Nanny Witness. Hope White

to the child. Harry’s child, Whit’s half niece.

      A child Whit hadn’t met because of the complications of family.

      “Ma’am—”

      She gasp-coughed. “Don’t touch her.”

      Although he heard a siren wailing in the distance, he knew it would take a few minutes before they arrived on the scene.

      A lot could happen in a few minutes.

      It sounded like the perps had already done some major damage, breaking into the house and potentially shooting his half brother and wife.

      Whit had to shelve his panic over losing his brother and focus on protecting the baby and the woman clinging to her. Whit assumed she was the nanny, an innocent caught up in a mess. A mess of Harry’s own making?

      As a young man, Harry tended to make bad choices and refused to accept advice or help from his family. Whit and Harry had been estranged for more than ten years when Whit decided last fall it was time to mend things between them. He thought they were making progress, but after a few unreturned phone calls Whit grew worried that Harry was in trouble and was too proud to ask for help.

      Whit followed his gut and decided to make an unannounced visit. Good thing he showed up when he did.

      The baby squeaked. She was his blood, his family, and Whit wouldn’t let anything happen to her.

      Apparently, the nanny felt the same way.

      “Ma’am, my name is Brody Whittaker. Harry Bremerton is my brother. You can trust me. I’m in town to visit Harry and I heard the gunshots. I’d like to help.”

      That got her to open her eyes. “Brother?”

      “Yes, ma’am, half brother. I’m assuming you’re the nanny?”

      She nodded her affirmation. “He... I didn’t know he had a brother.”

      Not surprising. Harry had kept his distance from Whit and the family, claiming they never understood or accepted him. Whit could see how Harry would get tired of the disapproving sighs and unwelcomed advice the family felt necessary to offer on a regular basis.

      Whit cocked his head and thought he heard something. “We need to move. Okay?”

      She still didn’t seem like she trusted him. Understandable. She’d no doubt experienced a violent and traumatic attack. Her adrenaline must be pounding like water hitting the rocks at the bottom of Jasper Falls.

      “I’m not sure what to say to convince you I’m one of the good guys,” he started. “I noticed a small boat down the shoreline. We can use that to get away.”

      She closed her eyes. That couldn’t be good, Whit thought. Then her lips moved slightly as if she was whispering to herself.

      He pushed aside the thought that any second now a gunman would peer below and pick them off like cans on a split rail fence.

      “Ma’am—”

      “Please help me up,” she said, opening her eyes.

      This time he couldn’t help but notice the remarkable blend of colors: green, gold and brown.

      “Would you like me to carry the baby?”

      She put out her hand. “No, thank you.”

      With a nod, he offered his good arm and helped her stand. When she wavered, he gripped her shoulders to keep her vertical. He quickly released her since it was obvious his right-handed grip was weaker than his left.

      Someday, they’d said. Eventually. Or maybe never.

      She squinted, as if studying him, trying to make out what he was thinking.

      “This way.” He led her down the riverbank away from Harry’s property and hopefully from danger. “The baby is awfully good.”

      “Yes, she’s a very sweet girl.” The nanny kissed the top of Mia’s head.

      The nanny. He realized he didn’t know her name.

      “You can call me Whit, and your name is...?”

      “Carly.” She hesitated before sharing her last name. “Winslow.”

      “Good to meet you, Carly Winslow. Unfortunate circumstances.”

      “You...you heard the gunfire coming from the Bremerton house?” she said.

      “Yes.”

      “You don’t seem all that upset about your brother.”

      “I’m in cop mode.”

      “Oh.”

      She sounded disappointed.

      He glanced over his shoulder; he saw no one following them on the riverbank.

      “I’m still wondering why I’ve never heard of you,” Carly said.

      She was cautious, a good trait for a nanny.

      “Truth is—” he hesitated “—Harry and I have a conflicted relationship.”

      “Oh, I’m sorry,” she said.

      So was Whit. Some mistakes you never shook off.

      “Where are the rest of the police officers?” she said.

      “Not here yet.”

      “Then how did you find me?” She stopped suddenly.

      He read concern in her eyes. “I’m not lying to you, Carly.”

      “So where are the rest of the cops?”

      “I’m not with local law enforcement. I’m on temporary leave from the Dallas PD.”

      “On leave? For what?” Her eyes narrowed with suspicion.

      “Injured in the line of duty. Still recovering.”

      He motioned for her to walk with him. She didn’t move.

      “I don’t think it’s a good idea to wait for local deputies when we’ve got a gunman trailing us, do you?”

      She nodded, and they continued to the boat. He held it steady so she could climb in. Again, he was about to offer to hold the baby, when he realized she was securely strapped against Carly in a carrying device. Once Carly and the child were settled, Whit pushed the boat into the water and jumped in. He rowed, steering them parallel to the riverbank, not wanting to drift too far out and expose their location.

      The baby stirred, and Carly managed to soothe her by humming a soft tune.

      They floated south and Whit scanned the area for a decent spot to pull over and take cover. The piercing wail of sirens grew louder. Relief eased the tension in his shoulders.

      The crack of a gunshot rang out.

      “Get down!” he ordered Carly.

      Whit rowed faster but could do only so much with the limited mobility of his right arm. Where was the gunfire coming from?

      He leaned left and spotted a man racing down the shoreline in pursuit. Whit couldn’t row and shoot at the same time and didn’t have confidence that he’d hit his mark with his left hand anyway.

      A second shot nicked the side of the boat. As Whit rowed faster, the usual dull ache up his right arm grew to a pulsating throb. Not an entirely bad thing since the pain would keep him sharp.

      They passed a six-foot metal fence separating two properties. The assailant would have to scale the fence or dive into the river and swim after them. Whit kept rowing, waiting for the perfect opportunity to offload the woman and child so he could give them cover.

      With every stroke of the oars, his head ached and his arm throbbed. The assailant ran up against the fence and started climbing.

      The current carried the small