Shotgun Nanny (5 page)

“Yeah, I remember from yesterday.”

“Good. Here’s the code.” Slowly, he reeled off a list of numbers.

“Wait a sec.” She dug into her bag and rummaged for something to write on. She came up with a program from a play she’d seen at the Arts Club Theater and a purple felt pen. “Okay, tell me the numbers again.”

“You can’t write them down.” Mark leaned against the wall and crossed his arms, a pained expression on his face. “That’s why we have secret codes. So they’ll be secret.”

“Look. I already memorized the code to get in here. Why can’t I use the same one to get out?”

He opened his mouth to argue, looking so frustrated she thought he might burst. A staccato beeping came from somewhere. Annie glanced at the wall panel, feeling hot and panicky. This was way too much for a girl who never bothered to lock her car door.

“Yeah,” Mark said, and she realized the beeping had come from a cell phone he’d had hidden somewhere on his person. Maybe his shoe? Never had she believed she’d end up living in the middle of a sitcom, but that’s what this baby-sitting gig was starting to feel like.

She watched him talking on his phone, a frown gathering, and wondered if she’d imagined the almost-kiss earlier in his downstairs gym. It was as though falling to the ground had knocked out the sexy, passionate man who’d been about to embrace her. When he’d stood, the polite, impersonal brick wall had been in place.

“It’s not—” He stopped talking and listened intently. Then let his breath out in a huff. “All right. I’ll be there as quick as I can.” He flipped the phone into a square so tiny it wouldn’t have a hope of being recovered if it ever found its way into her bag. She watched, disappointed when he didn’t stick it into the heel of his shoe.

“You even have the same initials,” she said with a giggle.

“What?”

“You and Maxwell Smart.”

He was getting that expression on his face again, like she was some airhead dimwit. “Who?”

“You and Maxwell Smart. From ‘Get Smart.’ I bet Mark is your code name.” She dropped her voice and struck a sultry pose. “And you can call me Ninety-nine. It’s my secret code name. I’d tell you my real name, but then it wouldn’t be a secret anymore.”

A pause ensued. She had a strong feeling he was counting silently to ten. “I don’t have time for this. I have to go. I’ll change the outgoing code to match the incoming one, but only temporarily. I’ll expect you to memorize a new one in two days. Now, if somebody gets to the door and you don’t like the look of them, push this button.”

“The

green

one.”

“Yes.”

She depressed the button, noting as she did so that her nail polish needed a touchup. Judo wasn’t the best activity for a manicure. Then she jumped out of her skin. From somewhere, a ferocious dog was barking its head off. She glanced around quickly. It sounded as if it was under their noses. “What the—”

“Realistic, isn’t it?” Mark managed a teensy, tiny smirk.

“You have a fake dog?” She could not believe this guy.

“It helps deter prowlers. You can also activate it from this remote.” He handed her a key chain with several buttons, including a green one.

“And the blue button?” She motioned to the one beside the green button.

“That activates the security system from a remote location. Just in case you forget to activate it when you leave the house. Which I’m sure you won’t.” His expression warned her she’d better not.

“I’m scared to even ask what the red button does.”

“That’s the panic button. You’ll find them all over the house, as well as on the key chain as a remote personal alarm. Push that button, and help will be on its way immediately.”

“How will you know where I am?” She shook the key chain. “Does this thing have a phone in it?” That would be cool. A Barbie-size cell phone.

“It contains a personal tracking device.”

Only the fiercest act of will prevented her from rolling her eyes. “Naturally.”

“Here’s a cell phone for you to use. That button there gets you directly to me.”

Another small square of black plastic appeared in his hand. Where did he hide those things?

“Cool.”

He glanced at his watch. “Any questions?”

“Yes.” She gestured to the wall panel. “What’s the deal?”

His lips thinned. “There’s a break-in somewhere in America approximately every twelve seconds.”

“Not in this neighborhood.”

“I don’t care if you think I’m paranoid. I—I can’t let anything happen to Emily. I promised her mother.” He shook his head as though to clear it. “I look after what’s mine. And Emily’s the most precious thing I’ve got. Think whatever you like about me, but you’ll do this my way. Do we understand each other?”

