“They were. Las Moscas.”
“I’ve heard of them. Brutal.” She crunched the chip between her teeth and dabbed the spot of salsa from the table with her napkin.
“Your father’s a homicide detective? What department?”
“Retired.” She waved her fork in the air. “A couple of different departments. You know what?”
“What?”
“I think my taste buds are acclimating to the cuisine because this is good.” She dumped some of the salsa onto the side of her plate and dug into her burrito, running a forkful through the red puddle.
Nash shrugged and sawed off a corner of his burrito. He talked shop enough at work and with his buddy Clay. He didn’t need to bring it home.
“You never told me how you came to be in charge of Wyatt. Who are his mother and father?”
Nash gulped down some lemonade. How many of Jaycee’s secrets should he keep? If he told a nanny that a mother had left her baby on someone’s porch, she might just get it into her head to report Jaycee to DCS. That girl had enough problems if she’d been driven to leave Wyatt with him. She didn’t need a social worker on her case.
Nash ran the side of his thumb down the sweating glass. “I don’t know who the father is, but the mother is an old friend, local girl, friend of my sister’s.”
“I suppose that means her family doesn’t live here anymore.”
“Long gone.”
“And your sister?”
“My sister is in New York, pursuing a modeling and acting career.”
Emily raised one eyebrow. “Have I seen her in anything?”
“Not unless you pay close attention to commercials.”
“That’s a tough life.”
“She’s luckier than most. She has my parents’ money as a safety net.” He took another bite of his food, relieved the conversation had switched from Jaycee to his sister.
“So, why did Wyatt’s mom leave him here?”
Damn. Nash wiped his mouth and took another sip of his drink. “I learned a long time ago not to question Jaycee Lemoin too closely. She asked me to watch her baby for a few days, and I agreed. She’s taking longer than expected, and happily I ran into you to help me out until she returns.”
“Jaycee didn’t let you know she’d be delayed?”
He shook his head. The peaceful domestic scene he’d encountered when he came home had turned into an interrogation. Why hadn’t Emily asked him all these questions when he’d first approached her about the job?
“You know, I need to get back to work.” He shoved back from the table and grabbed his plate. “Do you need anything before I leave?”
“No. Thanks for the lunch.” She curled her fingers around her glass and shook it back and forth, tinkling the ice. “We never really discussed my hours. Do you want me to go back to my hotel when you get home from work, or would you like me to stick around in the evening to help out? You’re paying me a generous flat fee, so I’d be more than happy to help in the evenings, too.”
“That would be great.” He almost suggested she move into the guesthouse, but he didn’t want to freak her out. He also didn’t want her asking any more questions about Jaycee. Did Jaycee really think she could just drop Wyatt off on his doorstep for a week and it wouldn’t seriously impact his life?
He continued. “I’ll take care of dinner, too. Any requests? Italian?”
“I can cook something.”
“That’s not in your job description. Taking care of Wyatt is plenty.” He rinsed his plate in the sink and downed the rest of his lemonade. “Maybe he’ll sleep for another hour and give you a break.”
“He’s a good baby.” Emily rolled her eyes and blew an errant strand of hair from her face. “Compared to some of the babies I’ve cared for, Wyatt is an angel.”
Nash mumbled under his breath, “Doesn’t take after his mother.”
“What?”
“Just like his mother.” He waved at the door. “Thanks again, and have a good afternoon.”
On his way to his truck, he tried Jaycee’s number again, and again it went straight to voice mail. He didn’t bother leaving a message.
That girl needed to get back to Paradiso and her baby—even if that meant Emily O’Brien would be waltzing out of his life just as smoothly as she’d waltzed into it. And he wasn’t ready for that, not at all.
EMILY LIFTED THE edge of the curtain at the front window and watched Nash back his truck out of the driveway. Had the men in the black sedan stayed away because of the truck in the driveway? Would they be back?
Emily scraped the remnants of her burrito from her plate into the sink and ran the disposal. Then she sauntered to where her purse hung on the back of a kitchen chair and unhooked it. She didn’t know if Nash could watch her movements from his phone or if he needed his computer to access his cameras’ video feed, but she didn’t want to take any chances by pulling her weapon out of her purse.
If Nash saw his nanny with a gun with the baby in the house, he’d make a fast U-turn and kick her out, maybe even call the police. But if those guys who’d paid a visit to Jaycee came back here, she wanted to be ready for them.
They must suspect that Brett was Wyatt’s father. And kidnapping his son would be a surefire way of getting Brett’s cooperation. They’d be disappointed and angry once they discovered Brett probably couldn’t care less about his girlfriend’s baby with another man. What would they do with Wyatt then?
She shivered as she plopped down on the couch and pulled her purse into her lap, the hard edge of the gun in the side pocket giving her comfort. She cupped her phone in her hand and sent Marcus a text. He hated texting, but Nash might have mics as well as cameras in the room.
She stared at the words on her phone
