Operation Nanny

There was a long pause on the other end of the line. For a moment, he thought she’d hung up on him, but then she said, “The truck’s still back there.”

“Has it gotten any closer?”

“No. It hasn’t turned off or fallen back, either.”

“Wacey?” Katie queried, looking up at him with troubled gray eyes.

“Yes, Katiebug.”

“Don’t worry her,” Lacey said quickly. “Kids can sense things.”

“I know.” He pasted a smile on his face until Katie’s expression cleared and she went back to playing with her blocks. He spoke calmly into the phone. “I know you don’t want to tell me where you’re going—”

“I’m meeting someone at the Vietnam memorial.”

He started to frown but froze his expression before Katie could pick up on his anxiety. “There’s no parking near the memorial.”

“I know. I’m going to park at my apartment in Arlington and take a cab into the city.” She released a soft sigh. “I thought it would be safe. There are always tourists at the memorial. A wide-open public place.”

“Maybe not in this weather. And you have to get there first.”

“I know. I should have thought it through more.” She sounded angry, but Jim knew it was self-directed. “I’m not used to being afraid of my shadow. I don’t want to get used to it.”

“Maybe you should call and reschedule whatever this meeting is.”

“I can’t. It might be something I need to know.”

Jim lowered his voice, even though Katie didn’t seem to be listening to him any longer. “About the bomb?”

“I don’t know. Maybe about the bomb. I got a message from one of my State Department contacts. Said he had some information I could use. I didn’t get the details, but I’ve dealt with this person before. He’s been reliable.”

“Was meeting at the war memorial his idea or yours?”

“His.”

“And you’re sure you can trust this guy?”

“I’m not sure about anything right now,” Lacey answered, her voice taut with frustration. “Sometimes I think my whole life has been turned upside down and I don’t know where to go or whom to trust.”

Anything he could say in answer to that lament would probably make her suspicious, he knew. So he fell silent a moment, waiting for her to speak.

Finally, she said, “I’m in Arlington now. I should be at my apartment in a couple of minutes.”

“Is your parking place outside or in a garage?”

“Private garage. Lots of security. I should be okay until I leave the garage.”

“You want me to hang up so you can call a cab?”

“No. I’m going to go up to my apartment. I need to grab a few things anyway. That’s why I left an hour early. I can call the cab from my landline. Listen, I’m at the garage entrance. I always lose cell coverage in the garage, so I’m going to hang up. I’ll call you back in five minutes, when I get to my apartment.”

“Be careful,” he said softly, smiling at Katie, who had looked up sharply at his words.

“Five minutes,” she said and ended the call.

“Five minutes, Katiebug. We can handle waiting five minutes, can’t we?”

Katie gazed back at him, her expression troubled.

He held out his hands, and she pushed to her feet and toddled into his arms. He hugged her close, breathing in the sweet baby smell of her, and settled his gaze on the mantel clock.

Five minutes.

* * *

THERE HAD BEEN a time when her apartment had been nothing short of a sanctuary. It was her home base, the place where the craziness of the world she traveled as part of her career couldn’t touch her. Here, she was just Lacey Miles, sister and aunt. Good neighbor and, when she could find time to socialize, a halfway decent friend and girlfriend.

Until the night Marianne and Toby had died.

Just a couple of days ago, she remembered, she’d wanted nothing more desperately than to come home to this condo and try to recapture that sense of safety and calm. But as she walked through the apartment, listening to the silence enveloping her, she felt as if she’d walked into a strange world she’d never seen before.

Furniture she’d spent weeks shopping for looked alien to her, possessions that belonged to a different person from a different time. The vibrant abstract painting on the wall she’d found in a little art studio a few blocks away seemed lifeless, stripped of its beauty and meaning.

She pushed the thought aside and headed to her bedroom. When she’d moved into the farmhouse, it had been an impulsive choice. An attempt at escaping reality, if she was brutally honest with herself. The apartment was a vivid reminder of that night, of the phone call and the police visit that had shattered her life. She’d packed in haste, almost frantic to get out of this place, away from those memories. The farmhouse was a connection to her sister, but one without any memories to haunt her. She’d never even been there. Marianne and Toby had still been living in the city when the bombing happened. The farmhouse had still been a project, not a home.

Surveying the contents of her closet, she looked past the sleek, vividly colored dresses she wore on air. They had no place in her life at the moment. Pushing them to one side, she selected several sweaters and coats, the fleece-lined outerwear that she’d need, since the weather forecasters were predicting a snowy late winter. Rolling them up, she packed them in a medium-sized suitcase and set the bag by the front door so she wouldn’t forget it.

She picked up the phone sitting on an antique cherry table by the door and called for a cab. A car would be there in ten minutes, the cab company promised. It would make her a few minutes late for her meeting with Ken Calvert, she realized, but it couldn’t be helped. Meanwhile, it gave her time to pack the bag in her car for the trip home.

She was halfway down to the garage when she realized she hadn’t called the nanny back.

Jim Mercer answered on the first ring, his voice tight with tension. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” she said quickly, surprised by his tone.

“You were in the garage a long time. Longer than five minutes.”

“I got busy. I packed a few things I’m going to need at the farm and I had to call a cab.” She felt guilty, which was ridiculous. The man was her nanny, not her keeper. Why did she feel the need to explain herself to him? “I think you may be right. That truck was probably just headed to town like I was.”

“I’d still feel better if you stayed on the phone until you reach the memorial.”

“I’d feel better if you were concentrating on Katie.”

“She’s right here,” Jim said. “We ate while we were waiting for your call. Now she’s half-asleep in her high chair.”

“Did she make a mess with her food?”

“No more than the average two-year-old. I’ll clean her up before I put her to bed.”