Princess (12 page)

“Not in this job. It seems the work is never done. Homework to check, reports to grade, lesson plans to finish. I came back for a recital that night and then I decided to stop by the room and pick up a book I’d forgotten. That’s why I was here so late. But something about those lights just felt wrong.” She moved the eraser back and forth against her palm, unaware of the white powder raining over her fleece sweater. “There was a Humvee, too. No one in Bright Creek has a Humvee. Down in Seattle, maybe. Not here.”

Hawk leaned an arm against the wall. “Maybe it was tourists.”

“In black uniforms? With automatic weapons?”

No one had mentioned
this
. “Pretty strange. But it had to be dark. I mean, maybe you saw something else.”

The teacher shook her head slowly. “My ex-husband was a Marine, and I know a submachine gun when I see one. I’m certain these men had some kind of military background because they moved as if they’d trained together. With all the security concerns, I decided to watch them.”

Why hadn’t she included these details in her call to the sheriff? Hawk wondered. And why hadn’t anyone checked her out personally until now?

“You probably think I’m nosy, but I didn’t watch because of that. It was simply because . . .” Her voice trailed away.

“Ma’am? Was it something they did?”

“No, it was what they didn’t do. They didn’t keep their lights on; they didn’t make much noise, and they kept stopping to look down at the ground. It was almost as if they were looking for tracks.”

Hawk kept a look of polite curiosity on his face. “Maybe they were hunting.”

“No hunting is allowed here, Mr. Stanford. They were on national forest land, and of course there’s no hunting permitted on school grounds. No,” she continued slowly, “these were no regular hunters. I told the sheriff that when I called, but the operator was too busy to take down any details.”

“I guess you’d know what you saw,” Hawk agreed. “Not many hunters travel in Humvees, either. Sounds plenty high-tech to me.”

“That’s what I thought. Their clothes were odd for hunters, too. Black, not camouflage, with none of the reflective things that hunters wear. And their boots had big silver toes.”

Hawk remembered the bootprints he’d found in the mud. Now he had confirmation.

He shoved his work cap back on his head. “You must see pretty good from up here,” he said casually.

Color swirled through her face. “Actually, I used these to watch them.” She opened a drawer and pulled out a pair of heavy black 12x field glasses with image stabilization.

Hawk had used those kind of glasses a number of times and knew they were powerful enough to pick up details out to five hundred yards. That part of her story fit.

He pulled out a new specimen bottle. “Funny that the sheriff’s people didn’t seem more curious when you called.”

The teacher shifted restlessly. “I’ve seen things before.” Her eyes narrowed. “Last month I saw one of the teachers meeting one of my female students up there in the woods,” she said. “Another time I saw a janitor taking a computer. At least, that’s what I thought. But it was only a box of broken lab equipment that he was hauling to the dump.”

That explained the lack of follow-up. Someone figured she was just a lonely busybody and filed away her report under “Idle Gossip.”

But one thing bothered Hawk. “So these people had lights on, did they?”

“Lights?”

“Flashlights. Car lights, that kind of thing. I mean, other-wise, how could you have seen what they were wearing and how they moved?”

She twisted a strand of hair between her fingers. “Funny, I hadn’t thought much about it. I think the lights were very focused, centered on their hands mainly. That’s how I saw their boots, when one of them dropped a light. After that all their lights went out at the same time, almost on cue, and that’s what made me think they’d trained together.”

“Sounds pretty odd to me.” Hawk took another “specimen” and then stood up. “Since they were right across the road near the Sound, I guess you could see every detail.”

“Oh, they weren’t near the beach. They moved back and forth, but they were always inland, straight through those trees.” The teacher pointed to a dense cluster of pine trees. “It still bothers me, but the sheriff’s department didn’t seem interested when I called, so I guess it’s nothing.”

“Probably not.” Hawk studied the dark circle of trees on the ridge. He was already planning the best approach to the site so that he could protect any evidence. Meanwhile, this location wasn’t safe for teachers or for students until the assault team was tracked down. Though Hawk was under strict orders to maintain secrecy, he couldn’t leave without a nudge of warning.

“I hear there have been problems with illegal immigrants up here. They’re landed at night by boat and then secretly transported south. These men could have been criminals.”

“Do you think so?”

“Hard to say. But if they were, you were in danger simply because you watched them. Probably you shouldn’t stay here at school alone after hours.”

The teacher studied Hawk warily. “If something bad is happening here, one of the children could get hurt. I could never live with myself if that happened.”

