Code Name: Princess Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Author’s Note

  About the Author

  Other Books by Christina Skye

  Praise for Christina Skye Novels

  Preview of Code Name: Nanny

  Copyright Page

  For Christine Helmer

  prologue

  * * *

  S omething was wrong.

  The woman stood unmoving, trying to shake a bad case of the jitters. Closing her eyes, she worked back through every step of her day.

  No clear threats. No signs of pursuit or surveillance. But the uneasiness continued. Cold, like nagging fingers that wouldn’t let go.

  She checked the nearby playpen. No problems there.

  Maybe the weirdness factor of this job was finally getting to her.

  Frowning, she pulled out her cell phone and punched in a number. With the movement, a silver badge gleamed briefly beneath her blazer.

  “Yeah, it’s Agent Harrison. I just ran a perimeter check and the package is safe. Estimated departure time tomorrow is 0500 hours. Maintain full security at the dock until then.” When her instructions were complete, she ended the call, glancing into the playpen set up near the end of the bed.

  The face she saw there made her smile, even though she wasn’t remotely maternal or nurturing, which meant this job was definitely getting to her.

  She was about to kick off her shoes, when she heard a knock at the door.

  “Portland P.D., ma’am.”

  She didn’t answer, moving away from the window, her mind already racing through defensive options.

  “Ms. Harrison, are you in there?”

  The agent took a deep breath and checked the peephole, frowning. “Give me your name and ID number.”

  There was a pause. “John Wilson, ma’am. Badge number 21109. Feel free to check with the station.”

  You bet I will. Agent Harrison pulled the playpen closer. As she did, the blanket slipped off the small, sleeping form beneath it.

  Smoothing the blanket protectively, she hit the speed dial of her cell phone and spoke quietly. “Izzy? Right, I’m here at the safe house in Portland, right behind the Sunrise Suites. The package is fine, but something is damn strange, because I’ve got Portland P.D. banging on my front door.”

  There was another knock, and it was harder this time. “Ma’am, I’m afraid we need you to step outside.”

  “Izzy, check the Portland roster for a John Wilson, ID number 21109. Sure, I’ll hold on. The door’s got a dead bolt and I rigged a few additions of my own, but don’t take too much time. Princess will be waking up soon.” The agent glanced at the playpen. The pink baby blanket shifted and a furry face looked back at her.

  Big expressive eyes, fresh from sleep. Round dark ears.

  “Shhh, honey.” The FBI field agent smiled crookedly. “Aunt Moira is right here and everything’s fine. I’ll get your bottle in a minute.” She heard a burst of static, and then Izzy Teague, one of the finest security operatives she knew, cut back onto the line.

  “No go, Harrison. The name’s real, but Wilson’s on sick leave today. Your man’s a fake, and two green vans just pulled up in the back alley. Five people are currently in place, and I’ve got a SEAL team en route, so stay low and do not open the door. I repeat, do not open your door unless the code word is given.”

  “Copy that, Izzy.”

  The doorknob shook. Something big slammed against the wood, shaking the whole wall.

  “Better get a move on those SEALs. My visitors are getting nasty.”

  Cool after years of training, the agent checked her field weapon and then lifted a silver-white koala bear out of the playpen, tucking the world’s rarest mammal into a padded Kevlar baby carrier at her chest. As she headed for the stairs to the fortified attic, two bullets hammered the lock on the front door.

  “Teague, I’m under attack. Get me that SEAL team pronto.”

  She was halfway up the stairs when the window behind her exploded in a shower of glass. Automatic weapons spit angrily from the parking lot, the front door slammed open, and the agent fell backward, her precious cargo cradled at her chest.

  Her fingers were struggling with empty air as the room went dark around her.

  chapter 1

  Ten hours later

  Washington State, near

  the Canadian border

  * * *

  T he wind hit him like an ice pick from hell.

  It was a nasty night in a week of nasty nights, but Hawk Mackenzie barely noticed. After twelve years as a Navy SEAL, bad nights were his specialty.

  He studied the rugged terrain around him. Layered tracks led across the cliffs and then turned sharply, looping back to the road.

  They’d stopped here for a break.

  As Hawk maneuvered his powerful off-road motorcycle through ankle-high mud, his encrypted cell phone began to beep.

  “Mackenzie here.”

  “This is Teague. What have you got?”

  “Motorcycle tracks. Probably a dozen or so, but only three sets look fresh. Hold on.” Hawk smiled grimly. “Someone’s been through here recently, Izzy. Thanks to the rain, most of the detail is gone, but I’d say we’re talking three dirt bikes.” He ran a flashlight over the wet, freshly gouged earth. “The tracks heading back to the road appear to be deeper, too. Before they turned around, they picked up more weight.”

  Since the man on the other end of the line was one of the government’s finest security operatives, Hawk knew every word between them was being recorded. After the call was complete, every detail would be tracked and analyzed.

  “You’re sure they had more weight when they left?”

