Code Name: Nanny Read online

  “She’d love that.” Cara frowned. “And you’re right, she does look tired. Also, she’s not eating enough. Apparently someone’s been telling her she’s fat. We’ll have to ply her with food while we’re here.”

  “Don’t worry, Bud and Elly make feeding guests a prime mission in life, so Audra won’t know what hit her.” He stared off over the peaceful valley. “And Sophy, dear Lord, was there ever a child so bright and amazingly honest? She makes me feel a year younger for every minute I’m around her.”

  “She adores you,” Cara said softly. “So does Audra.” She stuck out her tongue. “According to Audra, I think you’re a major babe.”

  “I’m glad to hear it, Ms. O’Connor.” Tate set down his coffee and moved behind Cara, expertly massaging her tense shoulders. “What about those pink gloves Sophy’s taken to wearing?”

  He felt the instant jerk in Cara’s shoulders, but continued to rub gently.

  “I thought it was a fashion thing at first. You know, like the Hello Kitty purses and the big, fuzzy slippers. But I’m not so sure. Sometimes when I touch her, she looks so—so odd. Surprised, shocked, maybe a little afraid. I’ve been meaning to ask her, but things have been so busy and—” Cara closed her eyes. “That’s no excuse. I’ve let too many things slip with the preparation for the Costello appeal.”

  “I hear one of the witnesses may recant his story.”

  “It’s possible.”

  “Forget about it for now.” Tate worked his hands slowly up and down her back. “That’s why we’re here, remember?”

  Cara gave a groan of utter contentment. “Do that again and I’ll do indecent things for you, Senator.”

  He did it again, chuckling. “Can I have a written deposition to that effect, Counselor? Or shall we simply move to adjourn?”

  He kissed her neck and the tender skin behind her ear until she shivered, her breath turning husky. “Tate, the girls—”

  “Are down with Bud and Elly, who will keep them engrossed in tall tales over chocolate cookies and peach ice cream for at least three hours.” His lips curved as he found the top button of her blouse. “If we hurry, we could join them.”

  Cara eased her hands under his shirt and laughed darkly when he groaned. “Senator, the very last thing I plan to do tonight is hurry.”

  Their fingers entwined as they crossed the porch. As one, their shadows joined and then disappeared into the quiet house.

  Grady started talking on the runway in Elko and didn’t stop until the cargo plane cut its engines in Arizona.

  “Hell, Grady, let the lady rest.” Sheriff McCall appeared from the cockpit, shaking his head. “You’ll have to forgive him, Ms. Mulvaney. He’s imagining you’re a bank robber or a movie star. Why else would you hitch a ride at the last minute?”

  “Now wait just a minute, T.J. I never said—”

  “Don’t have to, Grady. It’s written all over your face.” The sheriff picked up Summer’s small suitcase and grinned. “But we’re neither one asking any questions.” He trotted down the stairs with lanky grace. “Jeep’s over here.”

  Walking outside, Summer was hit with a wave of heat so solid it jerked her breath out of her throat. On three sides of the small airfield low trees and dense shrubs climbed toward jagged mountains. The sky shimmered in the last rays of the setting sun, burning the nearby red cliffs. Summer had never been in the desert before, and the smell in the air surprised her, a complex mix of sage, rosemary, and primal earth.

  She had a dozen questions to ask, but experience had taught her that words were usually not the best way to measure people, so she slid into the Jeep beside the sheriff and waited, already sensing she could trust him.

  As much as Summer ever allowed herself to trust anyone.

  “Don’t talk much, do you?”

  She shrugged. “Enough to get the job done.”

  T.J. McCall angled his hat back on his head. “A part of me is mighty curious what that job is, but the police officer in me is damned sure it’s none of my business.” Without looking away from the road, he reached beneath his seat and pulled out a padded envelope. “This is for you. It came about twenty minutes before we left.”

  He made a point of keeping his gaze steady on the road as Summer opened the envelope.

