The Royal Nanny Undercover: Practically Perfect Nannies, #7

Chapter One

In which I say both goodbye and hello

Icouldn't remember the last time I'd gone to a funeral when it had not been raining.

The truth was, I'd been to far too many of these somber services in my thirty years of life. Matter of fact, I'd had to attend so many in the previous incarnation of my life—back when I was a spy—that my long-time go-to funeral dress was beginning to show the wear and tear.

Opening my eyes—we were in the middle of an interminably long prayer, led by the rotund preacher who was standing next to the yawning grave—I squinted down at the hem of my black dress. It had seemed perfectly fine when I'd pulled it out of the closet this morning, but then when I'd tugged the dress over my head and smoothed the dark material across my hips, I had noticed that the seam at the bottom was unraveling a little.

Damn.

The pitter-patter of the rain drops on the canvas of the tent roof was getting louder. The preacher's eyes rolled upwards, and his voice picked up volume. I thought about what Tessie would have said if she'd been here. Well, in point of fact, my friend was here. At least what was left of her was in the fancy box suspended over the grave. I assumed she was, anyway; I remembered the two of us laughing hysterically once over a story about a body switch.

Thinking of it now, I dug my fingernails into the palms of my clenched hands to keep from giggling. If Tessie were standing next to me, she would have bent her head next to mine and muttered until I broke. We'd gotten kicked out of more meetings than I could count. If we hadn't been so good at what we did, our behavior might have had worse consequences.

But we'd been lucky that our higher-ups understood all too well the pressures of the job. They knew that we took our assignments seriously, so blowing off steam at meetings was understandable. After all, espionage, undercover protection work, and international intrigue could really take its toll on a girl. Working in situations where our lives were more often than not in danger wore on you after a while.

The sound of weeping came from the front row where Tessie's parents were sitting along with others whom I assumed were also family members. Was it weird that I'd never met my best friend's nearest and dearest? Maybe it would have been strange in any other occupation, but not in our line of work. I'd heard stories from Tessie about her family, and I tried to remember them. Was her sister older or younger? And that small child squirming on an older woman's lap . . . was she a niece or a cousin? I wish I knew.

. . . Amen. The preacher closed his book and rocked back on his heels. I had the sudden and wicked thought that it would be absolutely hysterical if he leaned just a little further back and fell into the rectangular hole next to him. The same possibility must have occurred to him, since he cast the grave an apprehensive glance and inched away.

Teresa's family will now come forward to leave a floral remembrance on the casket. Once they have moved past, you are all welcome to file past to say your final goodbyes.

I wanted to gag. Why did this all have to be so maudlin, so stickily melancholy? This dude had never even met Tessie. If he had, he never would have called her Teresa. She hated that name. It had even been a code word we'd used during one op—and it didn't mean anything good. I looked around, shifting my weight from one high-heeled foot to the other, as the people standing near me either eased forward to leave red roses on the polished wood of the casket or began to back slowly away, fumbling with umbrellas and raincoats.

The family members meandered away, guided toward waiting limousines by the funeral director and her aides. A couple of women who looked like they were close to my age stood next to the casket, their hands resting on top of it. One was wiping tears from her cheeks while the other patted her arm.

Hometown friends, I guessed. Maybe they'd gone to high school with Tessie. They probably thought they knew all about her life after graduation: her four years at college, then her career in government, working a steady-if-boring service job. Maybe they pitied her because she'd never married or had a family.

They couldn't know that she'd been part of something so much bigger than they'd ever understand, that all of us had become a makeshift sort of family. We weren't able to share the truth with the people connected to us by blood, so we formed deep bonds with the few of us who knew our reality.

Brynn.

I felt the touch on my arm and started slightly. Occupational hazard, I thought wryly, drawing in a slow breath as I turned.

Audrey. Acting on instinct, I threw my arms around her and hugged. I didn't know you were coming.

After a momentary hesitation, she embraced me in return. Neither did I. I didn't even expect to be in the country, but . . . something came up.

I drew back, frowning. Everything all right?

She smiled, but the sentiment did not quite reach her eyes. Yes. Mostly. She shook her head. We'll talk later. I'll tell you everything. She gazed over my shoulder at the grave. How was . . . this? I didn't get to the cemetery until the service had started, so I stayed in my car. I didn't want to walk up in the middle of it.

It was fine. I shrugged. I thought the whole time how much Tessie would've hated it.

