Chain of Custody (Holding The Line Book 2)

by Carol Ericson

  “What?”

  “I think my taste buds are acclimating to the cuisine because this is good.” She dumped some of the salsa onto the side of her plate and dug into her burrito, running a forkful through the red puddle.

  Nash shrugged and sawed off a corner of his burrito. He talked shop enough at work and with his buddy Clay. He didn’t need to bring it home.

  “You never told me how you came to be in charge of Wyatt. Who are his mother and father?”

  Nash gulped down some lemonade. How many of Jaycee’s secrets should he keep? If he told a nanny that a mother had left her baby on someone’s porch, she might just get it into her head to report Jaycee to DCS. That girl had enough problems if she’d been driven to leave Wyatt with him. She didn’t need a social worker on her case.

  Nash ran the side of his thumb down the sweating glass. “I don’t know who the father is, but the mother is an old friend, local girl, friend of my sister’s.”

  “I suppose that means her family doesn’t live here anymore.”

  “Long gone.”

  “And your sister?”

  “My sister is in New York, pursuing a modeling and acting career.”

  Emily raised one eyebrow. “Have I seen her in anything?”

  “Not unless you pay close attention to commercials.”

  “That’s a tough life.”

  “She’s luckier than most. She has my parents’ money as a safety net.” He took another bite of his food, relieved the conversation had switched from Jaycee to his sister.

  “So, why did Wyatt’s mom leave him here?”

  Damn. Nash wiped his mouth and took another sip of his drink. “I learned a long time ago not to question Jaycee Lemoin too closely. She asked me to watch her baby for a few days, and I agreed. She’s taking longer than expected, and happily I ran into you to help me out until she returns.”

  “Jaycee didn’t let you know she’d be delayed?”

  He shook his head. The peaceful domestic scene he’d encountered when he came home had turned into an interrogation. Why hadn’t Emily asked him all these questions when he’d first approached her about the job?

  “You know, I need to get back to work.” He shoved back from the table and grabbed his plate. “Do you need anything before I leave?”

  “No. Thanks for the lunch.” She curled her fingers around her glass and shook it back and forth, tinkling the ice. “We never really discussed my hours. Do you want me to go back to my hotel when you get home from work, or would you like me to stick around in the evening to help out? You’re paying me a generous flat fee, so I’d be more than happy to help in the evenings, too.”

  “That would be great.” He almost suggested she move into the guesthouse, but he didn’t want to freak her out. He also didn’t want her asking any more questions about Jaycee. Did Jaycee really think she could just drop Wyatt off on his doorstep for a week and it wouldn’t seriously impact his life?

  He continued. “I’ll take care of dinner, too. Any requests? Italian?”

  “I can cook something.”

  “That’s not in your job description. Taking care of Wyatt is plenty.” He rinsed his plate in the sink and downed the rest of his lemonade. “Maybe he’ll sleep for another hour and give you a break.”

  “He’s a good baby.” Emily rolled her eyes and blew an errant strand of hair from her face. “Compared to some of the babies I’ve cared for, Wyatt is an angel.”

  Nash mumbled under his breath, “Doesn’t take after his mother.”

  “What?”

  “Just like his mother.” He waved at the door. “Thanks again, and have a good afternoon.”

  On his way to his truck, he tried Jaycee’s number again, and again it went straight to voice mail. He didn’t bother leaving a message.

  That girl needed to get back to Paradiso and her baby—even if that meant Emily O’Brien would be waltzing out of his life just as smoothly as she’d waltzed into it. And he wasn’t ready for that, not at all.

  * * *

  EMILY LIFTED THE edge of the curtain at the front window and watched Nash back his truck out of the driveway. Had the men in the black sedan stayed away because of the truck in the driveway? Would they be back?

  Emily scraped the remnants of her burrito from her plate into the sink and ran the disposal. Then she sauntered to where her purse hung on the back of a kitchen chair and unhooked it. She didn’t know if Nash could watch her movements from his phone or if he needed his computer to access his cameras’ video feed, but she didn’t want to take any chances by pulling her weapon out of her purse.

