Nanny 911

by Julie Miller

  Paying little heed to the police officers still working around the GSS building, the figure behind the wheel speed-dialed the mercenary who’d been paid very well to do exactly as ordered. “Is it done?”

  “It’s done.”

  “Good.” The boss picked up the disposable phone on the dashboard and ripped open the package. “Then I’ll send my next message.”

  Chapter Ten

  “Did he have family?” Michael Cutler asked.

  Quinn’s eyes burned as he tore his gaze away from the neat bullet hole in the middle of Ozzie Chang’s forehead and looked across the body on the floor to his friend. “Parents in San Francisco. I’d better call them.”

  “Let the detectives handle it.” Michael braced his hands on his knees and pushed himself away from the puddle of blood on the entryway’s hardwood floor. “Why don’t you take Randy and Fiona home? You all need some rest.”

  “I can’t rest until I find out who’s behind this, Michael.” He curled his fingers into fists at his side. “Ozzie was barely out of college. Those guards at the Kalahari plant had no clue what hit them. Men are watching my house and my daughter and shooting at Miranda. I need to figure this out. I need to get ahead of this guy and stop him.” He raked his fingers through his hair in frustration and came back shaking another fist. “That’s what I do, Michael. I find solutions to problems. I solve puzzles that other people can’t. I figure things out.”

  “Don’t beat yourself up, buddy.” Michael literally took Quinn by the arm and led him to the front door. “That’s part of what this guy wants from you. He wants you out of your element. He wants you to suffer.”

  “He’s doing a damn fine job. My God…” A horrendous thought hit him, one that almost made him gag as he turned back to the grisly murder. “What if that was Fiona?” He sought out Michael’s steady gaze, needing someone, anyone, to understand. “I will die—I will kill—before I let something like this happen to my little girl.”

  He circled around the body to look into the sparsely furnished living room of Ozzie’s small white house. A beat-up sofa, a new recliner and a wall full of electronics—gaming systems, a large flat-screen TV, computer towers. Not a lot to show for twenty-some years of life. Yet Quinn had envied the young man just yesterday.

  Ozzie Chang had been young and full of fun and possibilities. He’d come in to GSS during his vacation at Quinn’s request. A bullet to the head was his punishment for helping him.

  Or was it his payment for helping someone else?

  Quinn scrubbed his fingers over the five o’clock shadow on his jaw. “How soon before the detectives and CSIs get here and get us some answers?” The rage and grief cleared a small corner of his brain and gave him a chance to observe and think. “Oz must have known whoever he let in the door—or else didn’t feel threatened by his killer. There’s no sign of a struggle.”

  “Quinn—”

  “Do you think the people who paid him to hack into GSS and deliver a bomb betrayed him to cover the connection to them? Didn’t he know how much money I have? How much money I’d pay to ensure the safety of the people I care about?”

  “You think Chang hacked your system? That he was a mole in your company?”

  “It sure seems like somebody is.” Quinn tamped down on the emotions raging through his blood and tried to present a logical argument. “Or is Ozzie the innocent kid I thought he was, and he stumbled onto something he shouldn’t in the lab? He saw something in the computers, or he saw someone place that bomb—and now he’s another innocent victim in this retribution game.”

  Betrayal or a friend caught in the cross fire?

  He didn’t like either option.

  Quinn faced Michael again, counting off options on his fingers. “I’ve been racking my brain, trying to come up with suspects—people who might hold a serious grudge against me. Mom’s live-in boyfriend, who I threw out of the house once I was big enough and tough enough to get him to stop hitting her. Business competitors. I’ve absorbed several companies around the world into GSS and have put others completely out of business.”

  “Quinn, stop. You’re grasping at straws.”

  “I have to grasp at something! I can’t stand not being in control. I hate it.”

  “I know where you’re coming from. When my Jillian had a stalker, before I married her, I was… When he had her tied up with a gun to her head, I…” Quinn saw the first crack of emotion in Michael’s stern facade. “It was the first time in a long time that I was truly scared. And I didn’t like it. It threw me off my game and I almost lost her.” He swallowed hard, glanced away for a moment, then looked him right in the eyes. “You and I are a lot alike, my friend. The bad guys don’t get to win. But you’re in no shape to do battle right now. You’re exhausted. Your anger is getting in the way. And this is not the place where you want to do your thinking.” Michael went to the front door and opened it. “So go home and get some rest.”

