Nanny 911 (11 page)

“Good.”

“Petwa?” Fiona reached for her doll in the messy chair.

In a surprising maneuver of multitasking efficiency, Quinn dabbed at the doll’s face, then handed the doll to Fiona before giving Miranda the rag and some advice. “Fiona’s a little girl. She doesn’t eat all that much at a sitting. Try smaller portions and snacks throughout the day rather than three big meals. When she starts playing with her food, that’s usually a sign that she’s done.”

“Thanks.” So maybe a little bit of Dr. Jekyll had shown up this morning, after all. “I’ll remember that.”

“She can be taught.”

Was that a joke? Even if it was at her expense, it was worth a smile. “Don’t worry about the mess,” she promised. “I’ll clean up.”

“Make sure you dress her warmly today. I’d like her to get some fresh air.”

A brief moment of panic set in the moment he turned away. “What kind of games does she play outside?”

Quinn’s eyes narrowed in that quizzical expression. “There’s a foot of snow on the ground. What would
you
play?”

“Okay. I can do that.” She breathed a little easier. Building snowmen and forts wouldn’t be nearly as hard as figuring out the nighttime routine had been.

Cereal crunched beneath Quinn’s shoe as he went back to the counter for his gloves and pulled his keys from his pocket. “Make sure you grab a radio from the command center and let them know when you go out and come back in. You’ve got a key card and understand the security codes?”

“Yes, sir.” She patted the rear pocket of her jeans.

She wondered if Quinn’s gaze had lingered an extra moment on the spot where she’d patted her hand. He adjusted the corner of his glasses, masking the exact angle of his eyes. “I should be home early this afternoon unless there’s an issue with the simulation. And there won’t be. I have to prove it works by noon.”

That was a sobering reminder of the real reason she was here. “What happens if you can’t do everything this guy asks?”

Quinn looked down at Fiona, who’d kicked off a slipper and was now picking up cereal with her toes. He bent over to kiss the crown of his daughter’s hair. “I’m not giving him the chance to find out.”

M
IRANDA WAS FEELING LIKE
a little girl herself as she ducked down behind the wall of the snow fort she and Fiona had built. It was an easy game of hide-and-seek, where they hid in the same place every time, and finding each other was all about the squeals of laughter and loud
Aha!
s of discovering a new friend.

Fiona’s laughter was like a tonic to Miranda’s doubting soul. In that little girl’s eyes, the lopsided snowman and leaning fort wall were works of art. Conversations were simple and didn’t always include words the other one understood, but there was real communication taking place. And despite the ever-present Petra and girly garb of pink on pink, from the topknot of her stocking cap to the toes of her tiny insulated boots, there were definite signs of a fellow tomboy lurking inside Fiona Gallagher.

Miranda held her breath as she heard the pink boots crunching in the snow and the breathy exertion of her companion scrambling over the top of the wall. She hunkered down in the icy snow, knowing there was no place for Fiona to land but on top of her.

“Aha! Found you.”

Miranda rolled over, catching Fiona in her lap and laughing with her. “You found me. Yay!”

Obeying an unexpected impulse, Miranda hugged Fiona tight and kissed her cold, rosy cheek. When Fiona yanked her doll up between them, Miranda gladly kissed Petra’s damp face, too.

It was so easy to fall in love with Fiona’s sweet laugh and beautiful spirit, and Miranda was well on her way there. Her time outside with Quinn’s daughter this morning was the best celebration of the winter holidays Miranda had enjoyed in a long time. She was relaxed, having fun, in delightful company.

But she wasn’t about to forget her responsibilities. She pulled back the cuff of her coat to check the time. They’d been outside for almost an hour now. And though she’d bundled up Fiona in enough layers to resemble a small blimp in her snowsuit, she wasn’t going to risk the chance of her getting chilled. Besides, Miranda’s own stomach was beginning to grumble for a bite of lunch.

Using a newly acquired skill to encourage Fiona’s cooperation, Miranda peeled off her glove to check the doll’s muslin cheeks. “I think Petra’s getting cold. Should we get her inside for some hot soup?”

Fiona mimicked the same touch with her pink mittens on the doll’s face and agreed. “Petwa’s cold.”

“Okay. Let’s go in.” Miranda put her glove back on and dusted the snow from her jeans as she stood. Then she dusted the snow off Fiona’s suit while Fiona brushed the snow off her doll.