  The forensic report inside was neatly typed and amazingly detailed. Cara O’Connor’s box had produced traces of a cheaper quality, mineral oil–based pigment, consistent with tabloid printing materials. The paper also contained evidence of hydrogenated soy and safflower oil, cellulose gel, monosodium glutamate, smoke flavoring . . .

  The list of chemicals and additives went on for four lines, followed by the final terse analysis: “fast food hamburger, fast food fries with ketchup, mustard, and special sauce.” Summer frowned as the report continued.

  Distinctive types of petrochemical distillate traces suggest the proximity to a major airport, while salt admixture indicates proximity to the ocean. Additional cross-tracking by menu selections narrowed the outlets, and when coupled with the air pollutant profile—

  Summer stopped reading for a moment. In all her time at the agency, she had never come across such a detailed report. Clearly big strings had been pulled to accomplish this in such a short time. The senator’s involvement would certainly have been behind some of those strings.

  She continued to scan the notes, mentally reviewing the data for flaws or omissions, but the work seemed bulletproof—right down to the secondary geographic analysis of superimposed probabilities, which yielded seven high-priority candidates: two in Oakland, and five near San Francisco International.

  Impressed, Summer filed away the street addresses in case they triggered additional connections, then slid the report back into the envelope.

  Surveillance teams were already in place. Patterns were being noted, especially for any suspects with clearance into the Justice Building where Cara worked.

  “Everything okay?” the sheriff asked casually.

  “Looking better every minute.” Cara studied the reddish landscape dotted by towering saguaro cactuses. “It’s beautiful here. Not in a typical green suburban way, but the colors are amazing.”

  “The desert grows on you.” T.J. downshifted and bumped onto a dirt road. “People come to Almost bound for someplace else, and a lot of them end up staying.”

  “Because of the beauty?”

  “And the peace. And the way people stick together here. The world can be a low and unworthy place,” he said gravely. “But not Almost.”

  There was pride in his voice as he turned at a stand of cottonwood trees, then slowed before a house that rose in sinuous walls of reddish-brown adobe. Lights gleamed through punched-tin lanterns outside a pair of massive wooden doors.

  “Welcome to my house, Ms. Mulvaney.”

  Summer could only stare at the magnificent structure on the hillside, its windows ablaze with the last colors of the sunset. She was still gawking as she followed the sheriff through the courtyard, past a fountain that spilled over weathered stones.

  “You can relax in here,” the sheriff said, showing Summer to a lovely room with peach-colored walls and French doors that opened onto a private desert garden.

  She sank down on the bed, trying to shake the travel from her mind. Where was Gabe? She needed to see the maps of the clinic and review their cover before . . .

  Weariness struck her in a wave, but she forced it down with sheer willpower. The sheriff was right, she needed to clean up, and the idea of food sounded wonderful. She closed her eyes, rubbing the knot of tension at her neck, wondering yet again where Gabe was.

  Something hit the bed beside her. Summer sat up sharply, staring at a pair of red boots and an ornate red belt with silver buckles. An exquisite lace blouse and long silk skirt flashed through the air and covered her lap.

  Not exactly FBI-approved dress style.

  She looked up, raising one eyebrow. “Am I missing something here?”

  “New clothes.” Gabe filled
the doorway, a long unbroken line of black. “Bathroom’s in there. Let’s see if I pegged you about right.”

  chapter 23

  G abe’s first thought was that she looked exhausted. His second thought was that she’d never admit it in a thousand years. Even if she did, the painful truth was that they didn’t have time to rest, because they had to be in Mexico that night.

  “While you change, I’ll go over the schedule.”

  Summer looked uncertainly at the expensive cowboy boots on the bed. “You didn’t tell me my cover included experience as a rodeo rider.”

  “Very funny. We’ll pick up a few more things tomorrow in the hotel. Meanwhile, these will get you into character.” Gabe handed her the skirt and belt. “We’re Mr. and Mrs. Walker and we just got back to the States after four years in Asia, where I built heavy industrial sites for a Texas oil company and you—”

  Summer stuck her head out of the bathroom “—danced in country and western bars?”

