Nanny (21 page)

 

“Something's
wrong.
”

“What do you mean?”

Cara sat up, gripping the sheet tangled beneath her flushed body. “I can feel it.”

Frowning, Tate checked his watch, then grabbed his cell phone.

No questions asked. Cara realized this was one of the reasons she loved him so completely and absolutely. Few men would have understood Cara's gnawing fear that her professional life would one day cross over to harm her children. Fewer men still would have made no complaint when that fear interrupted them in the middle of sex.

She watched his face, greenish-gold in the LCD from his cell phone. “Bud, it's Tate. Everything quiet down there with the girls?” The senator listened in silence, then nodded. “That's just fine. We'll be down in about forty-five minutes. Save us some peach ice cream.”

“Well?” Cara demanded, still struggling with an odd, drifting certainty that something was wrong.

“They're safe and bone-deep happy. Elly's feeding Audra ice cream by the pint and Bud's showing Sophy how to tie her first fishing lure. No one has seen anything odd anywhere, except for two shooting stars.”

“You're sure?”

“Bud's a careful man, honey. He knows what's at stake—in general terms, at least. Now you really can stop worrying.”

“Let me check my voice mail.” The sharp, discordant sense of danger persisted as she dialed her number back in California.

Three calls. One from the cleaner, one from her chef, and one from the local League of Women Voters, inviting Cara to speak at a fund-raiser in six months.

Nothing else.

She put down the phone and closed her eyes. “Maybe I'm losing it. Maybe it's one big game and Costello is finally winning. I can't stop worrying, Tate. I close my eyes and I see the girls at that window, just before the bullet hit.”

“No one said you had to stop worrying, honey. The trick is to have a break now and again. Each time you do that, you take back a piece of life.” His hand skimmed the warm line of her back. “Of course, I could offer to distract you.”

Cara made a husky sound as he leaned down to kiss the spot where her shoulder curved to meet her neck. “If I don't stop feeling distracted, I may miss something that allows Costello to walk, or my girls to be harmed. I'll be one of those bad mothers who wasn't there when her kids needed her.”

“Costello won't walk,” Tate whispered, pulling away the sheet. “Your girls are safe, and you're a great mother. But right now, I'd like to do a little more research on some of your other abilities.”

Cara shivered as his hands skimmed her breasts. Need left her throat dry. “As a litigator?”

“Not exactly.” His thigh slid between hers.

Cara turned, pulling Tate down against her. “You mean, as a taxpayer and civic-minded resident of the great state of California?”

He studied her face in the darkness. “Forget California. Forget everything outside this room. I'd walk away from it in a second if it meant protecting you and your family, Cara. Do you believe that?”

After a long time, she nodded.

“Then say it out loud. You've been hurt before, and I need to know that you can trust me with what you value most.” There was an edge to his voice, bound with a note of fear.

“I wouldn't be here if I didn't trust you, Tate. And my girls certainly wouldn't be running free as if this were their home.”

“Damn it, it
is
their home—yours, too. At least it will be, just as soon as you marry me.”

“We'll discuss that later.”

“No, now.”

“Later,” she said. “After Summer and Gabe return.”

He started to protest, but she put a finger on his lips. “I trust you with everything I am and everything I love. But the rest of the world?” She shivered though the room was warm. “Not them, not in a thousand years. There are a lot of Costellos out there, and they'd eat us alive if they could. So don't ask me for promises, Tate.” There was desperation in her voice as she pushed him down and slid her body onto his. “That way I won't have to tell you any lies.”

chapter
24

T
he car was waiting at the airport, just as promised. A small man with a straw hat carried a sign that said “Walker,” and when he saw Gabe wave, he hurried to take their bags, speaking in broken English. Gabe responded by switching to fast, colloquial Spanish.

The man looked at Summer and said something low, which made Gabe laugh as he shot back an answer.

“What was that about?” she murmured, once their old Ford taxicab was bumping along the road toward the center of Los Reyes.

