Nanny

by Christina Skye

  Gabe laughed dryly. “I wouldn’t call her Miss Congeniality. She doesn’t trust anyone. I don’t thinks she likes anyone, either.” Gabe shrugged. “Whatever. Just as long as she gets the job done.”

  “I saw her this morning while I did a security check from the beach. What’s with her hair? It’s like Sandra Bullock on speed.”

  “You can thank me for that. She got tangled up in a cactus last night and I cut her free.” Gabe shook his head. “Come to think of it, she and that cactus are a lot alike—prickly as hell and impossible to touch.”

  Izzy turned his coffee slowly. “Have you briefed her on today’s installation?”

  “She knows the general outline.”

  “Good.” Izzy stared out at the green expanse of lawn. The sun had burned through the morning mist, and the ocean was ablaze with light. “Nice real estate. I didn’t know you could live this well on an assistant DA’s salary.”

  “You can’t. The house originally belonged to Ms. O’Connor’s dead husband. He was big in commercial real estate. Died six years ago.”

  “Hard on the kids. Hard on her, too.” Izzy drummed his fingers on the table. “Assuming that she loved him.”

  “She did. According to the files, she’s a regular straight arrow, professionally and personally.”

  “It’s nice to know there are a few of them left.” Izzy set a toolbox on the table and tossed Gabe a small key.

  “Gee, are these the new Phillips screwdrivers I ordered?”

  “Maps of Los Reyes. Blueprints and high-res photographs of the clinic. Complete bios and photos of key personnel, along with twenty thousand dollars’ equivalent in Mexican currency.” Izzy held up two U.S. passports. “Don’t get caught. Don’t even get suspected. Especially don’t get yourself shot, because I hate to clean up blood. We’re skirting the gray area with this, and Tate Winslow’s called in some favors, but you’ll be working outside official jurisdiction.”

  “Not a problem. I’ve worked outside official channels before.” Gabe rolled up the papers and slid them beneath one arm. “Gotta go. Mary Poppins is waiting to be briefed on our Mexico jaunt.” He stood up as there was a tap at his door.

  Summer was waiting right outside, her eyes narrowed. “Those men aren’t replacing siding and I’m not Mary Poppins.”

  Across the room Izzy sized her up slowly. “Ms. Mulvaney, I take it?”

  “Who wants to know?” She stood unmoving, legs apart, weight balanced.

  Looking pretty damned dangerous, Gabe thought, and every inch a professional in spite of the color in her cheeks. “This is Ishmael Teague, Summer. He’s on our side, and his people are handling the security upgrades at the house.”

  “Nice of you to give me some notice. I just handcuffed one of his team and locked him inside the cellar.”

  “Is that a fact?” Izzy looked delighted with this bit of news. “It will be my pleasure to ream him out for being so obvious and allowing himself to be caught.”

  “Oh, he wasn’t obvious. If I hadn’t worked a few summers installing aluminum siding back in Pennsylvania, I never would have noticed.” Summer stared at Gabe. “What’s in the toolbox?”

  “Gear for our junket down to Mexico.” Gabe put a steaming cup of coffee on the table in front of her. “Have a seat. Everything quiet at the house?”

  “Except for some problems with pesto or pasta, I couldn’t tell which. Patrick was talking to Amanda Winslow and tearing out his hair.” Before the other two could get a word in, she rounded on Izzy. “How many people on your team and how long before they’re done?”

  “Nine people and two—maybe three—hours.”

  “I want a personal tour and full briefing when they finish.” She crossed her arms. “And I want all alarms relayed to a monitor in my guesthouse, of course.”

  Izzy glanced at Gabe, then back at Summer. “Of course.”

  “Who else will be wired into the system?”

  “Mr. Morgan.” Izzy smiled. “Of course.”

  Summer sat down at the sunny breakfast nook, pushing the coffee to one side. “I need to go over the plans for our trip to Los Reyes. The girls will be done at school in forty-five minutes, which doesn’t leave us much time, so who gets to fill me in?”

  “I do,” Izzy said. “Money and passports are in this box, and Gabe has the clinic plans. You’ll take a charter plane to southern Arizona this evening, and Gabe will meet you there. You’ll be met at Los Reyes.”

