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  “Wow.” Sophy shot up in a storm of bubbles, grabbing Summer’s arm for balance. “Are you okay?” Anxiously, Sophy clutched at Summer. “You can swim. Why did you tell us you couldn’t?”

  Then the little girl looked down. Her face went white beneath her freckles. “Why is your arm l-like that?”

  Summer didn’t look. She knew exactly what Sophy saw, knew exactly what her scarred skin looked like.

  The leash slid off Summer’s ankle. When she looked up, Gabe was holding Liberace. The pity she saw in his eyes was like an icy slap.

  She yanked down her sleeve, a sick feeling in her chest. “Could you watch the girls for a few minutes, Gabe? I . . . need to change.”

  She heard his gruff assent and Liberace’s nervous chattering, her whole body cold and numb. Too late to hide now. Too late to pretend.

  She couldn’t forget Sophy’s look of horror.

  Gabe’s look of pity.

  “What happened to her?” Sophy’s tremulous voice echoed in the sudden silence.

  “I doubt that’s any of our business,” Gabe answered quietly. “And I think swim time is over.”

  chapter 19

  I t was one thing to face the ugliness with her own eyes. It was another thing entirely to see the shock and horror on someone else’s face.

  With shaky fingers Summer stripped off her wet blouse and slacks. If there had been time, she would have welcomed the oblivion of a long, steamy shower, but that was out of the question with the girls at Tracey’s.

  Because the job always came first.

  After drying off quickly, she slid on a robe and searched through her clothes, settling on a gray suit and a blue blouse. Last came a pair of plain black walking shoes. She caught herself with a frown when her hand lingered on the gift her sister had given her for Christmas two years before, but what was the point of wearing a delicate silver bracelet when your arm looked like something from a Frankenstein movie?

  “Summer, can I come in?”

  Not Gabe. Not now.

  She tightened the belt of her robe. “No. I’m getting dressed.”

  Behind her the door opened. “Too damned bad.”

  She felt him behind her, felt the heat of his powerful body, but she didn’t turn around. “I need to dress.”

  “Don’t stop on my account.”

  “Very funny.” Her arms locked across her chest. “Where are the girls?”

  “Next door at my place, watching TV. I can only stay a few seconds.” His fingers brushed her chin, tilted her face gently. “I just wanted to be sure you were okay.”

  “I’m fine.” She waited for more of the pity she had seen back at the pool.

  “Don’t brush me off,” Gabe said roughly.

  No pity there, she thought. Impatience and irritation, but no pity.

  She pulled the towel off her hair, tossing it onto the bed. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Maybe you need to. Tell me what happened, Summer. Let me in.”

  She closed her eyes, hit with the need to pour out memories that wouldn’t leave her alone.

  Glass shattering. Voices screaming. The smell of gasoline, and then agony as flames swallowed her arm whole.

  “Go away, Gabe. I—can’t do this.”

  He bit back a curse, and then his hand settled gently on her shoulder. “You think I don’t know how it feels?” He laughed grimly. “Trust me, you’re wrong.”

  “How could you know? You’re perfect, strong, every inch of you.” Heat flared in her cheeks. “I’ve seen your body, remember? You were using my shower, and there wasn’t anything I could miss.” She shook her head. “I don’t want to talk about this.”

  Maybe talking would help . . . at some point. But not now—not with this man who had a knack for reaching inside her and seeing what other people didn’t see.

  “Your call.” His hand lifted from her shoulder. “But I’m hoping you’ll change your mind.” He picked up a fresh towel and draped it over her shoulders. “By the way, which field office do you work out of?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “I don’t suppose Mulvaney is your real name, either.”

  “You know how this works.” Her voice was suddenly tired. “Going undercover means just that. You keep the lies simple and everyone gets the same story. It’s the only way you stay focused.”

  A muscle flashed at Gabe’s jaw. “I know the rules, Summer. Hell, I wrote a few of them. But the trick is knowing when to break the rules.”

