured,” Carly said.

  Injured? By now he should be dead. He’d counted two shots. It took only one to kill a man.

  Roger helped Whit across the property to a nearby tree, where Whit collapsed, feeling weak and frustrated.

  “The fire department is on the way!” Trish said, rushing over to them. “We have to contain this until they get here. Where’s Kurt? Where’s my husband?”

  * * *

  Carly’s temper burned. “He was on the side porch threatening Whit with a gun.”

  “What?” Trish said, stupefied.

  “There he is!” Roger pointed to the edge of the property where Kurt was doing something beside a large tank.

  “He’s trying to contain the fire,” Trish said.

  “I can’t tell where it’s coming from,” Roger said.

  “Come on!” Trish took off running, and Roger followed. Ingrid stayed behind, blindly gazing at the house.

  Carly swayed with Mia in her arms. The little girl was a trouper, able to sleep through anything.