Princess (18 page)

chapter
25

S
omeone shouted a question. Chavez screamed back.

“Two,” he cried, the sound a roar over the wind.

Energy backed up through Hawk’s body as he ran, and every muscle seemed to uncoil, eating up the muddy yards in loose, powerful strides. Heart pumping, he jumped a boulder, cut through waist-high reeds, shot over a fallen log.

“Three!”

He sprinted out of the trees at the only point where Chavez wouldn’t see him and slid to a crouch. Chavez was on his left, standing under the big sycamore tree, holding Luellen captive with his left arm. Izzy was six feet away, roped hands caught at his back, guarded by three men with submachine guns.

“Four, damn it!”

Hawk went flat against the wall of the smaller shed, pulled a scoped rifle from his webbed vest and laid it on the ground in front of him. He sighted on Luellen with the sniper rifle and aimed carefully.

Luellen went down, followed by two of the men near Izzy.

Izzy went down last, red staining his back and neck.

Grimly, Hawk studied the hillside through his scope, then sprinted past Luellen, who was moaning on the ground a few feet away from the tattered target of her husband’s face, her left shoulder covered by a circle of crimson.

One of Chavez’s men emerged behind the old truck, and Hawk took him down with a round kick and a hook to the throat.

Chavez was halfway down the slope, almost to the motorcycles. Shouting curses, he looked back and squeezed five quick shots over his shoulder.

Hawk felt one of the bullets rip through his side, but he didn’t slow down. Chavez was his second mission priority after rescuing Princess. The man had been hunted over four continents, wanted for terrorist assaults and plutonium smuggling from Istanbul to Bangkok. Hawk’s orders were to bring him in alive or bring him down permanently.

As Hawk crawled over the muddy slope, hidden by one of the sheds, he heard Chavez cut through the rows of corn. Abruptly, the killer changed direction, veering toward the truck where Ruthie was hidden.

Hawk shot to his feet. “Here!”

Gunfire raked the ground around Hawk, and then Chavez dropped back into the corn that swayed in ghostly green trails. He was too much of a professional to lose any time taunting Hawk. Instead he answered with another explosive burst from a Bulgarian-made AK-47.

Bullets tore through the mud. Hawk returned fire, and his second burst caught Chavez as he rose, cursing, to throw a grenade.

The grenade spun to the ground, pin unpulled. Chavez staggered and followed it down, his face against the mud. His feet twitched violently and lay still. The wind sighed, slipping through the dark, dancing corn.

L.Z. whimpered as Hawk sprinted up the hill. The dog had stayed hidden exactly where Izzy had ordered all through the assault, but at Hawk’s call, he bounded out of hiding, fur matted with mud and grass, tail swinging wildly.

“Good work, pal. Mighty damned fine nose.”

L.Z. barked once.

“Yeah, I know. Let’s go deal with it.”

Luellen was leaning against the sycamore, her arm cradled against her chest, cursing like a stevedore.

Hawk ignored her, running toward Izzy, who was sprawled flat, motionless near the trailer steps. L.Z. followed and pressed his nose against Izzy’s face, whimpering.

Hawk scanned the area, then dropped beside Izzy. “Come on, Teague, you big, ugly gorilla. Don’t even think about checking out.”

Luellen waved her free arm. “You shot me! I’m gonna sue your ass from here to Sunday, buddy.”

Izzy didn’t move.

Hawk ran a hand along Izzy’s neck, cursing when his fingers met fresh blood, not the red ink from the paintball “bullets” he’d fired at Izzy and Luellen to confuse Chavez. L.Z. butted Izzy with his head and licked his face from one side to the other.

“Get the hell up.” Hawk’s voice was tight. “Come on. Move it, Teague.”

“No need . . .” Izzy’s body shook. “No need to kiss me, Navy.”

Hawk took a sharp breath, and relief left him grinning. “Give it a break, Teague. That’s not me, it’s the wonder dog.”

