you given any more consideration to hiring private security?” Bolling asked.
“I’ve considered it. But I’m trying to stay off the press’s radar, at least for now. Hiring security guards would just draw more attention to me.” She lowered her voice to a whisper after looking around to see if anyone was listening. “Especially in Cherry Grove.”
“You’re afraid that instead of covering the story, you’ll suddenly be the story?”
She nodded. “Katie has enough to deal with as it is. I don’t want her little face plastered all over cable news for the next few weeks.”
“You have enough to deal with, too. I get it.” Bolling put a ten on the table between them and stood up. “Come on. I’ll walk you to your car.”
The temperature had dropped by several degrees while they were in the café, Lacey noted. The snow predicted for the end of the week might come sooner than expected. She’d have to make sure they were stocked with plenty of firewood in case the power to the farmhouse went out in the storm.
“Is this vehicle registered in your name?” Bolling asked as he helped her settle Katie in her car seat.
“No,” she answered. “It belonged to Toby and Marianne, so I guess it belongs to Katie and me now. I might as well use it until I can get another vehicle.”
“Just be careful, Lacey. Okay? I know it’s possible what happened to you today was random, but...”
But it wasn’t likely. She knew that already.
“I’ll be in touch,” she promised.
Meanwhile, she had some background checking to do.
* * *
JIM HADN’T FIGURED on hearing from Lacey Miles for a few days. He knew she’d already talked to the references he’d provided on his résumé, but he was pretty sure she wouldn’t have stopped there. He’d been watching her reporting for a few years now. He knew she was smart, prepared, resourceful and very, very thorough.
So it was with some surprise that he heard her voice on the phone shortly after lunchtime the day after the interview. “Mr. Mercer? This is Lacey Miles.”
He put down the Glock he was cleaning and sat up straighter. “Ms. Miles. How’s Katie? How are you, for that matter? Recovered from the attack?”
She didn’t answer for a moment, as if his questions caught her off guard. “We’re fine,” she said after a couple of beats of silence. “Just fine. I’m calling about the job you interviewed for yesterday.”
“Yes. Have you made a decision?”
“I have,” she said, her voice a little stronger. “I’d like to hire you to care for my niece. Were you serious when you said you could go to work immediately?”
“Yes, I was.”
“Then could you be here by four this afternoon? I have somewhere I need to go this evening. Somewhere I can’t take Katie.”
He frowned, not liking the sound of that. “You’re not going out alone, are you?”
“I beg your pardon?”
Damn it. You’re a nanny, not a Marine. Remember that. She’s your boss, not someone you’re protecting. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I have no right to ask you such a question. I just—After the bombing and what happened to you yesterday...forget I asked. Yes, I can be there by dinnertime. I just need the address.”
“Do you know how to get to Cherry Grove? East of Lovettsville, near the Potomac. There’s a big fountain in the center of town. Shaped like a cherry.” She couldn’t quite keep a hint of laughter out of her voice. “Trust me, you can’t miss it. If you’ll stop at the gas station across the street from the fountain, just ask for the old Peabody farm. They’ll tell you how to get here.”
“Got it,” he said. “I’ll pack a bag and be there by four. Will that work?”
“Yes. Thank you. We’ll give this a try and see how it goes.” She hung up before he could say anything else.
He punched in a phone number and waited. He got an answer on the second ring. “It’s Mercer.”
“Any news?”
“Yeah. I’m headed to Cherry Grove. This evening. She’s going out and needs me to watch Katie. Says we’ll give this a try and see if it works out.”
“It’ll work out,” the voice on the other end of the line said firmly. “You’ll make it work out.”
“Understood.” He hung up the phone, picked up his Glock and started cleaning the weapon again.
“What do you say, sweet pea?”
Katie gazed back at Lacey, her gray eyes bright with curiosity, as if she was trying to make sense of the question.
Lacey ruffled the baby’s blond curls and laughed self-consciously. “It’s okay, sweetie. If Aunt Lacey doesn’t know whether she’s done the right thing, she doesn’t expect you to know.”
“Wacey,” Katie said solemnly.
Lacey picked her up and gave her a hug. Apparently not in the mood for a snuggle, Katie wriggled in her grasp, and Lacey set her down on the floor again with a sigh. “You sure know how to make a girl feel better about her mothering skills, Katie.”
Katie flashed a lopsided grin and toddled off to the window, where she’d left her favorite stuffed cat sitting on the windowsill.
Lacey looked around the small front parlor, feeling entirely overwhelmed. When she’d decided to move herself and Katie out here to Nowheresville, Virginia, she hadn’t realized just how little of the farmhouse had been renovated. Half the sprawling old Folk Victorian house was still trapped in limbo, somewhere between demolition and reconstruction, and she had no idea how or when she’d be able to finish the work.
The contractor she’d hired to assess the status of the renovation had assured her that the foundation had been made sound, the roof was new and there were no safety hazards to worry about, although there had been some question about the safety of an underground tunnel the contractor had discovered in the basement, which was the only remaining part of the antebellum home that had burned to the ground a few years before the farmhouse had been built on its foundation.
But most of the upstairs rooms had yet to be repaired and painted. There was a whole bathroom in the master suite that had been completely gutted. And the sprawling kitchen at the back of the house was only halfway finished, though most of the remaining work was cosmetic rather than functional.
Poor Jim Mercer didn’t have any idea what kind of mess he was about to walk into.
Her cell phone rang, a jarring note in the bucolic peace of the isolated farm. She checked the display and grimaced when she saw the name. “Hi, Royce.”
“I heard you’re hiring a nanny.”
“Where’d you hear that?” she asked, wondering which employee of Elite Employment Agency had let that information slip to the wrong person.
“Oh, around. You know.”
Maybe it had been Jim Mercer himself who’d spilled the news. Maybe he’d decided to do a little background checking on her, as well. She couldn’t really blame him if he had, she realized. He had a right to know just what sort of mess he was walking into if he took the job. “You called to find out whether or not I’m hiring a nanny?”
“No,” Royce said in a tone of long-suffering forbearance. “I called to find out whether your decision to hire a nanny meant you were coming back to work.”
“Not yet. You said I could