Nanny (9 page)

As Cara spoke, Summer took notes.

It was going to be a long night, she thought grimly.

 

They were halfway down the list when the back door opened and the alarm beeped.

“Only me.” Tate peered around the corner, then punched in the security override code.

He looked rumpled and sexy with his shirt unbuttoned and sleeves pushed up. A man no woman could resist, Cara thought. Heaven knows, she had tried vainly for years.

“Excuse me,” Summer murmured. “I'll be right back.”

She was gone before the other two realized it.

“That is one unusual young woman.” Cara stood up. “Let me get you some tea.”

“You stay put. Hopefully I can pour hot water without inflicting third-degree burns on myself.” Tate slid into the chair beside her and traced her cheek. “You look like hell,” he said huskily.

“So nice of you to tell me, especially since you look rumpled, but gorgeous as always. The world is unjust.” Cara sighed. “What on earth are you doing with a boring workaholic like me?”

“Having the time of my misbegotten life.” Tate spoke with a raw directness that stripped away the clever comment she had planned. “Remembering what it felt like to be eighteen and invincible, only now I'm a whole lot smarter. At least, I hope I am.” He looked at the box, now carefully repacked. “Is this what you found beneath your desk?”

“Afraid so.” Cara nodded, leaning against his chest. She needed to relax, just long enough for the names on her list to stop blurring and the panic to recede.

He smelled like oranges and aftershave and good leather, and she leaned closer, thinking that he had probably just showered and shaved. As she rested her cheek against his skin, she felt the old, racing heat, the slick sensitivity between her thighs.

Always the desire.

With a sigh she turned and focused on cutting a piece of carrot cake. “Patrick made this before he and Imelda left. No dieting allowed while that boy is in charge of the kitchen. Imelda said she's put on ten pounds since coming here.” Cara sliced through rich layers of chocolate frosting and carrot-filled cake, then gasped sharply.

Tate shot forward and caught her hand. “You've cut yourself.”

“It's nothing.”

“Where's the alcohol, Cara? Otherwise, I run you straight to the emergency room.” His face was impassive.

“Fine. The alcohol is beneath the sink, Dr. Clooney.”

Tate muttered as he banged through the cabinets and returned with alcohol, paper towels, and a bandage. “This could hurt.”

Summer appeared in the doorway, staring at Cara's hand. “What could hurt?”

“She cut herself. The woman's the worst patient on the planet, I warn you. Maybe you can keep an eye on this, since she's likely to forget.” Ignoring Cara's protests, he put the bottle on the table. When he glanced at the nearby list, his eyes narrowed. “You were going over this together, weren't you? So Summer isn't your normal, everyday nanny.” He took Cara's hand grimly. “Which is it, Ms. Mulvaney? Private investigator or undercover state trooper?”

Summer looked at Cara. So much for secrecy.

chapter
10

S
he's FBI, Tate. I didn't want to tell anyone until she had some hard evidence.”

 The senator's mouth set in a tight line. “I'm going to be your husband. I think that entitles me to full disclosure.” When he dabbed at the wound, Cara sucked in a breath, and he pulled away with a curse. “Sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you.”

“I hurt myself,” she said softly. “You were never to blame.”

Watching them, Summer realized they were talking on a deeper level, about things she wasn't meant to understand.

“I told her about Los Reyes. Enough, anyway.”

Summer tried to read the senator's face. “Cara feels her past makes her a liability to you. What do you think, Senator?”

“Keeping secrets won't help my career,” he said grimly. “And rumors about an abortion?” He shook his head. “I'd be kidding if I told you it won't make things rocky.” He stared at Cara. “I'm not asking you for any details. Your past is just that, over and done as far as I'm concerned.”

“Your staff and supporters may not feel the same way,” Summer said quietly. “Does this new situation change your feelings toward Ms. O'Connor?”

Tate stood angrily. “Are you sure you want to ask me that question, Ms. Mulvaney?”

“I'm sure, Senator.”

Seconds passed. Tate finally nodded. “I suppose your job means you have to ask cold-blooded questions like that, but the answer is no. This situation changes nothing, neither for me nor my staff.”

“Good. And call me Summer, please. It's too early to rule anyone out, sir, so if Cara feels up to it, I'd like to finish going through this list. Tomorrow I'll start profiles on the people in her building and run a search for recent large bank deposits, trigger incidents, that sort of thing.”

“‘Trigger incidents'?”

“Gambling problems, paid sexual partners, alcohol or drug use. Anything that could be a basis for blackmail.” Summer had seen it before, too often to count. Again and again her job had taught her that private indiscretions didn't remain private, and secrets could become very dangerous weapons, indeed.

As Tate smoothed a bandage around Cara's fingers, a muscle moved at his jaw. “You're very efficient.”

“Just doing my job, sir.”

