Within moments, servers brought in the first round of food. Unfortunately, Laurent was too far away for me to hear what he was saying, but I watched him, noticing his body language and who he made eye contact with the most.
I kept my ears open, and my eyes on my lettuce covered in goat cheese, or whatever it was, until one of Laurent’s butlers pulled the chair out in the spot across from me.
I glanced up to see a woman holding a baby. My jaw didn’t drop, because I was too well-trained for that, but my heart could have stopped beating in that second and I’d have missed it. The woman was young, a hell of a lot younger than I was, but that didn’t stop me from staring.
Her dark hair fell right above the shoulders. Her green eyes sparkled. Her lips were red, just like the color of her dress. A lady who must have been the housekeeper came in carrying a wooden high chair and stuck it next to me. So much for eavesdropping on the dinner conversation.
The young woman thanked the housekeeper and put the baby in the highchair, then she took her seat, and the butler shifted it forward for her before leaving.
Laurent stood up and got everyone’s attention. “Our lovely nanny has joined us. Her name is Kate, and she is from the United States.” The table burst into a round of “Hello Kate”s. The young lady smiled, a little bashfully and her cheeks turned an adorable shade of pink as she gave the table a little wave. Laurent kept talking. “She has brought my son, Gabriel Alexandre Laurent.”
The lovely Kate looked at the baby and said, “Say hello, Gabriel.”
The baby lifted his chubby hand. “Buh,” he said as the chef brought out a plate with Gabriel’s food and placed it in front of him.
Mrs. Laurent beamed, and Mr. Laurent was clearly pleased to have such a robust son. I turned my eyes back to Kate, who was unfolding her napkin and spreading it over her lap.
She looked at her silverware, clearly trying to make sure she picked the right fork. A small smile flickered across her face as she chose the salad fork.
Then she lifted her eyes.
Her cheeks went pink again, and she ducked her head.
“I’m Owen,” I said.
She placed her fork back down on the table. She extended her right hand across the table and I took her hand in mine. Her hand was delicate, but her handshake was firm. Her green eyes met mine. “I’m Kate,” she responded.
I didn’t want to let go of her, but I forced myself. “So you’re the nanny,”
She looked over at the baby, who was stuffing little bits of cooked carrot into his mouth. “Yes.”
“How long have you been the nanny?” I asked. Kate, as alluring as she was, could be complicit in Laurent’s operation. I’d learned early on not to ever underestimate a potential suspect. Kate had to be around twenty-one or so, give or take a year, and I’d seen kids as young as seventeen and eighteen not only participate in terrorism, but play a very active role.
In my drug-dealing life in Caracas, I’d met a nineteen-year-old who ran a brutal gambling ring. He’d been tiny, probably weighed a-hundred-and-ten pounds, and he’d had two big dimples when he smiled. But he was ruthless in his exploits. If he wanted someone roughed up or taken out, he did it himself, usually with a few people watching. If he wanted someone taken out in secret, his equally tiny twin sister acted as his assassin.
So yeah. Appearances could definitely be deceiving, and I couldn’t let Kate’s blush affect my assessment. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t enjoy talking to her. Maybe I’d even get to know her a little. Having someone inside the boss’s house could be a real help, if I could figure out how to play my cards right.
“I’ve only been here a month,” she said, smiling over at the kid. “He’s a really good baby.”
That was great, but I didn’t want to hear about the kid. I wanted to know more about her. “So you’re from the States. You’re a long way from home.”
“In more ways than one,” she said.
“Yeah? How so?”
“I’m from Alabama. I grew up in a small town. The life I lived there seems a million miles away from this one.”
Yeah, because your boss is a crook, who doesn’t mind murdering people for money. “Which town in Alabama?” I’d grown up in Oxford, Mississippi, and I ditched my southern accent as soon as I started working in the field.
“Brooksville, not far from Decatur.”
I nodded. I’d never heard of it, but I’d been to Decatur.
“Are you from the States?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said. “San Francisco.” I understood a little German, and I was fluent in Spanish, but I wasn’t perfect at it. I couldn’t pass as having grown up anywhere but in an English-speaking country. San Francisco was a big enough city that most Americans wouldn’t have a clue that I didn’t grow up there.
“I haven’t been there yet.”
“You’ll love it,” I said. “How do you know the Laurents?”
“I had a professor who…”
Before she could finish, the baby let out a sharp cry and Kate launched into action. She turned to face the high chair and spoke to the kid. “Hey, buddy. Great job on finishing your carrots.”
He gave her a big toothless grin and picked up a piece of banana, smashing it between his fingers. She smiled back at him. “Are you ready to get up? We can read a book before bed.”
If she was posing as a nanny, then she was doing a damn fine job of it.
The baby picked up his spoon and started gnawing on it.
I wasn’t ready for her to leave. “Looking for an escape route?” I asked.
She spun back to face me. This time the flush spread down her neck and chest. “I...um. I have to make sure Gabriel’s taken care of. I can’t let him cry.”
“So they want him to be seen and not heard.”
“No,” she said. “But this is a business dinner, not social. Keeping Gabriel happy is my job.”
Ah. So she was flustered and trying to defend her bosses. Interesting. I assumed most of the people in Laurent’s household staff would resent his pompous attitude, but maybe she was genuine.
“Well. I do admire people that take their jobs seriously.”
She took a quick look at the baby again, but he was still happy. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t even ask what you did for Mr. Laurent.”
“I’m his corporate accountant,” I replied.
Gabriel started to squirm, and she came and lifted him from his seat. She expertly moved him to the side and made him sit on her lap back in her chair, so he couldn’t reach her wine glass or her plate, even though he kept grabbing for both.
She smoothed her hand over his head. It was an unconscious gesture, one full of affection. It wasn’t often someone her age from Alabama ended up in Chile. Whatever else she might have been up to, she was a good nanny, and she sure as hell wasn’t up for bad-mouthing Laurent with me.
She lifted those green eyes to look at me. This time they sparkled. “I wish I knew what that meant,” she said.
“I doubt you want to hear about that,”
“I really do,” she protested. “I don’t know much about finance, beyond studying poverty statistics in college. All my courses were in social science.”