Major Nanny

by Paula Graves

  “How else am I supposed to read it?” Stacy dashed tears from her cheeks with angry jabs of her fingertips. “Not a note, not a goodbye, just slam, bam-”

  “Come on, Stacy. He’s in the middle of an intense security project. How do you know he didn’t get called away for something related to the fundraiser?”

  The surge of hope Charlotte’s words evoked was almost embarrassing. “I thought about that, but it doesn’t explain why he didn’t at least leave me a note.”

  “I just think you should discuss it with him before you jump to any conclusions.”

  “There’s nothing to discuss,” Stacy said sharply. “Harlan and I both knew before we got ourselves into this mess that neither of us wanted anything serious. Anthony cured me of that kind of romanticism.”

  “And that’s why you’re crying your heart out over a one-night stand?” Charlotte’s voice flattened. “Anthony hurt you, Stacy, but that doesn’t mean Harlan-or some other guy-is going to do the same thing.”

  “I’m glad you can still believe in true love and happily ever after,” Stacy said, meaning it. Maybe, if she were stronger and braver, if she didn’t have Zachary’s welfare and happiness to worry about, she’d be more willing to take a chance on something impossible.

  But she couldn’t take any more chances, especially after making the mistake of putting aside her lingering doubts last night and taking a leap of hope.

  “Stacy, at least talk to him-”

  “I have to go. You need to get ready for school, and Zachary will be up any minute.” She said a quick goodbye and hung up before Charlotte tempted her good sense any further.

  She woke Zachary and dressed him for school, expecting Harlan to walk through the door any moment with some lame excuse about where he’d gone and why he hadn’t left her a note or called. She was ready for him, however-his bags were packed by the sofa and she was cleaned up and sobered up by cold, hard reality.

  No tears. No arguments. No begging for any sort of reconsideration. And if she felt hurt or ashamed by her mistake last night, she’d be damned if she showed it.

  But by the time she had to leave to take Zachary to school, Harlan still hadn’t arrived or even called.

  She wrote a quick note and tucked it under the canvas strap of one of the duffels, where he couldn’t miss it.

  Taking a final look at the bags sitting on the floor by the sofa, she followed Zachary out the front door.

  JEFF ARRIVED HOME a little after 7:30 a.m., his grim expression making Harlan’s gut twist with apprehension. Harlan didn’t know the deputy well enough to know whether his grimace denoted finding something disturbing during the search of Trevor Lewis’s apartment-or finding nothing at all.

  The answer was both. Sort of.

  “The sheriff doesn’t think this is automatically actionable, by itself,” Jeff explained in an apologetic tone, laying a manila envelope on the table in front of Harlan. “But it’s not nothing.”

  Harlan eyed the envelope, torn between anticipation and dread. Jeff pushed it toward him, giving silent assent to go ahead and take a look at what was inside.

  Harlan opened the envelope flap and carefully emptied the contents onto the table surface. A small collection of eight-by-ten photographs lay in front of him.

  “Sheriff Hale said it was okay to show them to you, since you’re heading up the governor’s shindig tonight,” Jeff said.

  Harlan flipped through the photographs, his stomach tightening with rage as he saw the subject matter. The photographs depicted the interior of a small but well-furnished bedroom. Big iron bed, expensive-looking bedding and curtains. A low, wide dresser with a mirror took up most of one wall. And on the dresser, filling almost every available inch of surface stood a series of framed photographs.

  Photographs of Stacy Giordano.

  “That sick son of a-”

  “I know.” Jeff Appleton nodded with understanding. “I don’t know what law he’s broken by doing that, but I don’t see how we can just ignore it, either, especially after what happened at the ranch yesterday.”

  Harlan looked back through the photographs again, paying particular attention to the close-up shots of the framed images on the dresser. They were all clearly candid shots of Stacy, taken without her knowledge, save for an ominous-looking image near the end of the dresser. That photo had clearly been clipped from the Austin newspaper only a few short days ago.

