Princess Page 3

  Every penny helped.

  The security guard was still waiting impatiently at the door. “Are you done here, ma’am?”

  Jess summoned a smile. “Everything’s fine now. Thanks for taking a look.”

  “No problem. I’ll call in a report, ma’am.” The guard headed back outside, fingering his walkie-talkie before the door had closed behind him.

  After he left, Jess stood tensely in the middle of the room. The attack was like a horrible dream, after weeks of nonstop travel. Her shoulders sagged. She realized how much she wanted to be at home in her small apartment, where she’d always felt safe.

  Jess closed her eyes, struggling beneath a wave of hopelessness as she remembered the clever way she had been suckered into a new hotel venture in Mexico with its “guaranteed” promise of ground-floor profits for the first ten investors.

  At first the enterprise had been solid, banked by reputable American and Mexican firms. The profits had seemed like a sure thing until the owners had vanished in the night, leaving Jess and the other investors with useless contracts, broken promises and a pile of debts.

  Now her shoes had holes and she had to squirrel away food at every hotel she visited. She felt powerless or humiliated when she thought of all she had lost, which happened to be almost every penny of her savings.

  But there was no going back and no point in kicking herself for being naïve. If she wanted to be paid, she had a job to do. She’d finish her report and be on her way.

  With any kind of luck, this whole nightmare would be nothing more than a bad memory in a few hours.

  Hawk stared north, squinting into the wind.

  Driftwood littered the beach around him, and low-lying clouds darkened the gray water stretching between Washington and Canada. He’d left the hotel and followed the road west, hugging the coast, stopping often to check for signs of motorcycle tracks. He wasn’t overly disappointed when he found nothing, because the mountains hugged the coast here, making off-road travel next to impossible. Eventually, however, they would have pulled off for a break, and the isolated wildlife refuge where Hawk stood was a perfect spot to avoid prying eyes.

  To the north, surf pounded the spit of land that curved out into the Strait of Juan de Fuca. Beneath a gunmetal sky, waterbirds nested on the tidal flats, oblivious to Hawk as he moved slowly along the beach. Turning inland, he searched for tire marks or footprints that had survived the rain. Patient and thorough, he covered the entire beach and all its gravel access roads. Finally, at the far side of the cove, protected from the numbing north wind, he found the sign he had been looking for.

  The partial print of a metal-tipped motorcycle boot lay protected in a hollow between two rocks. The print was fresh, and Hawk quickly snapped six shots for Izzy. Following the beach for two hundred feet, he came across a second bootprint indented in a patch of moss. When Hawk bent down to capture the detail with his camera, he saw a tiny wedge of chewed gum nearby. With gloved fingers he slid the evidence into a plastic bag. Having a recent DNA sample to accompany the boot imprint would make the government’s job easier.

  To the north the San Juan Islands were hidden beneath a layer of clouds. Even as Hawk worked, Izzy was researching motorcycle travelers who had used the local ferries. Private boat rentals would be harder to trace, but Izzy was making inroads there, too. Meanwhile, some instinct told Hawk that the men he was tracking hadn’t left the peninsula. Between the rugged Olympic Mountains and the rain forests in the south, there were a thousand places where a well-provisioned and experienced outdoor team could vanish for weeks, taking a stolen animal with them.

  Hawk’s current orders were to track the attackers without alerting local residents. Privately, he suspected that telling the truth would have been easier and more effective, but sometimes telling the truth was dangerous—at least that’s what the politicians and experts kept saying.

  With the light fading fast, he slid his camera into his pack and studied the road that looped west. In a few hours he would be back, hoping for more sunlight and another glimpse of a motorcycle boot.

  As rain struck his face, Hawk cursed softly, wet and cold, angry that he hadn’t come up with more solid evidence. He wondered how far the woman in the shower had gotten and what kind of story she had told the hotel staff. She was unquestionably smart and resourceful, and he still railed at himself for not securing both of her hands.

  Down the road a bus lumbered into view, its lights blurred by the heavy rain. Hawk realized his ribs were aching again.