  If Nash saw his nanny with a gun with the baby in the house, he’d make a fast U-turn and kick her out, maybe even call the police. But if those guys who’d paid a visit to Jaycee came back here, she wanted to be ready for them.

  They must suspect that Brett was Wyatt’s father. And kidnapping his son would be a surefire way of getting Brett’s cooperation. They’d be disappointed and angry once they discovered Brett probably couldn’t care less about his girlfriend’s baby with another man. What would they do with Wyatt then?

  She shivered as she plopped down on the couch and pulled her purse into her lap, the hard edge of the gun in the side pocket giving her comfort. She cupped her phone in her hand and sent Marcus a text. He hated texting, but Nash might have mics as well as cameras in the room.

  She stared at the words on her phone warning Marcus that the same men who’d been around questioning Jaycee were here sniffing around Wyatt. Surely, a mother leaving her baby in dangerous circumstances would be enough to help Marcus’s case for custody. Why the wait? He needed to make his move before Jaycee put Wyatt in even more danger.

  As if sensing her fear, Wyatt started crying from the other room.

  Emily scrambled off the couch and jogged into the makeshift nursery. Wyatt had pulled himself to his feet and stood gripping the edge of the playpen, rocking back and forth. He had opened his mouth for another howl and then blinked when he saw her and reached out his arms instead.

  “I bet you need a clean diaper and a bottle. Do you like to swim? Have you been in a pool yet?”

  She’d been a swimmer in high school and paid her way through college by lifeguarding and teaching swim lessons at the campus rec center. She’d taught many a toddler how to jump into the water and paddle to the edge of the pool. Wyatt wasn’t exactly toddling yet, but a little pool instruction could never start too early.

  Once she’d changed his diaper and given him a snack and a bottle, she tugged off his little onesie and set him on his blanket in the middle of the floor. She hadn’t brought a bathing suit with her, but underwear would do in a pinch.

  She tugged off her shorts and pulled her blouse over her head, all without looking at the camera. If Nash believed she had no clue about the video setup in his house, he’d trust her even more.

  With her bra and panties doubling as a bikini, she scooped up Wyatt from the floor and propped him onto her hip. She hitched her purse over her shoulder and slid open the back door.

  She dragged a chair poolside and dropped her purse onto it. She didn’t want to be too far from her gun.

  Holding Wyatt in front of her, she lowered herself to the edge of the pool and dangled her feet in the water. She put Wyatt between her legs, facing the pool, and dipped his toes in it.

  He seemed to enjoy it, so Emily slid off the edge of the pool and put his bottom half in the water up to his waist. His eyes popped open wide when the water enveloped him, and then he grinned. She walked backward, pulling him along with her, and he kicked his legs like a natural.

  The time spent with Wyatt passed more quickly than she’d thought possible. Clutching Wyatt to her chest, she lunged for the side of the pool and checked her phone, which she’d left in the shade of the chair. Marcus still hadn’t responded to her.

  She
returned to the house with the baby. The sun and water had done a number on Wyatt, and after fussing for about ten minutes, he dropped off to sleep.

  Emily plucked her damp underwear from her body. A few minutes in the sun would be enough to get it bone-dry. Leaving Denali on guard at the sliding door, she grabbed her purse and Nash’s laptop, which he’d offered for her use, and headed back outside.

  She claimed a chaise lounge on the patio, tipping an umbrella over her face but leaving her bottom half in the sun to dry off. She dragged Nash’s computer into her lap on top of a towel and used the password he’d given her to log in.

  She surfed the internet, watched a few videos and checked her email. Nash had some folders on his desktop, but they contained innocuous stuff like rodeo competitions and applications. She’d already done her research on him and knew he did the rodeo circuit as a hobby.

  She clicked through some pictures of him in rodeo action. Damned hot. Maybe she should email a few of them to herself to drool over later when this job ended.