  The photo depicted Stacy, dressed in her grimy, rumpled business suit, her face bloodied and haggard. It had been snapped just after she’d freed the governor from the collapsed dais; Harlan remembered seeing it the day it came out in the paper. Her gaze fixed on something beyond the camera lens, she looked shell-shocked and tragically beautiful, but Harlan doubted, somehow, that the aesthetic appeal of the shot was what had compelled Trevor Lewis to clip it from the newspaper.

  Harlan clenched his jaw so tightly it ached. “It may not be enough to take him into custody, but it’s enough to give the governor cover to fire him.”

  Appleton nodded soberly. “The sheriff gave me permission to let you take these copies to the governor as evidence. I don’t know if he’s dangerous to Stacy or not, but it’s not a risk I think anyone wants to take.”

  “What about his connection to Planet Justice?” Harlan asked. “Did you find anything incriminating?”

  “Some literature. Some black bloc-style clothing in his closet. But those things aren’t illegal, and we didn’t find any bomb-making material anywhere in the apartment.” Jeff shrugged. “That doesn’t mean he’s not the bomber, though. Maybe he wouldn’t want explosives where he lived. That’s a high-end apartment for someone who works as a stable hand. He’s got to have income coming from somewhere else.”

  “His parents are wealthy,” Harlan said. While he’d waited for Jeff Appleton to return from the search of Lewis’s apartment, he’d heard from Vince Russo with more on Trevor Lewis’s background. He came from a wealthy family in the San Mateo area, wealthy enough to indulge his love for horses by subsidizing his work as a stable groom without incurring any real hardship for themselves.

  “If he has money, maybe he rents or owns another place where he keeps the explosives,” Appleton suggested.

  “CSI is already looking into his finances,” Harlan assured him. He eyed the weary-looking deputy. “Are you done for the day or do you have to go in to work?”

  “I’m done for now-I’m part of the sheriff’s detail of extra officers you requested to back up your men at the fundraiser.” Jeff stifled a yawn. “Charlotte Manning’s going to be watching Zachary anyway, so she said she’d be happy to keep an eye on Abby for me.” He glanced toward the hall to the bedroom. “I’d better get Abby up and go check her into school. Did she wake up at all?”

  “No. She won’t know you were ever gone.” Harlan couldn’t help but think about Zachary when he said the words. He glanced at his watch and saw with alarm that it was after eight o’clock. Stacy would have taken Zachary to school a half hour ago. She was probably waiting for him in her office, wondering why the hell he’d bugged out on her.

  He kind of hated to tell her what had been going on while she slept. If the sight of those photos creeped out Harlan, what would they do to Stacy?

  Chapter Sixteen

  Harlan stopped off at the guesthouse, planning to shower and re-dress. He held out a small hope that Stacy might have gone back home before heading into the office for the big day of last-minute preparations, but when he asked the guard on duty if he’d seen her, he told Harlan that Stacy had taken Zachary to school and hadn’t returned.

  Inside, he went to the hall closet to pull out fresh clothes for work but found nothing there but a few empty hangers. He shut the door, confused. Had she moved his clothes to her own closet? Was it her way of saying he was welcome in her bed for more than just one night?

  But when he checked her closet, he found only her clothes. The clothes he’d shucked off last night were nowhere around.

  H
e went back to the living room and found the answer to the mystery. His two duffel bags were sitting by the sofa, and if their shapes were anything to go by, all his clothes had been repacked inside. A folded piece of paper lay tucked under one of the duffel bag handles.

  Apprehension making his gut clench, he opened the note. It was from Stacy, written in her neat, spare cursive. “Harlan, thanks for all your help. Zachary and I appreciate all you’ve done to keep us safe. With the fundraiser happening tonight, you’ll be going back to your own place, so I thought I’d go ahead and get your things together for you as a thank-you.”

  She’d signed her name at the bottom. No postscript, no mention of what had happened between them the night before.

  It was as if she’d decided to erase him from her life.

  She’d said she wasn’t in the market for a relationship. He hadn’t been, either, until he met her and couldn’t get her out of his head.

