Code Name: Nanny (SEAL and Code Name #5)(64)

“What’s wrong, Cara? Did you tell someone else?”

“No.” Cara took a breath. “It could only be the staff at the clinic.”

“Then let our friends call the shots. They’re professionals, and they won’t be sloppy.”

Cara closed her eyes and ran her hands over her face. “Maybe we should call everything off. Both trips.”

“You and the girls need to be somewhere safe now. Trust me, no one can get within ten miles of the Lazy W without Bud and his boys running them to ground.”

Cara touched his face gently. “I never could resist a glib-tongued politician with an agenda.”

“Damned right,” the senator said, in no way taking offense. “Now let’s get this bird back in the air. Bud has four barn-sized strip steaks waiting to slap on the grill. Three minutes up, three minutes down.”

Cara wrinkled her nose. “That’s barbaric. You may as well hear them moo.”

“No, ma’am. That’s beef the way it’s meant to be served.” Chuckling, Tate took her arm and guided her toward the Cessna, where a man in khaki work pants backed down the stairs carrying a metal box filled with cleaning supplies. He nodded politely as he moved aside to let them pass.

If either Cara or Tate had looked closer, they would have noticed that the worker’s bright identity badge read “T. Markle, Maintenance.”



At the other side of the airport Summer was waiting to board a small cargo plane. The painted sign on its wings read “Almost, Arizona—there’s only one way to get closer to heaven!”

“Ms. Mulvaney?” A lanky man with a grizzled face and a big clipboard sauntered toward her. “Just got you on under the wire. Had to remove a skid of extra virgin olive oil to do it, though.”

Summer blinked at him. “Who are—”

The man stuck out a dusty hand. “Name’s Grady. Deputy sheriff of Almost, Arizona, and editor of the Almost Gazette.” His eyes narrowed. “Don’t reckon I can interview you for the next issue. Not when I was told to keep this all quiet like.”

“I’m afraid so, er—Grady.” Summer followed him across the tarmac, trying to keep pace with his long strides. She’d been told by Gabe to expect a deputy sheriff named Grady to meet her in Elko, but the rest of the details of her trip were vague. “Is that the plane we’ll be taking?”

“Sure is. And you’re in luck, ma’am. The sheriff is piloting today. One of his favorite things when he’s got a day off, which is next to never.”

Summer followed Grady up the stairs, where two young men were nearly done loading boxes of high-end food products. When she turned, her breath caught.

The man in the cowboy boots and well-worn Stetson was the spitting image of Mel Gibson, right down to the devilish grin. “Welcome aboard Almost Air, ma’am. I’m T.J. McCall.”

Summer shook hands, trying to conceal her surprise.

“Don’t worry about trying to hide the shock,” Grady drawled. “T.J.’s used to it by now. If you come with me, I’ll show you to your seat.”

“Enjoy your flight, ma’am.” The sheriff/pilot gave a two-finger wave and headed to the cockpit. Summer was barely settled and strapped in when the small plane began to taxi across the steaming tarmac.

“Next stop, Arizona,” Grady said proudly.



“I know that, Ray. But I’m positive they said Mexico. The woman mentioned a place called Los Reyes, or something close to that.” Terry Markle cupped his cell phone, speaking quietly in the stairwell just off the Elko staff lounge. “She was arguing with him, Ray. And I’ll be damned if that wasn’t Senator Tate Winslow himself she was arguing with.” His voice rose with excitement. “Her two girls were real polite, even introduced me to their pet ferret—”

“To hell with their pet ferret,” his cousin snapped. “What I need are their flight plans and ETA.”

“I’m on my way to check now.”

“Did anyone leave the plane in Elko?”

“A woman. Tall, with dark hair. A real looker, or she would have been if she hadn’t been wearing such a gawdawful ugly gray suit. Hell, women today—”

“Stow it, Terry. Get me the flight plan and the names of all the passengers. Then see if you can find out where the other woman went.”

“I’ve been trying to tell you where she went. Hell, you never listen to—”

“Where?”

“She took a cargo plane south. Almost Airlines.”

“Almost what?”

“Almost, Arizona,” Terry said impatiently. Clouds were piling up on the horizon. Storm coming, he figured. “They’re a small carrier south of Phoenix. Way south,” he added.

“Okay, good work. Gotta go, Terry.”

“Wait. You’ll wire me that money, right? My new truck—”

“Consider it done,” Ray snapped. “And keep your damned mouth shut.”

Terry shook his head as the line went dead. His cousin was a real jerk, but who couldn’t use a little extra money? Smiling, he sauntered off to finesse the Cessna’s final flight information from an old friend he knew in administration.



Over the next half hour four calls were made to the anonymous voice-mail number. Strategies were devised, maps consulted, money discussed. Within twenty minutes, wheels began to turn on both sides of the border, greased by vast amounts of untraceable cash. The world was full of secrets, but if you had enough money, as Ray Markle’s employer did, no secrets were safe.