Nanny (6 page)

When she was done, Summer pulled out her cell phone. “Why don't you give your mother the news that you've been found. She and Senator Winslow are on their way here.”

“You called my
mother
?” Audra's shoulders snapped into a tight line of anger. “Why did you do that?”

“Lower your voice, please.” Summer reined in her temper, aware that Audra knew nothing about the recent threats. “I phoned your mother as soon as you didn't appear with your group. It's my job to keep her informed.”

“She treats me like a
baby.
Everyone does.” Audra slung her jacket over her shoulder. “I hate it.”

Then don't act like a baby, Summer wanted to say. Instead she held out her cell phone. “She's very worried about you, Audra.”

“No kidding. She worries about everything.”

Another reason to tell the girls the truth, Summer thought grimly. But it still wasn't her call. While Audra paced the room, phone to her ear, Summer sat down with Sophy.

“She didn't mean to cause any trouble.” Sophy watched her sister pace. “She just likes to talk. When she saw her friend downstairs, they started gossiping and forgot the time.”

“Then she'll have to learn not to forget. Audra inconvenienced a dozen people today and frightened her mother badly.” Summer frowned, remembering that Sophy had been about to tell her something earlier. “What did you mean before when you said Audra was going to meet someone. How did you know that?”

Sophy looked away, fiddling with her backpack. “It was just a thought. It doesn't matter.” Audra was still talking on the cell phone, arguing with her mother, when Sophy pushed to her feet. “Can we go now?”

 

Sitting beside Tate Winslow, Cara put down her phone with a sigh of relief. “They found her in the bathroom. She was talking with a friend and didn't notice the time.”

“Thank God.” Tate looked away from traffic and squeezed her shoulder. “Is Sophy upset?”

“Ms. Mulvaney says she's been wonderful. The two seem to have hit things off in grand fashion.”

“That's the new nanny, right? How is Audra taking that?”

“Too soon to say. The girls loved their old nanny, even though she was getting very lax.” Cara laughed. “Maybe
because
she was lax.”

“What was the problem again?”

“Appendicitis. It ruptured while she was shopping in San Francisco on her day off. She's still very sick, and I'm just glad I could find a dependable replacement on short notice.”

“Where
did
you find Ms. Mulvaney, by the way.”

“Oh, a friend of a friend,” Cara said vaguely. “I have my own network, too, Senator.”

“I don't doubt it for a second, Counselor.” Tate smoothed a strand of hair off her cheek. “Now tell me what's really going on.”

Cara stared out at the line of lights sprawling south toward Carmel. “Sometimes I wish you weren't so smart. And so damned stubborn.”

“Same goes, Counselor.”

“It was all a very long time ago. I thought it was finally over.” Cara closed her eyes. “Buried deep.”

“I haven't got a clue what you're talking about, honey.”

“You aren't supposed to.” The exhaustion was back in her voice. “No one is. I worked hard to be sure of that.” Cara's voice wavered. “But someone found out, and they'll use it against me. Tate, I don't how to tell you this, but—” She stared down at her locked hands. “I was pregnant. It was years ago, back in a different universe. It was sordid and hopeless and I had school debts to repay, my mother to support, my sister to worry about. There was no way in heaven I could—” Her voice broke. “What could I give a baby when I could barely feed myself?”

“I'm pulling over—”

“
No,
keep driving. Otherwise, I won't have the nerve to finish.”

She closed her eyes, swept back to the cramped student apartment in West Philadelphia, with the trolley tracks right outside her window. She remembered the cold
clack
of metal wheels late at night, and she remembered feeling frightened, alone, and desperate. Then she'd gotten sick, and a simple bout of flu had developed into pneumonia.

A worse nightmare had followed.

“Who was the father?” Tate's face was set in grim lines.

“Do you really want to know?”

“Tell me his name. I know the rest already. If he didn't want the child, that makes him a coward as well as a bastard.”

“Close enough.”

He stared into a line of traffic. “I could kill him for leaving you like that.”

