Nanny (30 page)

chapter
38

T
ate stood on the porch shouting into his cell phone as Bud roared up in his big pickup. They'd take the fastest route to Laramie, where the ER staff had been notified to expect them, with a possible diagnosis of poisoning.

Tate hadn't believed it when Audra ran along the river, shouting at him, her face white as chalk. He'd ridden with her back to the house, convinced it was some kind of a joke, but then he'd seen Cara, curled up on the floor, fighting to breathe.

With Bud's help, he lifted Cara into the backseat while the girls got in front. Tate covered Cara gently with a blanket, desperate to do something, anything at all, to help her. She was too pale, her body shaking, her breath labored.

Suddenly everything he'd accepted and dreamed about seemed to slide away from him. If what Sophy said was true, and his mother had truly argued with Cara, then tried to give her some kind of pills . . .

Amanda was headstrong and painfully determined when she had a goal in mind, but Tate couldn't believe she would hurt Cara or the girls. She had told Tate once that Cara was the best thing that had ever happened to him, and she valued the strength of family as much as he had, even if she had been quick to calculate the political points a family would score in a campaign. “Being happily married with two adorable children never hurt a man who wants to be president of the greatest country on earth,” she had told him confidently.

Impossible to think of his mother snapping completely, turning into a murderer.

Tate closed his eyes. The truth was that he hadn't spent much time with her in the last year. His brother had mentioned that she had some health issues, but they'd been minor, according to Greg, mainly a problem with one of her medications. But that, too, had been resolved, and just last week Amanda had assured Tate that she felt better than she had at thirty.

The truck pitched and swayed along the bumpy drive, dust kicking up in an angry cloud. Cara's eyes closed and her head lolled.

Tate felt as if his whole world had tilted off course. The girls looked almost as bad as he felt.

Leaning forward, he put his arms around Audra, then Sophy. “I thought it was a joke. Dear God, I was so sure.” He closed his eyes and worked to pull himself together. He owed the girls that much.

He owed Cara that much.

“She's going to be fine, you two. The people at the hospital have everything ready for us.” He struggled a moment, then forced a smile, the strong, confident kind that he used to forge coalitions and build grassroots assent.

Neither Audra nor Sophy responded.

Tate frowned at a sudden thought. “Sophy, honey, did you see where Grandma Amanda went? Did you hear a car?”

Sophy gave him an odd look, and for a moment her eyes were a stranger's eyes. “I heard her leave, Uncle Tate. I think I heard her car. I—I can't remember.” Her lip started to tremble as she looked down at her mother. “Patrick was there, but he left, too.”

“Patrick, your chef, here at the ranch? Well, never mind. I'm sure my mother went to get help.” Tate tried to put the best spin on matters as he glanced at the rearview mirror and met Bud's eyes. It was like a kick in the chest when his ranch foreman frowned and shook his head.

So it was true. Bud had seen something Tate hadn't. How long had Amanda been planning this, hating the woman he loved?

Wind churned across the road, scattering leaves and dirt over the windshield, so they drove blind.

If he lost Cara, nothing would matter.
Tate choked the thought down like ashes. No way was he going to lose her. He'd badger and bribe every specialist in the country until someone found a way to help. Then he'd badger and harass Cara until she got well, just because she would be sick of seeing his face all day, every day. And he'd damned well take care of her girls until she was strong enough to take care of them herself.

It was the least he could do. Even if she hated him after this, hated the thing his mother had tried to do.

With Cara in his lap, he gripped Audra's hand, pulling Sophy against his shoulder, and stared out at the roiling dust, trying to think about life, not death.

 

Dirt blocked the road, making the Mercedes skid wildly.

Amanda stared at the cloud for a moment, forgetting why she was here. Then she remembered.

Because of
her,
the beautiful, scheming woman who had stolen her son and destroyed his future—what would have been Tate's and Amanda's magnificent future together.

She was glad she had let Patrick drive. Her nerves were shot and she was still having trouble breathing.

