Vague childhood memories of Christmases spent with his mom and various aunts and uncles, and cousins, flitted through his mind, very few of them including his dad. He remembered going to school functions with only his mom. One time he asked his dad to watch him play baseball in Little League before he went to work. Other kids’ dads worked odd hours and managed to show up to games. His dad had shaken his head and ruffled Sawyer’s hair. “Next time, kiddo. I’ve got bad guys to catch, Sawyer. I’m making the city safe, so you and your friends can play baseball at the park.” The problem was, there never was a next time. He was always busy catching bad guys. Once he’d gotten to middle school, he quit asking. And then it was too late. His dad had been gunned down in a convenience store robbery by one of the bad guys he hadn’t managed to catch.
Sawyer shook off his dreary memories. Making the last turn toward the parking stalls in front of his place, he saw the subject of today’s surveillance come out of her apartment and lock her door. Taking his foot off the gas, he watched her approach her car. Here was his chance to capitalize on their earlier meeting.
Working DEA as long as he had, he was used to playacting, as well as choosing the right persona to fit the group he was infiltrating. The problem was, he had very little experience playing opposite women, especially hot, prickly women like Kate. He would just have to go with his gut on this one.
He pulled his jacked-up F-150 into the slot beside her Sentra, too close for her to open the driver’s door. And then he waited, taking a stick of gum from his breast pocket and popping it into his mouth. His pulse spiked.
He saw her take in his huge truck dwarfing her compact. He couldn’t control the grin on his face, knowing she couldn’t see him through the tinted glass. She muttered something, and he took that as his cue, tapping the accelerator just enough to make the engine growl. She jumped, then headed straight for his side of the truck.
“Could you please move your truck— Oh, it’s you.” Said like he was Jack the Ripper. She glared at him through his open window. He half-smiled and chewed his gum a few seconds, taking in her long hair drawn into a wavy ponytail, the red and white striped short sleeve T-shirt that emphasized those perky breasts he’d noticed in the bikini. It was definitely harder to investigate a woman, he concluded, especially one as attractive as she was. His mind and body were shorting out like a toaster in a bathtub, and they hadn’t even spoken yet.
Tonight, she wore white jeans and sneakers and looked young enough to be a college co-ed with that ponytail and minimal makeup. Thank goodness she wasn’t because, by the way he was reacting to her appearance, he’d have to arrest his own ass for what he was thinking. He reeled in his inappropriate thoughts and began his performance.
“Yeah, it’s me. Sawyer Hayes, remember? And you are?” He held out his hand, raising his brows while hers furrowed into a frown.
“Getting pissed off. You can’t park any better than you play volleyball. Now, can you move?” Her right hand went to her hip, and Sawyer fought the urge to watch the T-shirt material pull across her chest. He wanted to make her interested in him, not come off as a perv.
But what came out of his mouth was decidedly pervy. “Oh, I can move all right. I’ve got moves you haven’t seen, sweetheart. But I want to know who’s asking.”
He could have punched himself in the face. Did he want to scare her off? He was guaranteed to with that kind of talk. It was too late to backtrack, so he revved the truck’s engine and hoped for the best.
She remained where she was, glaring at him and tapping a foot. As the silence lengthened, he began to think that his sophomoric behavior had indeed spoiled his chance to get closer to her.
Chapter Two
Was he stalking her? Kate stepped back from the truck window and studied Sawyer Hayes. He didn’t look like a bad guy. She’d already established that he was gorgeous, and up close, her first impression was confirmed. Tiny white lines radiated from the corners of his eyes as he smiled, testifying that he spent a lot of time outdoors. As did his sun-kissed, tawny hair.
Kate pursed her lips, reminding herself that Ted Bundy had been a good-looking man too.
“Are you stalking me?” she blurted, fingering the alarm button on her key fob.
He burst out with that deep laugh she’d admired on the beach, and then he sobered.