  She couldn’t stop herself from searching his face. Something whispered that she could trust this man, and he’d never let her down. “The rules are made for a reason. Breaking them isn’t an option.”

  His face was unreadable. “I used to think so, too.”

  She pulled the towel from her shoulders. “And now?”

  “And now . . . I have to go.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “The natives are camped out next door and they’re getting restless.”

  “Did you see her scars?”

  “Of course I saw them.”

  Sophy leaned forward, hugging her legs. “How do you think she got that way?”

  Audra went to the bathroom and found a dry towel for Sophy, who was dripping on Gabe’s couch. She didn’t have a clue where you got scars like the ones on the nanny’s arm, but she knew it had to be from something terrible. “Gee, I don’t know. Maybe I’ll ask her,” she snapped.

  “You mean it?”

  “Of course I don’t mean it. You saw how upset she was in the pool. That’s why neither you nor I are going to bring this up again.”

  Sophy frowned, petting Liberace, who was curled up on her lap. “You’re acting different. What did you talk about with Ms. M?”

  “Nothing important,” Audra said airily. “Just women stuff.”

  Sophy’s eyes widened. “Like about boyfriends and thong underwear?”

  Audra stared at her sister. “What do you know about thong underwear?”

  “I know that Tiffany Hammersmith wears them, but I think they’re stupid. I mean, when you sit down, they’d scratch like anything.”

  “They’re not supposed to feel good,” Audra said importantly. “They’re supposed to look good.”

  “But they’re under your clothes. Who’d see them there?”

  Audra rolled her eyes but managed to bite back a sharp comment.

  “Oh.” Sophy sat up a little straighter. “So you call up your boyfriends and tell them what you’re wearing. For underwear, I mean. Like in phone sex.”

  “What do you know about phone sex?” Audra demanded. “Don’t tell me Tiffany Hammersmith told you about that, too.”

  “Only a few things. Most of them didn’t make sense.” Sophy chewed her lip. “I mean, why would you want to make moaning noises over the phone while you took off your clothes?”

  “Never mind,” Audra snapped. “And I don’t want you talking to Tiffany anymore. Not ever, understand?”

  “She has a pink Hello Kitty purse,” Sophy said wistfully.

  “Forget about her purse. Not ever,” Audra ordered sternly, the way only an older sister can.

  “Then you have to explain about phone sex.”

  Audra made a strangled sound. “Just watch Buffy and be quiet, will you?”

  Sophy stared at the television thoughtfully. “Do you think Buffy has phone sex?”

  Snorting, Audra pulled away Sophy’s towel and wrestled her to the floor. Liberace shot out of reach as the two girls rolled around on the rug, tickling each other without mercy, which was how Gabe found them when he opened the door a few minutes later.

  “Hey, what happened to the two sweet-tempered honor students I left in here? Did someone kidnap them?”

  Sophy appeared from beneath a towel, grinning ear to ear. “It’s us, Gabe. We’re still here.”

  “Thank goodness. You had me scared. It’s time for you two to get cleaned up and dressed before your mother gets home. I’ll go up to the house with you.”

>   Sophy’s smile faded. “Isn’t Ms. M coming?”

  “Soon as she dries off, sugar.”

  “Is she . . . mad at me?” Sophy’s lower lip trembled.

  “No. But I’d say it’s up to Summer to decide if she wants to talk about what happened.”

  “You mean, no more questions?” Sophy said slowly.

  “I think that’s fair. Don’t you, Audra?”

  Both girls nodded stiffly. Sophy studied her bare toes. “I guess I probably shouldn’t ask her about phone sex, either.”

  Audra elbowed her sharply, while Gabe fought an awful moment of panic. He wasn’t going to have to field questions about biology and dating behavior, was he?

  He was saved by Sophy, who shot straight into a new topic. “Can we stay here until Buffy is done? She’s about to nail a silver spike into this really bad vampire. Not the good vampire.” Sophy frowned at Gabe. “Are there good vampires? I mean, if they’re good, how do they—”

  “Be quiet and watch the TV,” Audra cut in briskly.