  She launched his email, telling herself she was looking for info about Jaycee Lemoin, but he had a second log-in on his email and the computer password didn’t work here.

  As part of her PI prep, she’d taken quite a few online classes on computer hacking and had gotten pretty good at it. After several attempts, Nash’s email program launched, displaying his inbox.

  She scrolled through his messages, which mainly told her he needed to opt out of some of these mailing lists. He had a lot of junk piled up in here. He obviously kept this laptop for personal use and must have a different one for work, but occasionally he sent messages from his work laptop to this one.

  These jumped out at her because of the sender’s long government official email address. She had no interest in the drug trade across the border, but he’d piqued her interest with the story about the headless bodies.

  She double-clicked on a couple of the work emails and scrolled through gibberish about sectors and coordinates and drone capabilities. One email had a spreadsheet attachment called Finances with a list of names.

  With the mouse poised over the Close icon in the upper-right corner of the document, she scanned through them. About halfway through the alphabetical list, her gaze stumbled over a familiar name and a breath hitched in her throat.

  What was Marcus Lanier’s name doing in a Border Patrol agent’s spreadsheet about finances?

  Chapter Five

  Nash put the bag of food from Mario’s on the seat beside him and slammed the door of his truck. He clamped his hands on top of the steering wheel and hunched his shoulders. He should probably tell Emily about the cameras in his house.

  He’d felt like a voyeur this afternoon when he’d watched her strip down to her underwear to hit the pool with Wyatt. Of course, he could’ve looked away.

  He cranked on the engine and drove home, his mouth watering at the smell of garlic that filled the truck. First the hot salsa and now the garlic. She’d think he was trying to ward her off. Maybe he was.

  He pulled in behind her car again and made a mental note to ask her about the rental. He cut the engine and gathered his stuff, the plastic bag hanging from his fingers.

  When he pushed open the front door, he stuck his head into the foyer and called out, “Hello?”

  Seemed strange to be doing that in his own house, but he wanted to make sure she wasn’t dancing around the room in her skivvies...or less.

  “We’re in the kitchen eating.” Emily’s singsong voice drew him in with its promise of companionship and comfort. He hadn’t even realized he’d been missing those things.

  Denali finally tore himself away from Emily feeding Wyatt in his high chair and trotted up to him, his nails clicking on the hardwood floor.

  With his hands full, Nash nudged the dog with his knee. “You’re not supposed to eat garlic. I’ll feed you in a minute.”

  “I fed him already.” Emily waved Wyatt’s spoon in the air. “We had quite an afternoon.”

  “Yeah, about that.” Nash swung his laptop case on top of the opposite end of the kitchen table, where Emily was sitting next to Wyatt’s high chair, and put the bag with their dinner on the counter, where a bottle of wine stood uncorked.

  “I haven’t been secretly drinking away the day. You mentioned Italian, so I found a bottle of red and I’m letting it breathe.” She dabbed Wyatt’s chin. “Hope that’s okay.”

  “Perfect. I should’ve thought of that myself.” He unpacked the salad and the garlic bread. “I know you aren’t a lush because I have the house outfitted with cameras.”

  She jerked her head toward him and two red spots formed on her cheeks. “Oh. I guess you witnessed our little impromptu swim.”

  “Sorry. I should’ve told you about the cameras before.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “That’s okay. I should’ve figured you had them. I doubt you would’ve been so quick to leave a relative stranger in your home with your friend’s baby. Besides—” she scooped up another spoonful of food from the jar “—it’s not like I was skinny-dipping.”

  Nash swallowed and turned his attention to getting dishes for their dinner. “Wyatt must’ve liked the water, since you were out there for a while.”

  “He loved it.” She touched the baby’s nose. “Didn’t you, my little fish?”

  “You’re so good with him.” Nash divided the salad into two bowls and unwrapped the bread from the foil.

  “Those cameras, is there audio, also? Just in case I want to break into song. I wanna warn you first.”

