Nanny (16 page)

Gabe nodded. “Never underestimate the importance of good flowers. Now tell me why you're so worried.”

“My mom is really upset about something. I hear her get up and pace at night. Other times she and the senator argue, but they change the subject whenever we come into the room.”

“People who are about to be married have private things to discuss, Audra. That doesn't mean they're keeping secrets or that they're worried.”

“Maybe.” Audra studied her sandals. “Yesterday at the museum, Ms. Mulvaney went a little nuts, just because I was a few minutes late. Explain that.”

“Your nanny was doing her job. Senator Winslow is a very important man, and since he's marrying your mom, that means
you
are important, too. Unfortunately, security has to be a part of your life from now on.”

Audra's shoulders tensed. “You think someone would try to kidnap us?” She snorted. “No way. That stuff only happens on
Alias
.”

“I wish you were right.” Gabe chose his next words carefully. “If you're worried, you should talk about this with your mother. Talk to Senator Winslow, too. Get the facts, and you'll feel better.”

Audra sighed. “I tried to talk to my mom once, but she got this stricken look. Like Bambi on the train tracks, you know what I mean?”

Water flushed inside the bathroom. “Does Sophy feel anxious about your mom, too?”

“Not really. She's just a kid, after all. Things don't seem to bother her.”

The door swung open. Sophy peered from Gabe to Audra. “Is something wrong?” She glanced toward the living room. “Did Liberace do something bad?”

“He's fine,” Audra said. “But we need to finish packing. Mom will be here in about an hour.”

“I'm taking my ballet shoes,” Sophy said as she clipped Liberace to a leash for the trip back to the house. “I'll find Mom's old dance costumes, too. Then we can have a recital at the ranch.”

Audra sighed. “Count me out. I hated ballet. I'd rather learn the tango. Or maybe I'll just try kickboxing.” She nudged Sophy with her elbow. “Come on. Last one to the house is liverwurst pie.”

Gabe followed them outside, scanning the lawn and wondering where on earth the stuff about kickboxing had come from.

 

Tate Winslow put down his phone with a frown. He had probably ten more calls to make before he left his office, along with five letters to dictate.

He knew he'd better thrive on the insane pace, because this was just the beginning. Assuming that he actually decided to run.

He sat back in his chair and picked up a small toy armadillo given to him by a colleague in Washington. The heavy shell made him smile wryly. Having body armor was crucial in a town that thrived on a high-octane mix of power, sex, and gossip. Over time Tate had learned to build his own protective shell.

But what about the future? Sophy and Audra deserved a father, and Cara needed a husband. God knows
he
wanted a family. It had been far too long since he'd lived in a house that rang with children's laughter and racing footsteps. Sharing a sink cluttered with perfume bottles and face cream seemed wonderfully exotic after years of camping out alone in hotel suites and expensive but impersonal rental homes.

Yet here he was, poised for the biggest political push of his life, a process that would swallow up almost all of his time and what little privacy he had left. It was an insane time to consider getting married.

But he had never wanted anything more.

The yellow light blinked on his phone. “Yes, Margo.”

“Your brother's calling, Senator. Line two.”

“Got it. When I'm done, let's knock out the rest of these letters. Then you can go.” Leaning forward, he punched a button. “So, do we have our support for the wetlands conservancy or not, Greg?”

A chair creaked. Tate could almost see his chief political advisor dig into the pile of papers and press clippings that accompanied him everywhere. His ammunition dump, Greg called it.

“Better than I hoped. I've located two corporate sources ready to back your initiative, along with half a dozen grassroots conservation groups. It will make damned good press—more important, none of it will cost the public a cent. I've set up two interviews for you next week, but there's just one problem.”

Wasn't there always? “Who's out for blood today? Sanders? Ashford?”

His brother gave a dry laugh. “Neither. This enemy is worse, Tate. It's your own lack of time. Your schedule is completely booked, and I don't know where to fit in anything else.”