  “Who’s our contact at the clinic?”

  “One of the lab workers. He’s been approached by someone in the States, asking for information, but so far he won’t say who.”

  “So we need to make him talk.” Summer crossed her hands on the table. “What’s our cover?”

  “These days the clinic makes most of its money from cosmetic work and infertility cases. You and Gabe will be touring the clinic as prospective patients.”

  “So I’m infertile,” Summer said coolly. “How nice.”

  “Who knows, maybe it’s me,” Gabe offered gallantly. “They’ll want a whole gamut of tests, but first we have to tour the clinic and make certain it meets our high standards. That will give us access to our contact without any raised eyebrows.”

  “Sounds plausible.” Summer glanced at her watch. “I’m still waiting for forensic results on the box Cara received yesterday. There’s a chance that we’ll have our man—or woman—sooner than you think.”

  “I never count on miracles,” Izzy said dryly.

  Summer frowned at him. “Neither do I, Mr. Teague.”

  “Glad to hear it.” Izzy gave a two-finger wave and headed toward his van.

  Summer stood up and walked to the window. “I don’t like the feel of this. I’ve been assigned to safeguard Cara and her family, not break into a private clinic in a neighboring country.”

  “Senator Winslow has spoken with your boss, and everything’s arranged. I’ll be doing the B and E, not you.”

  “It’s not easy to say no to a senator, I guess.” Summer took a deep breath, feeling like a pawn being shoved across an invisible chessboard.

  “When you get to Mexico, you should get a haircut. I’m no Vidal Sassoon.” Gabe slid an uneven strand of hair off her cheek. “Clearly.”

  “It will be fine. Hair is hair.”

  “Can you do this, Summer?”

  “Pretend to be married? Of course I can.”

  “Then stop tensing up whenever I get close.” Gabe was right behind her, his voice low.

  “Who’s tense?” Summer took a step back, crossing her arms over her chest.

  “You are.”

  “I’m tense?” Summer glared at him. After a moment of consideration, she moved closer, sliding her arms around his neck. Slowly she pulled his head down. “You think?” And then, without a pause, she kissed him.

  Gabe stood motionless as her tongue slid back and forth over his mouth. He cursed when she bit him lightly.

  “Is that convincing enough, darling?”

  Gabe cleared his throat. “That should do for now.” He started to say more, but she was already opening the front door.

  “Glad to hear it, because—”

  As they walked onto the porch, the leaded glass window upstairs in Cara O’Connor’s bedroom disappeared in a hail of broken glass.

  Gabe shoved Summer flat and fell into a crouch beside her while Izzy’s handpicked team scattered in defensive postures throughout the backyard. “It had to come from the rocks near the beach,” Gabe whispered. “None of the other houses face this direction, and there’s no one in sight.”

  “No one in the gazebo. No one outside the garage. Let’s go check the beach,” Summer said tightly.

  Gabe’s hand tightened on her shoulder. “Stay here. You’re not walking into a bullet.”

  “Of course I’m not. I intend to crawl to the far side of the porch, follow the path back to the service road, cross the dunes, and work my way up the rocks from the far side of the house.”

 
“Let Izzy’s people handle it.”

  “While we’re arguing, the shooter could be getting away.”

  “Not likely with three of Izzy’s men on his tail.” As Gabe spoke, Izzy sprinted up. “What do you have?”

  “There are kayakers all over the cove. Any one of them could have paddled to the rocks, taken a single shot, then vanished. The teacher has a bullhorn, so no one would have heard the noise.” Izzy stared down at the beach. “My men are checking for footprints, but if our shooter stayed on the rocks, there won’t be any.”

  “Cara isn’t breaking fast enough,” Summer said quietly. “No more phone calls. Now they’re getting serious.”

  Gabe looked at Izzy. “Not a good sign. Let’s take that back route down to the beach.”

  There were no fresh footprints on the path nearest to the house. Six people combed the rocks, but they found no trace of an intruder. Finally, Summer left the others and headed back to the house with Gabe, worried by this new level of threat. The closed expression on Gabe’s face told her he had the same worries.

  “We’ll be a little late today,” she said tightly. “I’m taking the long route home.”

  “You’ll be checking for pursuit?”

