Nanny (35 page)

She moaned again, biting his shoulder, her body twisting.

This was going to get noisy, he thought as she arched, slapping the wall. A glass figurine toppled, and Gabe barely managed to catch it.

“Hu-rry,”
she gasped.

“Yes, ma'am.” He closed his eyes as she shuddered, her body closing around him, climaxing hard.

Yeah, this particular fantasy was going right into the keeper file, Gabe thought. After this, he'd try out a few more variations before they went back.

Right after he asked her to marry him.

And if she said no, he had a whole lot more ammunition where this came from.

She took a long, shuddering breath, staring into his eyes. “Hurry up, Navy. The FBI is about to come again and you don't want to miss the ship.” She bit his jaw, smiling wickedly as he complied with fierce intensity. “And just for the record . . . I love you. Deliriously, as it happens.”

She smiled as he pinned her, groaning a release.

“And my answer is yes. . . .”

author's
note

T
hanks for spending some quality time with Summer and Gabe, Cara and Tate, and those two terrific girls! Summer's cool strength and Cara's fierce love of family won my heart from the first moment they came to me, fully formed and unforgettable. Like many women, Summer has struggled hard with her past, fighting bias and closed minds to become strong and confident.

I'm delighted that she and Gabe make an unstoppable pair.

Will they be back? You bet.

If you want to read more about surveillance procedures and training methods inside the FBI, look for
Cold Zero,
by Christopher Whitcomb (New York: Little, Brown and Company, 2001), a fast-paced true story of one man's training for the FBI's elite Hostage Rescue Team. For a different insider's look at the FBI, check out
Special Agent,
by Candice DeLong (New York: Hyperion, 2001). This 20-year agent faced down serial killers as well as brutal harassment from her own colleagues, going on to a distinguished career that included work on a string of key cases, including the Unabomber manhunt.

If you've ever been to Monterey and Carmel, you know the rugged beauty of these coastal towns. For more details, check out the wonderfully informative
Monterey Bay Shoreline Guide,
by Jerry Emory (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1999). Even if you can't visit, make an Internet stop at the Monterey Bay Aquarium, where live web cams track the bay scenery and the antics of the resident otters. As of publication, the otter cam was up and running at the following link:
http://www.mbayaq.org/vi/vi aquarium/vi monterey cam.asp
.

Drop by. The otters are guaranteed to make you smile!

For those who want to get some sand on their feet and sun in their hair, plan ahead by reading
California Coastal Access Guide
(Berkeley: University of California Press, 2003). An excellent resource for campers, swimmers, and hikers alike, the book includes invaluable maps of trails and beach access points.

Do Sheriff McCall and his wife seem familiar? You may remember them from
2000 Kisses,
set in a sleepy Arizona town in the high desert where sunsets are unforgettable and people treat one another like family. Tess and T.J. McCall faced terrible danger together once, and the process bound them forever.

For more juicy details, read
2000 Kisses
!

Now to Izzy.

What am I going to do with this tough, cool operator? The man has charmed his way into five of my books so far, starting with
The Perfect Gift
(A Draycott Abbey novel), followed by
Going Overboard, My Spy, Hot Pursuit
, and now
Code Name: Nanny.

Will Izzy be back?

Count on it.

Will he and Sara duke it out and end up in bed?

I still can't say. He's a hard man to pin down. Stay tuned to my website (
www.christinaskye.com
) for breaking news on the Izzy front! All your letters keep telling me that you love this cool operator just as much as I do.

But before Izzy finds his match, I hope you'll enjoy spending time with Summer's sister. Like Summer, Jess Mulcahey has a closet full of personal demons that she's struggled hard to slay. Jess is smart but not terribly worldly, and now her life is about to carry her into strange and uncharted waters.

To find out how, watch for
Code Name: Princess,
coming this fall.

I've included the first chapter just to get you in the mood.

A
very
hot and sultry mood, that is.

Happy reading!

Christina

Watch for

CHRISTINA SKYE'S

Code Name:
Princess

Coming from Dell in
October 2004

Read on for a preview. . . .

Code Name:
Princess

On Sale October 2004

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 because nasty nights happened to be his specialty.

He studied the rugged cliff terrain around him. Layered tracks led up the steep hill, then turned, looping back to the road.

That answered his first question.

As he maneuvered his powerful motorcycle through the mud, his encrypted cell phone beeped. “Yeah.”

“Teague here. What have you got for me?”