  Quinn glanced down at the injustice of the body at their feet. “And give that bastard the chance to do this to somebody else because of me?”

  “Think of it this way—a few hours’ sleep will clear your mind so you can figure it out.” Michael rarely talked about the man who had stalked and kidnapped his wife. The glimpse of deep, conflicted emotion from his normally unflappable friend made Quinn understand that Michael truly got what he was going through.

  It also gave him hope that he could get through this crisis, too. As long as he kept his head. “I guess I’ll wind up with a cranky toddler if I don’t get Fiona to bed.”

  “And, I’ve entrusted you with one of my team, Quinn. Randy’s not as tough on the inside as she is on the outside. I need you to take good care of her.”

  Quinn looked through the open doorway to see a battered Miranda standing guard over the car where his daughter slept. Her eyes were sharp as she paced up and down the sidewalk. But the mark on her face was already bruising, and she hugged her arms around her middle as she walked, as though not even the hat and coat she wore were enough to keep her warm.

  Those same possessive, protective instincts he’d discovered in his office this afternoon heated his blood. Yeah, he could take care of Miranda, too. If she’d let him.

  “All right.” Maybe he could do more good for the cops, his company and those two women outside if he could get some rest and some rational thoughts in his head. He extended his hand to Michael to thank him for all he and his team had done for him today. “But call me the minute KCPD has anything to report.”

  “Will do.”

  “Captain?” Trip Jones called them back into the living room. “I pulled this up on Chang’s computer. You’re going to want to see this.”

  Quinn should have walked on out the door.

  The words typed on the screen were in big, bold print. The taunting promise in the words was even bigger.

  I am one step ahead of you. Now Mr. Chang will never reveal the favor he did for me. Now you see I can get to you at work. I will require another 2.5 million in the Swiss account or I will strike much closer to home.

  “YOU GOT THIS, DAVID?” The pictures on the wall of monitors in the estate’s security command center were blurring.

  Quinn was a weary man. He pulled off his glasses and scrubbed his hand over his entire face, from his aching eyes down to the sandpapery stubble of late-night beard growth on his jaw.

  “Yes, sir.” David Damiani’s tie was loose, his suit jacket was draped over the back of the chair beside Quinn’s and his coffee mug was nearly empty. “Between my men at the gate and Cutler’s men doing periodic drive-bys, as well as me in the security office and Murdock upstairs, we’re completely secure. I’ve got eyes on the front door, back door, side entrance and more. If our presence and technology aren’t deterrent enough, at least there’s no way we won’t see this guy coming.”

  Quinn slipped his glasses back on to get a good look at the camera shots where David was pointing. He knew David’s ego had probably taken a few ding
s the past few days. GSS employees had been killed. A bomb had been rigged in GSS headquarters. Quinn had called on his friend Michael Cutler and SWAT Team 1 in addition to David’s private security team—not because Quinn doubted David could handle the threats, but because Quinn could never feel secure enough where Fiona was concerned.

  It was hard to fight an enemy you couldn’t see or identify, and Quinn knew the situation would be even more impossible if his security chief wasn’t on the payroll. “I appreciate you coming in to take charge of watching over the house tonight. I know it’s not your primary responsibility, but—”

  “You are my responsibility, sir. Without you, GSS falls apart.” His big shoulders lifted with a shrug and a grin. “I’m thinking I’d be out of a job if something happened to you.”

  Quinn managed half a laugh at the wry humor. He motioned David to stay seated when he stood, then reached over to shake his hand. “Thanks. I’m turning in. If you need anything…”

  “I won’t. Good night, sir.”

  “Good night, David.”

  Quinn climbed the stairs to the main floor, taking note of every locked window and hallway camera in the silent house. Even though David had done the same an hour ago, Quinn checked the front door, the garage exit and mud room door before dragging his feet up the next set of carpeted stairs to the living quarters there.

