Code Name: Nanny (SEAL and Code Name #5)(28)

“I spoke to Audra about what happened at the museum. I explained how irresponsible it was and how many people she upset by her actions.”

“But you didn’t tell her that she could have been in serious danger?”

“No. I won’t have my girls dragged into this man’s sick game.”

“It appears to me they already are,” Summer said quietly.

“Tate thinks I should tell them. Now you.” Cara pushed away her cake uneaten. “The girls have had too much to contend with already. There have been nuisance phone calls, day and night. We change the number and things are quiet for a few days, then somehow they get the number and it starts all over again. Sophy’s friends want to know why she has police officers at her house and Audra’s friends make fun of her because she can’t go out for ice cream or a movie on a whim. I’m the reason,” she said grimly.

“You’re an important person. The work you do makes life safer for all of us.”

“I used to think so. When I started out, you could have fueled whole cities with the strength of my zeal. Oh, I was going to make things different in San Francisco. I was going to be the tireless one, the incorruptible one, the prosecutor who would turn the tide.” She took a long, harsh breath. “Lately, I don’t know if I can pay the price. You can’t have it all: job and family and sanity. Can you understand that, Ms. Mulvaney? That there is always a price, and usually it’s the women who have to pay it.”

Summer turned her teacup, understanding Cara O’Connor perfectly. The woman was clearly exhausted, clearly terrified about the threat to her children, but she still struggled to do the right thing. “I understand, ma’am. But it doesn’t surprise me. Frankly, I never expected the world to be fair.”

Cara studied her over the teacup, one brow raised. “There’s a story there. It’s written in your face when you think no one is looking.”

Summer shifted uneasily.

“Don’t worry, I won’t probe. But I may make it my business to find out before your job is finished here.”

Summer drummed her fingers on the table. “Be my guest.”

She was cut off by the tinny melody of Cara’s cell phone, the Gilligan’s Island tune again.

“I’ve been waiting for news on a case.” Cara touched a button. “Hello?”

Suddenly her whole body tensed.

Summer sat forward. “What’s wrong?”

Cara stabbed at the phone, ending the call and tossing the phone onto the table. “Him. It’s always the same metallic voice, wired through some kind of synthesizer.” She closed her eyes, covered her face with her hands. “I’ve had a new cell phone number for two weeks, and somehow he found it. Two weeks. How does he know?”

Summer wished she could assure Cara that everything would be fine, but her gut instinct warned that the pressure was going to get worse. “What did he say?”

“That I’d be sorry. It’s always been the same message.”

“I’ll have the call traced.”

Cara nodded tiredly. “It’s worth a try. But all the other times, he threw away the phones. He uses them once, then tosses them, and each time they’ve been stolen earlier the same day.”

“Maybe he’ll get careless, ma’am.”

Cara took a breath. “Call me Cara, damn it. All my friends do.”

Summer sat back, sensing that Cara O’Connor didn’t let down her guard easily. “My pleasure, but only if you do the same.”

“Agreed. There’s something else, something that came today.” With shaky hands the prosecutor reached into her briefcase and removed a clear plastic bag. Inside the bag was a brown cardboard box. “This was left under the desk in my office.” Cara handed Summer a pair of latex gloves, then pulled on a pair herself before she lifted the lid.

Summer bent closer, reading the block letter words. “‘May 12, 1986. Los Reyes Clinic. Remember.’” When Summer looked up, she was shocked at Cara’s ashen features. “Maybe you should take a few deep breaths, ma’am. I think some whiskey would be a good idea, too.”

“I said to—to call me Cara.” She took a harsh breath. “And I don’t drink. My husband had something of a problem, so I stopped keeping any alcohol in the house.” She took a swallow of tea, then refilled her cup carefully, followed by Summer’s. “I’ll be fine. It was just hearing the words aloud after all this time.”

Silently Summer covered the box, slid it back into the bag, and resealed the top. First thing in the morning she would forward everything to her forensic people. Maybe they could pull a partial print, a piece of hair or some other trace material.

“Do you want to tell me what the message means?” she asked quietly.

“It’s the last thing I want to do.” Cara gripped her teacup. “But I don’t have a choice, do I?”

Summer didn’t answer.

“Of course I don’t. I know the date very well because in 1986 I—I went to Mexico. There was a small clinic in Los Reyes.” Her voice wavered. “I’m not saying anything more. If you want to leave, fine.” The teacup spun out of her fingers and turned on its side, brown liquid racing over the table.

Calmly, Summer reached across the table and blotted the spilled tea. “If you had an abortion, I’m not about to judge you for it.”