Izzy sat up slowly, one hand at the back of his neck. “Must have hit a rock when I fell. My whole head hurts like a bitch.” He squinted at the red stain covering his chest. “Nice shot.” He picked up a big circle of red-stained foam from the ground and tossed it over his shoulder. “Damned breast inserts never work, no matter how much duct tape you use, but they do help pad against a paintball bullet.” He reached down and scratched L.Z. gently between the ears. “Extra dog bones for you tonight.”

The big Malinois barked excitedly as Izzy stood up and walked down the hill.

“Hey, what about me?” Luellen called angrily.

“Ruthie’s in the truck,” Hawk said, walking past her. “She’s safe, but she’s frightened. Go take care of her.”

“Ruthie?” Luellen looked down the hill, then rubbed at her shoulder, which was covered with red dye from Hawk’s paintball bullets. “You mean, I’m not hurt?”

“You’ll have a big bruise tomorrow,” Hawk said calmly. “Nothing serious.”

Luellen shook her head as Izzy dropped his skirt and shawl on the grass, stripped down to spandex biking shorts and a gray T-shirt. “I can’t believe she was—well, a
he.
”

“Lately, neither can I,” Hawk muttered.

Two motorcycles wound through the mud and down the other side of the hill. Three miles later they met up with a black Humvee, following it through the storm-littered town of Bright Creek.

Jess was in the backseat, Hawk saw. She still had the bear in her arms, and her face was the ashen color of death.

She’d killed a man today. It was something you never forgot. She’d need help after this. Maybe a lot of help.

Hawk figured he’d call her sister and fill her in. Even though Jess’s responses had been the right ones, they might not feel that way for a long, long time.

Hawk knew that from personal experience.

The Humvee sped past Bright Creek and pulled off the main road onto a gravel drive that appeared to lead exactly nowhere. Beyond a sharp curve, the road opened to a flat expanse of grass that bristled with communications trucks, microwave towers, and several dozen all-terrain vehicles scattered in front of a fenced communication complex.

Four of the highest-ranking members of the Joint Chiefs and assorted other officials were standing outside, cell phones in hand, and Izzy’s team was lined up around them, along with a dozen government scientists.

Princess was finally coming home.

The Humvee stopped. One of Izzy’s men opened the back door and started to help Jess out, but she brushed away his hand and stepped down, frowning. The bear was pressed against her chest, furry head to her shoulder, as Jess walked up the muddy path toward the cluster of people at the top of the hill.

She was quite a sight, Hawk thought. Her feet were bare, her hair a tangled mass at her shoulders. Her jeans were torn, and a dead man’s blood streaked her legs and face.

She looked like living, breathing hell.

All talking ceased. Looking neither right nor left, she walked wearily toward the man who appeared to have the most bars on his chest, while the uniforms parted in a silent path in front of her.

Tattered and shell-shocked, she managed to look regal, and the men around her straightened, eyes forward, responding as if she were their queen.

She stopped in front of the Secretary of the Navy, taking a deep breath, cradling the bear with fingers that shook slightly. “I think my friend here belongs to you.”

Someone began to clap behind her, then others joined in until the whole hillside was filled with the echo of applause.

Jess seemed startled, glancing around gravely as the Secretary of the Navy joined in the enthusiastic applause. “I didn’t do anything,” she said. “Nothing special.”

If she wasn’t special, then Hawk didn’t know who
was.

Walking up the path behind her, he grinned at Izzy. “Told you she was going to seriously screw up this op.”

“Or rescue it.” Izzy high-fived Hawk. “Face it, bro. She got game.”

Hawk would have liked to stay and congratulate her himself, but he saw his C.O. gesturing at him. There was still work to be done, Hawk knew. He wouldn’t have any personal time for weeks.

Maybe months.

He heard the drone of a motor and looked up to see a chopper skimming the trees from the south. He took a long time studying Jess, seeing the determined set to her shoulders and the way she stood, oblivious to her ripped clothes and bare feet. That was one tough, kick-butt lady, he thought. She was nothing like the pampered princess he’d assumed her to be in his shower.

Which just went to show how worthless first impressions could be.

The last of his uneasiness vanished as the chopper landed down the hill, and a figure jumped to the ground. Now he knew that Jess was in good hands. The FBI had sent in their best agent as liaison.

She happened to be Jess’s sister, Summer.