“Forget him. He was—a mistake. A colossal, inexcusable mistake.” Cara sat back stiffly. “I was taking a class with him, and we happened to meet at the library once or twice. It seemed so casual at the time. We did some research together, and the next thing I knew . . .” She gave a broken laugh. “What a pathetic cliché. He was my professor, Tate. Older, experienced, handsome. Like a fool, I fell blindly in love, right into bed with him.”

chapter
7

T
ate cut through traffic, then pulled off onto the shoulder. Before Cara could catch a breath, his arms were around her.

“Point number one: You have
never
been pathetic in your life. Point number two:
He
took advantage of
you.
As a professor, he was years older and in a position of authority, so don't tell me the mistake was yours,” Tate said savagely.

She turned her face into his shoulder, trembling. “I knew it was wrong. Deep down, I knew it was just nailing a student. But I told myself I was different, that he would see what a valuable asset I could be. I was already doing research, writing papers for him, answering his letters. Then after three months I found out he was going back to his old position in Boston. He had a wife and four kids, and I was never pegged to be more than a diversion to get him through the school term.”

Tate pulled Cara closer, muttering a graphic curse. “What did you do?”

“At first, I told myself it was a mistake. If only we could talk, everything would be fine. So I went to see him after hours at his office.” Her voice fell. “I must have made a lovely sight—eyes red from crying, throat raw. I think I stopped eating for a while, too.”

Tate's fingers tightened. “What happened?”

“Nothing, because I never saw him. I heard him inside, but he wouldn't open the door. I started pounding and . . . and the next thing I knew, I was sitting in a cruiser with a campus police officer, being threatened with arrest. My friendly professor had reported one of his female students was stalking him, and that she was mentally unbalanced. God knows I must have looked unhinged that night. My world was in pieces, and suddenly I had a child to plan for.”

Tate kissed her damp cheeks, his face grim. “I only wish I'd known. I'd have killed him.”

Neither noticed the roar of traffic streaming past. “And you would have ruined a wonderful career for nothing. I left school not long after.”

“I remember. One Monday you weren't in class, and we heard that you'd transferred.”

“Not true.” After a long time Cara sighed, her face streaked with tears. “You're not going to ask me the truth?”

“The truth is that you survived. Now you have one of the most important jobs in San Francisco and two beautiful children. I have no reason to question whatever choices you made that day, since they brought you where you are right now.” His voice softened. “Here in my arms.”

“I'm glad you won't ask, because I did the only thing I felt I could, Tate. I have no regrets about that decision.” Cara sat up straighter. “I went to a clinic in Mexico, and I was assured all records would remain sealed.”

A car horn screamed. Two SUVs came perilously close to colliding as they changed lanes nearby.

Cara stared blindly at the passing cars. “I accept the responsibility for what I did, but I won't cause more pain to you or to my family. Dear God, if the press blows this up, it would devastate Audra and Sophy.”

With a soft curse Tate turned her around to face him. “Someone found out.” He cupped her wet cheeks, his expression as fierce as his touch was gentle. “Someone's threatening you with this, aren't they?”

Cara didn't move, didn't speak. Her whole body felt cold. After what seemed like an eternity, she nodded. “I'm afraid so.”

“When, Cara? And why didn't you tell me sooner?”

“Because it's
my
problem. I'm not going to become a liability to you, Tate.”

He cradled her face between hands that shook. “I
love
you. That's now and forever, and your problems are my problems. I also love your two girls, and you'd better get used to that, too, because I'm in your life to stay.”

“You're not listening, Tate. This could
ruin
you.” Cara took a raw breath. “You're a wonderful man—even more rare, you're an honest politician. This country needs you in the Senate and, God willing, at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. I refuse to involve you in this.” She wiped blindly at her cheeks with the cuff of her jacket.

“Let me get this straight. The wedding's off,” he said quietly. “To protect me, so I can be a force for fairness and decency?”

She nodded.

“To ensure my future happiness?”

“It's the right thing to do, Tate.”

“The hell it is, because I have no chance at future happiness without you, Cara. What does it take to convince you of that?”

“I won't argue.” She sat back stiffly. “My mind is made up.”

“Do you love me?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

His fingers tightened. “Do you love me?”

