Special Agent Nanny. Linda O. Johnston
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flab.
“You’re welcome,” his deep voice rumbled. “Can I speak to you about Jenny’s behavior this morning?”
Kelley’s gut clenched. “What happened?”
He shook his head quickly. “Nothing bad. I just want to talk about how she was when you left her. I’ll get another attendant to keep an eye on the kids. Can we go get a cup of coffee in the cafeteria?”
Kelley blinked. Was he just looking for an excuse to get away from the kids? If so, why was he here?
Or was he hitting on her? That idea almost made her smile. Her miserable relationship with Randall, and their subsequent divorce, had taught her that what men thought of her was irrelevant. But to have one as handsome and as kind to kids as Shawn seem interested…? Well, that felt awfully good.
But inappropriate. He was on the hospital staff. She had enough problems these days. She didn’t need another.
Besides, she’d probably misread his simple invitation. Despite his apparent unease, he must like kids or he wouldn’t have taken this job. He’d be concerned about any child in his charge. He undoubtedly just wanted to discuss her troubled daughter.
They had an appointment with Jenny’s counselor that evening. And Kelley knew all about the problem with Jenny’s behavior when Kelley left her at KidClub—all the more reason to speak with Jenny’s therapist.
“Maybe another time,” she said. “Time to go, Jenny.”
THAT NIGHT, SHAWN lost count of the sit-ups he did on the worn gray carpet in the shabbily furnished apartment he’d leased near the hospital for the duration of his assignment.
When he was exhausted, he dragged his aching body up and forced it onto the tattered green sofa. The place smelled of cleaning products, but they failed to mask that the previous tenant had been a heavy smoker.
Shawn unbuttoned his shirt, feeling slightly strange without the shoulder and ankle holsters he wore on his other ICU assignments. Working with kids meant carrying no firearms, which was okay. Likely, the only danger he might face on this mission was the arsonist lighting up again. Improbable, given the suspected motive. Hospital records could only burn once.
He picked up the cool soft drink can he had left on the end table. As he took a swig of cold, sweet cola, he wished it was a beer.
“Well, damn,” he said to the stark white walls. The television news was on mute. He let the blessed quiet and sense of solitude wash over him, a relief after being surrounded by screaming tots for what seemed forever. He liked it quiet. He liked to be alone.
Oh, the day had gone well enough. Though he was still sweating his cover—dealing with a bunch of rowdy preschoolers—he’d found a method that at least calmed them. Sort of. For a few minutes at a time, though unfortunately not all at once.
After learning to work with stubborn and skittish horses at the Royal Flush, and to use them for herding a few head of cattle at a time, he’d thought he had already gone beyond the call of duty to establish his cover.
Now this.
But damned if the kids didn’t like to draw cartoons. The talent he had thought he’d tucked away forever had come to his rescue again. And the kids were so cute and earnest about it that they’d unexpectedly made him smile.
Other than his short conversation with Louis Paxler, he’d hardly accomplished anything that day to further his investigation. Of course, he had to establish himself and his cover. Only then could he gain people’s confidence, get them to answer questions without suspecting why he was there.
But Shawn’s strong suit was not patience.
And it bothered him more than he wanted to admit that Kelley had turned him down when he’d invited her for coffee.
He’d known rejection. Hell, it had been part of his life, but he’d gotten over it. Still, figuring out Dr. Kelley Stanton and her relationship to the flu and the fire was his mission. That meant he needed to spend time with the lovely physician. Not exactly a hardship—though her presence had already caused part of his anatomy to grow hard.
He laughed derisively at himself. Shaking his head, Shawn reached for the phone on the end table beside the couch. He had to report in.
But before he lifted the receiver, the phone rang.
“Jameson,” he answered.
“You were supposed to call,” said Colleen Wellesley without preamble.
“I was just about to.” He put the soft drink can on the table and leaned forward, alert, ready to talk.
“Right. So how did it go? Did you learn anything?”
Shawn responded in a tone reminiscent of the kids’ chanting. “I didn’t blow my cover yet but didn’t learn much, either. Except for where the potty is.”
“Don’t get smart.”
“Who, me? I take it you’re still at the ranch.”
“Right, though I’ll be at the Denver office later in the week. Tell me about your day.”
He pictured his solemn, serious lady-boss pacing and holding a cordless phone to her cheek beneath the curve of her chin-length brown hair. She had to be in her bedroom or one of the secure rooms in the basement to be talking like this, for she wouldn’t want the foreman, Dex, or the Castillos to overhear.
“Okay, C., it’s like this,” he said. “I talked with the administrator, Paxler, and got a rundown of who’s who and what’s what, at least in his opinion.”
“So he’s still cooperating? Good, but is he helpful?”
“Yeah, a little too helpful—like he’s covering his butt and the hospital’s insurance by pointing fingers where he can.”
“Well, you’ll have to sort out what’s true and what’s butt-protecting. Is that all?”
“No. I’ve met Dr. Kelley Stanton and established a rapport of sorts with her daughter, so—”
“Really?” Colleen sounded incredulous.
“Why did you create this cover if you thought I couldn’t handle it?”
“Did I say that? I just expected it to take you longer to settle in. You’ll have to tell me all about your experience one of these days.”
“Right.” He would definitely not tell her how rattled he remained around a bunch of screaming munchkins. “Anyhow, now that I know the layout and have met some of the cast of characters, I’ve been working on a game plan. I should have more to report next time.”
“Fine, but don’t push so hard that you blow your cover. We need answers fast. Real fast. But we won’t get them if we have to start over.”
“Don’t worry,” he said firmly. “I’m in.”
AS USUAL, KELLEY hesitated the next morning at the entry to KidClub. Jenny was holding her hand tightly. Her thumb was in her mouth.
Inhaling deeply to steel herself for the scene to come, Kelley pushed open the door.
Shawn Jameson, tall and broad-shouldered, looking as confident as if he had always worked there, stood to the right of the entry. Maybe he just appeared confident because he was engrossed in conversation with Marge Ralston, who was obviously hanging on his every word.
A group of kids sat on floor mats in a far corner of the room. A TV on a stand had been wheeled in, and they were watching a public television children’s show.
At Kelley’s side, Jenny hesitated. Kelley felt her daughter’s grip tighten.
Shawn turned away from Marge and looked straight at Kelley as if he had been expecting her.
Which of course he was, as he expected all the kids’ parents. He wasn’t anticipating