Nanny 911 (8 page)

Miranda shrugged off the confused response and kept smiling.

“Show me where you keep your toothbrush.”

Using one of the posts at the foot of the bed, Fiona climbed over the safety railing to the floor, then reached back for that ever-present doll. With “Petra” in one hand, and Miranda’s fingers in the other, Fiona led her into the connecting bathroom.

It was almost a reversal of roles as Fiona showed Miranda each step of her routine. First, she climbed onto a stool just inside the bathroom to turn on the light. Then there was another step stool in front of the sink. There, she filled a plastic cup with water and wet the brush herself before squeezing a fistful of toothpaste onto the bristles. Miranda arched an eyebrow at her reflection in the mirror over the sink. She was on a steep learning curve here.
Pj’s close in front. Prep the toothbrush for her. Watch out where and how high this one climbs.

After the task was done, and Miranda had wiped away the extra foam from Fiona’s face and hands and the countertop, she tried putting her to bed again. Pajamas on the right way. Teeth brushed. Doll and girl tucked in. Head for the light switch. She’d already spotted the night-light in the plug beside the bathroom door, but she knew some children had a fear of the darkness. So she paused a moment to ask, “Is it okay if I turn the big light off?”

The blue eyes blinked, but never looked away.

“What?”

“What about my stowy?”

“You like a bedtime story?”

Fiona beamed with a smile and nodded.

Miranda located the white bookshelf nestled between the windows overlooking the second-story porch and crossed to it. Picture books. Beginning readers. Classic chapter books. Alphabet books.
Overload.
“What do you like to read?”

Fiona giggled again. “I can’t wead.”

“No, I mean, what do you want me to…?” That laugh was a delightfully musical sound. Maybe the jokes all had to do with her own incompetence in the bedtime arena, but Fiona’s giggle went a long way toward easing Miranda’s fears that she was going to warp the child for life as long as she was in charge of her care. “What shall
we
read this evening?”

“The pink pwincess one.”

It took a search through five different princess books to find the right adventure Fiona was looking for. “Okay. Here we go.”

Miranda started the story in the rocking chair beside the bed. But two pages in and Fiona was up on her knees with the covers thrown back, twirling around like the princess in her ball gown. By page five, they were both growling like the dragon who wanted to eat all the flowers in the kingdom.

Miranda was on her feet, playing the part of the prince, dueling the bedpost with a toy broomstick sword while Fiona giggled and roared away, when she realized there was another presence in the room. A tall, bespectacled, steely-eyed presence filling the doorway. As much as Fiona’s laugh delighted, Quinn Gallagher’s scowl sobered her up.

“Uh-oh.” Miranda stopped mid–dragon growl and tossed the chubby-handled broom back into the toy chest before closing the book with her finger marking the place. She wished she didn’t feel quite so much like a little girl who’d been caught making too much noise at a slumber party. She hugged the book to her chest, subconsciously turning it into a shield between her and Quinn. “Fiona said she needed a story.”

“A story, yes. Not a live reenactment.”

“We were using our imaginations and having a little silly fun. You do allow your daughter to have fun, don’t you?”

He stood with his arms crossed over his chest, the corded strength of his forearms straining beneath the rolled-up sleeves of his button-down shirt. No, perhaps he was a man who didn’t do
silly.
“Her bedtime routine is supposed to be a quiet time to help her relax and go to sleep.”

Lois Lane had it all wrong. Clark Kent was the hottie. Or maybe Miranda was the one who was all wrong.
Get it together, Murdock.
It must be the late hour, or those extra lonesome working-on-a-holiday genes, kicking in. She was here to protect this family, here to do a favor for the captain. Lusting after her cranky boss wasn’t part of the job description.

She exhaled a sigh of frustration and returned the book to the bookshelf. “I told you I wasn’t any good at this.”

“Let’s go, sweetie.” Quinn picked up Fiona and smoothed the dark curls off her flushed face before laying her in the bed and pulling up the covers. “Daddy will tuck you in.”

“The dwagon goes
grrrr,
” Fiona roared with high-pitched enthusiasm, curling her fingers into a little claw the way Miranda had. “And the pwince and pwincess…e-yah, e-yah.” She thrust out her fist into Quinn’s chest, mimicking Miranda’s rebel charge perfectly.