  So much for the Navy’s latest experiment with tissue regrowth medications. Right now an elastic bandage and a dry towel would have been a hell of a lot more useful to him, and they’d be a damned sight cheaper.

  Shouldering his backpack, he revved his motorcycle and headed back the way he had come.

  It was done, Jess thought. Her report was finished, sent via e-mail, and she couldn’t wait to hit the road.

  She tossed her single suitcase into the back of her Jeep, shivering in the cold rain. Despite the storm, she meant to push south without a break until she reached Portland.

  As she started her car, Jess glanced over her shoulder nervously. Inspectors had one ironclad rule in her occupation: check out and then file the report. Those who forgot the rule risked verbal harassment or physical retaliation. In her case, she figured the harassment had already begun. She was lucky she’d come away with no more than a few bruises.

  Anxiety made her floor the Jeep down the hotel’s main driveway. Her cell phone began to ring, but she ignored it, peering into the gray light as the road twisted through fingers of mist.

  After a brief pause, the shrill peals began again.

  Muttering, she dug into her purse for her phone. “I can’t talk now,” she snapped. “I just turned in a report.”

  “Did they pay you this time?” a dry female voice asked.

  “I always get paid.” It was a lie, she knew. Her checks usually arrived several months late, stretching her finances perilously thin. “I’m fine, I’m happy, and I’ll call you in thirty minutes, Summer. I want to get away from the hotel. Especially this hotel.”

  “Why?” Jess’s twin sister said sharply. “Did something happen to you?”

  “Nothing’s happened, but I have to go. The fog’s getting worse.”

  “What fog?” Summer Mulcahey’s voice changed, more worried than irritated. “Where the heck are you, Jess? You’re breaking up.”

  “I just checked out of a hotel on the Olympic Peninsula. Sorry, Summer, but I’ve really got to go.”

  “Okay, call me, hear? Make it soon.”

  A few minutes after Jess cut the connection, lights flashed on a gravel road that wound down to the beach. She had meant to explore the cove, but she never had. As usual, there had been too much work to do.

  She shivered a little, bumping up the heat while the motor whined. She realized she needed to clean her carburetor and check the idle. Though she loved her Jeep, it had seen plenty of off-road miles and was in need of some major repairs, none of which she could currently afford.

  One more consequence of being incredibly stupid and trusting people she barely knew.

  Suddenly car lights cut across the highway. A commercial delivery van swerved from its lane and passed a farm truck, headed directly for her.

  Braking hard, Jess turned onto the shoulder, her tires spinning in the mud. The van fishtailed, its lights leaving her temporarily blinded, and she swung hard to the right to avoid impact. Her Jeep took a half-circle through the mud and the van raced past her with inches to spare.

  A black shape flashed through the trees on her left. Jess jerked the wheel hard, trying to maneuver out of the mud and back onto the road while the farm truck rumbled toward her, also on the left. Somewhere ahead of her came the powerful whine of a motorcycle traveling off-road.

  In the Jeep’s headlights Jess suddenly saw a black helmet, sleek chrome exhaust pipes and a driver in a black jacket. Because of the sharp curve and
the farm truck blocking his view, Jess realized he wouldn’t be able to see her until he was nearly on top of her.

  As she churned through the mud, clouds drifted over the trees, veiling the road. When the rider took the turn without slowing, Jess wrenched the wheel sharply, trying to clear a path for him, but she spun out in the mud, struck a boulder and then fishtailed sideways.

  The sickening thump she heard next was the sound of a body slamming against her front fender.

  chapter 4

  Jess crouched in the rain, fighting panic. She’d struck a man with her car. Hit him hard, with almost no warning. Now he wasn’t moving, and she was probably a murderer. Meanwhile, he was bleeding heavily.

  Clamping down on her hysteria, Jess moved so she could check his face. She tried opening one of his eyes carefully with her finger, but he didn’t react. When her hands slipped on something that felt like blood, she gave a start and sprawled back on the ground in the mud. Wincing, she pulled off one of the man’s gloves and searched desperately for a pulse.

