Code Name: Nanny

by Christina Skye

  Obviously, modesty was a foreign concept to the man.

  Summer prayed to six patron saints for the ability to stay cool under his unrelenting stare, but the prayers weren’t working. Heat rose in her face and fingers of awareness nudged a dozen sensitive nerve centers. Probably the result of the industrial-strength Dramamine she’d taken on the plane, dulling her normal edge.

  Or maybe it was the man’s cocky smile as he draped the towel low around his waist.

  She was an expert in the Weaver stance and shotgun recoil. She knew about bomb dogs, wire fraud, and chain of custody for criminal evidence. But no one at Quantico had taught her the proper procedure for a naked smart-ass when said naked smart-ass was standing in your shower whistling “Penny Lane.”

  “Get out,” she said tightly. “Otherwise you’re going to be kissing the floor, and trust me I won’t make it nice.”

  His brow rose. “You know judo?”

  “Aikido.”

  Suddenly his eyes were dark and focused. “You’re the new nanny?”

  “That’s right. And you are?”

  “Gabe Morgan—landscape and general contracting. The girls told me you weren’t coming until later tonight. My shower’s been acting up, so I thought I’d sneak over and clean up before you arrived.”

  As an apology, it stunk. As an explanation, it was passable—assuming that Summer believed him.

  Which she didn’t.

  “‘The girls’?”

  “The two O’Connor kids. Audra and Sophy. They told me when you were to arrive.”

  Summer smiled tightly. “As you can see, they were wrong.”

  “In that case, sorry for the intrusion. No reason for things to get off on the wrong foot because of it.”

  “I’d say it’s a perfect reason.”

  He crossed his arms, and Summer worked hard not to stare at the fine display. There was a small scar near the top of his shoulder that curved down in a tight hook. From a gardening tool?

  “The old nanny let the girls run wild. Clearly, you’re going to be a lot stricter.”

  “I’m not getting paid to let them run wild, Mr. Morgan.”

  “Call me Gabe.”

  Why was he standing there holding a conversation in his towel, for heaven’s sake? Why didn’t the man just go? “I doubt I’ll call you anything until you get some clothes on.”

  “Too bad.” Once again the grin teased his lips. “Clothes can be damned overrated, ma’am.”

  “Not by me.”

  Gabe Morgan shook his head. “Things were just starting to get interesting, too.” He gave a two-finger wave as he crossed the living room. “I’ll talk to Audra and Sophy about this. I’m pretty sure it’s their harebrained idea of a joke on the new nanny. Meanwhile, enjoy the shower, now that I got things all warmed up for you.” He tightened his towel, opening the front door. “By the way, they’re good kids, but you should tan their hides for this little stunt. It’s a war out there, and the kids are winning, from what I hear.”

  “Thank you for the astute advice, Mr. Morgan. I assure you, I know how to do my job,” Summer said stiffly.

  “Glad to hear it. Let me know if you need any help.”

  Summer crossed her arms. “I won’t.” She’d studied enough books on the subject in the last three weeks to tackle anything that was thrown at her.

  So she hoped.

  The towel slid lower on his lean hips. Summer was pretty sure her mouth was hanging open. She might drool any second.

  “Whatever you say. ’Night, Ms. Mulvaney.”

  She hadn’t told him her name.

  The door closed. Summer sank back in the velvet chair outside the shower, feeling steam brush her face like a warm caress. She tried to forget his body and his grin—and failed at both.

  During her FBI career she’d had her share of aggravating assignments. Some of them had been high profile and some of them had put her squarely in the path of grievous bodily harm.

  Something told her this one was going to take the cake.

  Gabe Morgan felt like shit.

  Leave it to Cara O’Connor’s kids to set up something low-down and sneaky like this. Not that he minded being caught buck naked, but the new nanny had looked angry enough to char steak.

  As soon as the door to his guesthouse had closed, Gabe tossed down his towel and prowled through his living room. The woman didn’t even look like a nanny, for God’s sake. Since Gabe had only met one other nanny in his life, he didn’t have a lot to compare by, but he was pretty sure nannies were starched and prim, expert at holding hands, defusing temper tantrums, and hiding any real, honest thoughts.