  He sucked some tomato sauce from his thumb. “No audio.”

  “Good.” Emily stood up with the empty jar of baby food in her hand. “Wyatt had a long nap this afternoon, so I doubt he’s going to be sleeping through our dinner. I’ll leave him in his high chair while we eat as long as he’s not fussy.”

  “Sounds good to me.” Nash raised the bottle of wine. “You get Wyatt settled and I’ll get everything ready for our dinner.”

  He took out a couple of place mats from the drawer next to the fridge and put them on the table. He dumped the pasta on two plates and poured the wine.

  By the time he placed the silverware next to the plates, Emily was settling Wyatt back into his chair. She scattered an offering of toys on the tray and collapsed next to the high chair.

  “I can take the seat of honor next to Wyatt, if you like. I mean, if you need a break.” Nash tore off a corner of garlic bread and popped it into his mouth.

  “I’m the nanny. I don’t need a break.” Picking up her wineglass, she swirled it around.

  “Even nannies need breaks.” He grabbed his own glass and touched it to hers. “Here’s to fortuitous meetings in grocery store parking lots and fate.”

  “Yeah...fate.” She clinked his glass and took a gulp of wine.

  Nannies didn’t need breaks? She guzzled that cab as if her sanity depended on it.

  “Whoa, that’s good.” She placed the glass on the table and stabbed at her salad with a fork. “What does your job entail?”

  Nash blinked. “My job?”

  “Border Patrol agent. What do you do mostly? Is it people, drugs, both?”

  “There are different sectors down here that report to Tucson, and we deal mostly with drug interdiction in Paradiso. That’s our main focus. We don’t have many illegal border crossings on our end.”

  “Is there one cartel in particular in this area?”

  “We encounter them all, but Las Moscas is the main source of drug smuggling along the border here.”

  “The decapitated people?”

  He nodded. “Las Moscas.”

  “The cartels have...collaborators on this side of the border? People who finance them? People who move their product?”

  “You are your father’s daughter, aren’t you?”

  The glass in her hand
jerked, and a few droplets of wine stained the tablecloth. “Why do you say that?”

  “I don’t know. Most women aren’t interested in my job.” He pushed back from the table and yanked the dish towel from the oven door and ran it under the faucet.

  He returned to the table and dabbed at the red spots on the white material.

  “I’m sorry. Let me.” She made a grab for the dish towel, but he held firm.

  “I’ve got it.” He waved the towel at Wyatt. “Besides, I think your charge needs another toy. He’s thrown all of his on the floor.”

  Emily leaned over. “Wyatt, Denali has slobbered over all your toys. Do you think it’s okay to give Wyatt a piece of this bread to suck on?”

  Nash lifted his shoulders. “You’re the nanny. Will he choke?”

  “I—I was just wondering how garlicky it was. He might not even like it.” She pulled the soft center from a piece of bread and put it to Wyatt’s lips.

  The baby sucked the bread into his mouth and then spit it out onto his tray.

  “I guess there’s your answer—no garlic for dogs or babies.” He picked up the bottle of wine. “Do you want a refill?”

  Pinging her fingernail against the half-empty glass, she shook her head. “I still have to drive back to my motel, and one glass is my limit for driving.”

  “Very responsible of you, but then I suppose a cop’s daughter would be careful.” He splashed another few sips of wine into his own glass. “I’m not driving, so I’ll live dangerously and have another half a glass. I somehow don’t think babysitting and alcohol mix, do you?”

  “Definitely not. I once witnessed a mother smoking weed right in the presence of her baby.” Emily reached out and stroked her knuckle across Wyatt’s cheek. “A baby about the same age as Wyatt. Don’t you think someone like that is an unfit mother?”

  “Me?” Nash inclined his head. “I thought you were the expert. Yeah, I suppose anything that alters your capacity to react quickly would interfere with taking care of a kid.”

  “The courts usually award custody to mothers, but sometimes fathers make a better guardian.”