Nanny (22 page)

chapter
25

G
abe cursed softly. “Out of the question.”

 “I wouldn't ask if I had any choice, damn it. The director is concerned about staff theft and I got wind of a wall-to-wall inspection to begin tomorrow afternoon. I can't be caught with these files. Costello has spies among the staff.”

So much for smooth and easy, Summer thought grimly.

“Tell me exactly what you have for me.” Gabe's voice was curt, impersonal. “It has to be damned important or this conversation is over.”

“I can tell you everything Costello wanted done and how much he paid to do it. You can bury the guy with these records.”

“I believe Costello's already in jail.”

“Then my records will
keep
him there. I also have photographs of the people he sent to deal with me, so you'll be able to track his organization. That's got to be valuable.”

“Perhaps. How would we receive this information, Mr. Underhill?”

“I asked for a SEAL.” The scientist squinted at Gabe, trying to read his face. “I know they're professionals and they're trained to get the job done.”

“My background isn't important.”

“To me, it is. Tell me, damn it.” Underhill was sweating, his voice jerky.

“You've got what you wanted,” Gabe said quietly.

Summer felt a little punch of surprise. So Gabe was a Navy SEAL. Senator Winslow had chosen his backup well.

“Good. But I repeat, you need to go in tonight. I'm being watched, and this inspection at the clinic means I have no more time to remove that information for you.”

“Why didn't you move the files to a safer place?”

“I planned to, but I don't trust my staff at home, and anything else local would have been too obvious. Last month we started new clinical trials on several products and I haven't had time to leave Los Reyes, so the files stayed locked in my safe.”

Underhill tossed a rolled up paper on the bed. “Here's the map of the clinic with your entrance and inside route marked. I need to know whether you'll go tonight, Mr. Walker, because I'll have preparations to make, and I'm due back for tests on a new drug for male pattern baldness.”

“Based on rats?” Gabe asked dryly.

“Mice. Then humans three months after that, if all goes well. Of course, I won't be staying around for the results.”

Gabe crossed his arms, watching Underhill fidget. “This man Costello you mentioned won't be happy to lose his prize pigeon. One day he might decide to come after you. What happens then?”

“I won't give you names, but a small Asian government is desperate to acquire biotechnology for a toehold in the international market. I'm going to help them with that, in exchange for protection and a new identity.”

“Very neat. Singapore?”

“No comment. Are you in or out, Mr. Walker?”

“Sri Lanka?”

“No.” Underhill's hands flashed to his face. “And forget asking me any other questions.”

Gabe shone the small light on Underhill's face, and Summer saw beads of sweat dotting the man's forehead. “I'm in,” Gabe said finally.

“Alone?”

“One other person.”

Underhill started to ask a question, then shrugged. “Fine. I'll meet you at two o'clock this morning at the north end of the old market near the clinic.” He opened the slider, dodging the curtains. “You'd better be damned good, because we'll have only one chance. If you fail tonight, I'll destroy my evidence and make it appear to be a lab fire. Costello and his men are killers, and I'm taking no chances on a mistake.” The door closed with a soft
hiss
.

Gabe crossed the room and opened the door to the bathroom. “All clear. Did you hear him?”

“Enough. So you're a SEAL.”

Gabe nodded.

“Do you believe him?”

“Not completely, but most of his story checks out. Just the same, we're doing things my way, not his way.”

Summer rolled her shoulders, hit by a wave of exhaustion. “What now?”

Gabe flipped on the light. “You're going to rest while I go over this map. We'll also keep Underhill under surveillance, just in case his offer turns out to be a setup.”

“We?” Summer fought a yawn. “I don't understand—”

There was a light scratch at the sliding door to the patio.

“Right on time.” Gabe flipped off the light again. “I told you we wouldn't be down here alone.” He opened the door quietly, and when he stepped aside, a tall figure emerged into the darkness of the room. Without a word Gabe closed the door, pulled the curtains, and hit the lights.

Summer was surprised to see the same man who had installed the new security at Cara O'Connor's house. Tonight he was wearing all black, and he looked more like Denzel Washington than ever.

“You saw Underhill?” Gabe asked him.

“I was waiting in the bushes when he came out. No one followed him, and I tracked him to his car to make sure no one was waiting there.”

