Code Name: Nanny (SEAL and Code Name #5)(47)

“Cara isn’t breaking fast enough,” Summer said quietly. “No more phone calls. Now they’re getting serious.”

Gabe looked at Izzy. “Not a good sign. Let’s take that back route down to the beach.”



There were no fresh footprints on the path nearest to the house. Six people combed the rocks, but they found no trace of an intruder. Finally, Summer left the others and headed back to the house with Gabe, worried by this new level of threat. The closed expression on Gabe’s face told her he had the same worries.

“We’ll be a little late today,” she said tightly. “I’m taking the long route home.”

“You’ll be checking for pursuit?”

Summer nodded grimly.

As they passed the garage, Patrick appeared with a towel slung over one shoulder. He seemed oblivious to the flour that covered the front of his denim tunic and the way his hair stood up in spikes. “Did either of you hear a noise out here? It sounded like a truck backfiring, but I didn’t see Fratelli’s produce people return.”

Gabe nodded calmly. “We heard it. One of the workmen dropped his hammer and broke a window.”

Patrick looked relieved. “When I heard the crack, I thought something had exploded in my oven. That happened to me once back in cooking school, and I got egg all over my face—literally.” He brushed the front of his jacket distractedly. “Mrs. Winslow heard something, too, and I told her I’d check. She worries about everything now with the wedding coming up. I’ll tell her what happened.” He smiled crookedly. “Just as soon as she stops grilling me about the imported prosciutto.” He brushed vaguely at his tunic, then vanished back inside.

“Nice car.” Summer stared at the big silver Mercedes parked in the driveway. “It seems to me that Mrs. Winslow is calling the shots, not Cara.”

“Mrs. Winslow is picky about things being done just right, but Cara doesn’t agree to anything she doesn’t want. It’s fun to watch two pros maneuver for territory, believe me.” Gabe turned to study the deserted path down to the beach. “You’ll call Cara? She’ll want to know about this.”

“Next thing I do.”

“I’ll notify the senator.” When Gabe turned, his eyes were hard. “Watch your back,” he said quietly. “Otherwise—”

Izzy strode around the garage, his eyes hard. “We’ve got a problem,” he said quietly.

They followed him into the shadows of the garage. The rear door of Cara’s SUV was open.

“Take a look.” Izzy turned on a penlight, casting a beam of light over the rear seat, and Summer felt bile fill her throat. A white rat was pinned to the leather, a large hunting knife planted through its head.





[page]chapter 17

So they got tired of the threatening phone calls,” Summer said tightly.

“Looks that way.” Gabe glanced around the garage. “We need to preserve this somehow.”

Izzy handed Gabe a piece of paper. “You hold him and I’ll bag him.”

“My God.” In their concentration, they hadn’t heard Patrick come into the garage. He was staring at the dead rat, a bunch of asparagus dangling from his flour-covered fingers. “Is that . . . thing a rat?”

Summer nodded. “Someone seems to be playing a crude joke here. Do you have any idea who would do this?”

“I—” The chef swallowed hard, looking as if he had to throw up. “Maybe Tracey from down the street? No, I don’t think she and Audra would stoop to something like this.”

“Patrick, do you have those white asparagus spears for me?” Amanda Winslow walked into the garage, her pink Chanel suit dusted by a thin streak of flour. “The pastry shells are almost ready and . . .” Her voice trailed away when she realized Patrick wasn’t alone.

Coolly, Gabe stepped in front of the SUV, but it was too late.

Tate’s mother stared into the car. “Is something wrong? What’s that thing on the backseat?” She frowned, then took a jerky step backward. “It’s—it’s dead.” She put one hand on the car, staring wide-eyed at the rat. “What in heaven’s name is going on here?”

“Mrs. Winslow,” Summer said quietly, “why don’t we go inside? I’ll make you some tea?”

“I don’t want tea. I want to know why that—that dead thing is on the seat of Cara’s car. It’s revolting.”

She tried to move closer, but Gabe blocked her. He turned and slid the cold body into a plastic bag.

“Keep it away from me. I have to call Cara.” She dug in her pocket with shaky fingers and flipped open a tiny cell phone. “I think I’m going to be sick. . . .” she whispered.



Imelda and Summer handled Tate’s mother while Gabe cleaned the seat and searched for any additional evidence or prints. Meanwhile, Izzy had faded away, taking the dead rat with him for a preliminary analysis.

In the afternoon sunlight, Amanda Winslow looked old and frightened. “I want Tate,” she said in a shaky voice. “I want someone to tell me what’s happening here.”

“It is a very bad thing to see.” Imelda patted her arm. “But it is like Ms. Summer says, a joke only. Drink some more tea, please.”