“Not at all. I live. Right. Next. Door.” He pointed at the apartment beside hers while he enunciated each word, and Kate barely concealed her growl of exasperation. He was way too attractive to have to run into him on a daily basis. He could seriously derail her resolution to steer clear of relationships, even casual ones, until her head was above water. But at least this was the explanation for his continual presence today. He wasn’t a serial killer.
Probably.
“Now that we’re neighbors, will you cut the suspense and tell me who you are?”
Kate glanced at her wristwatch. If she didn’t leave within the next five minutes, she’d be late. Mr. Cabrera valued punctuality, and she didn’t want to ruin her record.
“I need to go. Please move.”
“What if I get your mail by mistake? What if you win Publishers Clearinghouse and the notification comes in the mail, and because I don’t know your name, I put the envelope on top of the mailbox and someone else picks it up and gets all that money? That’s right. I can see your mind going over that very real possibility.”
His expression was so puppy dog earnest Kate couldn’t help it. The giggle percolated from deep inside her chest and erupted at the end of his outrageous statement. Good grief, his sense of humor was as appealing as his looks. And, here she was, once again enjoying the light-hearted banter her life had been without for so long.
She shook her head in frustrated capitulation. “Fine, you win. My name is Kate Munroe, I live next door, and this is my car. I need to leave right now or I’ll be late for my job, and if I’m late I’ll be fired, and then I won’t be able to live here. Do you want to be the reason I become homeless?”
His smile widened while his gaze caressed her face, warming as it tracked across her features. Her grin faded. She took another step away from his truck. She needed distance from his potent sex appeal.
“That wasn’t so hard, was it? Glad to finally meet you, Kate Munroe. I look forward to getting to know you.”
“Hmph,” she replied, staring at his huge, dirty truck pointedly. He continued to smile into her face, until she shrugged. “Well? I can’t be late. I’ve met you. You’ve met me. I need to leave. Now.”
“Oh, yeah. Right. Sorry. I could get lost in your eyes. I can’t tell what color they are in this light. Guess I’ll just have to run into you again real soon.”
He reached for his gear shift, and Kate roused from the hypnotic state his words had put her in. Get lost in her eyes? What guy said that nowadays? In any day, for that matter, except in historical romance novels.
He put the truck in reverse and glanced at her again. She swallowed hard and straightened her shoulders. She would not turn into a puddle because he’d used a sexy turn of phrase. She was made of stronger stuff than that.
As he began to back up, he gave her a salute with his left hand. “Drive safely, Kate Munroe. I don’t want this first meeting to be our last. Good night.”
She stared stupidly after him as he reversed out of her way and then sat, waiting. She realized he still wanted to park in front of his place. As she pulled away, she couldn’t resist looking in her rearview mirror.
She cursed herself for the weakness. There was no room for a man in her life. She needed to work every minute of her day, either as a nanny or as a freelance designer, if she was ever going to get her previous life back. She missed her parents terribly. As an only child, they’d been close. Sometimes she still thought the phone would ring, and it would be her mom, asking her to come over and cook together. Or her dad, wanting her design ideas for his latest construction job.
Though she could never bring them back, she could take care of t
heir debts and do what she knew they’d want her to do: become the successful interior designer she’d always wanted to be. They’d been her cheerleaders, and now it was her job to make the dream possible.
Daydreaming about a hunky neighbor was not part of her comeback plan.
The drive to the Cabrera residence wasn’t far, just down the highway to an exclusive gated community that boasted views of both the California and Mexican coastline. She could attest to those sweeping views, though her friend’s apartment satisfied her need for the sea.
She was admitted past the gatehouse on the permanent pass Mr. Cabrera had provided her with, and wound along the residential road lined with beachfront palaces. The Cabrera home was near the end of a single-loaded cul-de-sac, and Kate pulled into the tandem driveway with three minutes to spare.
Breathing a sigh of relief, she hopped out and bounded to the stone front porch, where a fountain gurgled in front of the picture window to the left. Palm trees rustled above, and the shiny coach lights around the door and garages looked inviting.