  More than the promise of his own bed and a few hours of sleep, the dim light shining into the hallway from Fiona’s room drew him like a guiding beacon.

  He paused in the doorway, leaned his head against the jamb and smiled at the scene inside. He wasn’t the only one exhausted by the day.

  Fiona sat in Miranda’s lap in the rocking chair. Her cheek was smushed against Miranda’s red pajama top, her bow-shaped mouth was slightly parted and her eyes were closed in sleep.

  But what caught his heart and made him smile was the beautiful contrast of Miranda’s golden hair hanging straight and loose and tangling with Fiona’s dark curls. The book they’d been reading had fallen to the floor. Miranda’s undamaged cheek rested against the crown of Fiona’s hair and she was softly snoring right along with her.

  Michael had charged him with taking care of both of these girls, but it was a task nobody had to ask of him. Feeling oddly energized and renewed by the endearing sight, despite the fatigue screaming from every cell of his body, Quinn tiptoed into the room. He picked up the book and set it aside, then slid his arms beneath Miranda’s knees and around her back.

  Miranda startled awake at his touch. “I should go…”

  “Shh.” Quinn whispered a reassurance and lifted them both from the chair. “Let me. Got her?”

  Nodding, she tightened her arms around Fiona, who never stirred. With Miranda’s help, he pulled back the covers and laid them both on the bed.

  “She’s content with you holding her.” Quinn pulled the sheet and comforter up over them both and tucked them in. He caressed Fiona’s hair, then bent to give her a kiss. “I don’t want to wake her.”

  “I’ll stay with her,” Miranda promised, gently stroking Fiona’s dark hair off her rosy cheeks.

  He stayed where he was, hovering over the bed. He mimicked the same tender gesture, brushing Miranda’s hair, still damp from her shower, away from her bruised cheek. Her green eyes were hooded, drowsy, fixed on his as he leaned in to kiss her temple, as well. “Good night, Miranda.”

  But her hand snaked out from beneath the covers to capture his jaw and guide his mouth down to hers instead. He gladly obliged the bold request, covering her lips with his, parting them. He slipped his tongue inside for a taste of her heat. He welcomed the answering pull of her lips beneath his, braced his hand against the headboard and leaned over farther to angle his mouth more completely over hers. A slow, liquid warmth ignited in his chest and seeped into his blood, giving life to his tired body, reminding him he was a strong, healthy man. But the hour was late, and with his daughter here there was little he could do about the aching needs this woman kindled inside him.

  So with a deep breath and a troubled heart, he pulled away. But as long as those beautiful eyes were on him, he couldn’t completely retreat. He’d wanted Miranda to bond with his daughter, and she had. But he was forming a bond with her, too. Her fingers brushed across his jaw; her thumb stroked his lips. She blinked her eyes and smiled. “Good night, Quinn.”

  When her eyes blinked shut with fatigue and didn’t open again, he finally moved away. He set the story-book back in its place on the bookshelf, turned off the lamp and headed for the door. But he couldn’t leave.

  Everything he loved—everything he wanted—everything that truly mattered was sleeping in that bed behind him.

  Even with guards and cameras and the holstered gun on top of the bookshelf, he couldn’t be sure they were safe. His bedroom at the end of the hall was too far away. With Fiona and Miranda out of his sight, he wouldn’t be able to relax.

  So he kicked off his shoes and settled into the rocking chair beside the bed to watch them sleep. He wasn’t leaving Miranda and Fiona tonight, not even for a moment.

  But after half an hour of dozing fits and starts, Quinn woke again. Even this chair was too far away to assuage his loneliness and his need to protect this makeshift family. In his mind, there was only one logical thing he could do.

  He got up and circled the double bed, pulling off his belt and untucking his shirt. And then he climbed into bed with them, stretching out on top of the covers behind Miranda.

  Her back and bottom fit perfectly against his chest and groin. When she nestled against him in her sleep, he buried his nose in Miranda’s thick, damp hair, filling his head up with the smells of sweet coconut and tangy citrus. She was warmth and health and life and every good thing he wanted in this world.