“You and Margo can find a way to shoehorn them in. Something else bothering you?”

Papers rustled. “I ran into another reporter from
The Wall Street Journal.
He asked when you were going to formally declare.”

“And you put him off, politely but firmly.”

“Of course.” There was a brief hesitation. “He told me there's a feeling you aren't serious about becoming president. He was basically trying to bait me into an exclusive story, but it's worrisome nevertheless. He also said . . .”

“Go on, Greg.”

“Damn it, he said a friend of his would double whatever salary I was getting from you.”

Tate studied the stuffed armadillo. “Nice offer. I trust that you told him no.”

“Of course I did. I'm not going anywhere, especially over to the media. We've had our differences, but that's ancient history now. This means there's more negative buzz about your presidential race. Someone could be trying to mow you down early.”

“Nothing we can't handle. You're better at your job than you realize, Greg.”

“It would be easier if you'd finalize, Tate. You've got a shot straight to the very top, and voters are ready for fresh ideas and new energy. I'm getting forty or fifty calls a day from people who want to volunteer for your campaign, even before it's officially announced. Mother called today and said your demographics are off the chart, according to one of her lobbyist friends. Our only challenge will be timing. You need to set a date for the official announcement before these negative rumors snowball. I know you're distracted with the wedding coming up—”

“My focus is hardly in question,” Tate said impatiently. “I'm taking the minimum time off, exactly as we agreed. Damn it, this is August recess, my only time free.” Why did he feel
guilty
for trying to have some semblance of a life?

“True enough, but the clock is ticking, remember that.”

“I'll think about a date, Greg.” Tate glanced at his watch. “Gotta go, bro. Five more letters to dictate. Is there anything else?”

“Have you heard from Mother? She left a message here and sounded upset.”

Tate stared at the photo of his brother and his mother hiking in Alaska. “I spoke to her a while ago. She had to drop some things at Cara's, and apparently there was some kind of problem with a dead rat in Cara's car. Don't worry, it's nothing. She's probably stressed from all the wedding preparations.”

“In that case, I'll see you at the airport later. I've got those health-care documents you wanted to review.”

“If I don't hurry, I won't make it to the airport. Getting Cara to take three days off was no easy matter, either.”

“She has that Costello appeal coming up, as I remember. Any problems there? You'd hope a conviction of racketeering, vice, trafficking in human illegals, and a few counts of murder would stick.”

“Costello's going down and staying down. Cara and her people built a solid case against him, and this appeal has no merit.”

“I heard one of the earlier witnesses wants to change his testimony.”

Tate frowned. “Really? Cara didn't mention that to me.”

“She probably forgot with all the distractions. Now get finished there and go meet her.” Greg Winslow sighed. “As for me, I've got a date with two angry lobbyists. With a little luck I can keep them from strangling each other over Caesar salad and grilled chicken Florentine.”

“Rock on.” Smiling, Tate put down the phone. Then he picked up a file and started fleshing out answers to mail that couldn't wait.

 

Cara stood at her office window watching a layer of gray haze climb up from the Pacific. The shot fired at the house had left her terrified, and she was determined to get the girls away as soon as possible. She had always considered herself a strong woman with a solid moral compass, but the last weeks had begun to tear away her strength, filling her with doubts.

As the gray haze continued to climb, she thought about the girls. How could she bring her children into danger? How could she let them suffer for the difficult job she did? And how could she inflict her past on Tate if it could harm his career?

Audra's school gift was back in place on her desk, the clay body repaired. Unable to sleep, Cara had spent the hour before dawn gluing the fragile chips back into place.

Sighing, she picked up a photo of her girls laughing on a beach in North Carolina, and another of Sophy in a recent dance costume. Her throat tightened at the thought of one of them caught unaware in her bedroom.

Struck down by a bullet.