Alma Donovan was on the level, Hawk decided, irritated that she and her report had fallen through the cracks.

And he was determined to scare her into taking adequate precautions. “You’re all targets, as far as I can see. These men who smuggle illegal aliens—well, they’re as cold as it gets, and you don’t want to tangle with them. I’ve got an uncle on the force, and I’ve heard a few stories about the things they do.”

Hawk closed his bottle and set it inside his toolbox. He’d already decided to have Izzy arrange for this school to be closed for several days, ostensibly because of storm damage. No teachers and kids were going to be mowed down in the cross fire when the government teams closed in on the area.

When that happened, both sides would be shooting to kill.

“I think I’ve got all the samples I need here. I’ll make a few more stops along the hall in the other wing and call it a day. This storm’s not going away, either.”

The teacher followed him to the door, then grabbed her coat from a desk. “I think I’ll be leaving, too. It’s later than I thought.” She glanced anxiously outside. “You never know what kind of things can happen.”

“Nope, you sure don’t.” Hawk held the door as she carried out a pile of books on Gettysburg. “I’ll walk you out.”

As soon as she was gone, he dumped his tools in the Jeep and headed to the wooded spot where she’d reported the lights on the night of the theft. Another government team had already checked the general area, but now Hawk was narrowing the location. As he drove, he watched carefully for cars, lights, or any signs of activity. The Jeep’s motor growled, occasionally misfiring. Hawk was relieved that so far it hadn’t affected his speed.

After checking that he was alone, he pulled off the road and approached the target area from the higher slopes.

If there were any traces of evidence left, he wasn’t going to compromise them with tracks from the Jeep’s big tires.

It was a short walk through the dense woods to the location the teacher had described. Hawk took each step slowly, checking for tracks, debris, and fallen evidence. He found a cigarette butt and the cap from a water bottle, and both looked fresh. More searching turned up footprints and tire tracks, and this time the boot marks were clear.

They were the same ones he’d found on the cliffs to the north. But only two motorcycles here. Now one Humvee had entered the mix.

As he slipped to one knee, following the direction of the marks, he saw a few dark threads hanging from a small evergreen. Bending closer, he ran his light over the branches, lifting them to look beneath.

Grimly, he snapped two dozen photos with the macro lens on his digital camera, than carefully bagged the threads. One thing was certain. The team was moving with less caution now. Morale could be falling. What in the hell had happened?

Squatting near the Humvee tire tracks, Hawk studied the isolated hillside and the coast of Puget Sound in the distance, re-creating the scene. The way he saw it, the motorcycle team had regrouped here after the attack in Portland. They had met the Humvee for backup or supplies and possibly new orders. They might have transferred the stolen lab animal here—or received it from the other vehicle. Judging by the pattern of the tracks, and the limited number of footprints, the motorcycles hadn’t stayed here very long.

Silently, Hawk followed the rutted earth through the woods. Fifty yards from the glade, the motorcycles had separated, one peeling off to the north, the other heading into the mountains.

Three riders on the cliffs. They weren’t always travelling together.

Hawk frowned at the cloud-covered peaks looming inland to the west. With a little skill, a driver could hunker down and become invisible within minutes, lost inside miles of rugged terrain. But there was no place to shelter the animal in that isolation, so Hawk turned back to the other set of tracks, which vanished onto the highway.

The Humvee had headed in the same direction. Only one option was left, Hawk decided.

They would have to bring in the
real
expert, who could pick up a minute molecular trail
ten thousand
times beyond human sensing. Hawk smiled grimly at the thought of ninety-five tough pounds of unbridled energy able to climb ten-foot hurdles, scale metal ladders, and leap through hanging tires, while picking out a single molecule in a million different scents.

Pulling out his secure cell phone, Hawk headed back to the Jeep. Izzy would have all the arrangements completed within the hour, now that Hawk had verified locations for an intensive search.

Nobody could evade a scent-trained military tracking dog for long.

Jess sighed with relief when she saw lights in the distance. They had been driving for over two hours, but most of it had been spent circling around after reaching roadblocks due to bridges washed out by the storm. It didn’t help that all the streetlights were still out.

She was starting to wonder if she should give up and stop for the night. Through the rain she saw a sign for a restaurant and bar, advertising king-size steaks and stream-fresh salmon. The parking lot was packed with big cars, big motorcycles, and big trucks with huge tires. Country music vibrated in a throbbing bass over the loudspeakers.

She was also worrying about Hawk and her Jeep, truth be told. The engine was quirky at the best of times, and Jess had learned how to baby it for maximum performance. But Hawk didn’t know about that. He also didn’t know about her old problem with the fuel cap.