“He says the
señora
can't be my wife. You're too—” Gabe cleared his throat. “I believe the word he used was
juicy.
”

Summer smiled at the man, who was watching her in the mirror. She leaned closer to Gabe and toyed with his hair. “Just call me a devoted, loving wife, Mr. Walker,” she murmured.

Gabe's eyes went dark. “You're doing one hell of a job, Mrs. Walker.”

Then he bent his head and ran his mouth slowly over hers, pinning her against the seat while he tasted her with his tongue.

Hunger shimmered between them. Summer's heart did a sharp jackknife and ended up somewhere near her ankles.

When she was able to focus again, Gabe was back on his side of the seat, smiling possessively. “You're blushing, Mrs. Walker.”

“Like hell I am.” Summer looked down, pretending to straighten her blouse in case he was right.

“Looks good on you. You could stand some color.”

“Cosmetic advice? What next, fashion tips?”

She couldn't read his face as he ran his thumb gently along her cheek. “Only one thing would look better than what you're wearing now.”

Summer crossed her arms stiffly. “And that would be?”

Gabe smiled faintly. “You wearing a smile and a promise, nothing more.”

She bent close, smiling sweetly. “In your dreams, Morgan,” she whispered.

His laughter was rich and dark, and in response, the driver looked back and nodded, pleased to see that the two Americans were very much in love.

 

When the bellman left, Gabe turned on the shower full blast. “Come here and kiss me,” he said loudly. “No talk. There may be bugs,” he whispered as he pulled Summer into his arms.

Summer nodded, but an inner demon made her drape her body over his and slide her arm around his neck. “What's the hurry, darling?” she purred.

Something flashed in Gabe's eyes. If it was a challenge, she noted it and then ignored it. Some part of her wanted to be . . . what was the word the driver had used?

Juicy.

A juicy woman.

She let the words drift in her mind, enjoying their dark thrill. All her life she'd been too tall, too plain, too studious. No one she knew in high school or college would ever have called her sexy.

But she felt sexy now, smoldering in the balmy night, wrapped in Gabe's arms. Which was why she threw caution to the wind, pulled down his head, and opened her mouth over his, tasting him slowly.

When Gabe pulled away, a pulse hammered at his jaw. “You do pick your moments, Mrs. Walker.”

“All part of the therapy, Mr. Walker,” Summer said sweetly.

Gabe pulled something out of his pocket and palmed it. She watched him move to the bathroom door and flip off the light.

In case there was a camera hidden in the room.

“Can you get me a clean shirt, honey?” His voice was casual as he pulled off his jacket, then held the small, countersurveillance device out of sight while he swept the bathroom, top to bottom.

Summer let out a little breath when he shook his head. “Here's your shirt.”

Gabe moved back into the plush bedroom and took the clean shirt she had removed from his bag. “Nice place. There's supposed to be an outdoor hot tub, in case you're interested.”

“Sounds wonderful.” Summer forced a smile as Gabe flipped off the light and moved carefully from one corner of the room to the other, glancing down frequently to check for a reading.

Finally he nodded at her. “Unless they've got something so damned high-tech we've never heard of it, this place is clean.” Gabe slid his equipment back into his pocket and swung open the heavy glass door to the porch.

Instantly the air was filled with honeysuckle and jasmine. But Summer was thinking about security as she headed to the bathroom, pulled down the shower rod, and held it out to Gabe.

His brow rose. “It's a little late for golf.”

“But not for security.” Summer reached behind him, then closed the slider and dropped the shower rod into the track. “No one will be coming through there without a battering ram.”

“Good call.” Gabe closed the curtains and pulled out a phone. “Underhill is waiting to hear from me. With a little luck, we may be able to hit the clinic tonight and be long gone before our appointment tomorrow.”

Summer wasn't counting on it. In her experience, things inevitably went wrong when you least expected them to.

“Where does he keep the material he has for us?”

