Nanny (27 page)

“What's that?” Summer asked, peeking over his shoulder.

“High-res satellite shots of the clinic. We happen to be in luck, because there are no clouds today.”

“Those are real-time high-res shots?” Gabe shook his head. “I don't want to know how you got clearance for that.”

“That's right, you don't.” Izzy zoomed in on an image, frowning. “Something's going on. There's a hell of a lot more activity at the clinic than when I checked last.”

“What kind of activity?”

“Two Mercedes, a Hummer, and three delivery trucks. More workmen from the electrical company that was working on-site at the clinic yesterday. No sign of Underhill, but something's definitely happening over there.”

“Not good.”

“What do you say?” Izzy asked quietly.

Gabe sat down on the opposite fender of the Jeep. “Stay ready to move, but let's give it ten minutes. I want to know what's happening at the clinic.”

chapter
32

G
abe was wearing a perfectly tailored Armani suit as he watched Summer move through the sunlight. She was elegant and sexy in a gray silk dress that fit her like a second skin. When they walked through the lobby, half a dozen men turned and stared.

The thought hit him that Summer
could
be involved with someone, despite Izzy's research.

The possibility left him scowling.

“What's wrong?”

They were almost at the front entrance to the hotel. Gabe considered the casual, roundabout approach and scrapped the idea. “Are you seeing anyone?” he demanded.

“What?”

“Involved, Mulvaney.” He almost slipped and used her real name. “Having sex in a committed consensual relationship with another adult, be that male or female.”

“None of your business.”

They walked outside into a perfect day. The sky was a blinding blue, and the sun shimmered on her hair, picking up glints of bronze and auburn. The scent of her shampoo, a subtle mix of apples and cinnamon, was driving Gabe crazy. “Damn it, Summer, just tell me if—”

“No.”

“No, you won't or—”

“No, there's no one.”

“Good,” he said harshly. He'd already heard it from Izzy, but he wanted to hear the answer from Summer.

“Why is that good?”

“Because if you were involved with someone, you'd be thinking about him instead of the job.”
And I might have to kill him,
Gabe thought. “If you're distracted, you're more likely to make mistakes.”

“What about you? How many women are penciled in to your date book, breathlessly awaiting your return?”

“I don't keep a date book.” Gabe frowned, scanning the dozen cars parked in front of the hotel. Only one woman had ever distracted him from his work. Right now she was six inches away, smelling like apples on a summer day and driving him crazy.

“You look wonderful, so relax.”

“I've never been much good at relaxing,” Summer said irritably.

“Start trying. We're supposed to be crazy in love, remember? Looking tense doesn't go with our profile.”

“So?”

“So lean in closer and touch my shirt. Laugh softly and look into my eyes. The act has to be solid.”

Summer slid an arm slowly around his neck. “Like this?” She leaned into him and took his mouth in slow, hungry nibbles. When he groaned, she tongued his lower lip.

Gabe's hands slid to her waist. “That's convincing enough,” he growled.

She bit his lip again, then smoothed the spot with her tongue. “Are you sure?”

He cursed softly and turned away as three police officers appeared at the entrance to the hotel, struggling with a European businessman in a white suit. The man was belligerent and frightened in turn, switching from French to German to Spanish.

The police officers paid no attention, ignoring his demand to speak with his lawyer.

“What's going on?” Summer muttered.

“I'll find out.” Gabe spoke quietly to a nearby bellman, then returned as the police van pulled away. “I couldn't get anything concrete, just that he was a businessman with many debts. He had checked out and was leaving the country today.” Gabe looked down at the hotel's front steps. “Forget about him. Izzy's here with the car.”

Across the driveway a man in a black uniform was holding open the door to a big silver limousine. Now Izzy was wearing a rakish hat and a devilish smile.

Summer took a deep breath and looked at Gabe. “Ready, Mr. Walker?”

“Absolutely, darling.” Gabe nodded and took Summer's arm.

Summer tilted her head and traced his cheek slowly. “I'm sure it will be a very instructive morning,
darling.
” In the backseat, she leaned closer to Gabe. “But for the record, if anyone tries to give me a pelvic exam, I'll use my service revolver on them.”

 

Tracey Van Doren was bored and depressed.

Damn it, where was Audra when she needed her? Vanished with her mom and sister, of course. Just Tracey's luck.

She picked up her old Girl Scout binoculars and stared idly through the bright kitchen windows at Audra's house. There were two people inside, and then one of them disappeared. Only Patrick was left, doing something near the table, then opening drawers and searching through canisters.

Tracey saw that there was a pile of opened letters on the table near him. She figured it was a little odd that a chef had so much mail.

She moved to get a closer look, then saw him turn and stare up at her, frowning. A sudden wave of fear went through her. Why was he staring at her? And why did he look so angry?

chapter
33

T
he first thing we'll need today is a sperm sample.”

