Chapter 1 - Nanny Number Thirty
Twenty-nine nannies had quit in one month.
Some left crying.
Some left shaking so badly they could barely sign the confidentiality agreement placed in front of them at the gates.
One had required stitches after falling through a glass patio door while chasing Theo Gallagher across the west terrace.
Another had locked herself in a bathroom and called her sister to come get her.
Number twenty-nine lasted exactly four hours.
Roman Gallagher heard her sobbing through the mahogany doors of his office.
He did not move.
He remained behind his desk, staring into the cold remains of an espresso while footsteps hurried along the marble corridor outside.
His lieutenant, Paul Mercer, stood beside the window.
“Theo bit her.”
Roman closed his eyes.
“And Ruby?”
“Threw a brass paperweight.”
Roman opened one eye.
“At her?”
“At the mirror behind her.”
“On purpose?”
Paul considered it.
“With Ruby, I’m no longer sure.”
Roman rubbed the bridge of his nose.
At thirty-eight, Roman Gallagher controlled an organization that stretched through half the city.
Construction.
Nightclubs.
Freight contracts.
Private security.
Gambling rooms hidden behind respectable restaurants.
And things nobody discussed in rooms without soundproof walls.
Men who owed Roman money found ways to pay.
Politicians who disliked him still returned his calls.
Detectives who had spent years trying to build cases against him lowered their voices when his name appeared in conversation.
Yet Roman Gallagher could not get two five-year-old children to eat breakfast without starting a small war.
“Pay the woman double,” Roman said.
“Already arranged.”
“And make sure she understands the confidentiality agreement.”
“She does.”
Roman’s gaze sharpened.
“No newspapers.”
“No police.”
“No podcasts.”
Paul nodded.
“The usual speech.”
Roman looked toward the office doors.
Six months earlier, his wife, Evelyn, had died in a car fire.
The bomb had been meant for Roman.
He knew that because the route had been his.
The vehicle had been his.
The security schedule had been his.
Evelyn had switched cars at the last minute because Ruby had spilled juice across the back seat of hers.
Roman had been delayed at the estate.
Evelyn had driven away alone.
Ten minutes later, Roman’s world had exploded on a rain-slicked road outside the city.
Theo and Ruby had not been inside the vehicle.
But they had been standing at an upstairs window when smoke rose above the trees.
They remembered the sirens.
They remembered Roman returning home hours later with blood on his collar from an unrelated fight and grief in his eyes.
They remembered adults whispering that their mother was never coming back.
After that, Roman buried himself in war.
Someone had tried to kill him.
His wife had paid the price.
He intended to find the person responsible.
Meanwhile, his children stopped sleeping.
Stopped listening.
Stopped trusting anyone.
The staff became frightened of them.
Roman hired specialists.
Then elite nannies.
Then child-development consultants.
Then anyone willing to enter the estate.
Nothing worked.
“Who’s next?” Roman asked.
Paul opened the final folder in his hand.
“Norah Hayes.”
Roman waited.
“That’s it?”
“Twenty-six. Grew up in foster care. No criminal history. No professional nanny experience.”
Roman stared.
“You’re joking.”
“I rarely joke.”
“Education?”
“Some community college. Didn’t finish.”
“Why?”
“Younger brother got sick.”
Paul scanned the page.
“She worked to cover his expenses. He died last year. She still has medical debt attached to loans she cosigned.”
Roman’s expression changed slightly.
“Current employment?”
“Double shifts at a diner.”
Roman leaned back.
“So why is an unqualified waitress applying to care for my children?”
“Because the agency refuses to send anyone else.”
Silence.
Paul closed the folder.
“Word is out, Roman. Your children are considered dangerous.”
“They’re five.”
“So were those twins in that horror movie.”
Roman gave him a flat stare.
Paul cleared his throat.
“She applied directly through the estate listing. Five thousand dollars a week caught her attention.”
“Bring her in.”
