Nanny 911

by Julie Miller

  Annoyed with his scientist’s penchant for observing and explaining conundrums like the well-armed woman, Quinn cursed under his breath and summoned the focused business mogul inside him instead. The momentary diversion of the lady SWAT cop was a distraction he could ill afford today. There was only one female in his life who mattered, and she was the reason Quinn had called Michael Cutler and his team, as well as the leaders of his own staff, into GSS today.

  Quinn buttoned his jacket and strode over to stand beside Captain Cutler at his desk. “Did you read it?”

  The words Michael read were already branded into Quinn’s memory. But the others in the room—his staff, Michael’s team—needed to hear this.

  “Do I have your attention now? Your daughter will pay the price if you don’t make things right by midnight on New Year’s Eve. Instructions will be texted to you.” Michael carefully slipped the letter into a plastic evidence bag for examination in the KCPD crime lab. “And you received the text?”

  “Not yet. I wanted to have a plan in place before he contacted me again.”

  “Any idea who your enemies are?”

  “Any idea who they aren’t?” Louis Nolan pushed himself up off the couch to join the conversation. “I’m sorry, Quinn, but we’ll be here all day if we start compiling a list of people you’ve ticked off—employees you’ve fired—”

  “Only with just cause.”

  “—business rivals, greedy cutthroats after a chunk of your money, maybe even a brokenhearted lover or two?”

  Quinn shook his head. “There’s been no one since Val.”

  Louis patted Quinn on the back and raised one eyebrow in a skeptical, paternal look. “Not for lack of trying. On the part of the ladies, I mean. A widowed billionaire makes for a fine catch.”

  “This reeks of inside information—someone with building schematics, someone with knowledge of my schedule, someone with access codes to this building as well as the plant in South Africa. The fact that I have enemies doesn’t bother me as much as not knowing who this particular one is.” And he hated to admit that the possible list of suspects Louis referred to was as long as it was.

  Quinn had fended off takeover bids, negotiated with foreign governments and endured scathing reviews of his products in the press. He wasn’t a warmonger, nor did the upgrades to weapons and protective technology he owned dozens of patents for turn the police patrolling the streets of Kansas City and other towns around the world into a military state. Everything he invented, every product his company produced, from home security systems to bulletproof flak vests, was designed to keep people safe. He protected people. The same way he’d learned to protect himself. And his mother. The way he’d protected his wife, Valeska, from the violence of her past—only to have her die at the hands of an obsessed serial killer in the backyard of the home they’d once shared together. A home he’d since razed to the ground and replaced with a fortress more secure than the government buildings his company sometimes equipped.

  Nothing, no one, would ever harm his remaining family again.

  That was why he wasn’t above calling in favors from KCPD and summoning his most trusted associates to the office on Christmas Eve. “This building is supposedly more secure than the Cattleman’s Bank. So how did someone get into my office and put this here without anyone seeing the perp, or capturing the intrusion on one of my cameras?”

  Trip Jones, the big guy with the electronics scanner, rose and circled the desk, with David Damiani, the GSS security chief, right behind him. “I can’t see anything that’s been tampered with on this end, Captain. There’s no indication on the key cards that anyone other than Mr. Gallagher has entered this office in the last twenty-four hours. If there’s no record of a break-in to leave the present, then the perp found another way in and covered his tracks.”

  Officer Murdock climbed down from the file cabinet where she’d been inspecting the other camera. “There’s no indication that either of these cameras has been compromised.”

  Trip nodded. “Then the tampering must have occurred at the monitor end of things. Digital recordings can be altered as easily as a videotape.”

  David Damiani’s team had already determined as much. “That means you’re accusing one of my people of delivering that threat.”

  “No one’s accusing anyone of anything.” Michael Cutler coolly defused the growing tension between the two security forces. “Yet. Let’s just get all the intel we can first. Arm ourselves as best we can so we know what we’re up against.”

  “Sounds like a smart strategy,” Quinn agreed. He nodded to David. “Check it out.”