Eh. Audrey rolled her eyes. Funerals and memorials are for the survivors, not for the dead. The lucky ones who are beyond all of this don't give one good goddamn what some two-bit preacher says about them.

I smiled, my first genuine emotion all morning. Same old Audrey. No whitewashing for you.

We live with enough deception. Brutal truth is the best bet when it's possible.

You're not wrong. I reached for my umbrella. Are you going to the repast? They announced at the beginning that we're all invited to some Italian restaurant after.

Audrey shook her head. I don't really have time. Would you mind skipping the restaurant and taking a ride with me? We need to talk.

I cocked my head. That doesn't sound like a casual catch-up-on-life chat.

She huffed out something that faintly resembled a laugh. Since when is anything casual with us, B?

Shaking out my umbrella, I opened it, angling it over both of our heads. You make a good point, babe. Where's your car?

***

You know, I live right over the river. I wriggled in the bucket passenger seat of Audrey's rental car. We could go over there, order some food. Visit like normal people.

Not this time. Audrey checked the rearview and turned off the road into a park. I'm not exactly here to shoot the breeze.

Color me shocked. I let my head loll against the seat. But I don't get it, Audrey. I'm out of the life. You remember that, right? I'm in HR now. Legit and everything.

Yeah, I remember. I know. One side of her mouth curled. Assistant human resources officer at Practically Perfect Nannies, the most popular and successful child care provider agency in the country. Very domesticated, B.

It's a living. I ignored her snide tone. The company's stable and successful. I paused. And it's completely boring, Audrey. There's nothing weird or shady about it. I ran the check on it myself, and so did— I broke off and ran one hand over my face. Tessie checked them out, too. She told me she'd never seen such clean financials. Oh, and she said that the CEO was downright boring.

That sounds like Tess. Audrey found a parking spot in a deserted part of the lot—not a tough task since the park was virtually empty, thanks to the weather. I can't believe she's gone, Brynn. And the irony of it all—the ops she survived, the impossible situations she made it through . . . just to get taken out by cancer.

It was horrible. I tried to push away the images of our friend, reduced to skin and bones, lying in the hospital bed. She never lost her sense of humor, but it was almost more painful to see her smiling through everything.

She was always the bravest of us. The one who could turn any shitty situation into a laugh. Audrey stared out the windshield. Do you remember Barcelona?

Uh, yeah. I cracked a smile. She saved our asses that night.

She did. Audrey fiddled with a knob on the dashboard. Do you ever miss it, B? The life, I mean.

I hesitated. Do I miss the danger, the life-or-death moments, the never knowing if any of us were going to make it home? Not so much. But sure, there are times when I think back to all of us together, and I get a little nostalgic. But we all knew it was a limited time, Audrey. We were recruited for that time in our lives, and then it ended. We've gone our separate ways. Everyone went her own way.

Audrey was silent for a moment. Not all of us have, B. Some of us just . . . switched gears.

What's that supposed to mean? I frowned. Switched gears?

It means that some of us didn't leave the life . . . completely. She pressed her lips together. Only we're not working for the government anymore. Not for any government, I should say. We're in the private sector.

The private sector? Why was I repeating everything she said? All of this was such a shock, coming out of nowhere, but at the same time, I realized I wasn't surprised. Not really. On some level, maybe I'd suspected all along that Audrey hadn't given up the job that had brought us together.

Yeah. She sighed. A bunch of us formed a sort of freelancer group of agents. We've been taking jobs in-country.

For how long? I demanded.

A couple of years now. Audrey peeked at me out of the corner of her eye. It hasn't been anything that exciting, Brynn. Not like before. We've done some security for companies and events, and we've worked a few limited-scope contracts.

"Who is we? I asked. And why am I not part of it? Why didn't you ask me?"

Tricia, Corey, Evie and Vi. And me, of course. She paused. I didn't ask you, Brynn, because you made it clear that you were finished. You said you were done with secrets and pretending and lying to the people you love.

Yeah, but— I wasn't clear on what bothered me more—that they'd kept this from me, that all of the women I considered my closest friends had been working together and not telling me, or that they hadn't included me. I felt left out.

I talked to Tessie back at the start, and she said you were happy. She asked me not to pull you back into the life.

Tessie knew? Tears that I'd thought I was finished shedding filled my eyes. Was she in it, too?

No. Audrey shook her head. "She wasn't. She said