  “No doubt about it.” Hawk pulled out a digital camera and powered up the flash. “I’m running some shots for you now. Maybe you can pull details from the tire tracks. Off the cuff I’d say there are three or four usable footprints here, too, probably from boots.”

  Ishmael Teague was silent for a long moment. “I need a field assessment, Mackenzie. Where are they headed?”

  The Navy SEAL squinted into the icy rain sheeting down the cliff face. “They know the terrain, Izzy. If I hadn’t been right on top of these tracks, I never would have found them. The tracks appear to be running north, so the obvious answer would be Canada.”

  Keys tapped quickly at a computer. “But—?”

  “But I don’t buy it. I think they’ll stay local.” Hawk studied the mud, frowning. “They’ll go to ground and try to wait us out.”

  Hawk had been teamed with Izzy Teague before, involved in covert missions that required brains, guts and seat-of-the-pants planning, and Hawk trusted the man without reservation.

  And trust was something Hawk didn’t give easily.

  “So you advise that we scratch our surveillance team in Portland?”

  “Roger that.” The SEAL hunched his shoulders against the driving rain, reading the terrain for subtle clues he m
ight have missed. “Put a skeleton force in place for insurance. Meanwhile, I’ll stay up here. Call it a bad ache in my bones, but I think something’s out here.”

  Izzy bit back a curse. “I don’t need to remind you that careers—and a hell of a lot of lives—are riding on this mission.”

  “No, you don’t have to remind me.” As he spoke, Hawk left his bike and walked in a careful circle, trying to piece together what had happened here.

  Three off-road bikes, traveling fast.

  Men with heavy boots, staying close to the granite edge so they’d leave few prints.

  As his flashlight swept the ground, Hawk frowned. There were no dropped cigarette butts, no water bottles, no candy wrappers. All he found were three partial footprints and several indistinct tire tracks.

  Phone in hand, the SEAL squinted out at the gunmetal water below him. “They’re pros, Izzy. This place is clean. If they go to ground and try to wait us out, the weather is on their side. There have to be a thousand coves and inlets where they can hide along the Sound or across the Strait.”

  “The weather’s heading downhill, too. I just pulled up the latest satellite maps, and tonight’s winds are expected to top forty miles per hour.”

  Hawk said a few choice words under his breath. More dark clouds were already shouldering their way toward the coast.

  “It’s your call.” Izzy Teague sounded irritated. “If you think they’ll stay local, maintain your search area. Check in every six hours, and record all information precisely. Heads are going to roll if we don’t recover this package pronto.”

  “No need for reminders.” Hawk knew exactly what this mission entailed. As a SEAL, he was used to mantras about national security, but warnings about a scientific debacle and grave medical consequences indicated a whole new threat level. “I’ll hang around here and see if I can find anything else before the rain scours the cliffs clean.”

  “Copy that.” Izzy cleared his throat. “How are your ribs holding up?”

  “What ribs?” Hawk picked his way slowly over the muddy ground. If he allowed himself to think about it, his pain was constant, despite the top-secret meds the Navy was testing on him.

  “The ribs you broke two months ago, Mackenzie.”

  “They’re no worse than they were yesterday.”

  Which wasn’t saying a hell of a lot.

  But Hawk Mackenzie knew this corner of Washington State better than anyone, and he didn’t cave in to pain, so his tone was steady as he walked back to his mud-spattered bike. “Gotta go, Izzy. Wind’s picking up.”

  “Keep your search short, and upload those images as soon as you get back to the hotel. If there’s any speck of evidence left, I’ll isolate it.”

  Hawk knew this was no idle boast. The man on the other end of the phone could geek one pixel out of a million until you knew names and dates—who, what and why.

  “Roger that, Izzy. Signing off now.”

  “Keep your powder dry, Navy.”

  Hawk stared into the sheeting rain. Staying dry tonight was about as likely as getting laid.

  Thirty minutes later more rain was hammering down the cliff, and the last hint of tracks was gone.

  Cold and disgusted, Hawk packed up his flashlight and waterproof camera and kick-started his dirt bike. The pain at his side was angry and insistent, like a crowbar going in slowly under the bone, and the sooner he got inside, the better.

  Izzy had arranged a suite at a swank hotel along the coast, where Hawk could power up his laptop and upload his high-resolution digital images, then grab a short nap before he headed out again.

  But first Hawk had a treacherous ride ahead of him.

  A section of the cliff vanished in a brown slide of mud as he toed his bike into gear, all the while struck by the sense that he was being watched. When he finally made his way down the mountain, he was drenched to the skin and covered with mud, his ribs throbbing.

  He tried to hide his exhaustion as he shouldered his backpack and strode through the lobby toward his room. Thanks to his carefully nurtured identity as a nature photographer on assignment for a respected travel magazine, there would be no questions about his odd hours or bedraggled appearance. The bored night manager nodded as he passed, and Hawk noticed that the waitress in the lounge off the lobby shot him a glance that suggested intimate possibilities.

  But the SEAL’s only concern was the fastest route to his room. All his thoughts were focused on his current assignment, recovering a top-secret donor mammal stolen from a secure location in Portland, leaving two agents dead and two more wounded.

