Undercover with the Nanny

by Skendrovich, Cathy

  “This does concern him, Mr. Cabrera.”

  Uh-oh. Kate watched the two men square off like gunfighters, with Bobby standing off to the side, his gaze darting from his father to his coach. She reached out and grabbed his upper arm, hoping to pull him out of the line of fire, but he shook her off. Men, she growled in her head, even the pint-size ones, could be so stubborn.

  “I think I know what’s best for my child. He should have had that ball out in the field, and he shouldn’t be striking out. You come three days a week after school. I should see more improvement, don’t you think?”

  Kate watched Sawyer shift his weight to his back foot, and tip his ball cap back. He removed his sunglasses, taking the time to fold them over the neckline of his jersey. His eyes sparkled dangerously as he met Mr. Cabrera’s sharp gaze, yet the rest of him seemed relaxed.

  “But, Dad, I hit the ball the other time I was up, and even professional ball players strike out. Coach says so.”

  Kate wanted to hug Bobby. The kid was smarter than his father. At this moment, she wished she could quit her job and tell her boss to shove it, but then Bobby wouldn’t have her as a buffer. Except for Sawyer lately, she was the only stable influence the child had. She couldn’t do it to him, even if this job didn’t pay her bills, which it did too well.

  “It’s up to you, naturally, Mr. Cabrera. But Bobby is becoming a stronger player, and I really feel if you’re just a bit more patient, you’ll see the improvement yourself. Bobby has a lot more confidence in himself than just a couple weeks ago. The season is almost over. Having him in a summer baseball camp will also help his skills. But, unless you want him to be a pro-baller, I think what we’re doing is enough. Of course, it’s all up to you. And Bobby. Sir.”

  Sawyer’s hands were on his hips now, and that “Sir” dripped sarcasm. She held her breath, hoping the two men wouldn’t come to blows. Bobby seemed to sense the tension as well, for he backed up a step or two.

  A couple beats of silence passed. Mr. Cabrera looked into his son’s begging face before meeting Sawyer’s gaze once more. He finally nodded.

  “Since the season is almost over, we’ll leave it the way it is. But, hijo,” he turned his narrowed gaze on Bobby, “you need to try harder. Pay attention to your coach more.” He glanced at Sawyer. “Good afternoon.” He swung around and strode toward the parking lot, letting Bobby pick up his bag and struggle along behind him. Kate noticed her boss didn’t even spare her a look. She’d been dismissed for the day.

  “See ya Monday, Bobby,” Sawyer called, moving to her side. Once they were out of earshot she heard him mutter, “Prick.”

  “He doesn’t deserve to be a dad,” Kate said.

  “Ain’t that the truth.” Sawyer sighed. “But he’s Bobby’s, whether we like it or not.”

  She looked at him. His gaze was hidden behind his sunglasses once more, but she could tell by the angle of his head he was watching the Escalade pull out of its slot. Intently watching. Mr. Cabrera’s behavior seemed to really grate his nerves.

  As if sensing her attention, he turned toward her, removing his sunglasses and putting them over the bill of his cap before meeting her gaze. He stared into her face for long seconds, and she lost the smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. His serious expression was foreign to her. Why was he looking at her like she’d done something awful?

  “You up for Mexican tonight?”

  She blinked. Just like that, his focus, and his demeanor, changed. Gone was the surliness, the irritation, the intentness. In their place was the lighthearted flirtatiousness she’d grown accustomed to. She couldn’t help but respond likewise.

  “Mexican again? You weren’t kidding when you said it flowed in your veins.” She tried to sound grumpy, but his quick laugh and a brush of his lips on hers erased that attempt. She squirmed away from him and headed for her car while he moved toward his truck.

  “Lookin’ good from back here, Munroe. Dessert’s on you.”

  She concentrated on not swaying her hips, even as her heartbeat sped up at the mention of dessert. She knew damn well his form of dessert wouldn’t put any pounds on her.

  …

  “Your guys did good, Hayes.”

  Sawyer stood with his CO, John Sanchez, behind the two-way mirror and studied the man seated at the table in the interrogation room. He was the driver of an SUV full of coke that had been pulled over and subsequently taken into custody. He claimed to speak no English, so Sanchez was going to question him.