  Yes. No.

  Maybe?

  But she was no doctor, and she couldn’t tell if he had a pulse, especially with her hands shaking like Jell-O. Meanwhile, her victim still wasn’t moving, wasn’t making any noise, and neither seemed to be a good sign.

  Cold.

  Suddenly Jess remembered reading about heat loss in cases of shock and trauma. Dragging her coat out of the Jeep, she draped the heavy wool over his motionless body. When her fingers brushed his neck, she felt the warm, sticky thing again and was certain it was blood.

  She had to call the police or 911. She needed help now.

  A shrill ringing broke through her panic. Not her cell phone, Jess realized, but his. The sound was coming from somewhere inside his leather jacket.

  After a few fumbled tries, she managed to find a small silver flip phone. “Yes,” she answered, gasping. “Who is this?”

  She heard a little click, followed by silence.

  “If you’re there, answer me. I need help.” Her voice broke. “Hello?” Shivering, she leaned over the man on the ground and continued to talk. “He’s not moving. Dear God, he’s not saying anything. I’m afraid that I killed him.”

  “Killed who?” The voice on the phone was male, cold and clipped.

  “The man. The one you were calling. I found this phone in his jacket after he—he fell.” Jess swallowed hard, trying to stay lucid. “He was on the motorcycle, but he couldn’t see me at the curve. Then the farm truck swerved and he turned at the same time and I—I hit him.”

  “Take it easy, ma’am. Is he breathing?”

  “I don’t know. Just—just hurry. He needs help now.”

  “I’ll send someone.” The voice became brisk and precise. “Tell me exactly where you are and what happened.”

  “I told you, I came around the corner in the fog. I’d turned off the road to avoid that stupid van, but he couldn’t see me, and then I—” Jess took a deep breath. “Then I hit him. Now he’s here on the ground, not moving. I’ve covered him with my coat, but there’s something on my hands and I think it’s his blood,” she said hoarsely.

  “Did you check his pulse?”

  Jess fought through another wave of panic. “I tried but my fingers are numb, so I can’t tell anything. You’ve got to call 911 right away before he—”

  “They’re on their way. Just stay on the line and keep talking to me.”

  Jess looked down, smoothing her coat over the motionless body. “How can you send someone if you don’t know where I am?”

  “You’re going to give me directions right now,” the male voice said calmly. “Keep him warm and be sure you don’t move him, no matter what.”

  “Of course I won’t move him. Do you think I’m a complete idiot? I know about trauma following an accident. There could be internal bleeding, spinal damage—”

  Or death. All her fault.

  Jess closed her eyes, shuddering. “Just send someone, okay? We’re about three miles east of Port Angeles on Route 101.”

  Keys clicked at the other end of the line, and Jess realized he was typing at a computer. “Three miles east of Port Angeles. You’re on the 101,” he repeated. “North or south side?”

  “South. There was a four-way stop just beyond the big hotel.” She stared down at the man on the grass. “Hurry, please,” she whispered. “It’s so cold out here and he’s still not moving.” Her fingers tightened, shaking so hard the phone nearly fell. “Why isn’t he moving?”

  “Everything will be fine,” the calm voice assured her. “What’s your name?”

  Jess squinted through the rain. “My name? I’m—”

  Something stopped her from answering. She didn’t know the man on the motorcycle; she didn’t know the voice on the other end of the phone, and she had been attacked earlier.

  No names, she decided.

  “My name doesn’t matter. Just hurry with that ambulance.”

  “They’re five minutes away. Don’t worry, it won’t be long now. Is he breathing? Can you check that for me now?”

  “It’s hard to tell.” Jess searched, trying to feel his breath. “I can’t be sure. It’s windy out here. Sweet heaven, just hurry.”

  “Stop shouting, will you?”

  The voice was shaky, originating somewhere near her wrist, and Jess dropped the phone in shock when she realized it was the biker. His eyes were open, staring at her. “What the hell happened to me?”

  “You’re alive,” she whispered, closing her eyes in relief.