“I’ll ‘e-yah’ you, young lady.” Quinn caught her little fist and kissed it before tucking it under the cover, as well. “And the dragon and the prince and princess became friends and planted a garden and lived happily ever after.”

“Wandy tells it better.”

“Maybe that’s a story you should read during playtime, not when it’s bedtime.”

“I’m not sleepy…” Fiona’s big yawn was Miranda’s cue to exit. Fiona turned her face into the soft cotton of her doll. “’Night, Daddy. ’Night, Wandy.”

Being included in the three-year-old’s goodbye warmed Miranda like a gentle squeeze of her hand, chasing away some of the loneliness and inadequacy she’d been feeling. “Good night, Fiona.”

Miranda was in the hallway, almost to her room next door, when a real hand snagged her wrist. Instinctively, she twisted free and spun around to face her opponent. But she had no place to go when Quinn closed in on her. She had to flatten her back against the wall and stay put, ignoring the poke of her gun and holster at her waist. Either that, or she could shove her boss’s best friend in the chest or disable him in some other, considerably more painful, way. Miranda opted for standing tall and staying put.

Quinn braced his hand on the wall beside her head and leaned in. “I do not need you to question me in front of my people. Or my daughter. We have routines in this household for a reason.”

“Control freak much?”

“You’re the damn nanny. Not my conscience. I need you to do what I say when I say it.”

Their voices were charged, hushed, intimate, as they kept their argument beyond the earshot of anyone else in the house. “I’m here to protect your daughter, not to be bullied by you.”

“Bullied?”

“You have all the money, all the power—you’re used to people jumping to do your bidding.” His eyes were blue, blue, blue, up close like this. Even the refraction of his lenses couldn’t distort their color. Miranda felt like a specimen under a microscope as they evaluated every nuance of her words and expression. “Maybe that’s how this crazy countdown to New Year’s got inside all your state-of-the-art security—because
you
haven’t thought of every possible threat. Smart as you are, Mr. Gallagher, you don’t know everything.”

“Are you always this much trouble, Officer Murdock?”

“Pretty much.”

They weren’t touching, but they were both breathing hard as the furtive exchange of tempers and opinions mutated into a different kind of heat. Their breaths mingled and their chests nearly brushed against each other with every inhale. Her head filled with the spicy scent of shaving cream or soap on his skin. Her body warmed with the proximity of his body lined up with hers. She wasn’t even aware of the holster poking into her backside anymore. Quinn’s gaze fixated on her lips, and Miranda couldn’t look away from those laser-blue eyes.

This was crazy.
She
was crazy. She was the bodyguard and he was the boss and they butted heads, and she really shouldn’t be wondering what it would be like if he kissed her right now.

She wrapped her fingers around the chair rail on the wall behind her to conquer the urge to brush that stray lock of hair off his forehead. But she couldn’t. She shouldn’t. Finally, in a breathy voice, she summoned the will to whisper, “You’re in my personal space.”

“I am.” There was something bold and sexy about the statement of fact and the idea that he must be feeling this, too, or he would have retreated by now. “I don’t get you, Miranda.”

“I
am
a little different from the average woman,” she conceded wryly.

It was the opening those niggling self-doubts needed to sneak inside her head. But when she lowered her gaze and looked away, Quinn’s hand was there, gently pinching her chin between his thumb and forefinger and tilting her face back up to his. “One way or another, I’m going to figure you out.”

It sounded like a vow.

Any sensible reply lodged in her throat. As little as she knew about raising little girls, she knew even less about healthy romantic relationships with grown men.

Fortunately, she was granted a reprieve from those shortcomings piling on the growing confusion inside her.

“Daddy?” a soft voice called from the bedroom.

Just like that, Quinn’s touch was gone. He took his uniquely masculine scent with him as he shoved his fingers through his already mussed hair and put the width of the hallway between them.

“That shouldn’t have happened.”

Miranda hugged her arms around her middle, feeling strangely chilled. “Nothing did.”

Technically, that was true.