“Underhill was lying about one thing,” Summer said carefully. “He knows more than he's saying about Costello, and his actual destination is Sri Lanka.”

The new arrival frowned. “A hunch, Ms. Mulvaney?”

“Call me Summer. And it's body analysis, not intuition. When you mentioned Sri Lanka, he covered his mouth with two fingers. He also locked his ankles and leaned back on the bed. It's a classic gesture-cluster.”

“Want to try that again?” Gabe muttered.

“Gesture-clusters,” she said impatiently. “Grouped nonverbal communications that signify predictable attitudes. Underhill was showing a textbook stress posture reinforced by the concealment gesture of his hands covering his mouth. Since he was denying that he was going to Sri Lanka, there is a substantial chance he was really indicating the opposite.”

Their visitor raised an eyebrow. “I'll pass that information on to the right parties.” The visitor held out his hand. “Izzy Teague. We didn't meet properly before.” After they shook hands, he continued. “So what do you make of the rest of Underhill's behavior?”

Summer reviewed Underhill's conversation, focused on his gestures and body positions. “When he mentioned his drug research, he was facing Gabe directly, his head tilted the same angle as Gabe's. These are fairly straightforward signs of openness and lack of stress.” Summer frowned. “The part about the lab fire was different. When he mentioned that, he brushed his nose. Taken alone, the gesture can be ambiguous, but with a stiff posture and averted eyes, I'd say that he was lying.”

“So he doesn't plan to destroy the evidence in a fire?”

Summer sighed. “I'm an FBI agent, not a psychic, Mr. Teague.”

“Izzy, please. And you're acting pretty damned close to one, from what I can see.”

“It's behavior analysis, not trickery. All I know is that Underhill didn't believe what he'd just said. Either he'll keep the evidence or he'll destroy it in a different way. I can't say more without additional observation.”

“Hell.” Izzy sat on the bed and opened a sleek black briefcase. “I don't know about you two, but right now I'm fifty-fifty for scrapping this whole mission.”

“Neither of you has to worry,” Gabe said quietly. “You'll strictly be backup. I'm the only one going in. I gave Tate my word.”

“The senator wouldn't expect you to walk into an ambush,” Izzy said flatly.

“I'm not going in blind or unprepared, despite Underhill's suggestions. You're going to check the clinic walls and find me a cold spot, Izzy.”

“Already done. I just finished shooting every foot of the exterior. There are cameras and motion detectors, but I managed to find you a few safe access points.”

“You've been busy.” Gabe checked his watch. “Here's how we're going to handle things tonight. With a little luck we'll be long gone by daybreak, drinking coffee back in Carmel.”

 

At five minutes to one, well before Underhill's planned meeting time, a rusting Taurus cruised the dark walls around Los Reyes Clinic.

From the front passenger seat, Izzy scanned the darkness through night-vision goggles. “No sign of Underhill or guards. What do you have, Gabe?”

Gabe continued his own survey. “Nada, but let's take one more loop. Summer, slow down at the back wall, near the service entrance. If Underhill is here with hostiles, I want to know it.”

Summer nodded, following the elegant limestone wall that circled the clinic. A skilled driver, she was credentialed in both speed and evasive techniques, and she had already memorized the layout of the clinic. “Front guard gate coming up in twenty feet.” The warning gave the men time to close their eyes, so that the heavy lights near the entrance didn't disturb their night-adapted vision. “Okay, we're clear.”

The car purred on, passing two rows of adobe guesthouses for visiting patients. The high fences were screened by azalea and oleander, which hid a narrow border of electrified wire at the top of the wall.

“There's part of the old market. Underhill expects you here.” Summer pointed to a small brick embankment. “That's the drainage tunnel he marked on his map.”

“Forget the drainage tunnel.” Gabe adjusted the angle of his glasses. “I'll be going in somewhere else.”

Summer laughed. “Score one for the visiting team. Remind me not to tangle with you.”

“I wouldn't advise it,” Gabe said from behind his glasses. “We're going to let Underhill think he's got a sucker right in the palm of his sweaty hand.”

Suddenly Summer slowed. “Get down!”

The two men hit the floor as a black van approached. Through the back windows Summer made out several men dressed in dark uniforms. One of them was gesturing as he spoke on a shortwave radio.