 Gabe took a step in front of Summer. “I'm afraid that we're not here to—”

“It's standard procedure, Mr. Walker.” The medical assistant smiled brightly at Gabe. “You and Mrs. Walker can share the patient room. If you need . . . inspirations, you'll find appropriate magazines in the drawers near the door.”

“There's been some sort of misunderstanding.” Gabe smiled coolly. They had only been at the clinic for five minutes, and so far there had been no sign of Underhill. “We're here for a tour, not for treatment.”

“Trepidation is quite normal, Mr. Walker, but there's no reason to delay specimen collection. We'll need to examine your wife, too, of course. After that you can tour the clinic and speak with our director.” The medical assistant set a plastic container on the counter in front of Gabe. “Your specimen goes in here. Write your name on the white label before you return it, please.” She smiled pleasantly at Summer. “Your wife is free to accompany you.”

“We are
not
here for specimens.” Gabe pushed the plastic cup back across the counter. “Check your records. We're here for a tour.”

The assistant looked up as the door to the office behind her opened, and two men in gray uniforms emerged, carrying a roll of cable between them. They paid no attention to patients or staff, muttering as they ran cable along the bottom of the room and out into the hall. “But your name is right here on my list. Sperm sample for Mr. Walker. Physical exam for Mrs. Walker.”

Summer's eyes narrowed. Anyone who tried to get her
near
a chair with stirrups wouldn't be able to sit down for a month. “Why don't you check with the director? We have a tour scheduled. I even have a confirmation letter.”

“Oh, dear, the director will be gone for at least another hour. Waiting for him would put us behind schedule, and the examination rooms are booked solid from eleven o'clock on.” Smiling but resolute, the receptionist pushed the specimen cup back toward Gabe.

Barbie in a white coat, Summer thought. At least Barbie had longer legs.

Gabe scanned the woman's nametag. “Ms. Jorgensen—” He smiled confidingly. “Molly.” He leaned down, completely nonthreatening. “How about you check your schedule again?”

“But Dr. Teller says—” Molly stopped abruptly as the door opened behind Summer. “Eva, thank heaven you're here. These patients say they're not scheduled for specimen collection. Maybe someone made a mistake on the schedule.” Molly was becoming more flustered with every word.

Across the room, one of the uniformed workmen looked up briefly, shook his head, then returned to his cables.

Eva was clearly in a position of authority. Taking charge, she peered at the scheduling book, then frowned at Gabe and Summer. “You are Mr. and Mrs. Walker?”

“Yes, and we're still considering several other clinics.” Gabe slid his arm around Summer's stiff shoulders. “We are supposed to have a tour, then speak with the director. Are you sure that nothing is scheduled for us?”

The woman peered at the appointment log. “You're right. See, Molly? The evaluation was for the Wiltons, not the Walkers, and the Walkers are to meet Dr. Underhill, not the director. I remember seeing an e-mail about that change early this morning.”

The receptionist frowned. “I didn't get that e-mail.”

“Never mind, I'll handle it, Molly.” The woman smiled at Gabe. “I can take you down to meet Dr. Underhill, one of our senior research scientists. If you're certain you don't want to get started with an evaluation, that is.”

“Absolutely,” Summer said sweetly.

“In that case, let's take this door.”

One hurdle crossed, Summer thought grimly.

Now all they had to do was pick up Underhill and get the hell out of Dodge.

 

Los Reyes Clinic spread over five gorgeous, wooded acres, and in the daylight, Summer could see that no expense had been spared in its design. Every inch of space suggested a world-class spa rather than a medical facility.

While their guide rambled on about an eighteenth-century colonial governor who had lived here with various mistresses, Summer checked surreptitiously for signs of extra security or surveillance, but, unlike the night before, the cobblestone courtyards and green lawns seemed completely peaceful. Nothing disturbed the international roster of patients who demanded state-of-the-art medical care in a luxurious setting.

Each residence had its own outdoor spa, private garden, and balcony; inside were stone fireplaces and high-tech computer data ports. To Summer's relief, no guards were anywhere in evidence.

She smiled at their guide as they walked past the power shed where she and Gabe had gained entrance the night before. “Everything looks state-of-the-art. How long has the clinic been in operation?”

“About forty years. When Dr. Teller purchased the clinic, he updated the facilities, focusing on infertility, though the clinic used to handle a broad range of medical problems. Right now we're in the middle of scaling up our research and data-storage areas. As you know, we have an international staff and patient base now.”

As they passed the pool, Summer saw two women on teak lounges reading novels. She realized that the things in their mouths were thermometers—the only sign that they were at a medical facility, not a Four Seasons resort.

Not too far away, two more men in gray uniforms were stringing cable and installing new wiring.

Gabe took Summer's arm. “My wife and I definitely want to see the labs. We may not be scientists, but we want to be certain that safe, hygienic conditions exist for the sake of our child.”

Their guide smiled. “Dr. Underhill is very knowledgeable. He doesn't give many tours, but I'm sure you'll find him helpful. When you're finished, he can escort you back to the office.”