Ten minutes later, Norah Hayes walked through the office doors.
Roman deliberately kept reading.
Silence usually frightened people more efficiently than shouting.
He heard inexpensive boots crossing expensive hardwood.
No hesitation.
No nervous clearing of the throat.
No attempt to speak first.
Finally, Roman raised his head.
He paused.
Women interviewing for jobs inside the Gallagher estate generally arrived dressed like private-school teachers.
Norah Hayes looked like she had come directly from fixing a broken motorcycle.
Her olive utility jacket was faded at the elbows.
Dark jeans.
Scuffed black boots.
Dirty-blonde hair twisted into a careless knot.
She looked tired.
Not intimidated.
Tired.
Roman motioned toward the chair.
“Sit.”
She sat.
Not on the edge.
Not with her hands clasped nervously.
She leaned back.
Roman disliked that immediately.
“You have no experience.”
“With children?”
“With this kind of household.”
Norah glanced toward the security monitors.
“Most households don’t have six camera feeds pointed at the driveway.”
Roman’s eyes cooled.
“You haven’t worked for wealthy families.”
“I’ve served wealthy people pancakes at two in the morning.”
“That is not the same thing.”
“No. Usually they tip worse.”
Paul looked down quickly.
Roman suspected he was hiding a smile.
“My children are difficult,” Roman said.
“I heard.”
“The last woman left injured.”
“Kids bite.”
“They set curtains on fire.”
Norah’s eyebrows rose.
“That’s more concerning.”
Roman leaned forward.
“This is not a joke.”
“I didn’t say it was.”
“This is my home. My rules. If you hurt my children, you answer to me. If you steal from me, you answer to me. If you compromise my security, you answer to me.”
Norah met his stare.
Roman let several seconds pass.
Most people looked away by the third.
Norah did not.
“Do you understand what kind of man I am?” Roman asked quietly.
Her gaze dropped briefly.
Roman followed it.
She was studying his bruised knuckles.
Then the pistol locked inside the glass cabinet.
Then the reinforced windows.
Then his face again.
“I understand you’re a man with enough money to hire twenty-nine nannies and still somehow have two kids nobody knows how to handle.”
Paul coughed.
Roman stared at her.
Norah continued before common sense could stop her.
“And you’re paying five thousand dollars a week.”
“You’re here because of money.”
“Yes.”
The answer surprised him.
No apology.
No fake speech about loving children.
“I owe money,” she said. “You have money. Your kids need somebody. Seems straightforward.”
“You’re remarkably comfortable being disrespectful.”
“I’m tired, Mr. Gallagher. It saves time.”
For the first time that morning, something almost resembling amusement passed through Roman’s expression.
Almost.
“You start now.”
Norah stood.
“One condition.”
Roman’s amusement vanished.
“You don’t negotiate conditions with me.”
“Then hire nanny thirty-one.”
Paul turned slightly toward the window.
Roman’s jaw tightened.
“What condition?”
“When I’m responsible for the twins, I’m responsible for them. No guard walking behind me correcting me. No staff giving them candy because they scream. No one threatening them with you.”
Roman’s expression hardened.
“Threatening them with me?”
“I’ve worked in enough restaurants to recognize the type of household where people say, ‘Wait until the boss hears about this.’”
Paul said nothing.
Roman looked toward him.
Paul suddenly found the curtains fascinating.
Norah continued.
“If they’re supposed to trust me, they need to know my rules don’t disappear whenever someone richer enters the room.”
Roman stood.
He was nearly a foot taller than her.
Most people reacted instinctively when he rose.
Norah only tilted her head.
“You have complete control over their schedule,” Roman said. “Within reason.”
“Good.”
“Do not call me during meetings unless there’s an emergency.”
“Define emergency.”
“Someone is dying.”
Norah considered him.
“That seems like a very low standard for parental involvement.”
Roman’s eyes flashed.
Paul stepped in.
