Читать книгу Nanny Witness - Hope White - Страница 14

Carly Winslow leaned over the white crib and stroked baby Mia’s forehead.

“Such a good girl.” Carly hummed a soft tune. As Mia’s eyes drifted shut, the sound of a door slamming downstairs echoed through the baby monitor.

A moment later Mia’s mom, Susan Bremerton, announced herself. “Hi, Carly, I’m home.”

Carly grabbed the two-way device and said softly, “Hi, Mrs. B. Mia is taking a morning nap.”

“Okay, thanks,” Susan responded in a tone matching Carly’s so as not to wake the baby.

Mia had drifted off and was sound asleep. She’d been fighting a cold and Mrs. B. had directed Carly to give Mia medicine to keep her comfortable.

Carly smiled as she watched the seven-month-old enjoy a peaceful, deep sleep, her little eyelids fluttering as she probably dreamed about the colorful animals on the mobile above her crib.

Crossing the room to a rocking chair, Carly picked up her notebook to study for her nurse’s National Council licensure exam. She could go downstairs and make a cup of tea but decided against it. Carly had sensed tension lately in the home and she didn’t want to intrude in Mrs. B.’s personal space.

She tucked her legs beneath her and thanked God for this wonderful job caring for the sweet baby girl an hour outside Denver in Miner, Colorado. Carly thought it would be good experience, and the salary would help her pay off school loans.

Ever since Carly started as Mia’s nanny six months ago, she’d developed an attachment to the blond baby girl with the bright blue eyes. Even at a month old, Mia had a smile that lit up a room and warmed Carly’s heart.

A smile that also triggered regret. The child was so vulnerable, which reminded Carly of her own utter failure—she should have done more to protect her little sister.

“Practice self-forgiveness.” She whispered her aunt’s advice and grabbed her notebook with review questions for the exam. Yet even now, at twenty-seven, Carly was plagued by a decision she’d made at the tender age of thirteen.

The sound of a door slamming echoed up the stairs. A few seconds of silence passed.

“Susan!” Mr. B.’s voice echoed through the monitor.

What was he doing home this time of day?

“What were you thinking?” Mr. B. said.

“I thought you’d be proud of me.”

“Proud? About you destroying our lives?”

Uncomfortable that she was eavesdropping, Carly got up to turn down the monitor.

“What are you talking about?” Mrs. B. said. “It’s a worthy project.”

Loud pops cracked through the transmission.

Carly froze. It almost sounded like a car backfiring.

She stared at the white monitor for a second, wondering if the device was picking up sounds from another frequency. It had happened before.

“Harry!” Mrs. B. cried.

“Get down!”

Another pop echoed through the monitor. No, not a car backfiring. It sounded like...

Gunfire? That couldn’t be right, not in this remote mansion with a solid security system.

“Calm, be calm,” she coached herself.

Dashing across the room, Carly picked up Mia. There was no way she’d let any harm come to this child. Still asleep, Mia pressed her cheek against Carly’s shoulder.

“Call 9-1-1!” Mr. B. shouted.

“I can’t find my phone!”

“You can’t hide from us,” a male voice said.

Carly scanned the room. Should she take refuge in the closet? Then she’d be trapped if the shooter came upstairs.

The shooter. There was potentially a gunman in the house.

Her hands started to tremble. No, she was not that person. She’d given up fear and anxiety long ago, replacing it with faith and strength.

Strength she’d need to save Mia’s life.

Clutching the baby firmly against her shoulder, she grabbed the monitor to keep tabs on the intruder’s location and muted her side of the line. She cracked open the nursery door and slipped quietly into the hall.

“Harry!” Mrs. B.’s panicked voice cried.

Carly hurried into her room next door to Mia’s and locked the door. That wouldn’t stop a gunman, but it might slow him down long enough for Carly to escape onto her second-story porch and down the stairs to her car.