  He stood beside Sawyer as they watched the man fidget in his chair. Letting him stew alone for a while was a successful interrogation tactic that troubled the suspect more than browbeating him.

  Sawyer’s team had scored big time today. Having gotten a tip from border patrol that drugs weren’t being moved through any tunnels lately, they’d concluded that cars or planes were the chosen mode of transport. Since Cabrera hadn’t taken off anywhere, they’d guessed it was by cars.

  Sawyer had to hand it to Sanchez. Having DEA agents and sniffer dogs standing beside local law enforcement during so-called “sobriety” checkpoints had yielded the capture of this SUV driver, and another one across town, along with their contraband cargo.

  Unfortunately, since he was undercover, Sawyer couldn’t be part of the arrest, or the interrogation. So, here he stood, watching through the two-way mirror, while Sanchez got ready to skewer the bastard on the other side.

  “I appreciate all the surveillance in Cabrera’s house, by the way, Hayes. The pilot makes a lot of calls in his bedroom, but he moves from room to room. The bugs have been really helpful, even though he hasn’t implicated himself yet. It’s only a matter of time.

  “Any news on the babysitter?”

  Sawyer jolted, forced himself to meet Sanchez’s inquiring gaze. First of all, he hadn’t planted any listening devices beyond the one in Cabrera’s office, so how had they gotten placed? Secondly, what news would the man want to hear? That he, Sawyer Hayes was not doing a diddly damn thing for the case beyond keeping an eye on Cabrera, coaching his kid, and making love as often as he could with Kate Munroe, who was also considered a suspect?

  He shifted his feet, glancing through the two-way glass to keep from looking his boss in the eyes. He thought back to the last game, where he’d overheard Kate tell Cabrera to “let her handle it,” that she’d been doing it all along. What was she “handling?” The distribution of drugs once they reached California? Or was it simply about nannying Bobby?

  Would Sanchez want to know his doubts? Possibly. But the senior officer would most likely tell him to dig deeper for more evidence. Sawyer curled his lip. Going deeper was his specialty lately.

  With that lewd thought in his head, he decided to keep his suspicions to himself. He couldn’t picture Kate, the woman he kissed and made love to nightly, as a drug dealer. Not his Kate. Knowing he was deliberately burying information pertinent to the case, he replied, “Um, yeah, she’s clueless of Cabrera’s and Ortiz’s activities. Her room is bugged, I’ve got eyes on her all the time, and she just goes about her day like any other working woman.” But her nights were a whole other story.

  “Yeah, so far all we hear at Cabrera’s is nanny-stuff from her. So you think she’s innocent in all this?”

  Sawyer went hot, then cold. His gaze darted to Sanchez. His boss looked mildly interested, but Sawyer imagined a scarlet letter emblazoned on his chest that pronounced him “Liar,” or “Traitor.” Any minute now Sanchez was going to ask him for proof that she was innocent.

  Seconds ticked by. He began to perspire, while his conscience warred within him. The DEA agent in him demanded he come clean. But the man he was, the man who came apart in Kate’s arms as much as she did in his, kept his mouth shut.

  Incapable of speech, he nodded his head in response to the question still hovering between them. Footsteps approaching from behind had him swinging around. It was Ian. While he’d wished for this awkward moment to pass, the arrival of the one man who knew his damn
ing secret wasn’t any better.

  His stomach tightened. He and the younger agent hadn’t spoken since Ian had come over and found Kate in Sawyer’s apartment. A few terse texts to keep in touch had been it. And now they were face-to-face.

  Ian gave a cool nod to Sawyer, but his eyes looked as cold as chips of blue glass. Which ramped up Sawyer’s irritation. No matter what he was doing, he was the senior officer, and, until he was stripped of his command, Ian needed to remember that and act accordingly.

  But it was Sanchez who spoke first.

  “Hey, nice work on those bugs, Gessler. I was just telling Hayes here Cabrera is coming in loud and clear. Too bad he’s a cagey bastard. But we’ll get him. Stick around. This should get interesting.” Sanchez nodded and headed for the interrogation room, and the man sweating bullets inside.