With tears in her eyes she picked up a family shot of her older sister outside her rustic house in Oregon, flanked by her three handsome boys of seventeen, fifteen, and twelve. Melody and her husband were ecologists with the forest service and their kids lived a life right out of
Wild Kingdom.
They were safe and sheltered, surrounded by beauty, and their boys had learned to paddle a canoe almost as soon as they could walk. It was still hard for Cara to believe that Mel's oldest son, Jordan, was heading off to college in the fall.

As she studied the photo, she made a mental note to call her sister and catch up on all the family developments this weekend. Too many months had gone by since she and her sister had spoken.

There was a low tap at her door, and her assistant opened it, elegant in gray pants and a gray cashmere sweater. “Tony called. He wants to talk to you about the Costello appeal. And you also have a visitor,” she announced grandly.

“Who?”

“Me.” Looking tan and very fit, Melody, Cara's sister, strolled through the door. “Since I never hear from you, I decided to swing by on my way back from a conference at Berkeley.” After a tight hug, Mel moved back to study her sister. “So why aren't you sleeping?”

“Is it so obvious?”

“To me it is.”

“The girls are fine. Sophy loves her ballet and Audra—well, she's going through some teen angst, but I'm sure it will pass.”

“Don't talk to me about teens. Next year I'll have three of them, God help me, even if Jordan will be off at college.” Mel sank onto a chair by the window, studying Cara. “You're working too hard. You and the girls should come up to Oregon and we'll take you camping. Jeff and the boys will get you unwound with some mountaineering. Since Jordan has his own canoe now, he'd take you on the ride of your life.” She touched Cara's arm and held it. “We'd all love to have you. Don't worry about calling first.”

“It sounds so wonderful, Mel. I'd love to, but . . .” Cara gestured at her crowded desk. “I'm locked in here.”

“Think about it. The offer always holds.” Melody took the family picture from Cara's hands. “The boys have grown since this was taken. Michael and Chance are giving kayak lessons this summer, can you believe it? And Jordan is busy getting ready for college.” She handed the picture back to Cara. “Hard to believe how things change. It seems just yesterday that I met Jeff, and you graduated from law school.” She stood up, pacing the small room. “I can't stay. I've got to be back at the airport by five for my flight. Besides, you have work up to your ears.”

“You can't leave yet. Let's at least have coffee while you fill me in on the boys and all the news.”

“Next time.” Mel smiled wistfully. “I can see how busy you are. Your assistant had three calls on hold and by now there are probably five waiting. Take care of yourself, okay?”

Their eyes met.

“I owe you,” Mel said quietly. “I'll never forget.”

Cara hugged her sister. “Don't say another word.”

“You never told, did you?”

“No. I made you a promise, and I'll keep it.”

Mel slid the strap of her computer case over her shoulder. “Are you keeping Tate and his family in line?”

“Greg and Amanda have been very helpful in planning the wedding.” Cara frowned. “You and Jeff and the boys are still coming, aren't you?”

“Couldn't keep us away. I always knew you'd marry someone important—the same way I knew you'd
be
someone important.” Mel frowned. “Greg and Amanda haven't been making you jump through hoops, have they?”

“Of course not. Amanda has been wonderful about organizing the reception, and Greg put together the guest list.”

“Just you, Tate, and four hundred of Amanda's friends,” Mel said wryly. Then she shook her head. “Don't mind me. I'm just grumpy from traveling, and I miss my boys. Who knew I'd turn into such an old crone?”

“You're not a crone, you're wonderful. Give them all my love.” Cara looked at the picture. “You look so happy together.”

“We are.” Mel smiled gravely. “Get some rest. I expect to see a serenely radiant bride when I get to Wyoming.” She turned at the door. “It was the right thing to do.”

Cara took a deep breath. “I know.” Most of the time, Cara thought.

After her sister left, she stayed at the window for a long time, lost in thought.

 

The kitchen was gleaming.

Fresh salsa cooled in clay pots and beef strips were marinating for
carne asada.
Patrick Flanagan hummed as he finished pounding dough for the yeasty French loaves Sophy and Audra loved so well. He took great delight in the knowledge that he was very, very good at his work.