Code Name: Nanny (SEAL and Code Name #5)(97)

“Yes, Cara. I worked out all the details about six months ago. It was Costello who gave me the idea.” She smiled very elegantly, the perfect smile that Washington reporters had seen for years. “And then those terrible threatening letters began to arrive at your office.”

Cara struggled to her feet. “A-Amanda, you didn’t. Costello is a criminal. You can’t know what you’re saying.”

The old woman laughed tightly. “I know exactly what I’m saying. It’s all your fault, after all. If you hadn’t been so selfish, you’d have seen your duty sooner, and none of this would have been necessary. But you aren’t feeling so well, are you? What a pity.”



Sophy gripped the envelope, shivering.

Trust your heart, Summer had told her yesterday, while the surf rumbled in the distance. Sophy thought about her ballet class and about Summer’s words, while she held the colored envelope, her body shaking.

Something was wrong. She felt the way she’d felt those other times, when bad things were about to happen. She’d never been wrong so far.

She looked around at the quiet house, filled with the sudden knowledge that her mother was in danger. Maybe they all were.

Trust your heart, Summer had told her.

Sophy found her backpack and dug inside it.

Apple-cinnamon lip balm. Two Scrunchies. Half of a Snickers bar. Hello Kitty bag. Hello Kitty two-way radio.

Her heart began to pound louder. She took a deep breath.

Trust your heart.

She opened the screen door, then closed it gently with both hands, careful not to let the frame bang. Gripping the radio, the one she and Audra used to play with for hours before Audra started acting so grown-up, Sophy flipped on the power button.

“Audra, can you hear me? Please, Auddie, it’s Sophy. You have to come now.”



“Right here looks good.” Tate pointed toward the stream, silver in the clear morning light.

“But I left my fishing stuff near the horses.”

“Don’t worry, Bud will bring everything down.” Tate took Audra’s arm. “Besides, we’ve got all morning. Let’s go see what’s biting.”





[page]chapter 37

Audra, can you hear me?” Sophy gripped the handset, running toward the stables. “Is anyone here?”

Tears streaked her face as she ran past the empty stalls. “Auddie, please, please hear me. Mom and I need you.”

No one answered.



“Here are some pills to move things along,” Amanda said coldly. “Fifteen should do the job. Probably even six or seven would work.”

“Amanda, you can’t mean what you’re saying.”

“Shut up for once. You’re not in a courtroom now.” Tate Winslow’s elegant mother, dignified in a gray silk jacket and skirt, pulled a bottle from her pocket. “I’ve thought it all out.”

Dizzy, Cara stumbled back toward the door, only to find Amanda moving to cut her off. “Tate wouldn’t want this,” Cara whispered. “He’ll hate you.”

“His career means everything to him—and to me. I won’t let one silly woman ruin all that he’s worked for. I’m only glad I finally realized how dangerous you are.”

Cara closed her eyes, trying to focus. No, none of it made sense. Amanda wasn’t rational.

She clutched her stomach as another wave of nausea hit. Something in the lemonade, she realized. The pain came again, bending her double.

Amanda pursed her lips as she unscrewed the top of the bottle. “The girls are absolutely wonderful, even if you do persist in coddling them beyond permission. But I’ll see to it that they’re given some spine. No more pampering. They’ll go off to the best schools in the East, since Tate and I won’t have much time for them. Once the news of your suicide from a drug overdose hits the papers, he’s going to be terribly busy doing damage control. But I’ll make certain he looks heroic. A sad man hoodwinked by an aggressive and unstable woman. His female demographics should skew right through the roof,” she added gravely. “All you have to do is swallow a few pills. As a matter of fact, you might be the final thing that puts him into the White House.”

“Keep your hands off my girls,” Cara said hoarsely. “You’re s-sick, Amanda. You’re twisted.”

“Actually, you are the one who is sick. The nausea can be quite awful, I understand.”

With trembling steps Cara wobbled toward the door. She had to get help, but the phone was downstairs. She’d never make it that far.

“Nasty, right to the end. A good prosecutor and a wretched choice for a wife.” In the sunlight, Amanda’s manicured nails looked like perfect drops of blood as she poured a handful of pills into her palm. “I suppose I should call Patrick to help me with this part.”

Cara tried to focus. “Patrick Flanagan? Patrick, our chef?”

“Didn’t you know? Patrick has been working for Richard Costello for a long time now. I’m afraid he hates you greatly, my love.”



Summer’s lacerated wrists were on fire.

Dust flew up in angry brown sheets, and then the truck tilted sharply, slamming her back against the door frame.

Not panda, she realized.

Not a panda at all.