  Ian had placed the bugs? Without telling him? What the hell? Seething, Sawyer turned his back on the two-way mirror, crossing his arms over his chest while he faced Ian. The younger agent mimicked Sawyer’s stance, raising his chin and setting his teeth.

  “Since when did you decide to take over as lead officer in this investigation? Did I miss the memo?”

  Sawyer’s sarcasm hit its mark. Ian’s face turned a ruddy color. But he had to hand it to the guy; Ian stood his ground, and sneered in response.

  “You know exactly when, Boss. We needed to get the bugs in place, and there was an opportunity the other night. I figured you were busy, sir, and took care of the issue. I apologize if it appears I overstepped rank, sir, but wasn’t it you that told us we don’t have a lot of time on this surveillance warrant?”

  Well, wasn’t Ian being a pumped-up little shit? Anger surged through Sawyer, partly because of the younger man’s insubordination, but also because Ian was right; they did have a finite amount of time. He should thank the kid for his foresight. Instead, he crowded close to Ian, using his height and breadth to snatch back the upper hand in this fiasco.

  “Let me repeat: I’m still the lead in this mission, Agent Gessler, so keep that in mind, before you attempt to usurp my authority again. Get those new surveillance feeds to me. And, for your information, Sanchez says your bugs haven’t indicated Ms. Munroe is anything more than a nanny.”

  “Does he know you’ve been strip-searching her nightly, just to be sure?”

  Without thinking, Sawyer drew back his arm and let fly a punch powered by the mixed-up emotions that churned through him. Ian pivoted to the side, but not before Sawyer’s fist connected a glancing blow to his chin.

  Remorse hit Sawyer like a truck at full speed. Ian backed away with one hand cupping his chin. Their gazes met, and Sawyer reached out a hand in supplication, but Ian took a few more steps back, shaking his head.

  “Jesus, Sawyer, what’s happened to you? I don’t even recognize you anymore. You used to be the calmest, coolest guy I knew. I wanted to be just like you. And now, look at you. Look at us. Is she worth it? Is she worth your job, our friendship, your sanity?

  “Before you answer that, think about this: does she know who you really are? What you really are? Will she still want you when she finds out? Or will you have flushed everything down the toilet for a piece of ass that won’t even want you once the shit hits the fan?”

  Ian shoved off down the hall, while his words swirled in Sawyer’s brain like a kaleidoscope of poor choices, right down to the punch to the younger man’s face. As Sawyer watched his one-time friend disappear around the corner, he admitted he didn’t know the answer to any of Ian’s questions. He just knew he wasn’t ready to give Kate up, and that Ian’s predictions soured his stomach like curdled milk.

  In frustration, he turned and slammed the heels of his hands against the wall, hard enough that the two-way window shook, and the occupants in the interrogation room looked toward it. Rounding on his heel, he went the same direction as Ian, his thoughts, and his emotions, roiling.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Fragrant spices and the sizzle of frying meat assailed Kate’s senses as she entered Sawyer’s apartment. He’d opened the door to her and brushed her lips with a hurried kiss before striding back into the galley-style kitchen. The spattered, tan apron that said “Don’t be afraid to take whisks” tied around his waist brought a smile to her face. He brought a smile to her face.

  “I can’t leave this right now,” he called from out of her sightline. “We’re at the critical stage of development.”

  “What’s ‘developing?’ It smells like Indian.” She loved Indian food.

  “It’s Tex-Mex Indian.”

  A laugh burst from deep inside. The man was crazy. Her taste buds shriveled at the idea of that volatile mixture. She started down the hall. “That sounds more like new age Shit on a Shingle.”

  “It’s not smart to insult the cook while he’s creating. Shit on a Shingle, my ass.”

  She giggled as she closed the bathroom door on his mutterings.

  Her mom used that old-fashioned moniker when she made chipped beef on a slice of bread while Kate was growing up. Warmth spread through her at the memory of her mom. Pain didn’t chase the feeling away like in previous times. Perhaps she was finally moving past the grief. And maybe the easygoing man in the kitchen with the honeyed Southern accent was partly responsible.

  Shoving that thought aside for the moment, she changed into the pair of shorts and T-shirt she’d left hanging on the back of the door after Sawyer had told her to move a few things in. He’d complained he was running out of T-shirts, even if they did look better on her. She’d complied, afraid to address the meaning of having her things jockeying for position among his toiletries, his clothing. The intimacy of it wasn’t lost on her.

