Waters Run Deep

“Lucille.”

She frowned. “What?”

“The housekeeper’s name is Lucille.” He realized that had nothing to do with the task at hand. “What about personal security? Does Keene have it?”

“His name is Brick, but he was with Carter on set. He’s out there searching now,” she said, with the slight lift of her shoulder. Any other time and he would have thought it sexy, but not in the middle of a crisis. Or that’s what he told himself.

“Where do you think the child is?”

“If I knew, you wouldn’t be here.”

Okay, it had been a dumb question. “Best guess?”

“I don’t know. We had a long flight from L.A., and he could have gotten up to look for me or Tawny and fallen back asleep somewhere. He’s done that before, but if he dozed off elsewhere, it’s somewhere very strange.” She averted her eyes and he knew there was something she wasn’t saying. Something darker and more worrisome.

She started walking toward the door of the house. She didn’t invite him to follow. He followed anyway. She turned around. “You may want to talk to Mr. Keene. He’s in the kitchen on the phone with the FBI.”

“FBI?” Nate stepped inside the house. “The child has been missing for all of thirty minutes, why would Keene call the feds?”

“That’s not my place to say.”

“Humor me. There’s a child missing.”

He saw reason overcome duty. “Fine. The family has been receiving threats for the last several months, directed at Spencer.”

He studied her in the gloom of the entryway. Alert, no-nonsense and levelheaded, this woman seemed once again something more than what her job title hinted. “You sure you’re just the nanny?”

A flicker of something appeared in those quicksilver eyes. “What do you expect? A bodyguard? The Keenes have one of those.”

Her words didn’t drip with sarcasm, but it was there. She seemed offended he didn’t trust her. “Sorry. You don’t talk like a nanny and with the threats, other precautions might have been taken.”

Another lift of her shoulder. Again, kind of sexy. “Look, I’m just a former real-estate agent. The housing market sucks, and I needed a job. Besides, the only threats have been letters and, maybe, a rock through the production office’s window. Nothing to necessitate locking down the kid. The FBI is looking into it as a courtesy to Mr. Keene since he consults with them on his films. My job is to keep the kid with me when he’s not with his parents…something even a former real-estate agent can manage.”

He couldn’t stop his lips from twitching. He liked her prickly and smart-assed. Suited her. And made those mysterious gray eyes crackle. “Okay, I get the picture. So why aren’t you as concerned as everyone else?”

“Who says I’m not?” she challenged, lifting her chin. Her skin was smooth and golden, her cheeks broad and high. Her hair frizzed around her face, making her hard edges a bit softer. She was altogether an intriguing woman. “Do I have to run about like a chicken missing its head in order to be worried?”

“No.” Yes. Every woman he knew reacted in that way. Were real-estate agents any different?

“So I don’t panic. Won’t help find Spencer. Oh, and by the way, I don’t know what was in the notes they received. Only what I heard from the staff. You’ll have to ask Mr. Keene.”

She’d anticipated his next question. Odd.

He stood a moment watching her as she pushed through the swinging kitchen door. Then he followed and found Carter Keene, careworn and sweat-soaked, holding the corded phone Nate’s mother insisted on keeping. He spoke intently to whoever was on the other end of the line. When he saw Nate, he cupped a hand over the mouthpiece. The cavernous kitchen felt oppressive with the man’s apprehension. Nate preferred Annie’s calm assurance or Tawny’s wailing melodrama over the desperation in Carter Keene’s eyes.

“Nate? Thanks for coming. You know about the threats against Spencer in California?”

Nate nodded. “Ms. Perez told me a little.”

The former star of Miami Metro, now turned director, looked at Annie. “Tell him what he needs to know. I’ll join you out back when I finish talking to Agent Burrell.”

Annie gave Carter a look, as if communicating something. Were they involved somehow? With Carter’s former reputation, it wouldn’t surprise him. Nannies had to be easy plucking, but this one didn’t seem the type to dally with the boss.

Yet after ten years in law enforcement, nothing truly surprised him.

The nanny motioned Nate through the back door and onto the bricked patio as if she were the hostess of Beau Soleil. As if she were the one in charge. He bristled. This was his damned house. Okay, not his, per se, but his family’s. Something about this woman both soothed and rankled.

“Look, I need to call for backup. Do you know if Keene has talked to Blaine Gentry about the situation?”

She shook her head and averted her gaze. “I don’t know who Blaine Gentry is.”

“The sheriff.”

“Oh,” she said, her eyes searching the property behind the house. “What’s out there?”

She pointed to the horizon toward where the land sloped off toward the Bayou Tete. She also ignored his question.

“The bayou.” He combed his hand through his hair, wicking the sweat from his forehead. “So is the sheriff aware of this threat situation? He’s hasn’t mentioned it to our department. And is there anything you can tell me about Spencer that might help me? A special toy? Activity? Perhaps he did something naughty and doesn’t want to be discovered?”

Annie’s eyes glazed into thoughtfulness, and he could almost see the cogwheels in her mind turning. A furrow crinkled her forehead. She blinked once. Then twice. “You know, I think I know where he might have gone.”

“Where?”

“To see the alligators.”

“Alligators? We don’t…” His voice trailed off as she turned, breaking into a jog as her feet hit the thick grass of the lawn. He snapped his mouth closed. “Hey, where are you going?”

“He wanted to see a real alligator. I told him we’d find one later, but he’s not good at waiting,” she called back.

Nate jogged after her. “Surely he wouldn’t wander off with no one seeing him? To the bayou? By himself?”

“You don’t know children well, do you?”

He didn’t answer. No, he didn’t know children at all. Why would he? But he didn’t think a child could make it down the stairs, through the kitchen and across the wide lawn without making noise or at least one person seeing him. It didn’t seem plausible.

The distance to the bayou was a good piece. Thanks to numerous hurricanes, fallen oaks lay uprooted, their grotesque limbs stretching toward a cloudless sky, blocking their progress to the river. Finally they reached the edge of the property. “To your left.”

She veered, spying the worn path leading down the embankment toward the river. Her footing was steady, though the path was steep. All the while her eyes methodically searched the silted bank below.

“Spencer!” she shouted, quickening her steps.

Nate pounded behind her, slipping often on the eroded bank, before catching his footing. He skidded to the bottom and saw the boy, standing near the water, kicking at an old tire that had lodged in some reeds. Nate held up at the bottom of the path, but Annie made a beeline for the boy.

Spencer turned his head and grinned. “Look what I found, Annie. A tire. We can make a swing like Tony made in the book.”

Annie scooped him up and gave him a tight squeeze.

“Ow! Stop it, Annie.” Spencer squirmed, kicking his legs.