Code Name: Nanny (SEAL and Code Name #5)(12)

Sophy stared at the guard. “What does that mean?”

“That your mom is an important lady,” Summer said quietly. “Because she’s so important, we all need to be very careful. No taking rides with anyone but close family, no wandering off. Things like that.”

The guard walked back inside, but Sophy continued to frown. “I don’t understand. Why do we have to be more careful now?”

Cara O’Connor’s decision to keep the girls out of the loop about the threats was a bad idea, from what Summer had seen in family threat situations. Children were entitled to know about things that affected their lives, as long as they were told in simple, nonthreatening language. But Cara had been adamant: no mention of danger or details. Nothing that would frighten the girls.

Sophy stared out the open window, picking at her nail. “Tiffany Hammersmith gets to ride her bike to school. She even gets to ride to town alone on Saturdays. Mom says I’m too young to do that.”

“She’s right.” Summer had ridden alone everywhere when she was Sophy’s age, but the world had been a different place then, and her mother hadn’t been trying high-profile criminal cases in a major urban center.

Sophy sank lower in her seat. “Sometimes the other girls call me a baby,” she said quietly.

Summer swung around, shocked. “That’s not true. They’re just being nasty, honey.”

Sophy picked at her pink knapsack. “It doesn’t bother me anymore. At least—only a little. Besides, Tiffany Hammersmith is stupid. She wears thong underwear. I’ve seen them when we change for gym class.”

Summer shook her head. “Thongs are highly overrated.” Summer had tried them once—and only once—since intimate discomfort was not one of her life goals. “By the way, is something wrong with your hands?”

“No.” Sophy avoided Summer’s eyes as she smoothed her soft pink gloves and flexed her fingers carefully. “I just like to wear them. Sometimes my hands get cold.”

Was that normal? Summer wondered. But she decided not to push Sophy for more details. “Watch out, Michael Jackson.”

“Michael who?”

“Long story, and it’s not important. We’re here.” After she parked in the shaded parking garage, Summer watched Sophy gather her things. “You really don’t know anything about my getting locked in the potting shed?”

Sophy’s face clouded. “I know Audra’s been pretty mad. She really liked our old nanny and she said she was going to make our mom fire you. But she didn’t tell me anything else.”

Little girls with Hello Kitty bags and bright backpacks were streaming by, headed for a low building with floor-to-ceiling windows. In the doorway a woman in black leggings and a black sweater stood ramrod straight, nodding stiffly to each of the entering students.

Summer squared her shoulders. Now or never. “Let’s do it.”

Sophy’s teacher stopped them at the door, and her eyes narrowed as she looked at Sophy’s gloves. “Have you practiced your pliés this week, Sophy?”

“Yes, Madame. Twenty minutes every day. More on Saturday.”

The woman studied Summer. “This is your new governess?”

Summer smiled and held out one hand, which the dance instructor touched in a perfunctory motion. “And you, Madame, have you much dance experience?”

“Not here on the West Coast,” Summer lied calmly. “You probably have a different way of doing things, so I’d better watch at first.”

“No watching. Sophy will require a partner.” The woman’s tone was cold and brisk. “Without a partner she may not participate. This was stated clearly when the summer began.”

Summer put a hand on the girl’s shoulder. “No problem. I can handle whatever is required.”

“In that case, show your governess where to change, Sophy. And I require that you both be prompt or you will be asked to leave.”



Thirty small bodies stood nervously at attention before the long wooden bar. Summer ignored her embarrassment and the pain in her cramped toes, lining up with the other mothers and trying to understand the staccato orders that came in French and accented English.

“Glissez, Tiffany. Shoulders back, and head straight, if you please. Do not giggle, Fiona.” As she patrolled the room, the ballet instructor tapped her charges with a wooden ruler, straightening an arm or correcting the bend of an elbow.

“And one and two. Like swans, if you please. Not like gorillas.”

A giggle slipped out somewhere amid the line of pink leotards. With a sinking heart, Summer realized it had come from Sophy.

“It amuses you, Sophy O’Connor? Bien, you will come to the middle of the room and demonstrate your pliés for all of us. Perhaps that will amuse us, too. And you will remove your gloves first.”

Sophy’s face flushed fiery red as she peeled off the pink gloves and set them on the bar at the wall.

“Your partner will also join you, to count the beats.”

Summer walked out onto the dance floor, resisting an urge to tug at her leotard. “Count when I nod,” Sophy whispered. “One to ten.”

Summer smiled at Sophy, offering moral support, but the girl’s face was tense with concentration.

At Sophy’s nod, Summer began her count, feeling a surge of pride as Cara’s daughter moved into a series of perfectly graceful dips. At least they seemed perfect to Summer, who had never been graceful or patient or popular as a girl—and still wasn’t.