  “Where you ran a small but highly profitable interior design company. Your work included corporate living quarters as well as private beach homes for the diplomatic community.”

  “I’m impressed.”

  “You should be.” Gabe heard clothing rustle.

  “Except I couldn’t tell you the difference between Palladian furniture and Neoclassical even if you had a hunting knife at my throat.”

  Gabe purposely looked away as fabric swished with a sexy whisper. “Hence the cram course.” He opened the file that Izzy had handed him at the airport. “All you have to do is memorize a few key themes. If anyone asks you a question, tell them you suppose that some people may disagree, but you’ve always thought the Spanish Colonial Revival is the most livable aesthetic.”

  Summer stuck out her head. “Huh?”

  “Repeat after me.” Gabe ran through it again, while Summer dutifully followed suit. “Good. You hate pointless ostentation, but you strongly support a period attention to detail. Your turn.”

  Inside the bathroom, silk rustled, and Summer repeated the words mechanically.

  “You are also a firm believer in proper proportion and Old World craftsmanship.”

  As Summer repeated the line, she pushed open the door.

  Gabe swallowed, pretty sure that someone had pulled half the air out of his body. The skirt clung to those long legs, peeking over sexy boots, while the silk blouse hugged high, perfect breasts.

  “I don’t like silk,” Summer snapped, fiddling with the back of her blouse. “And this stupid thing buttons all wrong. How am I supposed to—”

  “I’ll do it.” Gabe walked behind Summer, who was glaring into a floor-to-ceiling mirror on the closet door. “And you don’t look like an idiot.”

  “Easy for you to say. You’re not wearing a skirt that may rip if you sit down crooked and a blouse that shows every God-given detail.”

  And those God-given details were amazing, Gabe thought. “You look good in Western clothes, so stop fidgeting.” He smoothed the blouse, nudging the first button closed. “You’re perfectly dressed, Mrs. Walker. The general idea is for you to look expensive and feminine, and you do.”

  Summer glared at her image in the mirror. “Feminine? I look ridiculous. I’ve never worn a silk blouse like this in my life.”

  Gabe’s fingers brushed her warm skin. “Maybe you should start. With your dark hair, this blouse is a knockout.” He realized his hands were tracing small circles on her back, and cleared his throat. “Even if it is a little tight.”

  “A little? If I take a real breath, every button will go flying.”

  Gabe frowned, realizing she was right. “I must have gotten a size too small. How about we leave a few buttons open until we reach the airplane, and tomorrow we’ll get you something more comfortable. Not that I don’t like how you look in this.”

  She stood frozen, staring at him in the mirror while his hands rose slowly along her back, opening on her shoulders. They stood body to body in the twilight, her hair stirred by a warm wind from the nearby window.

  “Gabe?” Her voice was low and uncertain.

  “Yeah.” He touched one dark strand, uneven where he’d chopped it free of the cactus. Hell, she should have looked awkward and ugly, but somehow the uneven cut only made her look innocent and unforgettable.

  “Gabe.” This time there was a hushed certainty in her voice.

  “Hell,” he said, not sure why he did it—and then not caring as his lips brushed hers, even though he knew it was unprofessional.

  But her mouth was full and soft, warm as if it held the last of the day’s heat, and when he turned her in his arms, she made a small sound that could have been his name. Then she moved in against him, soft as sunlight.

  His senses filled with her. He closed his eyes on a curse and drew her closer, nudging her mouth open with his lips until she shivered and her hands slid around his waist, the pressure of her body making his brain fog up.

  He’d always enjoyed kissing, and Gabe fell into the sensations now, holding her still for a long, intimate exploration that left them both unsteady.

  When he opened his eyes, she was staring over his shoulder, looking confused and flushed and a little stunned. She tried to speak, then drew a raw breath. “What was that about?”

  “Hell if I know.” With a surge of possessiveness that shocked him, Gabe drew her back into his arms and ran his hands slowly down the perfect line of her back until they settled against her hips.

  Desire hit him, sharp and sudden. It was the same feeling he’d felt too many times to count, except something was different about it this time.

