settled his head against her thigh so Annie moved her hand up to rub his head. The books had been very emphatic about young kids needing constant affection and praise. She rubbed harder.
The older woman spread her hands. “I can’t believe I gotta clean this up. I just got through cleanin’ all the johns this morning. Jesus.”
“Good to know the bathroom is clean. Come on, Spencer. Let’s let this nice lady do her job.”
The manager stared hard at Annie, making her glad she had combat training. If looks could kill—well, Annie would be on the floor forcing another cleanup on the paper-product-and-automotive aisle.
Spencer allowed himself to be tugged toward the neon bathroom sign in the back of the store, only putting the brakes on when he saw the candy aisle. “Hey, Annie, can I have—”
“Don’t even think about it, bud,” she interrupted, toeing the bathroom door open with her foot. She’d made a mistake at the airport giving in to the milk. She wasn’t stupid. Spencer wouldn’t see candy until he was returned to his mother.
“But I want candy!”
“Too bad.” Annie shoved him into the dark bathroom and flipped on the light. Yep, the bathroom was clean. Sorta.
“You have to give it to me. I’ve been good. You said if I was good on the airplane I could have a prize. I want a candy bar.”
No more relying on advice from a book. She went on instinct. “No. You puked all over the floor, and now that lady has to clean it up. The last thing you need is candy.”
He stuck out his bottom lip.
“Wash your hands,” Annie said, in the voice she’d used on suspects she apprehended.
Spencer didn’t move.
“My way or the highway, bud.” She flicked the faucet handle so water gushed into the sink and glanced in the mirror as Spencer finally got the message and shoved his hands under the flow.
Lord, she looked terrible.
Her normally tamed hair had slipped from its clip and frizzed around her face. Usually her olive skin glowed, but today it looked mottled. Her gray eyes looked tired. Confused. Resigned to a crappy life she had never intended.
Oh, she knew how she’d gotten back to square one. She’d dared to hope for a normal life back in her home state of California, throwing away a perfectly good career for a man, his daughter and a shot at being happy homemaker—all because she watched It’s a Wonderful Life and decided she needed a do over.
She’d been beyond naive. Okay, bordering on stupid.
So now she worked on a trial basis for Sterling Security and Investigations, LLC, as an undercover nanny. God, it sounded like a movie starring Sandra Bullock. No, she’d been a beauty queen or something. Still, having her first assignment encompass planning playdates and scrubbing mushy graham crackers off her T-shirt wasn’t what she had in mind when she told former FBI agent Ace Sterling she’d take the job. Typing reports for the firm would be better than being stuck in BF, Louisiana, with a conniving, adorable five-year-old and his celebrity parents.
“I’m done,” Spencer said, holding out his dripping hands.
Annie grabbed a paper towel. “Good job. Always wash your hands. Germs can make you sick.”
“And chocolate milk,” Spencer observed gravely.
“Yes, and chocolate milk.”
They exited the bathroom, passing the unhappy manager, and walked out into the oppressive heat. First day of fall, her ass. Felt more like a mid-August heat wave. No wonder her hair looked like it belonged in a Twisted Sister video. But, really, why did she care? She had never worried about her hair, her makeup or wearing kicky little kitten heels. Annie was a professional. Hair got in the way. Makeup wasn’t necessary. And she’d be damned if she ever wore anything on her feet like Tawny Keene did. Spencer’s mother was asking for a broken ankle.
She pressed the button on the key fob, unlocking the doors of the rental car sitting by the pump. Spencer wriggled into the booster seat in the back and grabbed his iPod touch. Annie made sure the seat belt was snug and then swiped the credit card issued by the Keene family and filled the car.
Even though they were only thirty minutes from their destination, Annie knew a full tank of gas was always a good idea. Be prepared. First as a security officer in the Air Force and later as a field agent in the FBI, Annie had taken pride in expecting the unexpected. She had never been without extra ammunition, money, false IDs or any other necessities an agent might need.
She glanced around, taking stock of her surroundings. No one had followed them from Baton Rouge. Whoever had been sending threatening messages to the Keene family was likely back in California, but she couldn’t be too careful. Her job was to protect Spencer while helping to investigate the threats. That’s what she was getting the not-so-big bucks for.
Annie set the gas handle in its cradle and screwed the lid on the tank. She had to stop beating herself up. She’d gotten herself into this situation and she’d have to make lemonade from the lemons. She could always toss in some vodka to make it less painful.
But not on the job. Never on the job.
She slid behind the wheel and started the engine, determined to have a better outlook—after all, she’d avoided vomit on her new shoes, hadn’t she?
Just as she pulled forward a government car swung in front of her. She held one hand over the horn, but pulled it back as the car slid into a parking spot in front of the gas station/deli. The door opened and one long leg emerged followed by its owner.
The man wasn’t in uniform, but Annie knew automatically he was a cop. Or a detective, more likely. Something about him had that aura. Smart. Disciplined. Sexy.
She shook her head at the last thought and inched forward, wondering if the heat had gotten to her.
The man turned toward her, giving her a nice view of a strong jaw, dark hair and crooked nose. The nose, whether acquired in a bar fight or merely a hazard of the job, made him more interesting. He worked out, that was certain. His chest was broad, but he looked quick enough. He must have felt her perusal because he zeroed in on her as the car swooped by him.
She saw the antenna raise and bleep in his mind. Awareness of something different. Rental car. Note license plate. File away in recesses of mind for later use if necessary. It was exactly what she’d have done.
Spencer started humming as she pulled onto the highway, glancing at the GPS affixed to the windshield. Twenty-two more miles until the turnoff for Beau Soleil, the plantation home where Carter and Tawny Keene waited for them. The mansion served as a backdrop for the movie Carter was directing, some mystery or horror movie starring Spencer’s mother as the dumb blonde who ironically doesn’t get axed in the opening. Or something like that. Annie hadn’t paid too much attention—horror films didn’t interest her. She liked period pieces, so maybe the old house would be interesting. She would be staying there with the Keene family while the rest of the cast and crew stayed at a local motel.
The drive to Bayou Bridge, the town nearest the plantation home, was uneventful. Tangled woods with palmetto lurking beneath branches lined the highway with the occasional pasture interrupting. Then there
