“Hi,” I tried for conversation, but the hulk in the front clearly had no intention of talking to me, and after rolling my eyes in the mirror at him I slunk into the seat and watched Tucson pass by. We drove into one of the more exclusive neighborhoods, full of huge mansions and sprawling houses, very close to where the garage fondling guy lived.
“Do you know where we’re going?” I asked the big, burly chauffeur again as we entered the Catalina Foothills community, and again when we turned off the quiet road and stopped by gates that were wide open. I was talking to myself, because the driver wasn’t answering. Although he suddenly cursed like a sailor when he idled next to a security camera on the wall.
“Colorado, you asshole, for fuck’s sake,” he snapped and slammed a hand on the wheel. He half-turned to the window, and lowered it to stare at a camera, and I tried not to listen to him curse a storm before laying on the horn with extreme prejudice.
I didn’t know what his problem was as he could have just driven in, so I guessed that the huge wrought iron gates and the security system were more ornamental than functional. I sent a quick update to Natalie, nothing more than an address, something we did out of habit, then the car began to move. There was a small fountain in the courtyard in front of the huge house, which formed a convenient place to circle, and when the car stopped I got out before the angry chauffeur could come around and open my door.
I heard his huff of annoyance as he found me outside his precious freaking car, and then watched as he folded his arms over his chest and stared at me with steel in his expression. He was older than me by at least ten years, and half my weight heavier, but he didn’t look like a chauffeur. Up this close he was more like some military guy forced into a suit—maybe a bodyguard—some guy who had muscles and no brains. I ignored the glare, straightened my best shirt, hoisted my backpack over my shoulder, then pocketed my cell, taking the time to settle my breathing and clear the concern from my thoughts. If this driver was security then was I walking into a Mafia place, or some situation that was going to get me in a mess of crap?
No. This place belongs to a business couple, off somewhere vitally important to strike a deal and make millions. The kids will be called something like Lotus-Bunny and East-West, and I’ll spend all weekend on my own in the kitchen while they’re on their phones.
“Now what?” I asked, unsure whether to take the steps to the door, or if that was another part of the carefully choreographed driver/bodyguard thing.
“Who the hell knows,” Bodyguard muttered, then gestured to the front door. I went up the steps and leaned on the bell, tilting my chin and pasting a smile on my face.
The door opened and a wild-eyed man stood there, tall, hair sticking up in all directions, tattoos, and real fear in his expression, holding a squalling baby. I stepped closer, extended a hand, but before the tall man could take it, our resident driver/bodyguard stepped between us.
“I told you,” he snapped at the wild-eyed man. “The gates are open, I just drove in, Colorado, and do we even know who this is that I picked up?”
Was there confusion as to who I was?
“I’m the nanny—”
“He’s the manny—"
Tall dude and I spoke at the same time, and he sent me a look that screamed desperation before turning back to Mr. Dangerous.
Talking of whom, Bodyguard took my rucksack from me, then pushed me against a wall and patted me down. I was too shocked to even think of protesting, but when he began pulling things out of my bag, including my books for college, I drew the line.
“Leave my stuff alone!”
“ID,” Mr. Dangerous said, and held out a hand. “What if he had a gun?” he added, but he wasn’t talking to me as I finally handed over my ID. Still, he was implying I had a gun? What the hell?
“I don’t have a gun—”
“What in hell—what do you want me to do?” Tall tattooed guy holding baby interrupted me.
“For god’s sake, Colorado, take this seriously!” Bodyguard guy and this tall dude, evidently called Colorado, faced off, and I stepped back from them to get a handle on what the hell was happening. So, the driver was security, and this Colorado person holding the baby was what? A previous nanny? Dad to the baby? He looked as if he’d been dragged through a hedge backward, through a muddy yard, then forced into a night of not sleeping. He wore baggy shorts full of holes, and a worn T-shirt with a black gothic design, some kind of name that had long since faded from age or use. Tattoos covered his arms, and I could see them on his legs as well, graphics, letters, and wait, was that a drawing of a bird wearing a hat?
Whoever he was, he was royally pissed. “I am taking it seriously, Vlad was just here and—”
“It’s not difficult, Colorado. Gate