“Yes.” She squelched the
sir
just in time. He was never going to help Emily by keeping her a sheltered princess in an impregnable castle. Still, he was right about one thing. He was the boss, and Annie had agreed to take on this assignment. She’d have to do it his way.

“Right. Um…” He looked embarrassed.

“Don’t tell me. I can’t shower without an armed guard?”

She wished she’d bitten her tongue. His gaze jerked to lock with hers, and she had a sudden vision of them both in a steamy hot shower. She could imagine his strong but gentle hands soaping her naked body while hot water streamed over them. She could as easily imagine taking the bar of soap from him and rubbing it all over that chest and down…

She knew darned well he was picturing the same thing. His eyes had that intense sexy expression he’d worn in the gym when he caught sight of her belly ring.

She was amazed, and a little scared, at how attractive he could be when he let his sex appeal surface. She had to remember he was a guy who liked his women locked in a fortress. Too bad, because the eyes told her there was a completely different man hiding behind the tough-guy exterior. That shower might be pretty entertaining.

He shook his head and glanced past her. “It’s about today. There’s a problem at work. I know you don’t start work until tomorrow, but—”

“You want me to start today.” She pretended to think about it, just to make him squirm a bit. “Luckily for you, I don’t happen to have a clown booking today. I’ll do it, but don’t make a habit of this.”

He smiled his relief and gripped her shoulder in what was probably supposed to be a warm, friendly manner. She wondered if he’d leave a bruise. Or a scorch mark. So much pent-up sexiness—if that guy ever let go of his iron control he’d flame like a blowtorch. “Thanks. I owe you.”

“Don’t mention it.” Besides, it would give her a few more hours to cram for her new assignment as Special Agent Annie. She hoped Emily could help her sort out all these gadgets before her uncle figured out there was a darned good reason Annie had picked clowning over national security as a career.

It had to do with electronics. Anything to do with gadgets and gizmos made her nervous. She was more a simple-living kind of gal.

Mark trotted happily down the hall to his bat cave while she contemplated the electronic junk in her arms. Which button made the dog bark?

As he was leaving a few minutes later, Mark stopped at the front door and fiddled with the control panel for a while. “I’ve changed the code, so incoming and outgoing match. Just for two days.”

“Yes, sure.” Damn. She couldn’t remember the first code. No way she was letting on, though. She’d figure something out.

“The fridge is stocked with food. Just make dinner for Em and yourself, I’ll grab something out.”

She flashed him a big phony-reassuring smile and hoped to goodness there wasn’t some kind of kryptonite lock on the fridge. Also that Emily believed, as Annie did, that food closest to its natural state was healthiest. That was about all she knew how to cook.

“WHAT IF I hatched a frog from a chicken’s egg?” Annie mused as she tore spinach for a salad.

“Are you a witch?” Emily’s eyes widened, not with fear but fascination, as she glanced up from the 3-D castle puzzle she’d received as a birthday present.

Annie chuckled. “A few of the guys I’ve dated might say so. But I was thinking about adding some new tricks to my clown routine. What do you think if I took an egg like this one—” she lifted an egg out of the carton, squinting at the white sphere while she pondered “—and cracked it, and out jumped a frog?”

“Would it be a real frog?”

“No. Probably a plastic one.” She pictured it in her mind, but it didn’t seem right.

“Oh, I know. How about one of those rubbery ones. I could make it look like it was leaping out of the egg.”

Emily’s face creased into a puzzled frown. “But frogs hatch out of slimy ponds, not chickens’ eggs.”

“I know. That’s the point of the trick. It’s supposed to be funny.”

Emily gazed at Annie in a way that made
her
feel as if she’d hatched out of a slimy pond.

“Okay. It’s not funny. What if I juggled eggs and—”

“Frogs.”

“—broke

one.”

“Juggled

them.”

Annie paused, her eyes widening. “Did you say frogs? You mean juggle frogs?”

She started to chuckle. “That’s different. But if I drop one nothing happens. Where’s the magic in that?”

“It could go ribbett.”

“Wait. I know.” Annie started getting that quivery feeling she got when she was onto something. “I could start with eggs, and every time I drop one it hatches into a frog.”

What would the logistics be? She started working it out in her head, ripping spinach leaves while her mind drifted.