  “Quinn.” David Damiani was right to protest. GSS wasn’t a billion-dollar corporation because it gave away its secrets to outsiders. “There’s classified equipment in my offices.”

  Michael Cutler refused to back down. “You’re obstructing a police investigation?”

  “He’s obstructing nothing,” Quinn countermanded. When the threat involved his three-year-old daughter, nothing else mattered. “David, go with him. Give Trip full access. Maybe between the two of you, you can spot something your guards missed.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  While Quinn impatiently waited for the info that could give him the answers he needed, his gaze strayed once again to the woman with the flak vest, Glock strapped to her right thigh and sniper’s rifle secured over her shoulder. She was over at the windows now, trailing her fingers along the chrome trim.

  Louis Nolan had followed her to the windows, his bushy silver brows knitted together with the same perplexed interest plaguing Quinn. “They’d have to rappel from the roof and cut a hole in the glass to get through that way.”

  She nodded, studying the seam of the window from top to bottom. “It could be done. I could do it.”

  “Unless you had a fear of heights,” Louis teased.

  “Fortunately, I don’t.”

  “I’ll bet you don’t fear much, do you, darlin’?”

  The blonde officer’s cheeks flushed a delicate shade of pink. Carrying numerous deadly weapons and crawling across his furniture didn’t fluster her, but a darlin’ from a good ol’ Texas charmer did?

  Quinn stopped the conversation. This wasn’t the time for Louis’s flirting. Or his own scientific observations. “I think we’d see the evidence if someone had come through the window. Beyond the fact that it’s tempered, shatterproof glass and the condensation outside from the freezing temperatures would make any kind of traction for your climber almost impossible, there’s no way to replace that specific kind of window overnight.”

  She turned her wide green eyes from Louis, seeming to understand his facts better than his COO’s flirting. “Is there another exit to the roof besides the stairwell next to the elevators? Anything with direct access to your office?”

  “No.”

  She tipped her chin up toward the ceiling “What kind of duct work do you have running up there?”

  Officer Murdock was definitely an odd sort of woman, certainly nothing like the polished beauty of his executive assistant, Elise, or any of the other poised and tailored belles he escorted to society events. “Standard issue, I suppose. Although the access panels do have sensors to monitor whenever one opens or closes.”

  Michael Cutler seemed to think she was onto something. He looked up at the air-return grate over Quinn’s desk. “Murdock. Call Taylor down and scout it out. Looks like there’s more than one way to get into your office, Quinn. The right perp could even lower the package through that grate without ever setting foot in here.”

  The bothersome blonde paused by the desk on her way out the door. “Couldn’t the break-in be something more simple? Like, someone you know—someone who wouldn’t raise any suspicions if they were caught on camera walking into your office?”

  Quinn bristled at the accusation. “The people who work at GSS are family to me. I surround myself with people I trust without question.”

  “Well, that’s a problem, then, isn’t it?”
She flipped her ponytail behind her back, looking up at him with an earnest warning. “You may be trusting the wrong guy.”

  “Randy, go.”

  Her captain’s brusque command finally moved her out of the room. “Sorry. Climbing into the rafters now, sir.”

  Apparently, Louis’s interest in waiting for answers on the break-in—or for the promised text message—waned once she’d left the room. “I’ll be in my office if you need me,” he excused himself, “and do call as soon as you find out anything.”

  “Randy?” Quinn asked after they’d both gone and he was alone in the office with Michael.

  “Miranda Murdock.” The police captain shook his head, as if Quinn’s wasn’t the first curious reaction the SWAT sharpshooter had garnered from the people she met. “Believe me, what she lacks in tact, she makes up for in sheer determination. There’s not a task I’ve given her yet that she hasn’t accomplished.”

  “Other than successful public relations.”

  “She’s raw talent. Maybe a little too eager to get the job done at times. She matched the highest score for sharpshooting on the KCPD training range.”