  A sudden vibration in Gabe’s pocket signaled an incoming call on his secure cell phone. Keeping one eye on the girls, he moved back to the foyer outside his small kitchen. “Morgan here.”

  “This is your friendly local pizza man.” As Izzy spoke, Gabe heard a mariachi band and beeping car horns in the background. “I’ve got some news.”

  Gabe moved into the bathroom, pulling the door half-closed. “Hit me.”

  “First, the report on the box left in Cara O’Connor’s office. The forensic team found traces of oil-based pigment mixed with hydrogenated soy oil.”

  Gabe frowned. “Translation?”

  “The oil was a commercial hydrogenated variety generally used in fast-food production. There was a trace of mayonnaise blended with relish and spices.”

  “Special sauce?” Gabe chuckled. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “I’m doing my own tests to narrow the location. Each restaurant has a characteristic oil signature determined by local pollution, building age, and a dozen other factors. Do you have any idea how many Mickey D’s there are in the greater San Francisco area?”

  “I’m getting clogged arteries just thinking about it.”

  “So you understand why tracing this particular batch of frying oil and special sauce may take some time.”

  Gabe stared at the back of Sophy’s head. “What about the pigment traces on the box?”

  “It appears to be printer’s ink, with a solvent used to enhance dispersal and penetration.”

  “Books?” Gabe mused.

  “Newsprint. The range of fairly cheap oil-based pigments, as opposed to higher-end ink types, suggests a tabloid.”

  “So our mystery man—or woman—wolfs down a combo meal while scanning the latest story about celebrity liposuction and Martian babies? Not much to go on, Izzy, even for you.”

  “It’s a start. I imagine Ms. Mulvaney should be receiving her preliminary findings shortly. Do me a favor and act surprised, okay?”

  “Will do.” Gabe checked on the girls, who were engrossed in the sight of Buffy decimating an army of undead, while their ferret backed in and out of a brown paper bag, tail twitching happily.

  “How are the girls?”

  “Fine. Liberace’s destroying a sack and Buffy’s about to nail the head demon, saving the world as we know it.”

  “A good show. Cara O’Connor’s children have excellent taste.” Izzy’s voice hardened. “Which brings me to my next piece of news. Not everyone is thrilled about Senator Winslow’s upcoming nuptials. One of his key fund-raisers resigned two months ago, ostensibly over salary issues, but office gossip says it was because he opposed the marriage.”

  “Why? You don’t come with a better record than Cara O’Connor’s.” Gabe frowned. “Do you think it was personal?”

  “Bingo. His sister was active in fund-raising, too, and it seems that she had romantic aspirations for the senator, with an eye toward sleeping in the main bedroom at the White House. I’m told a lot of women consider Senator Winslow prime marriage material.”

  “That would be motive. But did these people have access to Cara’s medical history?”

  “One more thing for you and Summer to check out while you’re down in Mexico. I’m faxing through some pictures. Take them with you, show them around. See if anyone remembers them visiting the clinic.”

  “You got it.” Gabe peeked out as he heard noises in the living room. “We’ll have to wind this up, Izzy. Buffy just made hamburger out of the evil hordes. Liberace’s doing a pretty good job on that sack, too.”

  “In that case, I’ll give you the rest in shorthand. My sources tell me that one other person has been opposed to the senator’s involvement with Cara. Winslow’s brother, who happens to be his policy advisor, feels that Cara’s record as an assistant DA is undistinguished and may harm the senator’s presidential run. Greg Winslow was pushing for the senator to marry another woman four years ago—think old Virginia money and sterling pedigree. When the wedding plans were nixed, his brother almost quit.”

  Gabe watched Liberace race through the room, circling the paper bag. “I remember Greg Winslow was always a stiff neck. Discredited, Cara O’Connor would fit nicely with his current plans. We’ll look into possible connections with him during our clinic visit, too. Meanwhile, see what you can dig up on him, like policy disputes with his brother, money problems, or alcohol issues.”

  “Senator Winslow isn’t going to be happy if he finds out we’re digging for dirt on his most trusted advisor.”