  Damned if he could figure out what.

  Summer took a jerky step backward. “That was—” She waved a hand. “Something.” She took another breath. “I’m still trying to find the right word.”

  “You and me both, honey.” Gabe wanted to stay here all night, tasting the smooth skin of her mouth, listening to the breathless little sounds she made when he bit her bottom lip gently and pulled off her blouse.

  Hell.

  They had work to do.

  “What are you thinking?”

  “That I must be losing my mind.” Angry at the lust he was feeling, Gabe released her and grabbed the file he hadn’t remembered dropping. “Let’s get on with the job and go over these notes like nothing happened.”

  Summer ran her fingers slowly along her arms. “Did something happen?”

  “No. Yes.” Gabe jabbed a hand through his hair, muttering. “Damn it—no.” He opened the file and slapped it down on his lap. “We’re working together, watching each other’s back. It’s not a normal situation and—that means control can slip.” He nodded, pleased with his cool, sensible explanation. “It’s nothing we can’t handle. We’re smart and we’re strong, which means the curiosity is over now. Back to work.” Confident, he checked Izzy’s careful notes, tracking the next part of their wholly fictional biography. “Proper proportion,” he muttered. “Old World craftsmanship. Your favorite building is St. Peter’s in Rome,” he said. “And your favorite painter is Delacroix, because he—”

  He looked up and every sane thought flew out of his mind. Summer was frowning as she yanked at the fine silk, trying to free her arms while she clutched the blouse to her chest. He coughed hard. “Did I miss something?”

  “I’m taking this stupid thing off. The buttons are just about to pop.” One arm came free. “Being partially naked isn’t a good way for me to start our visit.” Summer pulled her other arm free. “I’ll wear my own white shirt.”

  “It makes you look like a banker—or an FBI agent,” Gabe said hoarsely. He pulled off his jacket and tossed it to her. “Put this on and I’ll see if Sheriff McCall’s wife has something that will fit you.”

  “You want me to borrow clothes from a complete stranger?” Summer pulled Gabe’s jacket up, her arms stabbing up and down beneath the leather. A moment later her blouse drifted to the floor.

  “Thank God, that’s done. I coul
dn’t even breathe.”

  His jacket opened, and Gabe saw the pink swell of one nipple beneath her sheer bra.

  He felt the air leaving his body again. “Could you stop that?”

  “Stop what?”

  “Moving around. Making me nuts.”

  “Am I making you nuts?”

  “Close enough.”

  She pulled Gabe’s leather jacket closed. “Then finish it.”

  The air was leaving the room again, and his pulse was annoyingly loud. “Finish what?”

  “The biography. The one you’re crushing in your hands.”

  Gabe rubbed his neck, trying to make sense of what he’d been reading before Summer had pulled off the lace blouse. “You like Delacroix because of his vibrant colors and sheer emotion. Got all that?”

  Summer rattled off the details flawlessly, which impressed the heck out of Gabe, because he could barely talk. “Okay,” he went on resolutely. “Now for tonight. After registering in the hotel as Duke and Marie Walker, we’ll stroll a bit and make ourselves visible in the lobby. Holding hands will be expected, as will a few overt signs of affection.”

  Summer stopped struggling under the jacket. “How overt?”

  “Whispered comments. Knowing laughter and a few hot kisses. We’re supposed to be madly in love, desperate to conceive a child, remember?”

  Summer gnawed ruthlessly at her lip. “Fine.”

  “So who’s your favorite painter?”

  “Delacroix.” When Summer handed Gabe his jacket, her old blouse was back on. “After that comes St. Peter’s in Rome. And proper proportion. And Spanish Colonial Revival.”

  “Clearly, you were one of those all-A front-row students I hated in high school.” Gabe’s smile faded as he took out a stack of photos. “These are shots of the clinic and the offices.”

  “Who’s our informant, one of the doctors?” Summer mused. “A disgruntled nurse?”

  “A researcher who’s been with the clinic for six years.”

  “Can we trust him?”

  “We don’t know yet. But even if he bails out, we can still pump the staff.”