  “You have faith in her.”

  “She wouldn’t be on my team if I didn’t.”

  “Quinn?” The familiar knock at his door told Quinn that his assistant, Elise, had an important message for him.

  “What is it?”

  Elise tucked her dark hair behind one ear, hesitating as she walked into the room. Quinn braced for whatever unpleasant bit of news she had to share. “The current nanny has gotten wind of the threat against Fiona and wants to quit.”

  He adjusted his glasses at his temple, snapping before he could contain a flash of temper. “I’m having a Mary Poppins moment here. How many nannies do I have to go through to get one who’ll stay?”

  “She’s afraid, Quinn.”

  “There’s a guard with Fiona at all times,” he argued.

  “Yes, but not with the nanny,” Elise patiently pointed out. “Quinn, she has every right to be concerned for her safety. The guard’s first duty would be to Fiona, not her.”

  Where was the loyalty to his family? The sense of responsibility? The devotion to his daughter? She was the fourth woman he’d hired this year—after firing the one he’d caught drinking at the house, and the one who thought spanking his three-year-old was an option, and filing charges against the one who’d tried to sell pictures of his daughter to a local tabloid. “Where is she now? I’ll double her pay if she stays.”

  “Um…”

  “Daddy!” Quinn understood Elise’s hesitation when the tiny dark-haired beauty who looked so like her late mother ran into his office.

  “Hey, baby.” Quinn knelt down to catch Fiona as she launched herself into his arms. He scooped her up and kissed her cool, wind-whipped cheek as her long, thin fingers wound around his neck. “How’s my little princess today?”

  “’Kay.” Even though she couldn’t read yet, he turned her away from the hateful note on his desk and bounced her on his hip. Fiona batted away the gloves that were clipped to the sleeves of her coat and held up her well-loved, oft-mended hand-sewn doll. Fiona’s bottom lip pouted out as she pointed to the bandage taped to the doll’s knee. “Petwa has a boo-boo.”

  Quinn pulled up the cloth leg and kissed it, suspecting he’d find a similar first-aid job under the knee of Fiona’s corduroy pants. Although the initial flush of her cheeks had concerned him, he was relieved to see that Maria, the nanny du jour, had at least taken the time to dress his daughter properly for the winter weather and brush her curling dark locks back into a neat ponytail before abandoning her.

  “There. She’ll be all fine now.” Stealing another kiss from Fiona’s sweet, round cheek, Quinn set her down and pulled off her hat and coat. He nodded toward the specially stocked toy box he kept behind the counter of the kitchenette at the far end of his office suite. “Okay, honey. You run and play for a few minutes while I talk to Elise.”

  “’Kay, Daddy.”

  He waited until the box was open and the search had begun for a favorite toy before he turned his attention to his assistant. He didn’t have to ask for an explanation. “The nanny didn’t call,” Elise told him. “She dropped Fiona off with me downstairs and left. I couldn’t convince her to stay.”

  Quinn unbuttoned his jacket, unhooked the collar of his starched white shirt and loosened his tie, feeling too trapped from unseen forces and ill-timed inconveniences to maintain his civilized facade. He paced down to see with his own eyes that Fiona was happy and secure, playing doctor on her doll with a plastic stethoscope and thermometer.

  He came back, scratching his fingers through his own dark hair. He needed to think. He needed answers. Now. “Can you watch her, Elise? I have work to do. I don’t want to leave until I resolve this threat.”

  Elise’s mouth opened and closed twice before her apologetic smile gave him her answer. “For a few hours, maybe. But my parents are in town, Quinn. I’m supposed to be baking pies with my mother, and taking them to the candlelight service at church this evening. Besides, I can’t keep her safe. And if that threat is real…”

  He had no doubt that it was. Three dead men in the Kalahari proved that. “You could come to the house. You know what kind of security I have there. There’s a panic room and armed guards.”

  “And my parents?” He’d always admired Elise for her ability to gently stand up to him. “It’s Christmas Eve, Quinn.”