He slanted her a questioning look. “Did you do it? Was she frightened?”

Amanda shuddered. “Sophy came, but I'm sure Cara got the message.”

Patrick slapped the wheel happily. “Better and better. Her own daughter sees her terror. That's perfect.”

“Don't be coarse, Patrick.”

“Shut up, Amanda. Business is business. So did she agree to help out with the appeal? Will she get that forensic evidence we need?”

“Not exactly.” Cara had been curled up on the floor struggling to breathe when Amanda had left. With any luck she would soon be dead. But Patrick and his vicious employer didn't plan on losing their inside informer. Their goal was her complete compliance, not her death.

The poison had been Amanda's revelation. She had to free her son from his obsession with Cara before the woman distracted him from his crucial political mission. It was Amanda's simple duty as a mother.

“What did she say?”

“Not much. She was too . . . upset.”

Patrick turned, glaring at her. “You did something, didn't you? What
was
it, old woman?” Patrick gripped her arm. “Tell me, damn you.”

“I did something I've been thinking of for months.” Amanda felt a ragged laugh escape, then another. “You never knew. You thought you would use me, Patrick, but
I
used you.”

Amanda stopped suddenly. She had been a certified beauty for fifty years, and she was still held to be the yardstick for charm and elegance. Now it was all crashing to an end.

“Forget about Cara and drive,” she said acidly. Her head was aching and she couldn't think straight. Every detail had been meticulously arranged, from the contact in Mexico and the threatening letters to the kidnapping at the clinic when the wretched nanny and Gabe Morgan had checked in. No doubt both of them were dead by now. A pity, since Gabe had always been a respectful boy, but Costello's men would have seen to that.

Just as Cara should have been dead by now, thanks to the ground seeds Amanda had mixed in the lemonade pulp. The botanist at the National Arboretum had described their action very thoroughly while giving Amanda's garden club a tour six months ago.

She remembered his discussion of toxic glycoproteins, whatever those were, but all that really mattered were the small scarlet seeds, which concentrated the main toxin of the plants. The botanist had assured his fascinated audience that even one seed well-chewed could cause fatal poisoning.

Amanda had used five seeds, taken from plants scattered about the gardens of her sprawling estate back in South Carolina. The same plants now grew in Cara's backyard, thanks to Amanda. Of course, Tate wouldn't care to make public the sordid details of Cara's suicide, so it would be termed an accidental overdose, possibly influenced by Cara's fear of scandal, resulting from the discovery of her visit to Los Reyes Clinic.

A yellow sign flashed by the side of the road, blurred by the dust, but Patrick didn't slow down. Amanda coughed, hard, struggling to breathe. Sophy knew she was allergic to cats. Why had the girl turned on her that way, screaming and unrecognizable?

In growing confusion Amanda thought about her meticulous plans for Christmas at the White House and fireworks on Independence Day, along with select little dinners perfectly orchestrated to make Tate the most powerful president in history. And her files full of secrets would be carefully held in reserve, in case anyone dared to cross her precious son.

But what would happen now? Sophy would tell Tate what had happened, and then Tate would turn against her. If the truth ever leaked to the press, the scandal would destroy him.

Amanda closed her eyes in confusion. She couldn't allow Tate to be harmed. There had to be some other way.

Patrick was staring at her again. “You're starting to annoy me, old woman. Stop rambling and tell me what Cara said when you left. Costello will want to know.”

“She said that I was twisted and I needed medical help. She told me to keep my hands off her girls.” Amanda searched the rocky landscape, looking for an answer that would protect her son. If Costello found out what she had done, he would never let Tate go. He would blackmail Tate and bleed him dry, destroying his glorious future.

Dear God, what to do?

The answer came to her, a bright light in the midst of her terrible confusion. She recognized the turn ahead. When Bud had mentioned something about the road being washed out, she hadn't paid much attention but now it made all the difference. Sitting beside her, Patrick was oblivious to the danger as her expensive Michelin tires dug in hard, then kicked free and swerved across the gravel.