It was Fernando Cabrera himself who answered the chime of the doorbell. Tall, yet not as tall as Sawyer Hayes, Mr. Cabrera wore his hair in a shaggy cut that most women found irresistible but which Kate considered messy, and his face sported thick stubble growing into a beard. Tonight he had on one of his designer suits that shined in the porch lamplight. He flung her a distracted smile as greeting.
“Come in, come in, Miss Munroe,” he said in his accented English, stepping back to allow her to come in. He hovered in the entry, as if waiting to say something more to her, so she pushed the heavy wood door closed and faced him. He began speaking as soon as he had her attention.
“Did you know that Bobby sits on the bench most of the time during his Little League games?”
Yes, because I listen when Bobby talks. Kate met Cabrera’s gaze. And you would, too, if you paid attention to your son, maybe went to his games like most parents. However, she said in a neutral tone, “Um, yes, he’s told me so at various times.”
He swung away and strode farther into the cavernous house before spinning around. With one fist on his hip, he glared at her.
“That’s unacceptable. I told him he should choose fútbol over baseball. I was good in my day. I could have gone pro if I hadn’t twisted my knee. But he wanted to play the American sport. And now all he does is sit on the bench, and the season ends in a few weeks.” His voice faded off on muffled curses.
Kate wished she could tell him to spend ten minutes a day with his son playing catch, that that was all he needed to do to boost Bobby’s self-confidence and help him hit and catch better. But Mr. Cabrera wasn’t the type of person to speak that openly to. Mr. Cabrera believed he knew the most when it came to…anything, now that she thought about it.
Just then, the thunder of sock feet on the stairs announced Bobby’s approach. Bobby was a miniature version of his father, right down to the thick, unruly hair and expressive brown eyes. Small for an eight-year-old, he nevertheless made up for his stature in exuberance. Like now. Before he’d even come to a stop, he started talking.
“Miss Kate, Miss Kate, I told Dad about how I never get to play in my games, and he said that it wasn’t right and that he would take care of it.”
The starved-for-attention boy careened into his father’s side before righting himself. She allowed Bobby to call her Kate when it was just the two of them, but his father preferred him to use the proper title as a sign of respect. She’d learned while in his employ that Fernando Cabrera was big on respect.
At the moment, he frowned at Bobby’s display of excitement. He didn’t put his arm around Bobby like most fathers would, even though the child was glued to his side. Her heart went out to the eight-year-old. Would it kill his father to show a little affection? The motherless boy was desperate.
“I’d like you to go to his next game, or practice, Miss Munroe, and speak to his coach.”
“Oh, Mr. Cabrera, I don’t think so,” she began. What was he thinking, sending the nanny to tell the baseball coach he wasn’t being fair? That was so not in her job description. And she’d tell him that. But nicely, so he wouldn’t fire her.
Before she could, he added, “I’d like you to tell the coach that I’ll pay him to instruct Bobby in batting and catching outside of regular practices.”
“But, Dad, I wanted to practice with you.” The word “you” elongated into a whine.
Kate’s insides crumbled at Bobby’s request. It came from his heart, but his father wouldn’t hear it. Fernando Cabrera was one of those men to whom everything came easily: looks, money, women, sports, and it was beneath him to waste his time throwing a ball around when he could be swinging his next big deal. So, he’d hire some other man to do his parental job, and then expect his son to pick up the necessary skills quickly. It burned Kate up.
Cabrera knelt and squeezed his son’s shoulders. “You know I have work, mijo. How else will I pay for these lessons? Besides, your coach will be the proper person to teach you.” After giving Bobby a pat on the back, his father stood. “I’ll pay you extra for your time, Miss Munroe, as well. Thank you.”
He turned toward the rear of the house without waiting for her reply. Kate sighed, as Bobby tumbled after his father, still seeking that man’s affection. It wouldn’t have mattered if she had answered. Cabrera wouldn’t have heard her, either.
…
I could get lost in your eyes. Had he really just said that romance novel gibberish? Sawyer sat in the idling truck and stared into the darkening sky without seeing it after Kate drove off, surprised at his romantic turn of phrase. He was not a romantic guy. He had plenty of past girlfriends to attest to that.