  Not Summer Mulvaney. Beneath that dark suit she looked strong and surprisingly well-conditioned. Besides that, there was her kick-ass attitude. The woman was cool and confident, with an intensity that had caught him by surprise. She didn’t mince words and he was pretty sure she didn’t take crap from anyone.

  It was a trait Gabe Morgan had always admired, whether in men or women.

  But something about Summer Mulvaney bothered him. She didn’t come across as your average, garden-variety nanny or nurturer. Then again, maybe he was crazy. There was no denying that this job was starting to get to him.

  Frowning, Gabe shoved away thoughts of the new nanny as he rustled through his bureau, tugged on clothes, and located three fresh surgical bandages. He’d tackle fifty sit-ups and twenty squats, then see if he could push himself any further.

  After that, he’d wrap his knee and take a short break, then start all over again.

  He was so used to seeing the scars on his body that they might as well have been invisible. Even the memories had begun to blur, their grim details fading into a gray-green blur of jungle sky and blue-green water.

  Followed by screaming pain.

  But Gabe Morgan was an expert at pain. If a day went by without it, he worried that he was losing his edge. If a week went by, he started to feel bored.

  Which was probably why he was so good at his current job.

  But as he looked outside, he found himself remembering the nanny’s eyes when he’d turned in the shower. They were more gray than blue, more angry than afraid. Strange mix.

  Strange woman.

  He shook his head, irritated. Summer Mulvaney had great legs—or she would have without that bland blue skirt covering them down to the knees. Not that he would get a chance to see her legs or any other interesting parts of her body up close.

  A damned shame.

  But Gabe didn’t have time to waste on irrelevant things like his emotions or the new hired help.

  It was time to get back to work, he thought grimly.

  chapter 2

  T here she is.” Laughter rippled over the yard, and a small figure raced over the grass. “I told you she was here. She’s taking me to ballet class today.”

  Pull yourself together, Summer told herself. How bad can two kids, math classes, and an illegal ferret be?

  But had the little girl said something about a ballet class?

  Forcing a smile, Summer crossed the grassy slope, glad she had taken time to straighten her dark suit and smooth her hair, as two pairs of eyes devoured her. But where the younger girl stared with infectious enthusiasm, her older sister responded with defiance.

  “You must be Sophy.” Summer held out one hand as the slender nine-year-old stopped in a restless tangle of arms and legs. “I’m Summer Mulvaney.” The false name was close to her own and sounded natural enough, reinforced by several weeks of careful rehearsing. “Your nanny told me all about you.”

  “Will she be in the hospital long?” Sophy O’Connor shifted from side to side, her pink sneakers covered with dust. “She’s not going to—to die, is she?”

  “People don’t die from appendicitis, Sophy. I told you that already.” Stiff and hostile, Sophy’s sister watched Summer, arms crossed over her stomach. “Stop acting so completely stupid.”

  “It’s not stupid.” Sophy’s face clouded as she jammed h
er small fists into the pockets of her pink jumper. “You can die from a bee sting, and Mom said things can happen to people—things you never expect.” She stared at her dusty feet. “I just want to know, Audra. From an adult, not you.”

  Innocent as it was, this barb cut deep. “I am an adult. Almost. I’ll be fifteen next week.” Audra made a flat, angry sound. “Why do I even bother? You’re such a geek.”

  Summer decided the bickering had gone on long enough. She would have to interrogate them about their prank with her shower, but first, introductions were due.

  She held out one hand, mustering a smile. “You must be Audra. Your old nanny told me all about you, too.”

  Dark, wary eyes glared back at her. “So?”

  “She said you like to ride.”

  A shrug. “I used to, but not anymore. Riding is kid stuff.”

  Summer kept her smile in place. “So you don’t ride now?”

  Another shrug. “I’ve got more important things to do.” Audra straightened the belt that hugged an impossibly small waist.

  “Like what?” her sister asked curiously.

  “God, Sophy. Don’t be such a baby.”