Carly felt an odd detachment to what was happening. Such detachment would make her a good nurse in a crisis, because she could distance herself and remain calm.

This situation wasn’t about offering aid in a crisis. There was a gunman in the house and she needed help.

She grabbed her phone out of the side pocket of her purse.

Hesitated. Childhood trauma flooded her chest.

She had no choice. She had to call the police.

“Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?”

“I am at 536 Black Hawk Drive,” Carly said. “Someone broke into the house and I heard gunfire.”

“Gunfire?”

“I’m the nanny and I’m upstairs with the baby. I can hear it through the monitor.”

“What is your name?”

“Carly—”

“Oh, no, you’re hurt!” Mrs. B.’s voice cried through the monitor.

“Did you hear that?” Carly said to the operator.

“Officers are on the way, Carly. Please stay on the line.”

Carly slipped the phone into the side pocket of her purse and flung it across her shoulder.

“Please, we have a baby,” Mrs. B.’s voice said through the monitor.

Carly grabbed the soft baby carrier off her dresser and opened the porch door.

A crash and scream echoed through the monitor.

Keep going. Don’t stop.

Carly crossed the small porch where she’d spend quiet nights reading and breathing in the crisp Colorado air. She glanced down at her car in the driveway. It was blocked by a black SUV. Time to come up with plan B.

As she descended the stairs, Carly eyed the forest in the distance. It was about a hundred yards away.

“Where is she?” a male voice shouted through the monitor.

“No,” Mrs. B. cried. “Not the baby.”

“Go get her.”

A shiver pricked Carly’s shoulders.

Carly placed the baby monitor on the stairs and pulled out her phone. “I’m taking the baby into the forest behind the house,” she told the emergency operator.

As she jogged across the property with Mia in her arms, she prayed to God that the criminals weren’t watching her from the picture windows spanning the back of the house.

“Such a good girl,” she whispered against Mia’s soft head of hair.

Closer. She was closing in on nature’s refuge, perfect camouflage from the intruders.

Another muffled shot echoed across the property. She guessed they had reached her bedroom door and shot the lock open. They’d check the closet first, maybe under her bed. She had minutes, perhaps seconds, before they noticed the door leading to her private porch.

Carly dashed into the forest, following her favorite trail, the one she used for reflection on her daily Bible reading.

She never thought she’d use this trail to flee death.

“Hey!” a voice shouted.

Ignore it, she coached herself. No reason to panic about what might happen next.

Then she realized she’d be easy to follow if she stayed on the trail, so she went rogue and ran deeper into the woods over juniper shrubs and sagebrush.

As she trudged farther into the mass of flora, she said a silent prayer.

Dear Lord, please help me protect this innocent child.

Another gunshot rang out, this one sounding like it was fired outside. Really? They thought shooting at her would convince her to stop running?

Adrenaline flooded her body. She ran faster, glancing over her shoulder only once. She broke through the mass of forest to a clearing.

And was looking below at a ten-foot drop to a riverbank. This was where she’d wait for help to arrive.

She laid Mia on the ground, adjusted the baby carrier around her own shoulders, picked up the child and strapped her in place across Carly’s chest. Carly would need both hands to lower herself and Mia safely to the riverbank.

A sharp burst of wind chilled her to the core. Casting one last glance toward the Bremerton property, and seeing no one, she planned her descent. She kneeled and looked for a safe way down. A few rocks protruded from the side of the drop-off. That’s where she’d plant her feet. Digging her fingers into the hard earth, she turned and got into position to lower herself.

The muted echo of sirens wailed in the far distance. Panic rushed through her, but she was no longer a child, no longer a part of that family. This time police might even help her.

If she could only remain invisible long enough for police to arrest the gunmen.

She lowered her right foot, still clinging to a rock at the edge of the cliff, her lifeline. Her foot steady on a rock below, she found another spot to hold on to, lowered her right hand and grabbed it.

Her foot slipped.