A flash of light in the corner of her eye stopped Miranda from taking Fiona’s hand. She turned her head, wondering what she’d seen. Scanning the wide expanse of the Gallagher acreage, though, she saw nothing but the creek, the tall white wall covered in ivy, the tops of the trees beyond and lots of undisturbed snow between them and the front gate. “Hmm.”

Must have been the sun glinting off the snow, or the reflection from a windshield of a car along the street on the other side of the wall. She waited several seconds, spotting nothing unusual. And when she felt the grasp of Fiona’s hand tugging at her fingers, she turned toward the house and headed for the mud room entrance off the kitchen.

Until she saw it again. Reflected in the glass of the outer storm door. Another flash of light.

Miranda spun around, pinpointing some kind of movement in the distance. She picked Fiona up in her arms and jutted out her right hip to carry her toward the house while she pulled the walkie-talkie David Damiani’s men had assigned to her out of her pocket.

She was moving quickly across the snow toward the cleared sidewalk. She was hanging on to Fiona with one arm now, and the little girl was struggling to climb down. Miranda hitched her up against her side again and pressed the call button. “Holmes? You there? This is Officer Murdock.”

The man stationed at the monitors in the command center this morning answered. “I’m here, Murdock. What’s up?”

The radio communication amongst Damiani’s crew wasn’t as precise and polished as what Captain Cutler had drilled into her, but it was functional enough to serve its purpose. “I just saw a light, or reflection of one, on top of the north wall, west of the gate. I swear it looked like a camera flash. Or someone sending signals with a mirror.” Fiona was squirming again. “I need you to sit tight, sweetie.” The words meant nothing to the three-year-old and she squiggled free. “Fiona.”

Where was she going?

Fiona waddled back to the fort and Miranda changed course to hurry after her.

“West of the gate, you said?” Holmes asked. Although she’d met the dark-haired man Christmas Day passed out in the car with another guard and the bloody doll, they really hadn’t had a chance to get acquainted beyond basic introductions. Maybe the guy was hard of hearing.

“Yes. Approximately thirty yards. Can’t tell if it’s from the top of the wall or in one of the trees on the other side.” Something up there was definitely moving. And then the light flashed again. Son of a gun. Some perp was spying on them. Oh, for a pair of binoculars right about now. “I just saw it again. You want me to investigate?”

“I’ll have Rowley walk the perimeter and check it out.”

“Tell him to get there fast. This guy’s on the move. Murdock out.” Fiona was back at the fort, climbing over the wall again. “Fiona. Come here!”

“Petwa find me.”

“No.” It was time for the game to stop. “You need to listen to me.”

Fiona dived into the snow just as Miranda reached for her.

Just as a man stood up on top of the wall fifty yards away.

Miranda’s internal alarm kicked into overdrive. She glanced down at Fiona, half-buried in the snow. She glanced up at the man who was bundled up enough from head to toe to make it impossible to get a read on his face at this distance. Ah, hell. Was he climbing down inside the property?

Giving one more look to assure herself that Fiona was hidden from sight behind the wall of the fort, Miranda followed the urgency to meet the threat head-on that sparked through every nerve ending. “You stay here with Petra, sweetie. You hide and I’ll come find you.”

The man was scrambling to cling to the top of the bricks now. He must have slipped in the snow on top and was desperately trying to find a toehold and pull himself back up. But what was he doing here in the first place?

Miranda reached beneath her coat and pulled her gun. She clasped it firmly between her hands, barrel pointed down as she ran through the snow to the driveway. She crossed the creek and stopped at the last pylon of the bridge over it, raising her gun with a steady aim and raising her voice. “KCPD! You’re trespassing on private property! Put your hands up and identify yourself.”

With a heave that was all muscle, the man swung a leg up on top of the wall and pulled himself over. But something he was wearing caught in the ivy vines and pulled him off balance. He swore, a low, muffled sound.

“KCPD!” she shouted again. She fished the walkie-talkie out of her pocket and hit the call button. “Holmes! He’s getting away! Holmes! Rowley! Is anybody out front? Somebody talk to me.”

Miranda sprang to her feet as he jerked free and dropped down on the opposite side of the wall. The thing around his neck—the camera, maybe?—hit the bricks and tumbled down through the ivy on the wall. The instinct to pursue jolted through her legs, but he was already out of sight. She pointed her gun up above the treetops and fired a warning shot. “KCPD! Stop!”