With every one of his hookups he made sure there was mutual satisfaction, maybe even a little fun, but they all ended with a kiss goodbye and a see ya next time. He was too busy chasing the scum of the earth to spend his down time playing Romeo. He needed to be free to pick up and leave at a moment’s notice, and relationships needed more work than he was willing to give. Echoes of his father’s excuses rang in his head, but he shoved them aside. That was the reason why he chose to be unattached.
Being dreamy about the widest, deepest blue eyes he’d ever seen was not part of his M.O., and Sawyer curled his lip. He picked up his phone and speed-dialed the team, who were in a motel not far from here. Ian picked up.
“She’s at Cabrera’s, so I’m going in.” Sawyer spoke without preamble. Ian was used to him, and went with the flow.
“Do you want me to watch your six?”
Sawyer glanced around the deserted parking lot and shook his head. “No. I got this. I’ll let you know when I’m out.” He cut the connection and swung down from the truck, jogging to his place to gather the fingernail-size cameras and bugs he would need for Kate’s apartment.
After the debacle in El Paso that almost cost a coworker his life, Sawyer’s captain had sought and been awarded a court-ordered warrant to surveil anyone suspected of involvement with Armando Ortiz. That included his private pilot, Fernando Cabrera, as well as Cabrera’s sexy nanny. Since she spent so much time at the house at odd hours, they were unsure if she was simply a nanny, or if there was more going on than on paper. They were free to bug and video without their suspects’ knowledge for that short window of time, and Sawyer wasn’t about to waste a minute of it.
Once he’d pulled on crime scene gloves, he felt only a twinge of guilt slipping over her patio wall and jiggling loose the slider. He always prided himself on his upfront attitude with people, so the subterfuge required in his job often gave his conscience grief. But he’d learned to ignore it over the years. Especially when the people he hid things from were often guilty of drug trafficking, or worse.
Kate was a trusting sort, he mused as he stepped deeper into the apartment without turning on any lights. He’d guessed she would lock the front door, and he’d been right. He’d also guessed she’d be lazy with the patio door, and he’d scored another positive.
Taking his penlight out of his shorts pocket, he shined its bright beam around the room. He almost jumped out of his sneakers when a giraffe statue, nearly as tall as him, loomed to his left in the dinette area.
“Jesus,” he breathed, eyeballing the critter. He looked around the room, taking in the other African animal statues lounging on various pieces of furniture, as well as the numerous black-and-white photos of jungle wildlife hanging on the walls.
Oh, yeah. Her roommate was a photo journalist, currently in Africa.
The place was messy. He was a self-proclaimed neat-freak. Everything had its place, making his nomadic lifestyle easier to maintain. Here there were stacks of files at three places of the rectangular dinette table. He supposed Kate ate at the empty fourth spot. Piles of travel magazines lined the credenza along the back wall of the eating area, and a charcoal drawing of a baboon grinned back at him from above the magazines.
He shook his head, glancing into the kitchen on his way toward the bedrooms. Wait a sec. He did a double take. The tiny kitchen was spotless. No dishes in the sink, no dish drainer on the counter. Just a bowl of fruit and a coffee machine with its little pods displayed neatly beside it.
He glanced at the hoarder piles in the dinette, and then back at the pristine kitchen. The two rooms didn’t mesh. They belonged in different houses, to different people.
He opened the fridge. Maybe the kitchen was anally neat because Ms. Munroe didn’t cook. Once more he was wrong. A couple of home-baked chicken breasts sat wrapped on a plate, with the fixings for a salad beside them. His mouth watered. How badly would he screw up this case if he ate her leftovers? Monumentally. He sure would like to see her face if he did. Goldilocks, anyone?
Feeling a misplaced relief that she was as neat as him (where would that go, really?), Sawyer headed down the hall, past a shiny little bathroom as starkly immaculate as the kitchen. The first door beyond the bathroom was closed. Suspicion kicked in, and he dropped to a crouch before taking hold of the knob and turning it, easing the door open by increments.
Undercover with the Nanny Page 2