  After last night, he’d been sure she was beginning to feel the same way. In his arms, she’d been fierce and generous, taking everything he gave her and giving it right back to him. Could he have been wrong about what she was feeling?

  Maybe her experience with her ex had done more of a number on her than he’d realized, he thought, refolding the note and tucking it into the pocket of his pants. If he ever ran into Anthony Giordano, he was going to have a hell of a lot to say.

  Locking up behind him, he picked up the envelope full of photos he’d laid on the table by the door and headed outside. He left the truck parked in front of the guesthouse and walked the hundred yards between the guesthouse and the governor’s sprawling villa. It took him halfway there before the obvious answer for Stacy’s behavior slapped him right in the face.

  He had left her bed without even leaving a note.

  No phone calls to check in on her, no word at all. Just sex and a hasty escape-that’s what it would have looked like to her, wouldn’t it? No wonder she’d packed his bags and given him a brush-off note.

  Stacy was in with the governor when Harlan knocked on the door. She looked up with cool lack of interest that made his chest ache. But he saw something in her eyes that convinced him she wasn’t as indifferent as she was trying to appear. A hint of pain at the sight of him, giving him evidence that he’d been right. She thought he considered her a one-night stand.

  He’d disabuse her of that notion as soon as he could, but first, he had to show her and the governor what the Freedom Sheriff’s Department had found during their search of Trevor Lewis’s apartment.

  He pulled up the chair the governor gestured toward and put the manila envelope on the desk in front of him. Stacy slanted a curious look at the envelope, but Lila ignored it. “I hear the Freedom Sheriff’s Department raided Trevor Lewis’s apartment in the middle of the night. You have anything to do with that?”

  Harlan glanced at Stacy. She didn’t look surprised by the governor’s words, so this wasn’t the first she’d heard of it. Why was she still upset with him, if she knew why he’d left?

  “I was tangentially involved,” he answered, dragging his gaze away from Stacy’s down-turned face.

  “Did they find anything connecting him to the bombing in Austin?” Stacy asked, still not looking at him.

  “No. But he’s connected to Planet Justice, the group that’s going to hold a protest tonight outside the fundraiser.”

  Stacy’s gaze finally rose to meet his. “You’re kidding.”

  He shook his head. “That’s not the worst of it.” He opened the envelope and pulled out the photos. “The deputies found this in his bedroom.”

  He watched as horrified realization spread over her face, wondering if he should have softened the blow somehow. Why had he just sprung the photos on her without any preparation?

  Was he that desperate to make her look at him again?

  “My God,” she whispered.

  Lila Lockhart held her hand out for the photos. Stacy handed them to the governor, who slipped on her glasses and flipped through the photographs, her expression darkening.

  “This may not be legally actionable evidence, but it’s enough for me. I’ll take my lumps and fire the creepy little SOB from the stables. If he wants to make a public stink, I’ll tell them all about this bedroom shrine, and if he thinks I don’t have the gumption to do it, he doesn’t know who I am.”

  Harlan smiled at the governor’s outburst. “Good. That’s what I was hoping you’d say.”

  “He may end up at the protest anyway,” Stacy pointed out in a quiet voice, still looking shocked and disturbed.

  Harlan fought the urge to pull her into his arms and comfort her. At least, not here in front of the governor.

  “Stacy, I’m done with you for now-go ahead and get to the last-minute tasks you were telling me about. And don’t forget my hairdresser from Dallas will be here this afternoon to doll us up for the big shindig.” Lila flashed her aide a dazzling smile before her expression grew sympathetic. “Try not to worry too much about those pictures. If Trevor Lewis so much as steps foot on this ranch, I’ll make sure he’s kicked off, pronto.”

  “Thank you,” Stacy murmured and left the office.

  Lila turned back to look at Harlan. “Looks like you’ve got your work cut out for you, Mr. McClain.”

  “Yes, ma’am, I know,” he answered, aware that keeping peace at tonight’s fundraiser was only half the battle he had to win.