  Sophy blew out an angry breath. To Summer’s surprise, she tucked an arm through Summer’s, dismissing her sister. “Are you ready? Ballet class starts in half an hour, and Patrick has a snack ready for us.”

  Patrick?

  Right. Cara O’Connor’s chef was thin, expressive, and a dead ringer for Colin Farrell, if she remembered correctly.

  Sophy was staring at her expectantly. “Imelda told you about ballet class, didn’t she?”

  Sophy’s ballet class at four.

  Summer-school homework at five-thirty.

  Dinner at six-fifteen.

  Cara O’Connor’s precise schedule was currently overseen by Imelda, the efficient housekeeper with clever eyes and a laugh that filled the whole house. “Imelda gave me directions for driving you to ballet class in town. On the way we’ll drop your sister off at the aquarium so she can volunteer.”

  “It’s public service, not volunteering.” Audra stuck out her chin. “I need one hundred hours every year for my college résumé. Kaylin Howell had five hundred hours and she still didn’t get into Stanford.”

  “You told me Kaylin Howell made all C’s,” Sophy said innocently. “You said even if she had ten thousand hours, it wouldn’t help her.”

  “Shut up, Sophy.”

  “I doubt your mother would like you two to argue this way.” Summer was completely out of her element, but she wasn’t about to let her new charges know that. “And don’t think you’re off the hook about that little prank with Gabe Morgan, because you’re not.”

  Sophy swallowed hard. “G-Gabe? Did he tell you—”

  Audra cut her off sharply. “Whatever he told you, it was a lie.”

  Summer chose her next words carefully. “He told me that you had assured him I wouldn’t be here until later tonight.”

  “So what? That’s what we thought.” Audra shrugged carelessly. “Imelda must have told us that. Or maybe it was someone else.”

  “But, Audra, Imelda didn’t—”

  Audra whirled around. “Shut up, Sophy.”

  Sophy’s lip started to tremble. She bumped Audra hard with her hip. “No. And stop bossing me around.”

  “I’ll boss you however I want, dork.”

  Fighting an urge to scream, Summer moved closer, separating the two girls. “Sophy, why don’t you grab your ballet shoes? I hear that your teacher is strict, so you don’t want to be late.”

  “But what about your clothes? It’s mother-and-daughter day.”

  “I’m driving you.”

  Sophy stared back, wide-eyed. “But I need a partner for class, too. Didn’t Mom tell you?”

  Summer cleared her throat. “Not that I would be dancing.” Awful images burned into her head. Mother-and-daughter day? God help her, she was going to put on tights and a tutu?

  “There must be a mistake. I don’t . . . dance.” Summer could barely say the words. She hadn’t danced, not in public or in private, for more years than she could count. Maybe never.

  “But you have to. Everyone else will have a partner.” Sophy’s big eyes filled with tears. “Tiffany Hammersmith has her aunt and her mother coming.”

  Tough it out, Mulcahey, Summer thought grimly. “So are there some kind of shoes I have to wear?”

  Sophy shook her head gravely. “Not just shoes. Leotard and tights and everything. Our teacher is very strict. You can’t come to class in street clothes.”

  Pink leotards? Pink slippers?

  Summer suppressed a gag reflex at this vision. But the job came first. If this was the job, she could handle it—even if it meant suppressing an urge to vomit.

  “Fine.” Summer forced a deathly smile. “Let’s get to it.”

  “I’ll show you where everything is. Mom said you could wear her clothes, except . . .” Sophy hesitated. “Except you’re a lot taller than she is.”

  “They stretch, Sophy.” Audra had seen Summer’s uneasiness and focused in on it immediately. “They’ll fit. Have you done a lot of dancing, Ms. Mulvaney?”

  “Enough,” Summer lied calmly.

  “For your sake, I hope so. Sophy’s teacher is really rotten with beginners. Especially when they’re adults,” she added nastily. She stared at Summer, then shrugged. “I have to go get Liberace.”

  The pet ferret, Summer recalled. “Why do you need to take him?”

  “We always take Liberace. He stays in the car in his cage. And we take him for a walk when we get home,” Sophy said patiently. “We park in a garage next to the school.”