  “No kidding. Tate has always valued loyalty. This stays between us for now.” Gabe rubbed his neck, listening to the final sounds of Buffy tackling the underworld hordes. “What about Cara? Does she know?”

  “I doubt it.”

  “So how did you find out?”

  “A few key sources and amazing electronic skills,” Izzy said dryly.

  “Hold on a minute.” Gabe covered the phone and looked out, stunned to find Audra standing motionless just outside the door. “Is something wrong, Audra?”

  “Sophy has to use the bathroom.” Her hands were clenched tight. “Why were you talking about my mother?”

  “I’m dealing with my toughest supplier,” Gabe lied calmly. “He’s opposed to roses, but your mom doesn’t know that yet.” He lowered his voice. “He’s trying to push for hybrid lilies, mainly because it will cost twice as much.”

  “So you were talking about flowers just now?”

  “Afraid so. What do you think, I’m a spy or something?”

  Sophy appeared behind Audra. “I’m sorry, but I really need—” She winced, pointing to the bathroom. “You know.”

  “Sure, honey. Be my guest.” Gabe stepped aside, then winked at Audra. “Go ahead and send me the price list for the lilies, but I can tell you now that Ms. O’Connor wants roses, so you’re wasting your time.”

  “Got an audience, do you? In that case, I’ll sign off. Watch for those pictures. You can download them via your cell.”

  Audra continued to stare at Gabe after he ended the call. “That’s really all you were talking about? Just flowers and stuff?”

  Gabe nodded. “Never underestimate the importance of good flowers. Now tell me why you’re so worried.”

  “My mom is really upset about something. I hear her get up and pace at night. Other times she and the senator argue, but they change the subject whenever we come into the room.”

  “People who are about to be married have private things to discuss, Audra. That doesn’t mean they’re keeping secrets or that they’re worried.”

  “Maybe.” Audra studied her sandals. “Yesterday at the museum, Ms. Mulvaney went a little nuts, just because I was a few minutes late. Explain that.”

  “Your nanny was doing her job. Senator Winslow is a very important man, and since he’s marrying your mom, that means you are important, too. Unfortunately, security has to be a part of your life from now on.”

  Audra’s sho
ulders tensed. “You think someone would try to kidnap us?” She snorted. “No way. That stuff only happens on Alias.”

  “I wish you were right.” Gabe chose his next words carefully. “If you’re worried, you should talk about this with your mother. Talk to Senator Winslow, too. Get the facts, and you’ll feel better.”

  Audra sighed. “I tried to talk to my mom once, but she got this stricken look. Like Bambi on the train tracks, you know what I mean?”

  Water flushed inside the bathroom. “Does Sophy feel anxious about your mom, too?”

  “Not really. She’s just a kid, after all. Things don’t seem to bother her.”

  The door swung open. Sophy peered from Gabe to Audra. “Is something wrong?” She glanced toward the living room. “Did Liberace do something bad?”

  “He’s fine,” Audra said. “But we need to finish packing. Mom will be here in about an hour.”

  “I’m taking my ballet shoes,” Sophy said as she clipped Liberace to a leash for the trip back to the house. “I’ll find Mom’s old dance costumes, too. Then we can have a recital at the ranch.”

  Audra sighed. “Count me out. I hated ballet. I’d rather learn the tango. Or maybe I’ll just try kickboxing.” She nudged Sophy with her elbow. “Come on. Last one to the house is liverwurst pie.”

  Gabe followed them outside, scanning the lawn and wondering where on earth the stuff about kickboxing had come from.

  Tate Winslow put down his phone with a frown. He had probably ten more calls to make before he left his office, along with five letters to dictate.

  He knew he’d better thrive on the insane pace, because this was just the beginning. Assuming that he actually decided to run.

  He sat back in his chair and picked up a small toy armadillo given to him by a colleague in Washington. The heavy shell made him smile wryly. Having body armor was crucial in a town that thrived on a high-octane mix of power, sex, and gossip. Over time Tate had learned to build his own protective shell.