Code Name: Nanny (SEAL and Code Name #5)(100)

“What did she say?”

“Not much. She was too . . . upset.”

Patrick turned, glaring at her. “You did something, didn’t you? What was it, old woman?” Patrick gripped her arm. “Tell me, damn you.”

“I did something I’ve been thinking of for months.” Amanda felt a ragged laugh escape, then another. “You never knew. You thought you would use me, Patrick, but I used you.”

Amanda stopped suddenly. She had been a certified beauty for fifty years, and she was still held to be the yardstick for charm and elegance. Now it was all crashing to an end.

“Forget about Cara and drive,” she said acidly. Her head was aching and she couldn’t think straight. Every detail had been meticulously arranged, from the contact in Mexico and the threatening letters to the kidnapping at the clinic when the wretched nanny and Gabe Morgan had checked in. No doubt both of them were dead by now. A pity, since Gabe had always been a respectful boy, but Costello’s men would have seen to that.

Just as Cara should have been dead by now, thanks to the ground seeds Amanda had mixed in the lemonade pulp. The botanist at the National Arboretum had described their action very thoroughly while giving Amanda’s garden club a tour six months ago.

She remembered his discussion of toxic glycoproteins, whatever those were, but all that really mattered were the small scarlet seeds, which concentrated the main toxin of the plants. The botanist had assured his fascinated audience that even one seed well-chewed could cause fatal poisoning.

Amanda had used five seeds, taken from plants scattered about the gardens of her sprawling estate back in South Carolina. The same plants now grew in Cara’s backyard, thanks to Amanda. Of course, Tate wouldn’t care to make public the sordid details of Cara’s suicide, so it would be termed an accidental overdose, possibly influenced by Cara’s fear of scandal, resulting from the discovery of her visit to Los Reyes Clinic.

A yellow sign flashed by the side of the road, blurred by the dust, but Patrick didn’t slow down. Amanda coughed, hard, struggling to breathe. Sophy knew she was allergic to cats. Why had the girl turned on her that way, screaming and unrecognizable?

In growing confusion Amanda thought about her meticulous plans for Christmas at the White House and fireworks on Independence Day, along with select little dinners perfectly orchestrated to make Tate the most powerful president in history. And her files full of secrets would be carefully held in reserve, in case anyone dared to cross her precious son.

But what would happen now? Sophy would tell Tate what had happened, and then Tate would turn against her. If the truth ever leaked to the press, the scandal would destroy him.

Amanda closed her eyes in confusion. She couldn’t allow Tate to be harmed. There had to be some other way.

Patrick was staring at her again. “You’re starting to annoy me, old woman. Stop rambling and tell me what Cara said when you left. Costello will want to know.”

“She said that I was twisted and I needed medical help. She told me to keep my hands off her girls.” Amanda searched the rocky landscape, looking for an answer that would protect her son. If Costello found out what she had done, he would never let Tate go. He would blackmail Tate and bleed him dry, destroying his glorious future.

Dear God, what to do?

The answer came to her, a bright light in the midst of her terrible confusion. She recognized the turn ahead. When Bud had mentioned something about the road being washed out, she hadn’t paid much attention but now it made all the difference. Sitting beside her, Patrick was oblivious to the danger as her expensive Michelin tires dug in hard, then kicked free and swerved across the gravel.

It was time.

It was her duty—to her son and to her country. A Winslow never forgot the importance of duty.

Through the racing dust, she saw the turn flash before her.

Amanda Winslow took a deep breath and yanked the wheel, closing her eyes as Patrick screamed and the road vanished beneath them.





[page]chapter 39

Tucson, Arizona

Sonoran Medical Center

She’s pretty banged up.”

Gabe stared through the windows to the emergency room unit where three doctors worked on Summer. She was shoving away their hands, groggy but complaining loudly, demanding to see Gabe and Izzy. “Give me the details, Teague.”

“You want the technical stuff, I can throw that on you. Trust me, it won’t amount to more than this. She has a head wound, substantial blood loss, but nothing invasive. She narrowly missed a broken rib, and she has a broken arm, which they’re preparing to set right now.” Izzy smiled slightly. “If she stops raising hell long enough, that is. She’s also got extensive lacerations on the chest and neck from breaking glass.”

Gabe swallowed. “How bad?”

“She’s going to need some cosmetic surgery. Nothing crucial that has to be sewed back on, if that’s what you mean.”

Gabe closed his eyes. “Yeah. That’s what I meant.” He forced away nightmarish visions and told himself sternly that she was alive. That was the bottom line. “Anything else?”

“Mild concussion. Some evidence of shock. Significant blood loss, which is being managed aggressively. The good news is she has no sign of hemorrhaging, no sign of internal injuries. If you hadn’t been airlifted to the hospital and stabilized so fast . . .” Izzy shrugged, letting the words trail away.