  Quinn wrapped his arms around both of them and finally drifted off to sleep.

  Chapter Eleven

  2 Days until Midnight, New Year’s Eve

  Miranda wiped Fiona’s sticky fingers and held the chair while the little girl climbed down and hurried to the end of the table to get Petra down from her seat.

  After popping the last uneaten bite of Fiona’s peanut-butter sandwich into her mouth, Miranda carried her cup and plate to the sink, where she rinsed them and stacked them in the dishwasher. Two successful meals under her belt now without trashing the kitchen. She sincerely hoped Quinn didn’t mind ordering take-out pizza for dinner because the cook wasn’t scheduled to be back until after the New Year, and she’d already discovered a dearth of anything microwaveable in this house except for popcorn.

  She wondered if the Marines would mind if she called her brother again to get a recipe for dinner. Thinking of John and how amused he’d be at her quandary made her smile. “Probably not.”

  It was amazing how a little success in the nannying department, a fresh bandage for the cut on her forearm and a good night’s sleep could refresh her energy and boost her confidence in her responsibilities here. Miranda had never considered herself a domestic-bliss kind of woman before, but waking up with an aroused man hugged tightly to her backside and a little girl sprawled with innocent abandon on the pillow next to hers gave her ideas about wanting to give the cooking and cleaning and “welcome home, honey” routine a try.

  This morning, for the first time in months, she hadn’t felt alone when she woke up. And it wasn’t just the physical closeness of having an extra body in the bed. There was something incredibly sensuous and equally tender about waking with Quinn’s hand splayed possessively on the flat of her stomach, then feeling his lips nuzzle the sensitive skin at her nape before he whispered, “Good morning.”

  “Good morning. Sleep well?”

  The sandpapery stubble of his beard was like the caress of a cat’s tongue when he nodded against her neck and answered, “Best sleep I’ve had in years.” His hold around her tightened like a hug and she knew he was looking beyond her to the child sleeping several inches away. “They’re perfect angels when they’re asleep, aren�
��t they?”

  Miranda had laced her fingers with Quinn’s and marveled at how well their hands fit together, how well their bodies fit, how well their thoughts meshed. She was warm, contented. She had the idea that this was where she belonged, this was where she finally fit in. And if she was only dreaming it, she didn’t want to wake up. It had been easy to agree on Fiona’s beauty and so much more. “Perfect.”

  “Petwa and I help.”

  And then there was reality and the bright sunlight of a cold winter’s day.

  Miranda heard the scratch of a step stool sliding across the tile floor and felt the tug at the sleeve of her insulated henley shirt. Quinn had sequestered himself in his home office right after breakfast and she hadn’t seen him since. And, once again, she had a dark-haired girl at her elbow. As had quickly become a habit with nearly every task, Fiona joined her at the sink, wanting to help with the grown-up’s job.

  “Okay. Set Petra down so she doesn’t get wet.” The doll dropped to the floor immediately and Fiona reached for the glass Miranda had used. In a deft move she hoped the girl was still too young to notice, she pulled her plastic cup back out of the dishwasher and switched it with the breakable glass.

  They were both wet to their elbows and kneeling in front of the open dishwasher door to load the cube of dishwasher soap when the kitchen door swung open and Quinn strode inside. “Hello?”

  “Over here.” Miranda popped up from behind the counter.

  Fiona batted her hand away when Miranda automatically reached back to start the machine. “I push the button,” she insisted.

  “This one here,” Miranda pointed out. Fiona pushed the button and smiled from pigtail to pigtail when the wash cycle started right up.

  “Look what I did, Daddy.” Fiona hugged her father’s leg and tilted her face all the way back to look up at him. “I did the dishes. And Wandy helped.”

  Miranda grinned at the mention. The five-minute task had taken fifteen, but she’d stayed busy and Fiona had been entertained. Quinn cupped her head and congratulated her before sending her off to play on her own for a few minutes. “Good job, sweetie. Why don’t you go up to your room and help Petra try on some of the new outfits she got for Christmas? I need to talk to Miranda, okay?”