“Motorcycle tracks. Probably a dozen or so here, but only three sets look fresh. Hold on.” Hawk smiled when he found what he'd been looking for. “Someone's been through here recently. It's raining, so most of the detail is gone, but I'd say we're talking four men and three dirt bikes.” Hawk ran a small flashlight over the wet, freshly gouged earth. “The tracks heading back to the road are noticeably deeper, too.” His voice was grim.

Since the man on the other end of the line was one of the government's finest security operatives, Hawk knew that every word between them was being recorded.

“You're sure they had more weight when they left than when they arrived?”

“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 something out of these tracks. Looks like three or four sets of footprints, too.”

Ishmael Teague was silent for long moments. “What's your gut instinct? Are they moving south, or are they headed for Canada?”

“Impossible to say without more tracks. Given this rain, finding anything more here is damned unlikely.” The Navy SEAL squinted into the icy rain sheeting over 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 obvious answer is Canada, but my guess is they're expecting that.” Hawk studied the ground, frowning. “I think they'll stay local, go for cover, and try to wait us out.”

As he listened to keys tap swiftly at a computer, Hawk was keenly aware of the brilliant mind at work on the other end of the line. On several other occasions he had worked with Izzy Teague, always in dangerous covert ops in towns unnamed on any map, and Hawk knew he could trust the man without reservation.

And trust was something Hawk didn't treat lightly.

“So we scratch our surveillance in Portland?”

The SEAL hunched his shoulders against the driving rain, feeling the stab of old instincts. “Put a skeleton force there for insurance. Meanwhile, I'll stay put. Call it a bad ache in my bones, but I think something's out here.”

Ignoring the rain, he left his bike and walked in a careful circle, trying to piece together what exactly had happened here twenty-four hours before.

Three dirt bikes, traveling fast.

Men with heavy boots. Men who stayed close to the granite ridge so they'd leave no prints.

As his flashlight swept the ground more carefully, he frowned. There were no dropped cigarette butts, no water bottles, no candy wrappers. Nothing left a trace of their identity beyond some scattered prints and a few partial tire tracks.

The SEAL stared up at the forbidding cliff face above him. “They're pros, Izzy. Everything here is clean as a nun's conscience. If they go to ground and try to wait us out, the weather is on their side.”

“Afraid it's going to get worse, too. I just pulled up a weather satellite map, and tonight's winds are expected to top forty miles per hour.”

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

“It's your call.” Izzy Teague sounded irritated. Hawk knew that any other man would be screaming in frustration, faced with the same set of problems. “If you think they'll stay local, maintain your cover on the coast. Check in every six hours. Record any and all information you turn up. I don't need to remind you that heads are going to roll if we don't recover our package within forty-eight hours.”

“No need for reminders.” Hawk's C/O had already drilled him on exactly what this mission entailed and why the stakes were so high. As a SEAL, he was used to hearing mantras about national security, but warning of
scientific debacle
and
cataclysmic medical consequences
meant a whole new threat level. “I'll hang around here for another twenty minutes and see if I can find anything else before the rain washes everything away.”

“Copy.” Izzy cleared his throat. “How's your rib hold-ing up?”

Hawk scowled. The pain was constant and growing, despite the top-secret experimental meds the Navy was testing on him. “No worse than it was yesterday.”

Which wasn't saying a hell of a lot.

But Hawk Mackenzie had a reputation for success in the face of any odds, and he didn't cave in to pain.

Ever.

He walked back to his mud-spattered bike, scowling. “Gotta go, Izzy.”

“Okay, we'll play it your way. Keep your search short, and upload those images as soon as you get back to the hotel. If there's any evidence left, I'll dig it out.”

Hawk knew this was no idle boast. Izzy could geek one pixel out of millions and then tell you exactly what it meant—who, what, when, where, and why. The man's electronic and surveillance skills were legendary in a field in which legends were commonplace. “Roger that. Signing off now.”

“Keep your powder dry, Navy.”

Hawk stared into the sheeting rain and muttered another choice set of phrases. Tonight staying dry would be about as likely as getting laid.

 

Thirty minutes later the rain had struck in angry force. All trace of prints had been washed away.

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

Izzy had arranged a room for him at a swank hotel along the coast, where Hawk could power up his laptop, dry off, and upload his high-resolution images.

But first he had a treacherous ride ahead of him.

A section of the cliff crumbled away 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.

By the time he made his way down the mountain, he was drenched to the skin and covered in mud, his rib throbbing angrily.