“Police,” she said quietly.

“Armed?” Gabe's voice came low, down behind her seat.

“Hard to say.” The van's motor growled and without warning the driver pulled out in front of Summer. “Looks like four, maybe five men in back. I can't see if—”

Suddenly, the van's back door burst open.

Three brawny men in full combat uniforms jumped down from the van, running directly toward her.

chapter
26

B
eneath a Wyoming sky full of stars, Cara stared out over the river. Even surrounded by peace and beauty, she couldn't relax. Turning on her twig porch chair, she saw Audra talking happily with Bud about fishing lures and spawning seasons. Her teenage daughter's cheeks had regained their color, and the hollows were gone in her face.

“You okay, Mom?” Sophy leaned closer to her mother, twisting rope in the intricate knot Tate had just taught her.

“I'm fine, buttercup. Too much coffee, I suppose.” Cara sighed. She owed it to her daughters to relax. They had so little time together that it was criminal to waste it on groundless worries. She peered over Sophy's shoulder. “Nice knot.”

At least her daughter wasn't wearing her habitual pink gloves. Maybe that fashion statement was over.

“It's harder than it looks. Bud can do one behind his back.” Sophy frowned when her mother leaned closer and turned Sophy's hands, admiring the knot.

“You . . . shouldn't worry so much.” Sophy took a sharp breath. “We're all going to be fine. And you haven't let us down.”

Cara turned sharply. “What do you mean? I didn't say I'd let you down.”

“You thought it.” Sophy frowned at the knot gripped in her fingers. “Sometimes I know . . . stuff like that. The way I knew about Gabe's training accident. It usually happens when I touch someone.”

Cara stared at her daughter. “I don't understand.”

Sophy took a sharp breath and flung her body against her mother. “I don't want to know things, but it happens anyway. First I feel strange, sleepy almost, and then everything goes kind of quiet. That's when I know. It happened to me a minute ago, when you touched my hands.” Sophy's body shook. “At first it was like a game, but n-now I want it to go away. Please make it stop, Mommy. I just want to be normal. No more waiting for people's thoughts to flash inside my head. No more of their ideas that get tangled up with my ideas.”

“But I don't understand, Sophy. This doesn't make sense.”

“I know that, but it still happens, don't you see? And I don't want to be afraid of touching people.” The girl's voice broke. “Especially you.”

Dear God, what to say, what to do? Cara stroked her daughter's hair, deeply shaken. Was Sophy's imagination out of control? Was this why she wore her incessant pink gloves and had trouble sleeping, because of some illusion that she could see into the future? “It's okay, buttercup. Trust me, everything will be fine.” Tears burned Cara's eyes as she held her sobbing young daughter. Why hadn't she seen Sophy's fear sooner? How could she have become such a bad mother?

“We—we'll go see a doctor, but I'm sure there's a simple explanation. Maybe you're allergic to a certain food. Or maybe you have a low-grade infection. The mind can do funny things.”

Sophy struggled away from her mother, her eyes red and swollen. “It's not like that. And stop thinking you're a bad mother, because you're not.”

Cara felt panic kick in. “What did you say, honey?”

“I said to stop thinking that you're a bad mother.”

Cara shook her head. Her daughter had to be making all this up. She'd always been so bright, so creative. Maybe too creative, Cara realized suddenly. “Sophy, this is serious. You shouldn't say things that aren't real.”

“But it
is
real. I tried to tell Audra, and she laughed at me, too. I told her I knew about how she was afraid to eat, so she dumped her food when you weren't looking. And I told her I knew how she went into the bathroom and made all the food come up.”

Cara could only stare, stricken by this new revelation. Not Audra, her dear daughter.
I don't believe it,
she thought.
It can't be true.

Sophy flung herself back stiffly, away from her mother. Her eyes were haunted. “See? You don't believe me, either.”

Cara swallowed hard. “I'm trying to believe you, but it's just—hard.” She desperately wanted to believe her daughter, but none of this made sense. “Try to explain it to me, honey.”

“I can't. It just happens, that's all. Usually with someone I know well, but not always. Like last week, when Grandma Winslow came by to drop off the linen tablecloths. Do you remember?”

Cara nodded, unable to speak.