Izzy tossed his wig into the nearest Jeep and nodded to Hawk. “Let’s reload and then go hunt down the rest of Chavez’s nasty hive.”

chapter
26

Northern California
Four months later

T
he beach was deserted. Only a crowd of noisy birds circled, diving for their lunch.

Jess was tired—and tired of pretending that she was not. But for the last three and a half months she’d kept busy with a passion. She’d cleaned out her old apartment, tossed out all the papers from her hotel career, and moved here to the beach two hours north of San Francisco.

In the weeks after she’d found the government’s priceless koala bear, she had received messages, phone calls and visits from a dozen quiet, tough Navy men who’d been friends of her father. The whole truth had finally emerged, how they had tried to contact her and her sister after her father’s death, and how her mother had blocked all contact, blaming the Navy for his death. Over the years after that, they had lost track of the two girls.

Jess frowned at the restless wedge of ocean glittering through the window. In a strange way her mother’s pain and anger made sense. Her father had been involved in Navy intelligence, Jess had learned. Though no one had given her any details, she was certain that he had been meeting someone as part of a covert assignment when he’d died.

Not on a simple trip to the store for milk, as she and Summer had been told.

A tough crew of ex–Navy chiefs had stepped in without notice, checking that she was eating enough, sleeping enough, relaxing enough. They didn’t argue or accept any evasions. Instead they took quiet charge, bringing food, carrying boxes and furniture, rotating her tires and washing her Jeep.

Jess shook her head as the sea wind ruffled her hair. What an amazing thing, to discover a whole set of surrogate fathers when you were grown enough to really appreciate them. Even her sister, low-key as always, was enjoying the impromptu visits and gruff concern. Summer’s husband, the Navy SEAL with the gorgeous body, felt right at home among the crusty crew.

Jess finished folding a pile of freshly ironed linen napkins and sat down in a rattan chair overlooking the harbor. A lanky teenager was hauling boxes of flowers up from a rusted pickup truck, and the colors made Jess smile with delight. A dozen shades of red smiled back at her. When the teenager saw her looking, he doffed his baseball hat in a quick gesture of chivalry.

Jess waved back, then lowered her hand to cover her stomach. She took a breath and closed her eyes, enjoying the heat of the sun on her face.

Trying not to think about shadows or death, about what had been and what would be.

For now, this moment was enough.

A few minutes later the bell in the front foyer tinkled. A man with graying red hair walked into the hall, carrying a basket of cut roses.

“More flowers for you. Some man was upstairs painting your door, too.” Her boss was a tall ex-Marine whose gruffness couldn’t hide a marshmallow heart, and Jess loved him dearly. “I asked him why, and he said he was paid, that’s all.”

Jess felt a flutter in her chest at the latest in a string of unexpected gifts. “What color?”

“Santa Fe blue. Your favorite color.” Her boss tried to look disapproving. “Another young woman brought a red hammock to hang out in the back under the olive trees.”

“Dutch, did they say—?”

“No more than any of the others did. Must be that secret admirer of yours again.”

Except they both knew that Jess’s admirer wasn’t a secret.

“About time you got off your feet,” the old soldier muttered, sticking roses in a big porcelain vase by the window. “You were up before dawn fixing the curtains in the dining room and after that you just had to go down and tinker with the Sunday brunch menus.”

“I’m fine.” Jess hid a yawn. “In fact, I’ve never felt better.”

Oddly, it was true. Each day she woke up smiling, brimming over with more energy than she’d had in her life. And of course she was eating like a pig. Pretty soon none of her clothes would fit.

She smiled radiantly at the thought.

“Never mind that. I’ll stay and fix those flowers, Dutch.” She stretched contentedly.

“I can manage them just fine.” The ex-Marine had gentle hands for a man who was nearly six, six, and he enjoyed working with them. “Here’s some herbal tea for you.” He set a steaming pot carefully on the table. “Don’t spill it.”

“I’m not that clumsy.” Jess cleared her throat. “I only spilled something once, and that was because your dog tried to do dog Olympics on my feet.”

Sudden barking thundered through the first floor of the little hotel, and a black mass of fur and legs roared like an express train down the picture-filled hallway, braking hard and spinning in a circle at Jess’s feet.