  Summer nodded grimly.

  As they passed the garage, Patrick appeared with a towel slung over one shoulder. He seemed oblivious to the flour that covered the front of his denim tunic and the way his hair stood up in spikes. “Did either of you hear a noise out here? It sounded like a truck backfiring, but I didn’t see Fratelli’s produce people return.”

  Gabe nodded calmly. “We heard it. One of the workmen dropped his hammer and broke a window.”

  Patrick looked relieved. “When I heard the crack, I thought something had exploded in my oven. That happened to me once back in cooking school, and I got egg all over my face—literally.” He brushed the front of his jacket distractedly. “Mrs. Winslow heard something, too, and I told her I’d check. She worries about everything now with the wedding coming up. I’ll tell her what happened.” He smiled crookedly. “Just as soon as she stops grilling me about the imported prosciutto.” He brushed vaguely at his tunic, then vanished back inside.

  “Nice car.” Summer stared at the big silver Mercedes parked in the driveway. “It seems to me that Mrs. Winslow is calling the shots, not Cara.”

  “Mrs. Winslow is picky about things being done just right, but Cara doesn’t agree to anything she doesn’t want. It’s fun to watch two pros maneuver for territory, believe me.” Gabe turned to study the deserted path down to the beach. “You’ll call Cara? She’ll want to know about this.”

  “Next thing I do.”

  “I’ll notify the senator.” When Gabe turned, his eyes were hard. “Watch your back,” he said quietly. “Otherwise—”

  Izzy strode around the garage, his eyes hard. “We’ve got a problem,” he said quietly.

  They followed him into the shadows of the garage. The rear door of Cara’s SUV was open.

  “Take a look.” Izzy turned on a penlight, casting a beam of light over the rear seat, and Summer felt bile fill her throat. A white rat was pinned to the leather, a large hunting knife planted through its head.

  chapter 17

  So they got tired of the threatening phone calls,” Summer said tightly.

  “Looks that way.” Gabe glanced around the garage. “We need to preserve this somehow.”

  Izzy handed Gabe a piece of paper. “You hold him and I’ll bag him.”

  “My God.” In their concentration, they hadn’t heard Patrick come into the garage. He was staring at the dead rat, a bunch of asparagus dangling from his flour-covered fingers. “Is that . . . thing a rat?”

  Summer nodded. “Someone seems to be playing a crude joke here. Do you have any idea who would do this?”

  “I—” The chef swallowed hard, looking as if he had to throw up. “Maybe Tracey from down the street? No, I don’t think she and Audra would stoop to something like this.”

  “Patrick, do you have those white asparagus spears for me?” Amanda Winslow walked into the garage, her pink Chanel suit dusted by a thin streak of flour. “The pastry shells are almost ready and . . .” Her voice trailed away when she realized Patrick wasn’t alone.

  Coolly, Gabe stepped in front of the SUV, but it was too late.

  Tate’s mother stared into the car. “Is something wrong? What’s that thing on the backseat?” She frowned, then took a jerky step backward. “It’s—it’s dead.” She put one hand on the car, staring wide-eyed at the rat. “What in heaven’s name is going on here?”

  “Mrs. Winslow,” Summer said quietly, “why don’t we go inside? I’ll make you some tea?”

  “I don’t want tea. I want to know why that—that dead thing is on the seat of Cara’s car. It’s revolting.”

  She tried to move closer, but Gabe blocked her. He turned and slid the cold body into a plastic bag.

  “Keep it away from me. I have to call Cara.” She dug in her pocket with shaky fingers and flipped open a tiny cell phone. “I think I’m going to be sick. . . .” she whispered.

  Imelda and Summer handled Tate’s mother while Gabe cleaned the seat and searched for any additional evidence or prints. Meanwhile, Izzy had faded away, taking the dead rat with him for a preliminary analysis.

  In the afternoon sunlight, Amanda Winslow looked old and frightened. “I want Tate,” she said in a shaky voice. “I want someone to tell me what’s happening here.”

  “It is a very bad thing to see.” Imelda patted her arm. “But it is like Ms. Summer says, a joke only. Drink some more tea, please.”