After a while, Emily’s voice interrupted visions of cracking eggs, hopping rubber frogs, ribbeting chickens, clucking amphibians…and came back to earth. “What?”

“What are you making?”

“Spinach salad. What’s the face for? It’s very nutritious.” She glanced at the bowl and saw a mass of tiny green bits that looked like used green tea leaves. She’d been so busy fantasizing about her new trick she’d turned the spinach into dark green mush.

A glance proved she’d missed not a leaf. Trying to hide her dismay, she opened her eyes in an assumption of innocence. “It’s like coleslaw,” she assured Emily. “Only with spinach instead of cabbage. You’ll love it.”

“Could I have a hot dog?”

Oh, Lord.
Day number one, and she was a complete disaster as a nanny. “Hot dogs are junk food.”

“I’d eat it all up.”

She nibbled her lip. Mark Saunders had given her thousands of instructions on how to protect Emily with her life but no information at all on what he expected in the way of meals.

As though reading her mind, Emily said, “Uncle Mark and me eat hot dogs all the time when Bea’s not here.”

Oh, ho.
So Mr. Brick Wall indulged in junk food, did he? It wasn’t much of a weakness, but it was something and certainly made him more human. “Tell you what. If you promise to eat the spinach slaw, I’ll give you a hot dog with it. Fair?”

“I guess.” Her charge eyed the bowl of green stuff doubtfully. Annie had to admit she’d prefer a hot dog herself. But she raided the cupboards and started throwing things in—raisins, pine nuts, chopped oranges and some kind of bottled gourmet salad dressing she found in the fridge. When she’d finished, her spinach slaw was really quite delicious.

Her confidence rose when Emily sampled it and declared it “kinda good.”

“Look how pretty it is on your uncle’s green plates,” Annie said as she dished up. The dark green spinach appeared designer coordinated against the pale green pottery plates she’d noticed at the party. She’d assumed it was the good china, but there didn’t seem to be anything else in the kitchen. It struck her as odd that a bachelor would bother with nice china, but she was beyond being surprised by Mark Saunders.

“It’s not Uncle Mark’s china. It’s my mom’s.” Emily corrected her in a matter-offact tone.

“I’m sorry, Emily. I didn’t know. Would you like me to use something else?”

“Uh-uh. I like this. It helps me keep remembering Mom and Dad. Mom and me went shopping and I helped pick the china. Green is my favorite color.” She fetched knives and forks and set the table as though it were a chore she performed every day, while Annie felt tears prick her lids at the thought of this poor little girl who’d lost both parents so suddenly.

But Emily seemed to be coping well. Apart from the shyness, she was able to talk about her parents, and obviously that would help her deal with her grief. Good for her. And good for Mark Saunders for understanding that she needed to use her china now, when it gave her comfort, not store it in a box for when she was older.

Automatically, Emily set the table for three.

“I don’t think your uncle’s coming home for dinner. He said he’d grab something out.”

“He always says that. Bea makes dinner for him anyway. And he always eats it.”

“Hope he likes omelettes and spinach slaw,” she mumbled, cracking more eggs into a bowl.

“He pretty much eats anything,” Emily assured her.

“He hasn’t tasted my cooking.”

Minutes later, Annie choked on her spinach slaw. “Oh, my God!” She gasped as a light began flashing rhythmically from a wall panel just above one of the ubiquitous red panic buttons.

She dove across the room for her backpack and frantically started tossing things to the ground searching for the multi-buttoned emergency key chain thingy she’d scoffed at earlier.

Here it was, her first day on the job and already they were having a break-in. Just her luck.

From the corner of her eye she saw the flashing stop. Great, the intruder had disarmed the system already. Must be a professional. She recalled all those scary thrillers where the bad guy cut the telephone wires just before…

“Emily. I want you to go upstairs to your room and lock the door.”

“Did I do something wrong?” The small face creased with worry.

Annie mustered a brave smile, but it felt kind of wobbly. She turned her bag upside down, then shook it until a cascade of stuff came tumbling out. Where was that key chain? “No. I’ll explain later.”

“But Uncle Mark’s home. Can’t I say hi to him first?”

A feeling of immense relief washed over Annie at the news.

Mark was here.