“She gave me a hug. A long hug.” Sophy stared down at her dusty sneakers. “And I could see how she was confused, wondering if she'd forgotten to take her heart medicine. I couldn't see clearly, but I know she was worried about something else. I think it was about Uncle Tate, something to do with a big building. It looked like . . .” Sophy hesitated. “Like the White House.”

Cara tried to cling to reason and logic, but she knew how much Tate's mother wanted to see him in the White House, a goal she had shared with her late husband for two decades. But Sophy hadn't known about Amanda Winslow's detailed aspirations for her son.

“Go on, honey.”

Sophy took a deep breath. “Remember a few days ago when Tracey came to stay over with Audra?”

Cara nodded tensely.

“Tracey was acting funny and she bumped into me in the garage.” Sophy clasped her arms together tightly. “And I saw things. Bad things.”

“Like what, honey?”

“Fighting. Crying. A car at night.” Sophy closed her eyes. “Tracey was with someone in the car. They were doing strange stuff.”

Cara felt her heart begin to hammer loudly. “You . . . saw Tracey in the car? One night when you and Audra were outside?”

“No. I saw it in my head. It was like everything tilted, and then suddenly I was looking through Tracey's eyes, not mine.”

Cara hugged her daughter fiercely, more frightened than she had ever been in her life. “What do you see now, buttercup?”

As she spoke, Cara willed her mind to one thought.

Sophy gave a low, hiccuping sob. “You. How you love me. I can feel it around me, bright and warm. You want me to feel it, don't you?”

“Oh, yes.” Cara held on to her precious daughter. “I do love you, buttercup—more than forever, longer than always.” Cara brushed at her tears, sensing that nothing would ever be the same after this moment, that all their lives were going to change. As soon as possible, she had to talk to Audra about her weight worries, and something would have to be done about Tracey, too. Cara would ask their priest, Father O'Neill, to talk with Sophy about her visions. They would also find a child psychiatrist and maybe an internist who—

With an effort, Cara closed down the logical part of her mind. Sophy needed the deeper, primal part of her now. Most of all, her daughter needed honesty and the certainty of her unconditional love. “I believe you, honey. I'm just sorry it took me so long to understand.”

Sophy clung tightly. She didn't ask any questions. With her mother's arms locked around her and her love a deep, almost tangible force, no more questions were necessary.

 

Tate found them there on the dark porch, arm in arm. “What's wrong?” He stared anxiously at Cara. “Did you fall? Is Sophy hurt?”

“We're going to be fine,” Cara said fiercely, brushing her daughter's wet cheeks, then wiping her own. “We weren't before, but things will be different from now on. Won't they, Sophy?”

Sophy nodded, leaning against her mother. Suddenly she shivered. “Aren't you afraid?”

Almost by habit, Cara started to lie, but then she realized there could be no more soothing lies, no more evasions of any sort. Not with this unusual child who seemed to glimpse the truth in all its painful clarity. For Sophy's sake, Cara would have to be honest, even if it cut into the established fabric of their lives. “Yes,” she said softly. “I'm afraid. I don't want things to change, but they have to.” She looked at Tate. “For all of us, like it or not.”

He put his hand on Cara's shoulder. “You two are starting to frighten me.”

“I'll explain later.” Cara managed a crooked smile. “I promise.”

“I'll hold you to that.” Tate put one arm around her shoulders and the other around Sophy.

The girl stiffened.

“Tate,” Cara said quietly. “Maybe you shouldn't—”

“It's okay.” Sophy took a deep breath and stared up at the stars. Her face tightened, as if she were grappling with ideas she couldn't express or even understand. “I want it to be okay, and that means starting right here. I remember Summer told me that we all have to listen to the voice we don't want to hear, the one that's very quiet. She said usually that's the most important one.” Sophy eased closer to her mother, but didn't pull completely away from the senator. Her brow furrowed in a mask of fierce concentration.

Was she trying to block the outside thoughts, working desperately to be a normal, nothing-special nine-year-old in pink shoes and pigtails? Cara felt a stab of pain as she watched her daughter struggle to cope, facing a reality that seemed far beyond comprehension. There in the darkness Sophy was growing up fast, learning to listen to her heart.

Cara could only watch in awe.