I reached for the handle to leave.
“But let me know how tomorrow goes?”
“Good night, Agent Bray,” I muttered and climbed back onto the sidewalk.
The warm night air hugged close. I crossed the street to my apartment, ready to get to bed despite sleeping all afternoon. The day had taken a toll, and I had to be up with my nanny face, whatever that was, on by eight a.m. I locked the door behind me and dialed a familiar number, hoping I could take matters into my own hands.
Unknownshowed on my screen as the call went out.
It went straight to voicemail.
“Wallace. Leave a message.”
I ended the call with a frown and another jump in my nerves, never having left my handler a voicemail, and sincerely worrying about why I hadn’t heard from him.
CHAPTER6
Istill had no word from Wallace by the time I left for the Brownings’ the next morning, but I did have a text from Bray.
Good luck with your first day!?
I rolled my eyes at the smiley face and considered sending a middle-finger emoji back. I’d had three cups of coffee, and my hands had almost stopped shaking by the time I stepped onto the stone pathway bisecting the Brownings’ front lawn and leading to the door like a scene from a storybook. Evidence of movie night had been cleaned up and tucked back into wherever it had come from. This morning, the front yard was all bird chirps, soft sunlight, and a rose border prim enough to look like each bud had its own butler.
I didn’t even get a chance to knock before the front door swung open and Melanie and Scott Browning were beaming at me like Barbie and Ken.
“Good morning!” Melanie cheered.
I put on my best nanny smile. “Hi!”
“This is my husband, Scott,” she said and gestured to the handsome blond man beside her. The prom-king aesthetic was even more pronounced in person. Tan, gleaming smile, and adistant look in his bright blue eyes, which said he mentally spent most of his time someplace far from wherever he was physically.
“Pleasure to meet you, Laura,” he said and extended his hand. His palm was soft and a tad clammy.
“It’sLauren, sweetheart,” Melanie said and pecked his cheek. She brushed the smudge of gloss her shiny lips left behind.
“Ah, forgive me,” Scott said with a demure smile. “Pleasure to meet you, Lauren.”
“No problem. Nice to meet you, Mr. Browning,” I said.
“You can call me Scott. Please, won’t you come in.” He pressed an unnecessary hand to my lower back as I stepped across the threshold.
The thought of how quickly I could reach back and break his fingers flitted through my mind, but sending my new employer to the hospital two minutes into my first day was not likely to get me invited back for a second day.
I discreetly stepped out of his reach and gazed up into their entryway.
It opened into an airy space with a skylight at its summit, showering down natural light like it was hooked up to the sun itself. A dark wood banister shiny enough that it must have been someone’s full-time job to clean it of fingerprints curved the eastern wall in a dramatic sweep fit for Scarlett O’Hara. An enormous vase spilling orchids like a white volcano perched atop a round table in the center of the room. At first glance, it didn’t look like any children lived in the house. In fact, it didn’t look likeanyonelived in the house. It was too perfect. There wasn’t even a dust mote floating in the high-beam sunlight.
“I’ll leave you two to it,” Scott said and returned Melanie’s earlier peck on her cheek. “I’ve got to meet the guys at the country club for a morning nine in a few anyway.” I noted the tight smile Melanie shot him as he stepped away. I also notedhis attempt at discreetly squeezing Melanie’s taut rear end on display in her spandex pants. I’d known him all of five minutes but got the sense he was a handsy guy.
“So,” Melanie began once he walked off into the far reaches of the house. “This is the foyer, obviously. Formal living and dining rooms to the left, family room to the right. Kitchen is in the back of the house along with Scott’s office, the playroom, and two bathrooms.” She pointed her toned arms in each direction like a windmill as she spoke.
I logged the information that she’d called the entryway thefoyer, which, given its grandeur, was fitting in addition to pretentious.
Melanie headed for the stairs. She placed her left hand on the pristine railing, and I wondered if Melanie Browning’s hands didn’t produce oil. Perhaps she had no fingerprints. “The kids spend most of the day downstairs; you’ll be in the playroom if you’re not outside. Kaden went through an awful sleep regression, and our pediatrician recommended we reserve their bedrooms for sleep only, so they don’t spend much time up here during the day.”
I made a mental note to googlesleep regressionwhen I had time later.
“Kaden, Karli, bathroom,” Melanie said and pointed to the first three doors to the right of the landing. One was decorated with a pink K, the other with a green K, and the third door was nondescript but partially open to view a shower curtain with rubber ducks on it.
