Nanny (13 page)

“I told you, I'm
fine.
” She turned away, shoulders rigid, her heart pounding. There were too many memories. “I'll—see you later.”

“No doubt about it,” Gabe said flatly.

Summer ignored the question in his eyes. She had to get away.

chapter
16

T
he flotilla of trucks arrived right on schedule. Within minutes a team of men in white uniforms poured onto the lawn with ladders, toolboxes, and long planks of aluminum siding, supervised by a tall man who bore a striking resemblance to Denzel Washington. After consulting a sheaf of papers, he motioned his crew to follow him over the grass to the back of the house, where he gave the doorbell two careful rings, then checked his watch.

Rubber soles squished over the damp lawn behind him. “Yes?”

“Triple-A Siding, here to see Ms. O'Connor.”

“She's not in.” Gabe Morgan surveyed the crew and their broad-shouldered supervisor. “That a problem?”

“We're scheduled to do roof and siding maintenance. Any sign of termites?”

Gabe ran his tongue across his teeth. “They've eaten away the whole south wall of the garage. In fact, things could get nasty out here any second.” He motioned across the lawn. “I think you'd better come inside and fill me in on your plans.”

Ishmael Teague, electronics genius, ace computer hacker, and highly trained security operative, gave a wicked grin. “Happy to. And you would be . . . the gardener?”

“Among other things,” Gabe said dryly. “Frankly, I like you better as the pizza delivery guy.”

“I've delivered many things over the years,” Izzy said, “but pizza has never been one of them.” He made a quick gesture to one of his team, then followed Gabe Morgan down to his guest quarters.

 

Summer strode through her casita, railing at herself. So she'd gotten a bump from a wooden crate. There was no reason for her stomach to turn somersaults.

Feel the pain, but don't become part of it, the doctors had told her. Treat it like a difficult friend, then wave good-bye and close the door.

Easy to say.

She yanked off her jacket and tossed it on the bed. Next came the long-sleeved shirt. At least there was no sign of blood on the white cotton. At the worst, she'd have a few bruises where the staples from the crate had raked her arm, and that was nothing to whine about.

But when Summer walked to the floor-length mirror outside her shower, each step was an act of will, and her eyes, as she stared at her reflection, were filled with regret.

 

“We'll tackle the ground floor first.” Izzy tapped the architectural blueprints spread out on the table before him. “Pressure plates outside the windows—here, here, here. Video camera hidden in the shutters near the front door, with full porch and front yard coverage.” His long fingers moved slowly across the paper. “Wireless alarms upstairs and down, just in case someone decides to levitate over the pressure plates.”

Gabe nodded. “Motion sensors?”

“Two of my people will handle that. Your suggestions on placement look good to me.”

“What about cover?” Gabe snagged the coffeepot and refilled their cups. “We don't want to broadcast our new security.”

“Officially, my crew will be installing new siding and trim, then checking the window frames and foundation for termite infestation. My people are damned good, so no one will notice the sensors that get inserted under the siding or the alarms on the windows.”

“Good. Now let's talk about this cellar.” Gabe tapped one corner of the blueprint. “There's a possibility of interior access.”

“I brought materials to seal it up, if necessary.” Izzy blew on his coffee, then took a long drink. “Anyone currently in the house?”

“The housekeeper is working upstairs. The chef is in the kitchen, too, along with an assistant. Tate Winslow's mother is with them. Prep work for the wedding.”

“Anyone else on the grounds?”

“The new nanny.” Gabe sat back, steepling his fingers. “The one I told you about.”

“That would be Summer Mulvaney, our loaner from the FBI. How good is she?”

“Right on target so far. Audra slipped away yesterday at the Monterey Aquarium and she handled things fast while keeping a low profile. The little girl, Sophy, idolizes her already.”

“You mean, she's a people person? Most of your garden-variety Feds are pretty weak in the social skills department.”

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.