Code Name: Nanny (SEAL and Code Name #5)(16)
May 12, 1986. Los Reyes Clinic. Remember.
The words struck Cara like a physical blow. This time the message wasn’t about how she would die. In some ways, it was worse.
Moving like a sleepwalker, she shoved the box into her briefcase. Someone knew. After all these years, someone knew.
Voices echoed down the hall. She looked at the box resting on top of the broken pieces of her daughter’s gift. She didn’t have time to fall apart. She had to think, to act with her head, not her heart, or she would hurt everyone she loved.
She had hoped this day would never come, but now it had.
Slowly Cara stood up. She cleared her desk by habit, closed her desk drawers and locked them, then picked up her briefcase. By the time she reached the door, she had made a decision that no woman should ever have to make.
“Senator Winslow’s office.”
Cara sat tensely in her car, trying to stay calm. “Hello, Margo, it’s Cara.”
“Well, it’s about time. The Great Man has been pacing around his office for the last hour, and every three minutes he comes out to see if you’ve called yet.” Tate Winslow’s veteran secretary laughed. “Since he’s due out again any second, I’ll put you right through.”
Cara heard a click, and the deep voice of the man she loved filled the air. “Don’t tell me something’s come up again. You promised you’d pick out a dress tonight, Counselor, and I’m holding you to that.”
No wonder he was called The Voice. Cara loved the rich bass roll of his voice and the emotion he’d never been afraid to show.
He would make a wonderful president, she thought numbly.
“We’ll talk about the dress tonight, Tate. First I need to speak to you. Since I’m near your apartment, I was hoping you could meet me a little early.” She prayed he wouldn’t hear the lie.
“That’s the best offer I’ve had in months.” His voice fell. “If you’re planning to spend the night, it will be the best offer I’ve had in a decade.”
Cara tried to ignore the sharp stab of desire, mixed as it always was with the ache of tenderness. They were so perfect for each other—both overachievers, both products of tense households ruled by demanding mothers. Of course, Tate’s home had been on an exclusive street in Pacific Heights and Cara’s in a run-down row house near the Oakland docks. Tate had received a new BMW for his high school graduation, while Cara had received a bill for the first of many college tuition payments.
She closed her eyes. Forgive me, Tate.
“Honey, are you okay?” Tate Winslow’s voice hardened. “I heard about the Costello appeal. Has something happened? If so, I’ll send someone to—”
“I’m fine, Tate. I just—I miss you.” This much was true, without question. If a whole day passed without the sound of his voice, Cara felt as if a physical part of her were missing. “So ditch the policy wonks and get yourself over here.” She struggled for a tone of light seduction. “If you find a trail of lingerie scattered over the floor, don’t worry. It’s just another lovesick California constituent who’s desperate for some hands-on advocacy.”
“A smart senator always pleases his constituents. I’ll be there in eleven minutes,” he said huskily. “Assuming that I don’t get pulled over by S.F.’s finest for a moving violation. Hold on a sec.” He murmured a few words and she heard a door close. “Just cancelled two phone calls. Now I can be there in eight minutes. Honey, are you sure nothing’s wrong? What’s that sound I hear?”
Her heart breaking, Cara thought. Like dry stalks in a dry wind. “Just a truck going by. You really should tackle the urban noise issue, Senator. It would give you major voter points.” She was crying as she got out of her car, tears cold and slick on her cheeks. A woman with spiky orange hair walked past, staring at her curiously.
“I’ll pass your concern on to Greg. He sends his regards, by the way, and says he can’t wait to see you and the girls.”
“Your brother is far too smooth for his own good.”
“Don’t I know it. But with you, he actually means the compliments. And he really is crazy about the girls. So is my mother, who promises she’ll drop by with that Ming Dynasty Chinese bowl for the reception.” Tate sounded breathless. “Make that six minutes. It will be faster for me to walk in all this traffic. Add sixty seconds so I can stop for roses at the corner.”
“No roses.” Cara brushed vainly at her wet cheeks. “You’ve already given me too many gifts, Tate.”
“The hell I have. You send them all back.” The junior senator from California sounded out of breath. “Almost at Geary Street.”
Cara had dried her face by the time she reached Tate’s building. She waved to his doorman, then took the elevator up to the twelfth floor. In the sunny living room, she dropped her jacket and kicked off her shoes. One more time, she thought. To remember him—and how close we came to happiness. “I’ll be waiting, Senator. I’ll be the naked woman sprawled across your bed.”
“Hanging up now.” The phone clicked off. Minutes later a key rattled in the lock.
Tate Winslow opened the door and studied the trail of clothes that led across the floor into his bedroom. “If these clothes belong to a prior tenant, I’m going to be extremely disappointed.”