Code Name: Nanny (SEAL and Code Name #5)(94)

“Because it was personal.” In the cramped space, Summer dug her hands against his belt. “Sorry if this hurts.”

“Do what needs to be done. Forget about me.” Without warning, light burned into Gabe’s eyes. As he’d guessed, they were inside the extended cab of a battered pickup truck, and two people were walking toward the truck.

The woman in front was the receptionist who’d argued with them at the clinic. The man beside her had been running cable.

“Company,” Gabe whispered. “Stay down.”

“Almost free,” she said breathlessly.

As the uniformed man headed for the driver’s side door of the truck, light struck the revolver holstered beneath his shoulder. “Do it fast,” Gabe whispered. “Our options may be starting to dwindle.”





[page]chapter 35

Answer your damn phone, Gabe.”

Muttering, Izzy broke off his latest attempt to rouse either Summer or Gabe. When his pager was equally unsuccessful, he opened the big metal case on the car seat beside him and powered up his GPS, praying they still had their phones.

He’d watched them enter the clinic’s main reception building, then emerge with a woman in a white uniform. From his vantage point in the loading area behind the lab, Izzy had seen them enter the lab building with Underhill. Ten minutes later they still hadn’t reappeared, and a guard had come by, politely but firmly telling Izzy to return to the main parking area at the clinic entrance. Though he’d taken his time, Izzy had complied.

At twenty minutes, Izzy knew things had gone south, because Gabe hadn’t answered his cell phone at the prearranged time. When he’d checked with the receptionist, he was told that Mr. and Mrs. Walker had taken a taxi back to their hotel.

Of course, they hadn’t.

Now with his laptop open, Izzy tried to locate Gabe’s phone. A digital map appeared on-screen, with an arrow flickering inside the lab. So Gabe was still inside.

Izzy sat back slowly. Or was he?

He opened a new screen on his computer, taking a different tack. Senator Winslow had made it clear that the three of them would be on their own here in Mexico. There would be no consular backup, no cavalry charging in with guns blazing.

Izzy’s face hardened.

Not that it mattered. He made a damned good cavalry regiment all by himself.



Summer’s hands were on fire, her skin abraded and raw up to her wrists. Though she was bleeding, she kept twisting feverishly, trying to free the last remaining piece of tape. She felt the truck moving while the motor throbbed noisily beneath them, coughing occasionally.

“How are your hands?” Gabe said, his mouth near her ear.

“I felt another piece of tape break,” she whispered back. “My hands are slippery, which should help.”

“Slippery from what?”

“Sweat.” And blood, Summer didn’t say. She bit back a curse as another layer of skin tore free.

A bump sent them flying a foot into the air, then slammed them back down.

“As soon as I can, I’m going for the driver,” he whispered.

“How?”

The truck backfired, swerving hard. Tree branches scraped the metal body like clawing fingers.

Gabe didn’t answer. Silently, Summer reached up to check her door, but the latch was frozen, rusted all the way through.

No chance of getting out that way.

She felt Gabe shift, then pull his hands apart, slamming her on the chin in the process. “How’d you do that?” she whispered, her voice barely audible above the hammer of the old motor.

“I found a rusted nail on the floor, caught in an old piece of rope. Thank God for garbage.” Gabe dug into his boot, then pressed a knife against her fingers. “Use this. I’m going for the driver.”

Summer gripped the knife awkwardly between her knees. She was still bleeding and the knife slipped, cutting her thumb. Ignoring the pain, she went to work while Gabe snaked his arm around the driver’s throat, squeezing hard.

The driver yelled Spanish curses and the truck twisted. Summer heard a hissing noise, and Gabe’s body went tense as he took a burst of pepper spray directly in the face, but even then he didn’t let go of the driver’s throat. She shoved the knife down again, and the tape on her hands broke free. Gabe was struggling blindly with their frenzied driver. She lunged over the seat, pulled up the driver’s door latch, and pushed open the door. Gritting her teeth, Summer pulled the man sideways, and with a brutal shove from Gabe that knocked the revolver to the seat, they pushed the driver outside.

He hit the road with a cloud of dust and an angry yell.

As the truck kept moving, Summer saw that Underhill was slumped down on the passenger seat, still in his rumpled suit. The driver’s revolver was on the seat next to him. Gabe was still half-blinded by the pepper spray, and the truck was fishtailing wildly as they twisted along a narrow mountain road.

Summer leaned over the seat, grabbing the wheel. “I doubt we’ll see the driver again anytime soon,” she rasped.

“Fine by me.”

Summer managed to climb into the driver’s seat without letting go of the steering wheel. Underhill gasped out a tortured breath and began to struggle, his arms striking her in the head.

Summer tried to dodge Underhill’s flailing arms. “Hold him. He’s waking up.”