Code Name: Nanny (SEAL and Code Name #5)(6)

Sophy swallowed hard. “G-Gabe? Did he tell you—”

Audra cut her off sharply. “Whatever he told you, it was a lie.”

Summer chose her next words carefully. “He told me that you had assured him I wouldn’t be here until later tonight.”

“So what? That’s what we thought.” Audra shrugged carelessly. “Imelda must have told us that. Or maybe it was someone else.”

“But, Audra, Imelda didn’t—”

Audra whirled around. “Shut up, Sophy.”

Sophy’s lip started to tremble. She bumped Audra hard with her hip. “No. And stop bossing me around.”

“I’ll boss you however I want, dork.”

Fighting an urge to scream, Summer moved closer, separating the two girls. “Sophy, why don’t you grab your ballet shoes? I hear that your teacher is strict, so you don’t want to be late.”

“But what about your clothes? It’s mother-and-daughter day.”

“I’m driving you.”

Sophy stared back, wide-eyed. “But I need a partner for class, too. Didn’t Mom tell you?”

Summer cleared her throat. “Not that I would be dancing.” Awful images burned into her head. Mother-and-daughter day? God help her, she was going to put on tights and a tutu?

“There must be a mistake. I don’t . . . dance.” Summer could barely say the words. She hadn’t danced, not in public or in private, for more years than she could count. Maybe never.

“But you have to. Everyone else will have a partner.” Sophy’s big eyes filled with tears. “Tiffany Hammersmith has her aunt and her mother coming.”

Tough it out, Mulcahey, Summer thought grimly. “So are there some kind of shoes I have to wear?”

Sophy shook her head gravely. “Not just shoes. Leotard and tights and everything. Our teacher is very strict. You can’t come to class in street clothes.”

Pink leotards? Pink slippers?

Summer suppressed a gag reflex at this vision. But the job came first. If this was the job, she could handle it—even if it meant suppressing an urge to vomit.

“Fine.” Summer forced a deathly smile. “Let’s get to it.”

“I’ll show you where everything is. Mom said you could wear her clothes, except . . .” Sophy hesitated. “Except you’re a lot taller than she is.”

“They stretch, Sophy.” Audra had seen Summer’s uneasiness and focused in on it immediately. “They’ll fit. Have you done a lot of dancing, Ms. Mulvaney?”

“Enough,” Summer lied calmly.

“For your sake, I hope so. Sophy’s teacher is really rotten with beginners. Especially when they’re adults,” she added nastily. She stared at Summer, then shrugged. “I have to go get Liberace.”

The pet ferret, Summer recalled. “Why do you need to take him?”

“We always take Liberace. He stays in the car in his cage. And we take him for a walk when we get home,” Sophy said patiently. “We park in a garage next to the school.”

“I’ll get his cage and help Sophy get ready,” Audra said. “But first I need my bag from the potting shed.” She pointed to a weathered cedar building at the far side of a free-form swimming pool. “Could you get it for me? Otherwise we’ll be late, and then Sophy will get in trouble.”

She seemed surprisingly concerned for her sister, Summer thought. Maybe Audra wasn’t the grouch she’d first appeared to be. “What does the bag look like?”

“Red nylon with a big black zipper. It’s got my nametag on the handle, so you can’t miss it. I left it on the back wall near the potting soil.”

Summer started to ask what Audra was doing with her bag out in the potting shed, but Sophy distracted her, tugging at her arm and pleading with her to hurry so her ballet teacher wouldn’t rip her into tiny pieces in front of all her friends.

“You can get your ballet stuff from my mom’s room,” Sophy called out. “I’ll get everything else ready.”

With a mental eye roll, Summer sprinted across the lawn. She was pretty sure she’d rather face a felony homicide investigation than a class of smug, collagen-enhanced, size-four California mothers and their bossy daughters.

She was starting to have a whole new respect for nannies.



The potting shed was clean but tiny, its walls filled floor to ceiling with pots and soil mixes and pruning tools. As Summer stepped inside, dust motes spun in the sunlight, carried by a breeze from a single narrow window.

Up the hill she heard Imelda call to Sophy from the house.

Aware that the clock was ticking, she headed straight for the back wall, searching the cedar worktable. No nylon bag. No potting soil, either.

Frowning, Summer checked the floor, but there was no red bag wedged between the clay pots and the vermiculite mix. She heard Imelda’s voice again as she rummaged behind the worktable. Where had Audra left the wretched bag?

Something blocked the sunlight.

She spun around, still in a crouch.

“Looking for something?”

He was a wall of shadow against the late afternoon sun, and he looked tough as gunmetal in faded jeans and a black tee shirt that hugged tanned, muscular arms.

Summer stood up awkwardly. “Audra’s bag. She said that she left it out here near the potting soil. Red nylon with a black zipper.”