  “I’ll get his cage and help Sophy get ready,” Audra said. “But first I need my bag from the potting shed.” She pointed to a weathered cedar building at the far side of a free-form swimming pool. “Could you get it for me? Otherwise we’ll be late, and then Sophy will get in trouble.”

  She seemed surprisingly concerned for her sister, Summer thought. Maybe Audra wasn’t the grouch she’d first appeared to be. “What does the bag look like?”

  “Red nylon with a big black zipper. It’s got my nametag on the handle, so you can’t miss it. I left it on the back wall near the potting soil.”

  Summer started to ask what Audra was doing with her bag out in the potting shed, but Sophy distracted her, tugging at her arm and pleading with her to hurry so her ballet teacher wouldn’t rip her into tiny pieces in front of all her friends.

  “You can get your ballet stuff from my mom’s room,” Sophy called out. “I’ll get everything else ready.”

  With a mental eye roll, Summer sprinted across the lawn. She was pretty sure she’d rather face a felony homicide investigation than a class of smug, collagen-enhanced, size-four California mothers and their bossy daughters.

  She was starting to have a whole new respect for nannies.

  The potting shed was clean but tiny, its walls filled floor to ceiling with pots and soil mixes and pruning tools. As Summer stepped inside, dust motes spun in the sunlight, carried by a breeze from a single narrow window.

  Up the hill she heard Imelda call to Sophy from the house.

  Aware that the clock was ticking, she headed straight for the back wall, searching the cedar worktable. No nylon bag. No potting soil, either.

  Frowning, Summer checked the floor, but there was no red bag wedged between the clay pots and the vermiculite mix. She heard Imelda’s voice again as she rummaged behind the worktable. Where had Audra left the wretched bag?

  Something blocked the sunlight.

  She spun around, still in a crouch.

  “Looking for something?”

  He was a wall of shadow against the late afternoon sun, and he looked tough as gunmetal in faded jeans and a black tee shirt that hugged tanned, muscular arms.

  Summer stood up awkwardly. “Audra’s bag. She said that she left it out here near the potting soil. Red nylon with a black zipper.”

 
“No potting soil here.” Gabe moved past her, frowning. “I don’t remember Audra bringing her bag inside. The girls know this shed is off-limits because I keep pesticides and some pretty deadly stuff in here.”

  Summer scanned the room again. “Audra said it was here.” She frowned at Gabe. “If you’ve got poisons out here, why don’t you keep the door locked?”

  “Never had a problem before. The girls are old enough—and smart enough—to follow directions when their mother lays down the law.” The gardener dug under a burlap bag and cursed when he pulled out a pair of old sneakers. “I wondered where these were hiding.”

  Summer tried to control her impatience. “Sophy has a ballet class in forty minutes, and I need to find that bag before we leave. Do you have any idea where it could be, Mr. Morgan?”

  He rubbed his jaw. “I told you, I haven’t seen it. Maybe Audra was confused. Or maybe she—”

  The door banged hard behind them. Gravel skittered outside the window.

  In one swift movement, Gabe grabbed the door handle and shoved, but nothing happened. “Probably the wind.” He gave another push. “It gets pretty rough here near the coast.”

  “Let me try.” Summer leaned around him and gave the door a shove.

  Nothing moved.

  She frowned at Gabe. “What’s going on?”

  “I think we just got nailed.” He jerked the door handle impatiently. “Again.”

  chapter 3

  S ummer glared at the door. “Then help me un-nail things,” she said tightly. “I’ve got to get Sophy to class on time. She’s terrified of her ballet teacher.”

  Gabe put his shoulder to the door and rammed hard. The whole shed shook, wall to wall, but the door didn’t budge. “No good. If I push again, this roof may come down on our heads.” Striding around Summer, he searched the single window. His strong hands traced the sill, then worked slowly along the bottom frame, but that didn’t budge, either.

  “Locked. Looks like someone jammed a piece of wood to hold it that way, too.” He pulled a gardening stool in front of the window and climbed up to examine the top of the frame. “This one has a screw added up here. I could break it free, but it might take a while.”