  She pulled the T-shirt over her head. She’d had a meeting with a new client today. This person had looked at her website and given her a call to revamp their eighties-inspired living and dining area. A new client. A paying one. Kate was ready to celebrate and couldn’t wait to tell Sawyer.

  Sawyer. She stared at her reflection in the mirror. At what point had he become important enough to share her good news with? When they ate together, at a restaurant, or at home, like tonight? As they walked along the beach, holding hands and telling silly jokes? Or, when they fell asleep in each other’s arms, quivering and panting in the aftermath of their lovemaking? She didn’t know when or how it had happened, just that it had.

  She drew her hair into a ponytail and studied herself. Gone were the tight lines around her mouth, the frown puckering between her brows. Her eyes sparkled, and her heart pounded like she’d run a mile. She caught her breath, wondering at the transformation that had occurred.

  Now, instead of waking up, worrying about her loss of money, her lack of a home, and a family, she rose, eager to meet the day. Take today, for example. She’d nearly laughed aloud when her new client asked her to come over, measure her rooms. This person had chosen her, out of all the interior designers in the San Diego area, to redecorate her home. It was amazing; it was awesome.

  Hand on the doorknob, she paused. OMG. I’m in love with Sawyer Hayes. She stared at her outstretched arm, gulping in air that didn’t seem sufficient to fill her lungs. That was the reason for her giddiness, her perpetual state of excitement. She’d fallen in love with the crazy Texan who ate Mexican food like most people downed coffee.

  She shook her head at the mirror. No. No, no, no. This wasn’t meant to happen. She wasn’t supposed to fall for him. This was strictly about sex. The best sex she’d ever had, period. Wild, uninhibited sex that was like her crack. She’d intended only to want the man for what he did to her body. Never, ever was she supposed to lose her heart.

  She began to tremble. This was nuts. First time out of the gate after her parents’ death, and she fell for a sexy Texan who turned her into a puddle of need every time they got together. She’d never thought she was so superficial that she’d crave a man just because he could make her come.

  But it wasn’t just stupendous orgasms, if she was truthful with hersel
f. While they were a major draw, she snorted, she had to admit she liked being with Sawyer even when he wasn’t inside her, making her scream his name. She loved how he listened to her talk about her design ideas, and made helpful suggestions to grow her business. She enjoyed his sense of humor, the way he could laugh at himself, and get her to laugh at herself. And she loved his quick brain.

  But, what was she going to do if he didn’t love her? There was no one around to help her pick up the pieces if that happened. A knock on the other side of the door had her jumping out of her skin.

  “Hey, Tex-Mex Indian isn’t as good when it’s cold. All those spices have to coat your tongue, clog those taste buds until steam comes out of your ears.”

  With one more wide-eyed look at her reflection, Kate opened the door, startling Sawyer into taking a step back.

  “Oh, you’re ready—mmm.”

  She halted his rambling by clasping her hands behind his head and bringing his mouth down to hers in what she hoped was a bone-shaking, heart-stopping kiss. To hell with second- guessing whether it was smart to have fallen in love with this man. She was going to embrace the feeling, enjoy the moments with the very person who brought it into her life.

  “On second thought, it’s good to let the spices marinate a bit,” he mumbled against her lips, before diving into the kiss.

  He wrapped his arms around her, his large hands cupping her buttocks and drawing her against his very aroused body. She plowed her fingers through his short hair, kneading his scalp as he sucked her tongue into his mouth, greedily devouring it until she moaned. She rocked her pelvis against the bulge in his pants, and he lifted her so that she could wrap her legs around his hips.

  She tore her mouth away from his devouring lips long enough to gasp, “That’s what microwaves are for,” before returning to that wicked, wicked mouth of his, which curved upward at her words.

  “I like the way you think.” He spun about, lost his balance, one shoulder thudding against the wall as he staggered toward the bedroom. She hooked her arms around his neck, hoping they wouldn’t tumble to the floor before he got them to their destination. When it looked like they’d remain upright, she tilted her head and tickled his ear with the tip of her tongue. He squawked his surprise.