“Something tells me you're hitting hard, and I like that just fine, because I want this bastard nailed. We've postponed our wedding twice because of my career and Cara's schedule, but I'm not waiting any longer.” He looked down at Cara. “If you try, I fully intend to shanghai you without benefit of clergy or wedlock, and there goes my political career.”

“The senator shacks up with the assistant DA?” Cara's lips curved. “That might sell a few papers.”

“A few million,” Tate said dryly. “The tabloids are breathing down my neck already, so we do this by the book. You wear the garter and I get to take it off you in front of family and friends.” Warmth filled his eyes as he stared at his bride-to-be. “Deal?”

Cara drew a slow breath. “These people won't let go of me, Tate. Things are going to get messy.”

“Of course they are. Since when were you afraid of a good fight, Counselor?”

“Since you got involved. Since my family got involved, and I have to think of what this could do to Sophy and Audra. That terrifies me.”

Summer cleared her throat gently, painfully aware of a ticking clock and all the work to be finished. “Sir, I have to ask you this. Do you know anyone who might be holding a grudge against you? A former employee or a disgruntled aide? Even a political opponent who might be unstable?”

Tate rubbed his jaw. “Can I count the Speaker of the House?” He smiled at Summer. “A joke, my dear. Not to say that I don't have a football field full of enemies, but our fights are generally held out in the open, where everyone can watch. The game is called politics, and everyone's a Monday morning quarterback, you see.”

Summer laughed dryly. “Just for the record, sir, I wouldn't take your job for a million dollars. I'd rather face down a bullet any day.”

And she had, but Summer didn't mention that.

The junior senator from California flashed her the smile that had sent his female demographics right off the chart. “Glad to hear that my Senate seat is safe from you.” His eyes hardened. “I'm going to tackle some tough issues like campaign spending, Summer. No more loopholes, no more cash delivered in brown paper bags. We've got a law with no teeth, but I'm going to give it fangs or die trying, and it won't make me popular,” he said grimly. “But that's what America
should
be about, not privilege and cronyism.”

If it were Election Day, he'd have
her
vote, Summer thought. How could you argue with the man's passion and candor?

Someone's cell phone made a muffled sound. Not hers, Summer realized.

Cara searched her pockets and pulled out her phone. After a moment her eyes brightened. “Amanda? Yes, we got here not too long ago. Tate's right here, and the girls are fine. Yes, I'm fine. The dress?” Cara cleared her throat. “Oh, everything went beautifully. I'm sure you'll be surprised.” She looked at Tate and shrugged slightly. “No, I didn't choose the tulip skirt. No, not the
peau de soie,
either. That might be a little too formal for a ranch wedding, don't you think?” Cara smiled when Tate reached out to twine his fingers through hers.

“Tell my mother to bugger off,” Tate whispered. “I don't give a damn what you wear, just as long as you're there and you say yes when asked.”

Cara rolled her eyes at Tate, shaking her head. “Yes, Amanda, the girls' dresses are done. They're lovely. No, I didn't choose the strapless pink gowns.”

As more questions flowed from the phone, Tate turned to Summer. “My mother always wanted to be a wedding planner,” he whispered. “If she had her way, we'd have a white-tie affair, followed by a nice, cozy reception for about five thousand of her intimate friends.”

Cara tried not to laugh when she heard his muttered comments. “Hold on, Amanda, I've got another call coming in.” She pressed a button, transferring to the new call.

Immediately her body went rigid, her face fading to stark white. “No,” she said hoarsely. “It won't work. You don't frighten me.”

Another threatening call.

With a curse, Tate lunged forward, grabbing the phone. “Who the hell is this?”

Summer shook her head at Tate, who ignored her.

“What kind of worm are you? By God, I'll—” The line went dead. “Why did you cut me off?” he snapped at Summer, who took the phone from his rigid fingers.

“You know the drill, Senator. They feed on anger and fear. Deny contact and you deny the gratification of any response.”

“To hell with the drill. Cara's been hurt enough. This has got to stop.”

“We're working on that, sir. But temper and emotion don't help.”

Furious, Tate leaned forward, slamming a fist on the table. Then, just as suddenly, he recovered himself. “Fine. You're right, I suppose.”

“What was the message this time, Cara?”

“How pretty Sophy was in her dance clothes and how Audra caused a scene when she disappeared at the museum today.” Cara stared down at her rigid fingers. “He said I'd never see him, but he's always watching, always close. He said he's watching right now.” She closed her eyes. “He wants to meet me.”

Tate stifled a curse. “If you even consider it, I'll—”

Cara managed a wan smile. “I may be terrified, but I'm not crazy.”

“You're not meeting anyone,” Summer said flatly. “From now on, I'll take your calls at home when you're here. We need to sever all his links, rile him up, and then wait for him to make a mistake.”

“What else do you suggest?” Tate covered Cara's hands carefully.

“I'd like to assign a monitored cell line so we can trace his calls in real time. He's fast at dumping phones, but if we establish a pattern of call locations, we'll narrow the field. If he calls often enough, we'll track him by his pattern.”