  Hawk’s boots squished softly as he left the elevator and checked the hall. When he was certain no one was too close or too interested, he inserted his room key and waited impatiently for the green light to flash on the entrance pad.

  Nothing happened.

  Damned electronics. He swiped his key card again, controlling his impatience as icy water trickled down his neck. When the red light continued to flash, he inserted a small silver chip in the scanner. Within seconds the light flashed once, then changed to solid green.

  Mission accomplished, thanks to Izzy’s latest electronic wizardry.

  After pocketing his priceless and highly illicit piece of technology, Hawk stepped inside, where he was immediately hit by the faint scent of perfume. A suitcase stood on the floor next to the closet, and a robe lay neatly folded across the end of the bed, covered by a red silk scarf.

  He froze, focused on the off-key singing that drifted down the hall. Only two people knew that he was here and both of them had security clearance at the highest levels. It was impossible that either one would have betrayed his location.

  Palming his field knife, he moved silently down the hall toward the shower. Steam drifted past as he put down his knapsack and glanced around the corner.

  There was a woman in front of him.

  A completely naked woman who was using his shower.

  His first thought was that he’d opened the door to the wrong room. Since no electronic lock outside the Pentagon’s E-wing was immune to Izzy’s newest gadget, Hawk silently rechecked the number.

  It was his number, and it was his room. What the hell was going on?

  He moved back into the shadows, watching the woman lather shampoo into her hair and crank out a hip-gyrating, off-key Rolling Stones classic while hot water pounded over her shoulders. Hawk took a good look at the rest of her body, chin to toe. Even through the steam and the haze on the glass, that part of her looked just as interesting as what he had seen so far.

  The woman had amazing legs. Her ass looked pretty damned nice, too, and while he waited for her to turn around, he felt a nudge of desire, which he ruthlessly suppressed.

  When she started into a new song, he fingered his cell phone, inching back into the living room.

  Izzy picked up on the second ring. “Joe’s Pizza.”

  “There’s a woman in my shower,” Hawk whispered. “She looks to be five seven, maybe 140. Caucasian. Black hair.” Bending down, he studied her suitcase. “Initials are E.G. Check the hotel database and see what you find.”

  As he waited, Hawk glanced through the closet.

  A worn denim jacket. A pair of black jeans. A gray University of California sweatshirt. A pink silk suit with puffy sleeves and a short, tight skirt.

  Somehow the jeans didn’t track with the suit.

  Hawk frowned. He was about to go for her purse when Izzy came back on the line.

  “Hotel records show a new person registered in your room. Her name is Elena Grimaldi. No other information is available via the hotel computer.”

  “If she’s here, where am I supposed to be?”

  “You were moved to a different wing about two hours ago. It could be a computer error.”

  “Yeah, and I could be Time magazine’s Man of the Year.” Hawk cradled the phone, watching the hall to the shower. “What do you have on this Grimaldi woman? Is she a foreign national?”

  Keys clicked ra
pidly on a keyboard. “No sign of any passport registered in that name entering the U.S. in the last six months.” The keys clicked again. “The IRS has nothing available on that name either.”

  “So she’s an illegal?”

  “Looks like it. She’s got no driver’s license, no car or health insurance.” More keys clicked. “Whoa—I just brought up a credit card. Only one. Strange that there’s nothing else in that name.”

  A fake identity, Hawk thought grimly. Someone was baiting a nice mousetrap for him with a wet, willing and very attractive female body.

  The singing halted. A towel slid over the shower door and vanished. “Gotta go, Izzy. Keep on digging.”

  “Will do. Watch your back, pal.”

  Hawk broke the connection. The field knife was still hidden at his jacket sleeve when he sat down in the shadows, exhaustion forgotten. He’d give his intruder five seconds to start explaining who the hell she was and why she was in his room. If he didn’t like what he heard, he’d start eliciting answers in the most direct way. Naked or not, gorgeous or not, the woman was a simple military objective as far as he was concerned.

  Down the corridor, the shower door opened. Watching the mirror nearby, Hawk saw steam billow out into the airy bathroom. She worked at her tangled hair with a comb, mouthing an old Beach Boys tune, and with every movement her towel hitched up, offering him an excellent view of long legs and wet, gleaming skin.

  A moment later she disappeared. Water ran in the sink, and bottles slid across the vanity. Hawk stood up, his back to the wall, as fabric rustled next door.

  When she finally reappeared, a dry towel covered her damp body and her hair lay thick and dark on her shoulders. Big white cotton balls were stuck between her toes and she walked carefully, rubbing some kind of cream on her bare arms.

  Certain that no weapons were visible, Hawk picked his moment and shot forward, spinning her hard. Her lips worked but she didn’t make a sound. No protests or screams emerged. He felt her body tense, shock merging with panic.

  And then her eyes went blank, almost as if she were about to faint. The oldest dodge in the book, he thought grimly.

  “Who are you?” she rasped.