In what felt like slow motion, she fell, landing on the riverbank of rocks. Wind knocked from her lungs and she struggled to breathe, to think. Thoughts eluded her.

“Open your eyes,” a deep male voice said.

How...how had the gunman reached her so quickly? Had she knocked her head and fallen unconscious?

She couldn’t open her eyes, couldn’t bear to see a gun pointed at her.

At Mia.

“No,” she groaned.

“Let go of the baby.”

* * *

Brody “Whit” Whittaker kneeled on the rocky shore next to the blond woman and child. He’d pulled up to his half brother’s house and heard gunshots crack across the property.

What had Harry gotten himself into?

Whit covertly made his way onto the property and saw a young woman take off into the woods carrying a child, with a gunman trailing her. Whit followed them, hoping to protect the woman and child from the assailant.

“Ma’am, can you hear me?” Whit studied the fair-skinned, twentysomething woman, who clung to the child. Harry’s child, Whit’s half niece.

A child Whit hadn’t met because of the complications of family.

“Ma’am—”

She gasp-coughed. “Don’t touch her.”

Although he heard a siren wailing in the distance, he knew it would take a few minutes before they arrived on the scene.

A lot could happen in a few minutes.

It sounded like the perps had already done some major damage, breaking into the house and potentially shooting his half brother and wife.

Whit had to shelve his panic over losing his brother and focus on protecting the baby and the woman clinging to her. Whit assumed she was the nanny, an innocent caught up in a mess. A mess of Harry’s own making?

As a young man, Harry tended to make bad choices and refused to accept advice or help from his family. Whit and Harry had been estranged for more than ten years when Whit decided last fall it was time to mend things between them. He thought they were making progress, but after a few unreturned phone calls Whit grew worried that Harry was in trouble and was too proud to ask for help.

Whit followed his gut and decided to make an unannounced visit. Good thing he showed up when he did.

The baby squeaked. She was his blood, his family, and Whit wouldn’t let anything happen to her.

Apparently, the nanny felt the same way.

“Ma’am, my name is Brody Whittaker. Harry Bremerton is my brother. You can trust me. I’m in town to visit Harry and I heard the gunshots. I’d like to help.”

That got her to open her eyes. “Brother?”

“Yes, ma’am, half brother. I’m assuming you’re the nanny?”

She nodded her affirmation. “He... I didn’t know he had a brother.”

Not surprising. Harry had kept his distance from Whit and the family, claiming they never understood or accepted him. Whit could see how Harry would get tired of the disapproving sighs and unwelcomed advice the family felt necessary to offer on a regular basis.

Whit cocked his head and thought he heard something. “We need to move. Okay?”

She still didn’t seem like she trusted him. Understandable. She’d no doubt experienced a violent and traumatic attack. Her adrenaline must be pounding like water hitting the rocks at the bottom of Jasper Falls.

“I’m not sure what to say to convince you I’m one of the good guys,” he started. “I noticed a small boat down the shoreline. We can use that to get away.”

She closed her eyes. That couldn’t be good, Whit thought. Then her lips moved slightly as if she was whispering to herself.

He pushed aside the thought that any second now a gunman would peer below and pick them off like cans on a split rail fence.

“Ma’am—”

“Please help me up,” she said, opening her eyes.

This time he couldn’t help but notice the remarkable blend of colors: green, gold and brown.

“Would you like me to carry the baby?”

She put out her hand. “No, thank you.”

With a nod, he offered his good arm and helped her stand. When she wavered, he gripped her shoulders to keep her vertical. He quickly released her since it was obvious his right-handed grip was weaker than his left.

Someday, they’d said. Eventually. Or maybe never.

She squinted, as if studying him, trying to make out what he was thinking.

“This way.” He led her down the riverbank away from Harry’s property and hopefully from danger. “The baby is awfully good.”

“Yes, she’s a very sweet girl.” The nanny kissed the top of Mia’s head.