  The housekeeper looked frightened, too, despite her brave words, and Summer was relieved when the senator called back. After a few minutes she slipped away to pick up the girls, leaving Tate’s mother to the housekeeper’s care.

  She made the drive with only minutes to spare. As the class bell rang, students spilled out into the hallway and down the front steps into the sunlight.

  Laughter and color, Summer thought. So free, so California. She realized she was a little envious.

  She found Sophy and then they went in search of Audra, who was outside her locker on the third floor, arguing with Tracey. When the two teenagers saw Summer, their faces turned stony.

  Audra slammed her locker shut. “Let’s go.”

  “Can I, uh, have another ride?” Tracey picked at a hangnail. “My mom’s gone today.” She looked up at Summer, her face tense. “Okay?”

  “Of course, Tracey. It’s no problem. You might need to move Liberace’s cage into the back. Maybe Audra can—”

  Tracey ignored Audra. “That’s cool. I’m just going to the Java Jungle downtown. I’m meeting . . . some friends.”

  “You’re sure?” Summer frowned. “Won’t your mother be expecting you at home?”

  The girl gave a snort. “Like—she is so not expecting me. I’ll be fine, Ms. Mulvaney. Don’t worry.” She didn’t look at Audra as she bent over to tug Sophy’s pigtail. “Cool Hello Kitty purse. I’ve got one in silver and everyone always, like, tries to steal it from me.”

  Sophy looked worried. “They do?”

  “Just because they’re morons. Don’t worry, no one will take yours.” Tracey’s face turned wistful for a moment. “You’re lucky that way. You’ve got good friends. That’s really cool.” Then with a final glare at Audra, she started down the stairs.

  Two miles from school something small and furry shot across Summer’s lap.

  “I thought you left Liberace in his cage,” Summer said.

  Sophy struggled to reach the ferret, which chirred loudly, climbing up Summer’s arm. “I had him zipped in my backpack, Ms. M. He was okay until you turned that last corner.”

  “Sophy, I need to drive. Liberace isn’t helping me.”

  “Sorry.” Sophy produced a piece of smashed banana, but the ferret didn’t budge. Two pieces of raisin, a chocolate chip, and half a carrot later, the ferret was still perched on Summer’s shoulder.<
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  She eased into a slower lane, scanning the traffic for a break, so she could pull off. She saw the car then, a dusty brown Honda hanging back, one lane over. Summer had seen the same car outside the school this morning when she’d dropped off the girls. “Anyone know someone who drives a brown Honda?”

  “Not me,” Audra said impatiently.

  “I don’t think so,” Tracey said, after thinking for a few moments. “Why?”

  “What’s a Honda look like?” Sophy asked.

  “It doesn’t matter. I thought someone waved at us,” Summer lied coolly. She tried to ignore the ferret nuzzling her cheek. “I guess I was wrong.”

  “There’s the Java Jungle, right at the next corner.” Tracey gathered her things quickly. “You can drop me in front. Thanks a lot.” Tracey jumped out and looked at Audra tensely. “See you.”

  “Are you sure she’s allowed to go off alone after school?”

  “Come on, she’s not a kid.” Audra sat tensely, not looking at her friend. “She knows what she’s doing.”

  Summer hesitated, and a car honked behind her, waiting for her parking spot. Behind that car, other cars began to honk. “Sophy, can you please put Liberace back in his cage?”

  “I’m trying. Come here, Liberace.” Sophy made a low clicking noise, holding out another piece of smashed banana. “Be good and come to Aunt Sophy.”

  “Oh, that’s so stupid. Talking won’t get him.” Audra leaned forward, grabbing for the ferret, which shot to the floor, wedging its body in the narrow storage space beneath Sophy’s seat.

  A dozen cars were honking now. When Summer looked back, the dusty Honda was gone.

  “If he moves, grab him.” Summer eased out into traffic, looking for a quieter spot for a final showdown with Sophy’s impossible pet.

  The realization hit her suddenly. Liberace was white. The dead rat in the SUV’s backseat had been white.

  The message was that Liberace would be next.

  “That was so cool, Ms. M.” Sophy skipped over the driveway, carrying Liberace, who was now curled up in his cage surrounded by his favorite balls of aluminum foil. “You really are fast. For an adult, I mean.”