His carefully manufactured identity as a nature photographer on assignment for a respected travel magazine ensured no questions about his odd hours and bedraggled appearance. Hawk tried to hide his exhaustion as he shouldered his backpack and strode through the lobby toward his room. The night manager nodded as he passed, and Hawk noticed that the waitress in the lounge off the lobby gave him a glance full of intimate possibilities.

But the SEAL wouldn't have time to explore those possibilities until the government's missing “package” was recovered.

His boots squished softly as he left the elevator. 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.

All he got was red.

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, Hawk pulled out the small silver box that could trace the security code of every room in the hotel. A gift from Izzy, the device could have been used for some serious B&E.

Hawk gave a little hiss of satisfaction as the box clicked once, and the red flashing light changed to solid green.

Mission accomplished.

He pocketed his priceless and highly illicit technology, then stepped inside. He was immediately hit by a wave of steam and 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, next to a woman's bright silk scarf.

Hawk stood intent, every nerve focused as off-key singing drifted down the hall from the shower. Only two people knew that he was here and both of them had security clearance at the highest levels. It was impossible that either would have betrayed his location.

Palming his field knife under the sleeve of his leather jacket, he moved silently down the narrow hall. Rings of steam drifted past as he put down his knapsack and inched closer. When Hawk glanced around the corner, he came to a complete stop.

There was a naked woman in his shower. She had damn amazing legs, and her ass was pretty spectacular, too. He waited for her to turn around, feeling a sudden jab of desire, which he repressed ruthlessly.

As he stood in the shadows, she lathered shampoo into her hair, cranking out an off-key Rolling Stones classic while hot water pounded over her shoulders. When she turned, Hawk's eyes narrowed, and he took time for a careful view of the rest of her body, chin to toe, which proved just as interesting as what he had seen so far.

When she started into a new song, he moved back toward the front door and fingered his cell phone.

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

“There's a woman in my shower,” Hawk whispered. “She looks to be five eight/one forty/Caucasian. Black hair. No distinguishing scars.” Bending down, he studied her suitcase. “Initials are J. M. Check the hotel database and see what you find.”

As he waited, Hawk glanced through the closet.

A worn denim jean jacket. A pair of black jeans. A gray University of California sweatshirt. A pink satin suit with puffy sleeves.

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

“Hotel has a new person registered in your room. Her name is Elena Grimaldi. There's no one with the initials J. M.”

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

“You appear to have been moved to a different wing. 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 rapidly 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 U.S. Embassy has nothing available on any Elena Grimaldi.”

“So she's an illegal?”

“Maybe. She's definitely not your normal, garden-variety consumer. She's got no driver's license, no car or health insurance, and only one credit card listed under that name. The credit limit is five hundred dollars.”

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 digging.”

“Will do. Watch your back, pal.”

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

Down the corridor the shower door opened. Steam billowed into the airy bathroom, and Hawk watched her toss a towel around her head. As she attacked her hair, she switched to an old Beach Boys tune, and with every movement her towel hitched up, offering him an excellent view of long legs and gleaming skin.

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

When she finally appeared in the doorway, a towel was wrapped around her damp body and her hair lay thick and dark on her shoulders. Big balls of white cotton were stuck between her toes and she walked carefully, rubbing some kind of cream on her bare arms.

He spun her hard, his hands around her shoulders a second later. He felt her body tense.

She didn't make a sound. She didn't waste time or energy on protests or screams. As far as Hawk was concerned, this was proof enough that she was a professional, not an innocent stranger.

Except for one brief moment when her eyes went blank.

Almost as if she were about to faint.

And that was the oldest dodge in the book, he thought grimly.

“Who are you?” she rasped. When he didn't answer, she swallowed hard. “Are you from Kelleher's office?”

“Never heard of him.”

Her face was sheet white. “Did Isaacson send you?”

Hawk filed the names away in his memory, on the slim chance she had revealed her contacts. But he doubted she would be so stupid. So far her responses had been well trained and flawless.

He decided the greed angle would work best, and he was about to offer her triple what the others were paying her when he noticed a mesh container leaning against the wall on the floor. It was reinforced black nylon, like the carrier used for a small dog.

Or for a priceless government lab animal.

Hawk checked the floor, but saw no movement. Outside lightning cracked and the wind hurled itself against the windows.

She dug her nails into his shoulders and began to scream.

Hawk cut her off with a hand clamped across her mouth. After ten hours outside, he was cold, wet, and exhausted. His rib hurt and his disposition was getting nastier by the second.