Code Name: Nanny (SEAL and Code Name #5)(44)

“If you’re here to cancel the prosciutto delivery,” he said to Summer, “I may have to kill myself.”

“Relax, Patrick. Your prosciutto’s safe for the time being.” Gabe pointed over his shoulder. “This is Summer Mulvaney, the girls’ new nanny.”

Instantly Patrick brightened, pumping Summer’s hand. “Great to meet you. Ms. O has been really jazzed about you coming.” His brow rose. “Do you like white truffle oil?”

If this was some kind of arcane test, Summer didn’t have a clue to the right answer. “Sometimes.”

Patrick rubbed his hands eagerly. “Great. I’m making focaccia with white truffle oil and caprese salad for lunch. Audra loves both of them. The girl has excellent taste, for a teenager. No fast food and Oreos for her.” He took off his beret and wiped his forehead. “What am I going to do about baby artichokes? I need them for the benefit dinner Ms. O is planning.”

Gabe hefted a bag of potatoes. “You’re on your own there, Patrick. I’ve got two hundred roses and seventy-five calla lilies to worry about.”

Up on the porch, Amanda Winslow turned, following Imelda back into the house. Summer heard something about organizing table skirts.

Meanwhile, Patrick frowned at the sunny yard. “It’s going to be hell keeping the buffet placements warm for three hours.” He ran his hand through long brown hair that stuck out in spiky clumps. “Will we have enough electrical outlets on the grass?”

“Ms. O’Connor asked me to work on it. I think I can guarantee you about six.”

The young chef shoved up his sleeves and cracked his knuckles. “Not enough, but I guess I can come up with something. Chafing dishes,” he muttered, lifting a box of Roma tomatoes and heading for the kitchen. “I can probably squeeze two hours out of a good candle. Back at the CIA, they told me there’d be days like this.”

Summer watched him charge into the garage with the tomatoes cradled at his chest. “CIA?”

“Culinary Institute of America. He was their star grad five years ago.” Along with the potatoes, Gabe picked up what appeared to be three boxes of white asparagus.

“I can help you with those.”

“No need.” His voice fell. “I’ll be done here in five minutes. Then we can get to work.”

As he spoke, a staple broke free on the asparagus box and white stalks flew in every direction. Cursing, Gabe grabbed for the broken end of the box, slamming against Summer’s right arm, in the process.

She went pale, her whole body tense.

“Damn. Are you okay?”

“Fine.” Her voice was low. “Forget it.”

Gabe dropped the produce on the grass and reached for Summer’s arm. “You may need ice on that. Let me have a look.”

“I told you, I’m fine.” She turned away, shoulders rigid, her heart pounding. There were too many memories. “I’ll—see you later.”

“No doubt about it,” Gabe said flatly.

Summer ignored the question in his eyes. She had to get away.





[page]chapter 16

The flotilla of trucks arrived right on schedule. Within minutes a team of men in white uniforms poured onto the lawn with ladders, toolboxes, and long planks of aluminum siding, supervised by a tall man who bore a striking resemblance to Denzel Washington. After consulting a sheaf of papers, he motioned his crew to follow him over the grass to the back of the house, where he gave the doorbell two careful rings, then checked his watch.

Rubber soles squished over the damp lawn behind him. “Yes?”

“Triple-A Siding, here to see Ms. O’Connor.”

“She’s not in.” Gabe Morgan surveyed the crew and their broad-shouldered supervisor. “That a problem?”

“We’re scheduled to do roof and siding maintenance. Any sign of termites?”

Gabe ran his tongue across his teeth. “They’ve eaten away the whole south wall of the garage. In fact, things could get nasty out here any second.” He motioned across the lawn. “I think you’d better come inside and fill me in on your plans.”

Ishmael Teague, electronics genius, ace computer hacker, and highly trained security operative, gave a wicked grin. “Happy to. And you would be . . . the gardener?”

“Among other things,” Gabe said dryly. “Frankly, I like you better as the pizza delivery guy.”

“I’ve delivered many things over the years,” Izzy said, “but pizza has never been one of them.” He made a quick gesture to one of his team, then followed Gabe Morgan down to his guest quarters.



Summer strode through her casita, railing at herself. So she’d gotten a bump from a wooden crate. There was no reason for her stomach to turn somersaults.

Feel the pain, but don’t become part of it, the doctors had told her. Treat it like a difficult friend, then wave good-bye and close the door.

Easy to say.

She yanked off her jacket and tossed it on the bed. Next came the long-sleeved shirt. At least there was no sign of blood on the white cotton. At the worst, she’d have a few bruises where the staples from the crate had raked her arm, and that was nothing to whine about.

But when Summer walked to the floor-length mirror outside her shower, each step was an act of will, and her eyes, as she stared at her reflection, were filled with regret.