Quinn’s jerky nod indicated that he didn’t quite believe that a sensual awareness hadn’t just erupted and continued to simmer between them, either. But she understood the signs of dismissal in his posture, and the need to return to the business at hand.

“I’ll sit with Fiona for a few minutes and get her settled. David Damiani and the guards on duty at the house this evening are gathered in the command center to meet with you. He’ll get you a card for the electronic locks and explain the pass codes, panic rooms and security lockdown procedure.” Fiona called out again, and Quinn moved toward his daughter’s door. “The command center is down on the basement level. I’ll join you as soon as she’s asleep.”

“Quinn?”

“Please. Do not argue with me this one time.”

“I was just going to say that I’ll do better with Fiona. I can get online tonight, or go to the library tomorrow. There have to be some tips and tricks somewhere to teach me how to do the nanny gig.”

His eyes narrowed into that quizzical frown. “You’re doing just fine. I haven’t heard that kind of laughter from her for a long time. I’m the idiot who’s being too critical of too many things right now. I’m just…” His broad shoulders rose and fell with a weary sigh, letting her know that she wasn’t the only one plagued by self-doubt in this house. “I want to know who the hell has the nerve to threaten my daughter.”

“We’ll find him,” Miranda promised. Although whether she was talking as a cop or a woman, she wasn’t sure. She checked her gun at her back and offered Quinn a smile. “Captain Cutler always says we have to trust the team. So let us all do our jobs. No one is going to hurt Fiona. Not on my watch.”

Miranda just prayed that, for this overwhelmed father and his sweet little girl, she wasn’t the member of the team who let everyone down. Again.

T
HE IMAGE OF THE BLOND-HAIRED
woman in the black uniform on the computer screen went dark at the punch of a button.

This was an interesting new development. Imagine GSS, a global force in personal security technology, bringing in outside help to keep its own CEO and his daughter safe. It was ironic, really. So the king of Gallagher Security Systems was feeling
insecure.

That was satisfaction to take to the bank.

Of course, having the woman on the premises would make it a little harder to get to Fiona Gallagher. But it wouldn’t be impossible, not by a long shot. It simply meant adding one more tally to the body count.

A trail of dead bodies, from the Kalahari Desert to Kansas City, Missouri, would certainly put a crimp in the almighty Quinn Gallagher’s sterling reputation. If the man behind GSS couldn’t keep his own people safe, then why would anyone trust his company to protect them? He’d be ruined.

It was something worth smiling about.

Taking his daughter would destroy him. She was the only thing meaningful enough to Quinn Gallagher to ultimately be worth taking. It was the only thing meaningful enough to count as payback for what Quinn Gallagher had done.

Gallagher had exacted too great a price on his way to the top of his field. Hearts had been broken, dreams shattered. He hadn’t protected everyone who should have mattered. An unjust price had been paid for his success. It was time to take back a little—make that
all
—of what he owed.

The boss leaned back in the office chair and placed a call to the man who’d required the tidy sum of two and a half million dollars for his team to carry out the necessary work for the rest of the week. Two and a half million was chicken feed to a man like Quinn Gallagher. Imagine how much would be taken from him by the time this was all said and done.

A split second passed before the man answered. “Yes?”

“Is everything in place?” His hesitation wasn’t the best way to begin a report. The boss demanded an explanation. “What is it?”

“We couldn’t get the doll placed where you wanted it, but Gallagher has it now.”

Good enough. The bloody doll had been more about shock and diversion and making Gallagher squirm. Quinn Gallagher thought he was smart enough to plan for every contingency. But there was one he would never see coming. “And the other?”

“Soon. You were right. My guy piggybacked right off Gallagher’s design file when he emailed it to us.” First his business, then his family. Step by step, Gallagher would go down. “As soon as he starts running the software simulation, we’ll have access to the entire computer system. Once we’re in, the building will be ours. You can deliver the next message whenever you’re ready.”

“Good.” Time to initiate the next phase of the plan.

Chapter Six

5 days until Midnight, New Year’s Eve

“Hey, John. Sorry to get you up so early.” Miranda beamed inside and out at the gritty image of her brother in his desert camouflage uniform on the screen of her laptop. “Merry Christmas, big guy.”