Page 1 of Nanny for the Firefighters

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ELLA

I'm on a mission to rid this town of scumbags.

Harborview at midnight is like a cat on a hot tin roof—jumpy, unpredictable, and a tad too shiny in places where it shouldn't be.

Most of the town slumbers like a tired giant. At this odd hour, suspended between night and dawn, only few choose to remain awake. My target is one of them.

The yachts in the marina gleam like oil-pulled teeth, and the windows of absurdly expensive boutiques reflect the moon, casting warped glimmers onto the cobblestone streets.

I lurk the same streets, blending seamlessly into the shadows. There isn't a lot of glamor to what I do, but then again, someone's got to keep the streets clean. And if I'm being honest, I love what I do at nights. Here I am, Ella Masters, part-time barista, full-time secret vigilante.

No cape, though. I have a thing for stumbling at the most inopportune moments. Capes are a hazard.

The damp streets of Harborview glisten under the streetlamps, the fog rolling in from the sea wrapping the town in a shroud of misty secrecy. It's late, way past the bedtime of decent folk, and that's exactly why I'm here, prowling in the shadows. I tug my black hoodie closer around my face, my heart thrumming with the adrenaline of the night's mission. Every sense is heightened, attuned to the silence around me, broken only by the distant crash of waves against the cliffs.

Tonight, I'm on a particular kind of hunt. My target is a slick charmer who's been leading a double life at the expense of an innocent mother and her baby. The tip came in through an anonymous message, desperate and tinged with enough heartache to get me involved. I've tracked him to a cozy little house on Cedar Lane, lights still on, laughter spilling out onto the street. The perfect façade.

I've made sure to hide myself as well as I can. I've draped my body in an oversized coat, chosen goggles big enough to cover most of my mercifully small face, and donned a cherry-red shade for my lips, overlining them slightly for added impact. This is not how I'd dress during the day, but it's imperative for me to avoid recognition.

Creeping closer, I peer through a gap in the curtains. Inside, he's playing the devoted father, a scene so saccharine it almost masks the bitterness of his deceit. But I know better. This man has another family across town, another child who sleeps without goodnight kisses from their father.

Not tonight. Tonight, the façade crumbles.

I wait until he steps out, probably thinking he's off to meet a lover or sneak back to his other life. As he locks the door behind him, I step out of the shadows, blocking his path. He startles, a flicker of guilt crossing his features before he masks it with annoyance.

"You're out late," I say, my voice low and even.

"And you are?" he counters, trying to sidestep me.

"Someone who knows about Sarah. And Julie." I watch as his face pales, the names hitting him like physical blows. "Seems like you've been busy, huh?"

He begins walking, clearly hoping I'll get the hint and leave him be. He's wrong. I slink behind him until we're at a fair distance from the house.

"You can run as long as you want," I call out smoothly. "But it's not going to help."

He recovers quickly, his posture shifting to one of defiance. "What do you want?"

"I want you to make it right. Tell them the truth. If you don't, I will."

He scoffs, a nervous laugh. "You think you can threaten me? You have no idea who you're messing with."

That's when I step closer, invading his space. "Oh, but I do. And if I have to come back here, you'll find out just how much I know."

He scoffs, stepping closer, invading my personal space. "I should teach you a lesson."

I don't flinch. "Try it."

It's quick—the way he moves, as if to grab me. But I'm quicker. Years of self-defense training, plus a few tricks from my old gym coach, have honed my reflexes. I sidestep, grabbing his outstretched arm, twisting it behind his back with enough pressure to make him wince but not enough to break.

"Listen," I hiss, my face inches from his, "I don't want to hurt you. I just want you to be honest. To them, and to yourself. But if you try anything like this again, I'll make sure you regret it."

He struggles, but the grip I have is solid, trained. "You can't… you have no right?—"

"Rights?" I push slightly on his arm, eliciting a grunt of pain. "What about their rights? Your families'? Think about them instead of your own selfish needs."

For a moment, he's silent, and I feel him relenting slightly under the force of my hold and my words. I loosen my grip, just a bit, keeping him in place. "Go home. Sort your life out. And remember, I'll be watching. And not just me. I have friends, people you don't want to mess with. This is your only warning."

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