As soon as the loud pop of her gun rent the air, a high-pitched squeal sounded behind her. Miranda lowered her weapon and turned as Fiona, startled by the loud noise, burst into tears.

“Oh, sweetie.” Miranda tucked her gun in the back of her jeans. “Oh, no.” What had she done? She squatted down and reached for the girl. “Don’t. Don’t do that.” She scooped her up in a tight hug and the girl wrapped her arms around Miranda’s neck and bawled into her ear. “What are you doing here, sweetie? I thought you were hiding.”

Now
she was tired of playing the game?

She stood with Fiona in her arms, cradling her head against her neck and rocking her from side to side. “That was a gun, sweetie. See why you should never play with one? It’s loud and scary and it could hurt you.” Fiona squealed again and clung even tighter. Miranda didn’t understand. “Do you think I’m hurt? I’m not hurt.” Then she turned her face away from the girl and shouted her frustration. “Somebody talk to me!”

“Who fired that shot?” Holmes’s voice buzzed over the walkie-talkie. “Do I need to lock it down?”

“What?” There was a loud thunk of metal on metal at the front gate, followed by smooth whirring noises, like the pulsing chirp of a million grasshoppers, from the entrance to the estate and the house behind her. “No!” They were engaging the reinforced steel gate while steel shutters were coming down over every door and window of the house. “Fiona will be stranded out here in the open. Stop what you’re doing and go after that guy!”

Over a second thunk and the whirring noises of the steel barriers disengaging, Miranda heard the snapping of twigs, a thump and a curse in the distance. And then she heard the distinctive sound of a door slamming and a car speeding away.

“I missed him.” Finally, Rowley reported in, after a punch of static from the walkie-talkie in her pocket. “The guy fell about halfway down the wall. He’s hurt, but I couldn’t catch him. The car came up out of nowhere.”

Miranda stepped into the snow on the far side of the creek and headed for the ivy wall as she pulled out the walkie-talkie. “Did you get a plate number?”

“A partial. He was already in the car by the time I reached him. He’s long gone now.” Fiona seemed to like the bumpy trip of being carried across the deep, undisturbed snow. Her cries had quieted to whimpers and sniffles, although her hold on Miranda’s neck was as snug as ever. “It’s not the same car you saw,” Rowley added. “It’s another black Beemer, but the first digits on the license I saw were different.”

Miranda was blind to events from this side of the wall, and she wasn’t sure she trusted the report. She would have given chase, shot out a tire, scaled that wall, if she didn’t have Fiona with her. Just what kind of incompetents did Quinn have working for him here? They’d gotten drugged. They let a suspect escape. They’d nearly locked her and Fiona out of the house. At least he’d gotten the make of the car and a partial plate.

She was at the wall now. She paused for a moment to wipe away the tears freezing on Fiona’s cheeks, and smiled. “Can I set you down now?”

Fiona shook her head and thrust herself against Miranda’s chest.

Miranda hugged her, stroked her back…and got an idea.

“Do you want to help me?” she asked. She made it sound like the adventure of a lifetime. “I need you to climb the wall.”

Boom. Just like that, the whimpers stopped and Fiona leaned back.

“That’s my girl.” Miranda pointed to the camera hanging in the torn ivy, just above her reach. “Can you get that for me?”

With an enthusiastic nod, Fiona let Miranda turn her in her arms and lift her onto her shoulders. Then she leaned against the cushion of ivy and pushed Fiona up. “Can you reach it?”

Like the closet monkey she was, Fiona braced one hand against the wall and grabbed the camera. When she tugged it loose, it crashed into the snow and popped open.

In spite of her tear-chapped cheeks, Fiona was all smiles when Miranda set her down. “I climb,” she said proudly.

Squatting down, Miranda hugged her to her side. “You sure did, sweetie. You did a good job.”

Miranda dug the broken camera out of the snow. It was an older model, one that made instant snapshots. She pulled out the last photo that had gotten stuck in the mechanism and shook the snow off it. Moisture dotted and smeared the image, but the subject was clear—it was a picture of her and Fiona playing in the snow.

The guy must have been watching them for at least twenty minutes. And the guard at the gate hadn’t noticed him?