“Don't worry about us, Eva,” Gabe said pleasantly. “I'm sure Dr. Underhill can point us in the right direction when we're done.”

 

“‘Safe, hygienic conditions'?” Summer murmured as they followed their guide across the courtyard into the fenced lab area.

“I'm a responsible father-to-be.” Gabe scanned the high fences and the halogen security lights scattered around the lab complex. “Someone paid a bundle for this setup. Making babies must be big business.”

“For this clientele, at least.” Summer watched Eva slide a plastic ID card through a security scanner. There was a discreet
buzz,
followed by a synthesized voice that said “Eva Breuner. Entrance approved.”

“Very nice.”

“There were no checkpoints like this anywhere else,” Summer pointed out quietly. “Tighter security here.”

Gabe leaned closer to Summer. “Heads up,” he whispered. “Underhill at three o'clock.”

Terence Underhill was walking toward them, looking rumpled and cranky, like a man who'd spent most of the night fighting bad dreams.

He stopped beside Eva, frowning. “Sorry, my last experiment hit a snag. This is Mr. and Mrs. Walker, I take it?”

“Yes, Dr. Underhill. They were worried about whether we have safe, hygienic conditions here.”

“Nonsense, we have the best equipment and the finest staff available.” Underhill stared at Gabe. “Are you a scientist, Mr. Walker?”

“No, but my wife and I are willing to pay for the very best.”

Underhill pulled out an ID card. “I'll escort them from here, Eva. And I'll be sure they finish on time.” The scientist turned and slid his ID card through the security scanner. “After you, please.”

Inside the lab, Summer noticed low-profile surveillance cameras mounted above the molding all along the corridor, and Underhill was limiting his conversation to generalities. When they came to an inner set of double doors, he slid his card into a small slot, and a green light flashed on. “This is our hormone test center. You may find it interesting.”

As the doors slid open, Summer had a sudden whiff of something different about the air.

Underhill glanced back at her. “So you noticed that, did you? Because of the chemicals we work with, we have our own closed ventilation system in here for safety. We take advantage of that technology and generally maintain the oxygen at twenty-two percent.”

“You pump in your own mix?” Summer's eyebrow rose. “That must be expensive.”

“Not as expensive as losing months of work due to human error caused by muddled thinking.” Underhill pointed down the corridor. Neat, printed signs warned workers to wear goggles when using lab facilities and to clean up and store all chemicals before they left the premises. “Safety is very important to us.” He pushed open a heavy metal door and waited for Gabe and Summer to precede him. Once they were inside, he closed the door and stood against it, his face haggard and strained. “We don't have much time. We'll walk through two more lab areas and then leave.”

“This additional information of yours had better be good,” Gabe said flatly.

“Trust me, it is.”

“A senator?” Voices drifted from the hallway. Underhill motioned Gabe to silence as the big metal door rattled behind him, and then two men walked into the neighboring lab, visible through a high window. “Later. Is your driver parked in the back?”

Gabe nodded.

Underhill swallowed. “As soon as those workers leave, we'll detour through that lab and take the back door outside.”

Behind the window, one of the uniformed men bent down, reaching for something near the floor.

Underhill frowned. “They shouldn't be there.” When the man didn't look up, Underhill knocked loudly on the Plexiglas.

“What's going on?” Gabe moved beside him.

“That's the ventilation panel they're working on. But it's not right.” He licked his lips nervously. “They're too soon.” The scientist shoved Gabe aside and hammered on the window. “Stop,” he ordered angrily. “This isn't right.”

Summer realized the air smelled musty, like wet animals. Given the kind of tests that must have been done in this room, maybe extra oxygen was a good idea.

Suddenly Gabe jerked on the doorknob, banging loudly. “Open up. Damn it, somebody get over here!”

The sound echoed in the empty room, but next door the workers didn't seem to notice.

“They can't hear you in there. Even if they could, they wouldn't care.” Underhill sank against the wall, his face pasty white.

For some reason Summer's pulse felt fast and unsteady as she walked toward Gabe.

The air.

Underhill had mentioned the lab's high-tech ventilation system. She realized the air had probably been tainted. “Gabe, do you smell it? Gas?”

“I smell it. Help me find something to break the window.”

Summer noticed a small storage chest on the far wall. She fumbled open the biggest drawer and found a fire extinguisher, but when she tried to lift it, she was struck by a wave of dizziness. Swaying, she braced her shoulder against the wall while the floor tilted wildly.

Gabe was working on the doorknob with a penknife, and Summer watched his face blur, then split into two identical images. Seconds later Underhill slumped onto the floor.

Gabe's mouth moved, but Summer couldn't make out the words. “Use this.” Fighting to breathe, she held up the fire extinguisher.

“Hold on, honey.” Gabe caught her as she swayed.

“Feel sick. It hurts—to swallow.” Summer took a jerky step, then collapsed against Gabe's chest.