“In his lab on the clinic grounds. But he's convinced someone on the staff is watching him, so he's being very careful.”

As he spoke there was a short
click.
The slider rattled.

“Get the lights, then hit the bathroom,” Gabe ordered. “Stay out of sight.”

Summer knew he had command rank and she didn't waste time with questions. She flipped off the main room light, and eased the bathroom door closed behind her.

Gabe walked to the sliding door, and a small cone of light bored into the darkness outside. She heard the door open.

“I hope you're not here to sell me a
National Geographic
subscription.”

The other voice was tight and breathless. “You asked for
Gourmet,
sir.”

“Right on time.” Gabe's voice leveled out. “Come in, Mr. Underhill.”

Hidden in the bathroom, Summer saw the curtains swing out as a man moved through the darkness. “Your room is safe?”

“Passed with flying colors.” Gabe closed the door and pulled the curtains back into place. “You'll understand if I don't turn on the lights.”

“Of course.” The man turned, scanning the room, and Summer had a glimpse of white linen pants and a white tropical-weight jacket. “Are we alone, Mr. Walker?”

“My wife should be back in ten minutes. If you don't mind, I'd like to be done before she gets here. She knows nothing about any of this.”

He was protecting her, Summer realized. Just in case something went wrong.

“You're prepared to turn over your evidence?” Gabe asked flatly.

“We have to discuss several things first. You have my money?”

“It's in my account. I'll make a wire transaction as soon as you've given me what I need and the material has been verified.”

“All of the money?” Underhill blurted.

“One hundred thousand, ready and waiting for your creditors.”

Underhill's sigh was audible even to Summer, hidden behind the door.

“Good. That's very good, Mr. Walker.” Underhill rubbed his neck nervously. “I can't go on like this, working for Costello. He could turn on me any second.”

Summer bit back a breath. Cara's instincts had been right.

“Tell me about this man Costello,” Gabe said calmly.

“He works out of California and Arizona. Drugs, protection, illegal aliens—that and more.”

“How did he get a piece of you?”

“I can't tell you that.”

“Then the deal is off. Good-bye, Mr. Underhill.” Gabe walked toward the patio door.

“No, wait. You know that I—I owe some people money. A lot of money.”

“So?” Gabe's light moved again, picking out Underhill's pinched features.

“I gamble, Mr. Walker. Sometimes I win, but usually . . .” The scientist laughed bitterly. “Who am I kidding? I always lose. Every night I swear I'll make up my losses, but I end up digging myself in deeper. When I reached forty thousand dollars, I went to the casino owner and said I'd do anything. The next night I heard from Richard Costello.”

“I see. He paid your gambling debt. What did you do in return?”

Underhill stared down at his expensive shoes. “I did whatever he asked. Sometimes I delivered messages. Sometimes I carried money to one of Costello's colleagues. I've paid off Mexican politicians and American ones, too. But mostly Costello has been interested in one thing—information on a patient who was here many years ago.”

“Why would he want something like that?” Gabe asked blandly.

“Who can say? His people simply tell me what to do, and I send the information to a P.O. box in Oakland. My bank account is then credited within twenty-four hours.”

“Easy money,” Gabe said dryly.

“It was at first. Then Costello was indicted, and his people wanted me to dig deeper, to find out more and more. This patient could be involved in his indictment, maybe as a witness, not that I would ever ask.” Underhill shifted tensely. “Last month they told me if I didn't produce more information, they'd mail pieces of me back to my wife.” Underhill shook his head. “I've documented everything—the calls, the visits, the trips I made for them. I can tell you the name of every politician I had to deliver money to, with dates and amounts. I also have copies of the patient information I was able to dig up. The information is in a secure safe in my lab, Mr. Walker.”

Gabe stared at Underhill in silence. “Fine. We'll go in tomorrow.”

“That's not possible.” The scientist shot to his feet. “Tomorrow's too late. We have to get inside and make the transfer
tonight.
”