“The playroom is in the East Wing.”
Norah looked at Roman for another second.
Then she left.
The East Wing playroom looked as though a toy store had experienced an earthquake.
Paint covered part of one wall.
A dollhouse had been overturned.
Wooden blocks covered the carpet.
Stuffed animals had been tied together with ribbon and suspended from a curtain rod.
A television screen was cracked.
Theo and Ruby Gallagher sat in the center of the destruction.
Identical dark curls.
Blue eyes.
Pale faces.
Beautiful children.
And according to twenty-nine adults, absolute nightmares.
Norah closed the door behind her.
Click.
Theo looked up.
“You can’t come in.”
“I just did.”
“This is our room.”
“I noticed.”
Ruby held a bottle of blue paint.
“We don’t like nannies.”
“Convenient. I’m not especially attached to the title.”
Theo frowned.
“You’re supposed to tell us your name.”
“Norah.”
Ruby pointed at herself.
“You know who we are?”
“The famous Gallagher twins?”
Neither child smiled.
Good, Norah thought.
They were not looking for entertainment.
They were looking for control.
She had seen children like this in foster homes.
Not wealthy children.
Broken ones.
Kids who pushed adults away before adults could leave them.
Norah crossed the room and lowered herself into a leather chair.
Then she took a paperback from her pocket.
Ruby stared.
“What are you doing?”
“Reading.”
“You’re supposed to play with us.”
“You told me I couldn’t come in.”
“That was before.”
Norah opened the book.
Ruby walked closer with the paint.
“I’ll put this on you.”
“Okay.”
Ruby stopped.
Theo glanced at her.
Ruby squeezed the bottle.
Blue paint splattered across Norah’s boot.
Norah turned a page.
The twins stared.
Theo picked up a wooden block.
He threw it.
It struck the wall beside Norah.
She kept reading.
They screamed.
They knocked over toys.
They dragged a metal truck across the floor.
Norah ignored them.
Forty-five minutes later, the room went silent.
Theo stood directly in front of her.
His small chest rose and fell rapidly.
“Why aren’t you yelling?”
Norah closed the book.
For the first time, she looked directly at him.
“Because yelling is what you want.”
Theo’s face changed.
Only slightly.
But Norah saw it.
Ruby saw it too.
“You want me angry,” Norah continued. “Then you can hate me. And if you hate me, it won’t matter when I leave.”
Ruby’s fingers tightened around the paint bottle.
Norah leaned forward.
“But here’s the problem.”
The twins waited.
“I’m not leaving today.”
Theo whispered, “Everybody leaves.”
Norah’s expression softened.
Not with pity.
Never pity.
“I know.”
A sound came from the doorway.
Norah turned.
Roman Gallagher stood there.
He had been watching.
Nobody spoke.
His gaze moved from the blue paint on Norah’s boot to the block dent in the wall.
Then to his son.
Then his daughter.
Theo stepped closer to Norah.
An unconscious movement.
Tiny.
Barely noticeable.
Roman noticed.
Norah noticed him noticing.
Roman’s voice was quiet.
“You’re still here.”
Norah looked back at the twins.
“Apparently.”
For the first time in six months, Ruby Gallagher laughed.
Just once.
A tiny, surprised sound.
Roman froze.
Norah’s eyes lifted toward him.
Something unreadable crossed his face before he turned away from the doorway.
But Roman Gallagher had heard it.
His daughter’s laugh.
A sound he had almost forgotten.
And as Roman walked back toward the dangerous world waiting inside his office, one thought followed him down the corridor.
Nanny number thirty might be different.
He had no idea how different.
And neither did Norah.
Because hidden beneath a broken dollhouse in the East Wing playroom was something Ruby had taken from her mother’s room the night before Evelyn Gallagher died.
Something no adult in the estate knew existed.
May you like
And within days, that small object would force Norah directly into the mystery that had destroyed the Gallagher family.
---