It was time.

It was her duty—to her son and to her country. A Winslow never forgot the importance of duty.

Through the racing dust, she saw the turn flash before her.

Amanda Winslow took a deep breath and yanked the wheel, closing her eyes as Patrick screamed and the road vanished beneath them.

chapter
39

Tucson, Arizona
Sonoran Medical Center

S
he's pretty banged up.”

 Gabe stared through the windows to the emergency room unit where three doctors worked on Summer. She was shoving away their hands, groggy but complaining loudly, demanding to see Gabe and Izzy. “Give me the details, Teague.”

“You want the technical stuff, I can throw that on you. Trust me, it won't amount to more than this. She has a head wound, substantial blood loss, but nothing invasive. She narrowly missed a broken rib, and she has a broken arm, which they're preparing to set right now.” Izzy smiled slightly. “If she stops raising hell long enough, that is. She's also got extensive lacerations on the chest and neck from breaking glass.”

Gabe swallowed. “How bad?”

“She's going to need some cosmetic surgery. Nothing crucial that has to be sewed back on, if that's what you mean.”

Gabe closed his eyes. “Yeah. That's what I meant.” He forced away nightmarish visions and told himself sternly that she was alive. That was the bottom line. “Anything else?”

“Mild concussion. Some evidence of shock. Significant blood loss, which is being managed aggressively. The good news is she has no sign of hemorrhaging, no sign of internal injuries. If you hadn't been airlifted to the hospital and stabilized so fast . . .” Izzy shrugged, letting the words trail away.

Gabe knew it was true, but seeing Summer pale and struggling didn't seem to be cause for rejoicing. “What about Underhill?”

“He didn't make it. Never regained consciousness, I'm afraid.”

After a moment Gabe shook his head. “So we didn't get that name he promised us, after all.”

“Summer did. It was the first thing out of her mouth when she woke up in the chopper. Not
panda
, pal. Underhill was
trying
to say
Amanda.
”

Gabe stared at Summer, his leg throbbing in spite of the massive amount of painkillers the orthopedic specialist had ordered for him. “Tate Winslow's
mother
? What does she have to do with this? The woman's got to be seventy years old.”

“And sins are confined to youth? I just spoke to the senator in Laramie. Right now Cara O'Connor is in intensive care undergoing treatment for leptin poisoning induced by ground-up rosary pea seeds, courtesy of Amanda Winslow. None of us saw it coming.”

“That's crazy.” Gabe rubbed his neck. “What's Cara's prognosis?”

“Too soon to say. She threw up fairly soon, which limited the amount of toxin she ingested. The ER team gave her gastric lavage and now she's on IV fluids to stabilize her blood chemistry. So far, there's been no sign of convulsions or cardiac involvement. The big question is whether she'll lose kidney function, and that's going to take time to assess.”

Gabe still couldn't imagine the charming and stately Amanda Winslow planning anything like this. “I still can't get a grip on this. I've known the Winslows forever, and they're a great family.”

“From what Cara told Tate, his mother was irrational, afraid that news of Cara's abortion would destroy his shot at Pennsylvania Avenue. To her, that meant everything. But it's over now. Amanda and Patrick spun out on a mountain road. By the time they were found, both of them were dead.”

Gabe was silent for a long time. “I still don't see how Amanda knew about Cara's visit to Mexico.”

“You ready for this? She was working with Costello.” Izzy's face hardened. “The chef was one of Costello's people, too.”

“Patrick?” Gabe couldn't hide his disbelief. “The man had the disposition of a pet rabbit.”

“A good actor, and hardly tame. Costello had every detail of Cara's past researched during his trial. Eventually he discovered those missing weeks she spent in Mexico and he planned to blackmail her into working for him. That meant probing the evidence and testimony of key prosecution witnesses. The scary thing is, he might have succeeded, too. Apparently, the old forensic lab in San Francisco was a nightmare, because a leaking roof contaminated dozens of lab samples, invalidating some of the evidence actually gathered in the case. Thanks to Costello, two key witnesses also announced they wanted to change their testimony. Yes, he might have walked away, free and clear.”