  The man on the ground rolled his shoulders and grunted in pain. “Yeah, I’m alive, even though you tried to flatten me with that damned Jeep of yours.”

  “Listen, I was trying to avoid you. First the van crossed into my lane, and then the truck was there, skidding toward me, and you—” Jess took a nervous breath. “I don’t think you should be talking.”

  “Yeah, we’ll argue the details later after my head stops feeling like razors drilling in from both sides.” He dragged his backpack over his shoulder and struggled to his feet.

  “Don’t do that!” She lunged toward him as he pulled off his helmet. “You’ve been hit. You’re not supposed to move at all after something like that.”

  “I’m okay,” he growled, swaying.

  Jess leaned into him, grabbing his waist when he started to stumble. “You’re not fine. You can barely stand up.”

  Lights cut toward them. Both of them went still. A big blue van eased onto the shoulder and stopped.

  “About time.”

  “Who’s that?” Jess asked anxiously.

  “Don’t worry, they’re friends of mine.”

  “How did they get here so fast?” Jess looked down at the cell phone she’d dropped on the ground. “Wow. Your friend must really be good.”

  A man in a nylon parka walked around the side of the van, carrying a medical bag. He looked at Jess, then frowned at the man she was struggling to hold upright.

  “Mr. Randall, I take it?”

  “That’s right.”

  “You shouldn’t be standing up. You shouldn’t have moved at all.”

  Shaking his head, the man in the parka raised a small white penlight and flashed it briefly at Jess, then at the man beside her. In the sudden light Jess had her first good look at her victim’s face.

  “You?” She struggled out from beneath the man’s arm and backed up fast. “You’ve been following me, haven’t you? Listen, my sister’s an FBI agent, and if you touch me again, I’m calling her.” When she continued to back up, Jess banged into the fender of her car and grunted in pain.

  “Hold on.” The doctor frowned at her. “There’s been a misunderstanding, but I’m certain we can straighten it out.”

  “Good luck trying. The woman’s crazy.” Her victim sat down abruptly on the opposite fender of her Jeep, swaying a little. “Tell Izzy she’s the suspect I told him about.”

  “Me?” Jess glared back at him. “In that case, tell your Izzy, wh
oever she is, that you knocked me out and locked me in a hotel room.”

  “Because you were about to scream.” The man on her fender shook his head, then winced. “What the hell were you doing in my shower?”

  Jess preferred not to remember. It was a standard part of her hotel assessment to see if she could have other guests switched from their rooms, but it wasn’t her fault that the clerk had agreed so easily. Nor did it explain how this man called Randall had bypassed hotel security and made his way into her room so easily. “Never mind me. How did you get inside? My door was locked, I’m certain of that.”

  The man on the fender of her Jeep simply shrugged.

  “Who is he?” Jess snapped at the man with the medical bag.

  “Someone who does . . . sensitive work,” he said carefully. “For the government.”

  “For which government?”

  The doctor laughed dryly. “For the U.S. government, trust me.”

  Of course he would say that, Jess thought. “Fine. But now that you’re here, I’ll be going. You obviously have matters in hand.” She felt a little woozy, but managed to smile, one hand on the car as she lurched around to the driver’s side. “Glad I could help.”

  The doctor followed her, shaking his head. “You can’t leave.”

  “Afraid I can. Right now, no questions asked.” She pulled out her cell phone and pretended to dial. “Remember my sister, the FBI agent? I forgot to mention that she’s waiting for me down the road, and if I don’t show up, she’ll be coming after me with a few fellow agents.” It was a complete lie, of course.

  “No, you can’t leave, because you’re bleeding. You may have a head injury, ma’am.” Frowning, the doctor leveled his penlight at Jess’s face.

  She blinked. “I’m bleeding? But it was his blood I felt.”

  “Take care of her first, damn it.” The man on her fender turned up the collar of his jacket. “We need her conscious to answer questions.”

  Jess tried to protest, but something funny was happening in her chest. The Jeep seemed to sway sharply.