I’ll regret later. “Excuse me, Dad.”
She clicked him to silence and shook her fist at the cell phone. Her lips pinched together in a tight knot. Then she exhaled in a whoosh, blowing through her pursed lips like air coming out of a balloon.
She whirled around and looked at Mason. “My dad is treating me like I’m five years old. He’s ticked off about what happened on the seventh floor.”
“Did Prescott call him?”
“It was his assistant, Josh Laurent. You’ve probably met him. Long, pointy nose. Beady eyes. Stooped shoulders. He looks like a woodpecker.”
“Yeah.” Mason wiped the smile off his face. “We’ve met.”
“Good old Josh didn’t do a very good job of telling my dad what happened.” She stopped beside a tiny desk with carved legs and a brass spittoon to one side. “He made that stupid ambush sound terrible and dangerous.”
“It was dangerous. Those were real bullets. The blood on your arm? That was real, too.”
“Really real,” she muttered under her breath.
“What?”
“There’s real life, which is what life is supposed to be. And really real life, which is how it actually is. Okay, for example, I’m a nanny in real life. In really real, I’m also an assistant, a nurse, a secretary and a teacher.”
“In these real and extra real worlds of yours, where do you put the bullets?”
“Whose side are you on?”
“Yours,” he said without hesitation. “But if you were my daughter, I’d be worried about you.”
Men! They were all alike, thinking that women were helpless creatures who couldn’t survive without one of them standing at her side and flexing his biceps. She was an adult. Not daddy’s baby girl. Lexie could take care of herself.
She hadn’t always been so independent and strong. When she came home from the hospital after her accident, she’d had serious nerve damage. Some docs had predicted that she’d never walk again. Her internal injuries had resulted in life-altering surgeries. She was scared, so deeply scared that she’d prayed to go to sleep and never wake up. It had seemed that life was too much to handle.
That was when her father stepped up and faced the challenge. Whether she needed him or not, he was there. Day and night, he watched over her and nursed her back to health. His gentle manner kept her spirits up. His firm encouragement reinforced her progress in physical therapy, where she literally started with baby steps.
After four weeks of recovery, when she’d been able to walk with crutches, she found out that he’d retired so he could take the time to be with her. Though he’d put in enough years with the military to qualify for a very nice pension and had plans for his retirement, she felt guilty about taking him away from a career he loved. The very last thing she wanted was to be a burden to her family.
She looked into Mason’s steady blue eyes. “Why do you think my dad should worry about me?”
“Because he loves you.”
Her tears sloshed and threatened to spill over her lower eyelids. Though the male of the species could be overbearing and pushy and demanding, they could also be achy-breaky sweet. All that blustering and flexing was the way they showed that they cared.
Once again, she was stabbed in the gut by guilt. She didn’t want to upset her dad. “In your professional opinion, do you think it’s dangerous for me to stay with the Prescott family?”
“I can only assess one situation at a time. Right now I’m pretty sure that everybody’s safe. Do you want me to talk to your father?”
“Not a good idea. Right at the moment, he doesn’t think much of your abilities, even though I mentioned that you saved my life. And I explained how I ignored your advice to ride up on the elevator by myself.”
He pointed to the phone. “You can’t keep him on hold forever.”
“I’m going back to my original plan.” She tapped on the cell phone screen. “Dad, I’m going to have you talk to Admiral Prescott. He can explain why it won’t be dangerous.”
“I’ll be waiting for that call.”
She rolled her eyes at the phone. “I know you will.”
* * *
PRESCOTT EMERGED FROM the banquet hall in full sail, leaving cheers and applause in his wake. There wasn’t time for Lexie to ask him to talk to her father or to do anything else. With long determined strides, the admiral charged down the hall toward the conference room with the animal heads on the walls.
Before entering, he paused and straightened his necktie. “Be ready to move, Mason. I intend to get out of here ASAP.”
“I understand,” Mason said.
“Do you?” Prescott lifted an eyebrow.
“I’m not a police officer, but I’m sure there hasn’t been enough time for thorough questioning and investigation. Since you made the decision to stay at the hotel tonight, it seems wise to wait until morning, when you have enough information to know what needs to be done.”
“My thoughts exactly.”
Lexie felt like cheering. Mason’s rational assessment made the crazy situation seem manageable. Not like her father, who was probably out by the barn shooting tin cans off the fence.
Mason said, “Lexie has something she needs to talk to you about.”
“Of course.” He pivoted to face her, held her at arm’s length and peered into her eyes. “How are you holding up?”
“Good.” She gave him what she hoped was a confident smile. “The problem is my dad.”
“Danny-boy DeMille? He’s a problem solver, not the other way around.” He dropped his arms and raised his eyebrows. “Is he worried about you?”
“He’s overreacting, right? I’m better equipped than most people to take care of myself. I’m good with a gun and an expert in karate and other martial arts.”
“Sorry, kiddo, logic doesn’t apply when it comes to family.” He rubbed his chin. “On the off chance we might have some clear intel that your dad would want to hear, I want you to come into this meeting with me and Mason. After that, I’ll make the call.”
“Thank you.”
“This is as much for my benefit as yours. I don’t want to lose you as the kids’ nanny.”
The compliment was nice to hear. She followed Prescott inside and took a seat near the end of the table beside Josh. What a jerk he was! She felt like punching him but held back. Instead, she smiled and nodded to several of the people at the table whom she’d met before when they visited the Prescotts’ home in Aspen.
Sitting to the admiral’s left was Hank Grossman—a slouchy, sloppy, middle-aged man with