  “Will you do me a favor, Mr. McClain?” the governor added as he headed for the exit.

  “Of course, Governor.”

  “Please have Mr. Cavanaugh with your agency give me a call. I have a project for him.”

  “Sure,” he answered, heading down the hallway. He made a mental note to call Nick as soon as he got back to his office.

  But first, he had someone else he needed to see.

  SHE’D GOTTEN THROUGH seeing Harlan okay, hadn’t she?

  Stacy gazed at her pale face in the mirror of her office bathroom, her haunted eyes accusing her of cowardice. She should be waiting in Harlan’s office to confront him about leaving her bed without even a note, not hiding in her office like a scared teenager.

  But confront him for what? For doing his job?

  “Still could have left a note,” she muttered aloud, but the gripe sounded petty in the face of the evidence the search warrant had unearthed.

  Hearing footsteps outside, she dried her hands and left the bathroom to find Harlan standing just inside her office doorway.

  He met her wary gaze with a look of sheer male intensity that made her insides quake and deliberately closed the door behind him. “Thanks for packing my bags.”

  Looked like she was getting the confrontation whether she wanted it or not. “I figured with the fundraiser tonight, you might not have a chance to pack yourself.”

  “Is that what you figured?” He stepped closer. “The danger won’t be over tonight. Whoever set that bomb in Austin won’t stop just because the party is over.”

  “But the direct danger to me was getting the crank phone calls. And the flower on my porch-and clearly, that had to be Trevor, don’t you think?” She edged away from him, unnerved not by his nearness but by her nearly uncontrollable reaction to him. She felt a sensation low in her belly that was almost like a craving, a deep pang of need threatening to swamp her struggling self-control.

  Last night, his lovemaking had been tender but demanding, pushing her to places, both physically and emotionally, that she’d never gone before, and her body seemed unwilling to walk away from that kind of experience unchanged, even if her mind was fighting hard to pretend it had been nothing but two bodies coming together to do what two bodies were created to do.

  “You’re just coming up with excuses to make me go away,” he said in a low, sexy growl that made her bones melt. “I thought we were past that point in our relationship.”

  She stepped away farther, turning to the window so she wouldn’t have to look at him. Outside, the long veranda was a hive o
f activity, workmen putting last-minute touches on the decorations on the ranch house’s exterior. “We don’t have a relationship,” she said aloud. “Until the party is over, you’re sort of my boss, I suppose. But that ends tonight.”

  “So last night was, what? Scratching an itch?”

  She grimaced at his hard words. “I guess.”

  “I slept with you, Stacy.”

  “Not for long.”

  “And that’s the problem, right? I got up and left your bed without waking you?”

  She forced herself to face him. “That’s pretty much always a problem for a woman, you know, waking to find the man she just had sex with couldn’t stick around for the cuddling phase.”

  He arched his eyebrows. “We cuddled. Damned good cuddling, as I recall.”

  He was trying to make her laugh now, she realized, as if he could cajole her into seeing everything his way. Anthony used to do that, and she used to let him. “Stop. Please.”

  He released a frustrated sigh. “Tell me what you want from me. An apology? I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have tried to keep you out of what was going on. I should have awakened you, or at least left you a note about where I was going.”

  She wanted to accept his apology, wanted it so much it felt like a fire burning in her belly. But what would forgiveness solve? Was she just going to fall into another disastrous relationship because he was charming and strong and great in bed? That’s what had happened with Anthony.

  “I think we should forget last night ever happened. After the party tonight, there’s no reason we should see much of each other again.” Even as she said the words aloud, a hard pain settled in the center of her chest, making her queasy.

  “So that’s it. You’re done.”

  She nodded. “I’m done.”

  He released a long, slow breath. “Okay.” She heard him walk toward the door, then stop. She looked up as he turned around to look at her again. “Can I tell Zachary goodbye?”

  The look in Harlan’s eyes was impossible to resist. “Okay. Tonight, before the fundraiser, you can come say goodbye.”