  He was already nodding, accepting her answer, knowing it had been too much to ask. “Of course. I understand. I was just hoping I wouldn’t have to upset Fiona’s routine any more than it already has been.”

  The vibrating pulse against his chest ended all conversation, blanked out all thought except for one more visual confirmation that Fiona was safe. Then he let the protective anger he felt purge any distraction from his system as he pulled his phone from inside the pocket of his suit jacket.

  “Quinn?” Michael prompted, equally on guard.

  He nodded, reading the message he’d been promised. “It’s the text.”

  “What does it say?” Elise asked.

  Quinn read the skewed nursery rhyme, filling in the abbreviations as he said the words out loud. “Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary, how does your money grow? With silver bells and 2.5 million shells into 0009357:348821173309. Midnight tonight. Or there’ll be another present for your daughter.”

  “What the hell?” was Michael’s reaction.

  “It’s a riddle,” Elise needlessly pointed out.

  “I get it,” Quinn assured them. “Mary was my mother. I have a memorial trust in her name. Whoever this coward is wants me to transfer two and a half million dollars into this account by midnight. Or…” He glanced over at Fiona’s laugh. He couldn’t imagine a world where someone had silenced that glorious sound. “I’ll transfer the money.”

  “I don’t recommend that.” Michael took the phone from him, calling his tech guru Trip on the radio to get him up here to trace what Quinn was certain would be an untraceable number.

  “What choice do I have, Michael? How can I fight the enemy when I don’t know who he is? And until we do find out where the threat is coming from, there’s no way to stop him from coming at me again.” He turned to his assistant. “Elise, contact my bank. Don’t let them close before I get there.”

  “Yes, sir.” She hurried to her office to do his bidding.

  Michael copied down the message. “What if you hadn’t understood the rhyme?”

  “I don’t think this bastard is stupid. And he knows I’m not.”

  Michael pointed toward the letter wrapped in the evidence bag. “This message says to make something right before New Year’s Eve. That’s a week away. It can’t be this simple, and he’s gone to too much trouble to have it all be over this soon.”

  “Agreed.” Quinn propped his hands on his hips. “As long as I can keep Fiona out of this, I want to string this guy along until I can get my hands around his nec
k.”

  Any further conversation stopped as the grate over Quinn’s desk swung open and Miranda Murdock lowered herself down through the opening to plop her combat-style boots on top of his desk. She’d stripped off her Kevlar and rifle and was brushing dust from her black uniform and snaggled hair. And she didn’t seem to see anything odd about making such an entrance.

  “I think I found the way in, sir,” she reported to Michael, jumping down beside him. “Barring the whole ‘just walking through the front door’ scenario. Of course, the intruder would still have to alter the camera recording—and turn the sensors off for the few seconds it would take to get in and out.” She paused in her report, her sharp eyes turning to the side and widening enough that Quinn turned to see what had caught her attention.

  Fiona. Standing in the middle of his office, her doll dangling to the floor beside her, looking up at the tall blonde woman as if a dusty angel had just descended from heaven.

  Miranda’s lips twitched before settling into a smile. “Hey.”

  The tiny frown that creased Fiona’s forehead gave her an expression that was more concerned than afraid, or even curious. “You falled.”

  The SWAT officer looked up at the open grate, still swinging slightly from the ceiling where Fiona was looking. “Um, no. I crawled. And climbed. And…jumped.” She plucked a clump of cobweb from her hair, glancing toward Quinn and her commanding officer with a questioning plea before pointing a finger at his daughter. “But, you shouldn’t try that. It’s too high. I’m, you know, taller. And a grown-up.”

  But the explanation had taken too long and Fiona had moved on to her real concern. Quinn’s hands curled into fists at his sides as Fiona walked right up to Miranda and held up her doll. “Petwa falled.”

  “Oh. Um, well…” She snapped her fingers. “That’s exactly why you shouldn’t crawl through ceilings.”