The nanny. He realized he didn’t know her name.

“You can call me Whit, and your name is...?”

“Carly.” She hesitated before sharing her last name. “Winslow.”

“Good to meet you, Carly Winslow. Unfortunate circumstances.”

“You...you heard the gunfire coming from the Bremerton house?” she said.

“Yes.”

“You don’t seem all that upset about your brother.”

“I’m in cop mode.”

“Oh.”

She sounded disappointed.

He glanced over his shoulder; he saw no one following them on the riverbank.

“I’m still wondering why I’ve never heard of you,” Carly said.

She was cautious, a good trait for a nanny.

“Truth is—” he hesitated “—Harry and I have a conflicted relationship.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said.

So was Whit. Some mistakes you never shook off.

“Where are the rest of the police officers?” she said.

“Not here yet.”

“Then how did you find me?” She stopped suddenly.

He read concern in her eyes. “I’m not lying to you, Carly.”

“So where are the rest of the cops?”

“I’m not with local law enforcement. I’m on temporary leave from the Dallas PD.”

“On leave? For what?” Her eyes narrowed with suspicion.

“Injured in the line of duty. Still recovering.”

He motioned for her to walk with him. She didn’t move.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea to wait for local deputies when we’ve got a gunman trailing us, do you?”

She nodded, and they continued to the boat. He held it steady so she could climb in. Again, he was about to offer to hold the baby, when he realized she was securely strapped against Carly in a carrying device. Once Carly and the child were settled, Whit pushed the boat into the water and jumped in. He rowed, steering them parallel to the riverbank, not wanting to drift too far out and expose their location.

The baby stirred, and Carly managed to soothe her by humming a soft tune.

They floated south and Whit scanned the area for a decent spot to pull over and take cover. The piercing wail of sirens grew louder. Relief eased the tension in his shoulders.

The crack of a gunshot rang out.

“Get down!” he ordered Carly.

Whit rowed faster but could do only so much with the limited mobility of his right arm. Where was the gunfire coming from?

He leaned left and spotted a man racing down the shoreline in pursuit. Whit couldn’t row and shoot at the same time and didn’t have confidence that he’d hit his mark with his left hand anyway.

A second shot nicked the side of the boat. As Whit rowed faster, the usual dull ache up his right arm grew to a pulsating throb. Not an entirely bad thing since the pain would keep him sharp.

They passed a six-foot metal fence separating two properties. The assailant would have to scale the fence or dive into the river and swim after them. Whit kept rowing, waiting for the perfect opportunity to offload the woman and child so he could give them cover.

With every stroke of the oars, his head ached and his arm throbbed. The assailant ran up against the fence and started climbing.

The current carried the small boat downstream. Whit dug the oar into the left side and they swung to shore.

“Get out,” he said.

Carly didn’t move. Had she been hit?

He pulled the boat ashore. “Carly?”

She glanced up, her colorful eyes brimming with fear. The baby whimpered against her and instinct made Whit want to pull them both against his chest to protect them, calm them.

Yeah, who was he kidding?

“Take the baby up those stairs to safety.” He pointed to wooden steps. “Tell the police you’re about a mile south of the Bremerton property.” Not waiting for her response, he helped her out of the boat and tipped it on its side. He withdrew his gun and waited, balancing his left hand on his right palm to steady his shot. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Carly still standing there.

“Go!” he ordered, and her shoulders jerked. She turned and headed up the stairs.

Whit eyed the gunman. The perp climbed the fence and dropped down to the shoreline. Although a clumsy fall, he regained his balance and marched straight for Whit. Whit cast one last glance over his shoulder. Carly and the baby were out of sight. Good, he hadn’t failed them.

“Come on out of there!” the gunman shouted.

The rowboat served as decent cover but wouldn’t stop a bullet.

“I just want the kid!”

Whit leaned the barrel of his gun against the front end of the boat, inhaled a slow, deep breath and took his shot.