“Speaking of the devil,” she murmured.

The huge German shepherd barked again, then nuzzled its way beneath her arm, whimpering with pleasure when she leaned down to scratch behind his ears.

Jess stared at the dog for a long time. “Did he call me?”

The big man hid a look of worry, crossing the room with a noticeable limp. “Once last night after you went to sleep. Once this morning around five.” His mouth tightened as he arranged clean silver on the nearby tables.

“Twice?” Jess’s fingers tightened on the arm of her chair. “Why didn’t you wake me up?”

“Because you need your sleep, blast it.” The ex-Marine cleared his throat as he arranged crystal glasses on tables with pristine damask tablecloths. “I told him that, too.”

Jess bit back a sigh of disappointment. “Where was he calling from this time?”

“Last night I heard one of those European sirens. You know—up and down, shrill as hell. This morning, I heard Big Ben.”

So Hawk was in London, Jess thought. Last week it had been Thailand. The week before it had been India.

She forced a bright smile. “Join the Navy, see the world.”

Dutch said something beneath his breath. “I’ll finish up here. You go upstairs and rest for a bit.”

“But the flowers—”

“It’s my hotel, honey. Argue with me, and I’ll just have to fire you.” Concern filled his eyes even as he fought to hide his tenderness. “I’m almost finished here, anyway. Take Monster with you.”

Hearing his name, the big German shepherd shot around Jess’s back and barked loudly, clearly hoping for a walk.

Jess stood up slowly, one hand on the chair. The other touched the slight curve that was already visible at her stomach.

Hawk’s baby had been conceived during a raging storm in an elevator that had stalled—touching Jess’s heart and changing her life.

A baby was the last thing she had expected. Because of her longstanding hormonal problems, her specialist had finally prescribed birth control pills, and Jess had just begun her first month’s supply when she’d gone to Washington. In her stress and confusion there, she had missed two pills.

The news that she was carrying Hawk’s baby had been the most wonderful surprise of her life. Jess had confided in her sister as soon as the pregnancy was certain, and now Summer was excitedly researching strollers and cribs, even planning a big baby shower that she thought Jess knew nothing about.

“I’m going, I’m going.” She smoothed Monster’s shaggy hair. “If Hawk calls me again . . .” She stared at Dutch, trying to seem calm and collected when she was anything but.

“I’ll get you. I swear it.” The big man cleared his throat. “You’d better tell him this week.”

“As soon as I get my last blood test back.” Jess’s hands curled protectively over her stomach. “If I pass, everything will be fine. And you know that I feel disgustingly healthy.”

But the cells nourishing the tiny miracle inside her could fail at any moment, causing her to lose her child. Neither one of them mentioned that, though both were thinking about it.

A car honked outside. Monster thundered down the hall, barking.

“That’s Henri with the wine delivery. I’ll take care of it.” Dutch studied the sunny room, the polished wood and the gleaming crystal, shaking his head.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s the crystal, I guess. It hits me like that sometimes. A 4-star bed and breakfast on the beach is a damned strange spot for an old, beat-up Marine. I surely never expected to get friendly with a bunch of ugly old Navy farts, either.”

“It’s hard to know where life can take us,” Jess said quietly. She rested her hand on his callused fingers. “I’ve inspected hotels all over the country and not one was better managed or more beautiful than this.”

The big man smiled, studying the room with pride. “With your help. I may even have to give you a raise. I don’t want that big resort on the hill stealing you away.”

Jess grinned. “As if.”

Monster barked wildly at the back door.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming.”

Jess watched Dutch limp slowly toward the back door. He smiled more now, she thought. One of her father’s Navy buddies had recommended her for the job of manager and concierge at Dutch’s small enterprise on the rugged northern coast. After one look at the charming pink guesthouses nestled in lush landscape beside the ocean, Jess would have signed on to scrub toilets. Within two months, she had doubled occupancy rates and secured a file full of glowing reviews, and business had never been better.

Dutch was exuberant, though he managed to hide it.

He was also as protective as Monster when it came to Jess and her advancing pregnancy.