“If Cara O'Connor hadn't stayed tough,” Gabe said quietly. “How are Sophy and Audra?”

“Shaken up, scared crazy, but physically fine. They're not leaving their mother's side.”

“And the senator?”

“I spoke to him briefly. He told me exactly what he knew and exactly what Sophy had told him. None of it was pretty, considering that his mother appears to have arranged a complicated plan to murder his bride-to-be. The media is already on the scent, and they still don't know the half of it.”

“Let's hope they never do. Amanda's dead and so is Patrick. I suppose they've paid their price.” Gabe grimaced as the wheelchair he was sitting in brushed the wall. “Damned chair. Damned knees.” He stared impassively at Izzy. “How much did they tell you?”

“That you're going to be immobilized for two, maybe three months. After that there's an experimental bone implant technique they want to try out.”

“The relevant word is
experimental.
” Gabe turned away, looking through the window at Summer, who had finally stopped arguing with the nearest doctor. An IV line hung from her arm and she was fighting to keep her eyes open.

Stubborn, difficult woman.

Wonderful
woman.

“Don't tell her about me, Izzy. I don't want her to know.”

Izzy frowned. “What do you mean?”

“It was time to leave, anyway.” Gabe's hands tightened on the arms of the wheelchair. “This makes things cleaner.”

Izzy glared at Gabe. “Cleaner for
who
?”

“For both of us,” Gabe said quietly. “You think I should hang the hell around? Hold her hand and act warm and fuzzy? Sorry, but I don't
do
warm and fuzzy.” Gabe's jaw worked up and down. “I may not walk again, Teague. We both know that changes everything.”

Izzy crossed his arms in stony silence.

Gabe snorted. “I figured you'd say that.”

“I said nothing, Morgan.”

“That ugly, beat-up face of yours said it for you. You think I'm some kind of shit for cutting things off with her, and that's too damned bad.” Gabe gripped the big wheels and started down the hall, moving awkwardly in a wave of unrelenting pain.

“That's right, you
are
a first-class shit. Even more, you're a fool. Now stop trying to run into a wall and let me help you.”

As Izzy took charge of the cumbersome chair, Gabe glared down at his legs, immobile in horizontal hip-to-ankle casts. “You're wrong, Izzy. For once in my life, I'm being smart. And for the record, I can manage just fine.”

“Sure you can. I hear they're holding a spot for you in the Boston Marathon, too.”

Gabe's face was dotted with sweat. His hands fisted in his lap as he fought through a wall of dizziness and pain. “Damned straight they are. I just might win.”

At the end of the hall, a Navy orderly was waiting. He saluted Gabe smartly. “The helicopter is ready, sir.”

Gabe looked back at Summer. For a moment the silence hung heavy, and then he cleared his throat. “Take care of her,” he said hoarsely. “If she asks, tell her you don't know where I am. Tell her I dropped out and started a new religion down in South America somewhere.”

Izzy shook his head. “You're a real hard-ass, Morgan. I'll tell her, but don't ask me to like it.” Izzy hit a button on the wall, and the automatic door opened with a
hiss.
“And just for the record, my face may be busted up, but it still looks better than
your
ugly-as-sin mug.”

A hint of a smile brushed Gabe's mouth.

He turned back for a last look at Summer, motionless in a white bed, a monitor beeping beside her, and his smile faded. “She'll forget about me in a week, anyway. Couple of clean-cut young suits will whisk her back to Philadelphia, give her flowers, take her out to a fancy restaurant, and I'm history.”

Guys with whole bodies,
Gabe thought grimly.
Guys who can still walk. Young guys with some kind of future to offer a woman who didn't need more pain and uncertainty in her life.

“In fact, I'm probably history already,” he muttered. His jaw locked hard as he gripped Izzy's hand for a moment. Then the orderly pushed him over the threshold, out to the waiting military transport.