When she looked into his eyes, the pain she saw there almost made her lose her resolve. But Cara had seen enough lurid headlines to know that her secret could be twisted, blown up in a way that would shatter Tate's political future. If she married him now, it would cause more pain and harm. She would alienate his family and staff, and one day he would wake up hating her.

She couldn't bear the thought.

“Don't push me, Tate. What I feel for you—what I will
always
feel for you—is irrelevant. I need to do what's right, not what feels good.”

“If you think Costello is behind this, turn his appeal over to a colleague.”

“I can't be sure that he's the one. I have probably sixty cases on my desk now, and hundreds more already closed.” She laughed tensely. “A lot of people hate my guts, you know. I'm certain Costello will always have a vendetta against me.”

“Then I'll hire a private investigator. We'll fly down to that clinic in Mexico and see who's been sniffing around. We can start planning our strategy tonight at the house.”

“Haven't you heard anything I've said? The wedding is
off,
Tate. For your protection, you shouldn't be seen with me.”

“Like hell. Tonight we'll talk with my contact and decide what to do next.” His voice was calm, utterly implacable.

“I won't ruin your future, Tate. The answer is
no.
”

“In that case, I'll drop my plans for a presidential run.”

“You
can't
do that.”

“I can and I will. If you go, my presidential bid goes, too. I want you more than I want 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue.”

“I won't let you bow out.”

“Good, then help me find this bastard before he hurts anyone else.”

Cara took a deep breath. “I'll give you one week. If we haven't found him by then, I'll inform the press that our wedding is off. I won't change my mind about this, Tate.” Her voice shook.

“In that case, we'll have to work fast.” He started the car and cut out into traffic. “Fortunately, I happen to know someone who's perfect for this kind of job.”

“A private investigator, you mean?”

Tate shook his head.

“A policeman?”

“Something better. This man is as good as they come. I'd trust him with my life—in fact, several times I have.”

“I don't understand.”

“You will.” Tate's eyes hardened. “He always gets the job done, no matter how nasty, and right now we need someone nasty on our side.”

 

He sits in a parked car and watches them walk out of the aquarium, one striking woman, one attractive teenager, and a little girl carrying a pink knapsack. Sunlight strikes the middle one, who's wearing a red jacket. She looks angry, kicking at pebbles as she stalks ahead of the other two.

The tall woman is new, and he makes a note in a little book as she walks along the opposite side of the street. He sees her check the passing cars, the pedestrians nearby. Yes, this one is careful—maybe too careful.

He slides down behind the wheel of a rusty Honda Accord with Michigan plates. A Lakers cap covers most of his face, and the rest of his features are hidden behind a neat artificial beard. Always careful, he writes comments in a notebook between sips from a Thermos bottle. The book is full of timetables and maps, jammed with details of his eight months of surveillance. Who, what, where, and when—all are here, captured in neat, slanting script.

They are inside the parking garage now. His lip twitches as he watches the three of them slide into a white Lexus SUV with tinted windows and leather seats. Excellent car. Great power, tight handling, and zero to sixty in less than seven seconds.

The tall woman must be the new nanny. She drops something near the door and bends down to retrieve it. In the process she checks the underside of the car.

Very
sharp, he thinks.

He frowns as she climbs into the Lexus, waits until the girls are buckled in, and pulls out into traffic, scanning the nearby cars.

People look at a BMW or a Jaguar, but no one looks twice at a rusty Honda Accord, and she is no exception. She is out in traffic in a second, unaware of him or the fact that this is no regular Honda. Thanks to his upgrades, the car can hold 160 on the straightaway.

Speed happens to be his second vice.

His lips curve in a smile as the Lexus passes, and he glances down, seemingly engrossed in the map of Monterey propped on his steering wheel. He lets a truck pass, then two other sedans. After that he follows, just another tourist on a sunny, crowded California street.

Near the dashboard, his telephoto lens clicks off a dozen shots. He will print them tonight and they will reach their destination three hours after that.

The three people in the white Lexus are attractive, confident, oblivious. Soon he will change all of that.

He is very good at his job.