But bless the man, he didn’t plague her with questions the way her sister had. He’d only asked the name of the father once. Though Jess was pretty sure he’d gone off to make inquiries among that tight-knit military circle of his, he never mentioned another word to her.

It was Summer who called once a week to see if Hawk had come to see her yet. Jess explained that he was busy, still involved in the mission. The silence afterward said what Summer wouldn’t.

That she knew her sister was hurting and she couldn’t bear it.

Trailing her fingers along a row of framed watercolors, Jess climbed the stairs to her sunny room at the back of the top floor. She stopped at the landing, a silly grin on her lips.

The door was bright blue, just the way Dutch had described. The paint was still drying.

Another gift.

Her room was a small, sunny space large enough for only a bed and a tiny reading alcove, but the trade-off was the balcony with tall French doors. Jess gazed through the glass now at the blue-green panorama of deep coves hugging steep, rugged cliffs.

After one more blood test, her specialist would give her a clean bill of health. Like her mother, Jess had been diagnosed with a luteal-phase defect that meant miscarriage was a definite possibility. So far the baby growing inside her racked up full points for vibrant good health and growth rate, but anxiety made Jess clam up every time Hawk called.

She tried to remember the odds, tried not to desperately want the child she and Hawk had conceived in reckless passion, but no amount of logic and sense made her want the baby less. Within seconds of learning she was pregnant, she had wrapped her heart around the idea with no regrets or reservations. She already had plans to teach her daughter—or son—to make soap from scratch, change a Ducati carburetor, and bodysurf in the Pacific.

Summer would teach the Weaver stance, the rumba, and how to avoid identity theft.

But first Jess had to tell Hawk about his baby.

The week before she missed three calls because of time differences as he roamed the far corners of the globe. Another time their connection had failed. Last week she’d told him to set aside time for a long talk tomorrow. Anxious or not, she meant to call him immediately after her last and most crucial medical checkup.

Inside her room, Jess studied a huge vase of flowers, a gift from Summer and Gabe, who were coming for a visit the following weekend. Several of her father’s Navy buddies were due soon too, ready to dish out tall tales about the father who’d died too young.

Jess opened the French doors and savored the salty air. Her body was pulsing with energy, and she had a sudden urge for strawberries and an almond milkshake.

With a side order of Dutch’s homemade pickles.

But first she was going to take a walk on the beach. Grabbing a hat and sweater, she headed down the winding front stairs through the flower-filled lobby.

She didn’t hear Monster bark as a sleek motorcycle pulled around back into the service entrance.

“Where is she?”

“Beg your pardon?” Dutch put down a case of domestic champagne.

The man in the black leather jacket had stubble on his cheeks and his eyes looked tired as he slid off the gleaming Silver Ducati. “I’m looking for Jess Mulcahey.”

Dutch leaned back, studying the man. He noted the muscled shoulders, the careful eyes.

The hidden restlessness.

This had to be Hawk Mackenzie, the man he’d tracked across Europe and Asia. The man whose military file he’d raided and researched.

He was a hero and a loner.

He was also a heartbreaker.

Damn the man. If he broke Jess’s heart, Dutch and three of his buddies would tie the SEAL down and cut out his tongue.

And then they’d do something
really
bad to him.

“She’s not here,” Dutch snapped.

“Then where?”

“Out.” Defiantly. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

“You her boss?”

Dutch nodded.

The man in the motorcycle jacket glared at him. “That better be all you are.”

Dutch would have decked the man if he hadn’t seen the pain in his eyes. “Mister, the woman’s the same age as my granddaughter.” He moved across the courtyard, painfully aware of his limp. “Give it a rest.”

Hawk Mackenzie cursed, rubbing his neck. “Yeah, well—sorry. I just wanted to be sure. She doesn’t answer my calls. She doesn’t answer my letters.”

Dutch crossed his arms. “Because you call at gawdawful hours, boy. And because your letters never have return addresses.”

“I left an address in San Francisco.” Hawk jammed a hand through his hair. “Probably the mail takes a while to forward. I’ve been on the move.”

“Care to tell me what you’ve been doing?”

“No.”

Dutch nodded. “That’s what I figured.”