Cara nodded slowly, though Summer could see how she hated to give up her privacy. “What else?”

“Tonight your biggest job is to rest. Your girls need you healthy and clearheaded. So does your job.”

“Do you need something to sleep?” Tate asked. “If so, I can get you a prescription.”

Cara shook her head and stood up. “Does anyone want to join me in some warm milk? It always seems to work for Audra and Sophy.”

“I'll pass.” Summer was glad to see Cara busy rather than pale and brooding. “By the way, Senator, you might want to phone your mother, since she was cut off.”

“Damn, I completely forgot. I'll tell her I had an urgent call that came in on your phone, honey.”

Summer got up to help Cara while he placed his call. “Are you okay with this?” she asked quietly. “I can get additional security here, if you want.”

“Do you think that's necessary?”

“At this point, no.”

Cara stirred the milk as it began to bubble. “Then don't. Your other ideas were good. Let's see what develops.”

Behind them, Tate hung up. “World War III averted. Amanda will call you tomorrow, honey. She wants more details on your dress.” He glanced out into the darkness. “And you might as well know that I've taken steps of my own. I've hired someone to keep an eye on you and the girls.”

“You did what?” Cara frowned at him. “You should have asked me first, Tate.”

“Maybe I could say the same thing about you calling in the FBI. But there's no use arguing. The man I've selected is a pro, and he'll get the job done.”

Like a good prosecutor, Cara seemed to be sorting through every nuance of his statement. “Can we trust him?”

“Without question. I've known his family forever and his record is impeccable. They don't come any better.”

“Having another stranger around will upset the girls terribly, Tate.”

“Just hear me out. Then we'll decide what's best.”

Summer didn't like the idea. Wild cards made her uneasy. “You've run a complete background check, sir? If you pick the wrong man, this could backfire badly.”

“I'm aware of that.” Senator Winslow watched Cara pour hot milk into a cup. “Don't worry, the girls will like him. So will you.”

Summer heard quiet footsteps out on the porch. Three light taps came at the door.

Odd that there had been no sound of a car. Probably the senator had contacted an old law school crony with a few years in the reserves and a yen to play James Bond, but too many players put any mission at risk—especially when the players were amateurs.

She tried to think of a simple way to hatchet the plan without upsetting the senator. Because hatchet it she would, without question.

When Tate went to the door, Summer leaned forward, trying to see outside. The senator moved aside, clasping a broad shoulder encased in a worn gray sweatshirt.

The sweatshirt and the well-muscled shoulder belonged to Gabe Morgan.

Summer sat back, frowning. “But you told me that you were—”

“Gabe Morgan, landscape and general contracting. That was my arranged cover. Under the circumstances, the fewer people who know my real status, the better. But I've been watching you work and the way you carry yourself. I'd say you're a professional.”

Summer nodded curtly. “FBI. We need another professional on the grounds, not an amateur.” Summer watched Gabe's eyes narrow, growing frosty.

She ignored his scowl as small details fell into place. The memory of how he stood in a motionless stance, legs slightly apart, weight perfectly balanced. The way he always kept his left side to the senator, so his right arm was free. The way his sweatshirt bagged slightly at his waistband.

The man was carrying, she realized. And the man was a pro.

Even now he stood wary, powerful and silent in the doorway. This was no ex-law-school pal. Gabe Morgan was in prime physical shape, and he carried more than a few scars on those powerful shoulders she'd glimpsed as he emerged from her shower.

The cold professionalism in his eyes, gave away no secrets and Summer wondered how many men had stared into those cold eyes as they'd fought a swift, silent death. “Well, that little joke is on me.” Summer's tone made it clear that no more jokes would get past her.

The senator motioned Gabe to bring up a chair. “Sorry, Cara, but we knew it would only make you more jumpy. When you told me about the box, Gabe and I decided it was time to bring you into the loop.”

Cara's voice was icy. “So all this time you were working for Tate? How nice of you both.”

“Gabe is here as a personal favor, honey.” The senator took her hand. “I know how hard this is, and believe me, I know exactly how much it hurts to give up your privacy. But Gabe has plans on how to upgrade the security here. I've got to make some calls, and I'd appreciate if you'd hear him out before you snap off his head and mine.”

Cara poured Gabe a cup of tea and held it out. “Nothing personal, but I'm trying to keep my head above water, and it keeps getting harder.”

Gabe took the cup with a nod. “Understood, ma'am. You've got your job to maintain and your family to protect. I can help you do that, but you'll have to take precautions.” Gabe looked at the senator, who nodded and left the room, cell phone to his ear.

“What kind of precautions?” Cara asked quietly.

“Tomorrow you have a new lock installed at your office.” He sat back, fingers clasped. “Keys only to you and your assistant. I've had her checked out, by the way, and she looks clean.”

Cara made an irritated sound, then shook her head. “Em would murder me if she knew. Go on, Mr. Morgan. Let's hear the rest.”