“Can you get in touch with Hawk—I mean Lieutenant Mackenzie?”

“Only if it’s an emergency, ma’am.”

Jess studied the darkening sky. Trees bowed and pitched in the wind and leaves skittered across the wet road. “It could turn into an emergency. There’s a problem about the Jeep that I forgot to mention to him.”

The driver frowned. “What kind of problem?”

“The fuel pump. If the plug gets dirty, he’ll have to clean it.”

“If not, what will happen?”

Jess rolled her shoulders tensely. “The motor could stall. He won’t have much warning either.”

The driver drummed two fingers on the dashboard, staring out into the rain. After a long time, he reached down for the cell phone on the seat beside him.

chapter
17

C
ountry music pulsated from the dance floor and men with shaved heads and graphic tattoos played pool beneath grimy lights.

Hawk stared with distaste at the greasy wedge of grayish meat next to a slice of soggy bread. He was hungry, but not
that
hungry.

Then the restroom door opened and Jess came out.

He’d been given her message about the fuel pump twenty minutes ago. Since she wasn’t far away, he decided they should meet up here. He avoided thinking about why he would trouble to do that, rather than simply talk to her over the phone. Especially when he wasn’t going to need the Jeep for very much longer. He pushed back his chair, doing a quick survey of the crowded room. He noted no one who looked familiar from his classified briefing, and his digital photos of the new Humvee and motorcycle tracks were stored on the camera in his pocket, ready to be turned over to Izzy.

He’d be ready to move out as soon as he ran through this fuel pump problem with Jess.

He hadn’t taken three steps before their eyes met. She gave him a faint, almost ironic smile, and once again Hawk was struck with the quiet strength she radiated. If things had been different. . . .

But they aren’t, fool.

Somehow the woman had morphed again. She didn’t look like a princess any longer. Hell, she didn’t even look like a career woman, not in faded jeans, midriff-baring pink shirt, and sandals. As she crossed the foyer past the bathrooms and pay phones, she looked tired, wet, and discouraged, even though she was working hard to hide it.

A man in tattoos and a cutoff denim vest halted in front of Jess, bent low, and whispered in her ear. Hawk saw her face fill with color as she shook her head.

Within seconds she had men on her like flies, and they weren’t the kind of men who watched
Oprah
or took no for an answer. A big biker in a black T-shirt was leaning closer, next to his friend in the denim. Meanwhile his skinny pal with tattoos and a ratty ponytail was holding out his beer to her.

Where in the hell was the driver who was supposed to be watching her?

Jess backed up, wrestling with the skinny biker, who dropped his arm around her waist as he tried to make her drink some of his beer. Cursing, Hawk pushed a chair out of his way.

One minute she was alone, the next minute men were everywhere.

And they were really
big
men, Jess thought grimly as she grabbed a pool cue from a nearby table. For some reason they thought she was there to meet them, and they weren’t big on listening to any refusals.

When the biker with the tattoos put his hand on her rear, she shoved the cue between his legs, and he went down hard.

His big friend threw back his head, laughing noisily. Since he looked wobbly on his feet and smelled like a distillery, Jess gave him a blinding smile, moved one step sideways, then stuck out her foot to trip him. Fortunately, she had changed clothes in the restroom or she might have had some problems doing that in her pink silk suit.

He wobbled, but didn’t fall, grabbing a chair with one hand and Jess with the other. She staggered under his weight, going to one knee on the floor, and when he didn’t release her, she kicked free and crawled under an empty table, emerging on the far side with a sea of legs in front of her.

New blue motorcycle boots with silver toes and big buckles moved past her. Next came a muddy pair of black work boots with thick safety soles. Jess raised her head and peered carefully over the table at the people passing by.

Everything seemed to go in slow motion as she registered faces and noise and curses.

Suddenly the biggest biker went down like a log, crashing into a table with salsa, salmon, and a dozen senior citizens. Pandemonium ensued as a white-haired man sprayed the air with ketchup and his sprightly wife pulled out a .22 target pistol. “I’m armed and I’m dangerous,” she called over the din in the room.

Jess hoped she had good eyesight or they’d all be mowed down.

When the pandemonium stilled, Jess rose cautiously. Her harassers were circling as Hawk came around the table, his eyes glinting murder and his powerful shoulders outlined by a faded gray shirt. He looked tough and angry.

The fallen biker staggered back to his feet, cursing as ketchup dripped slowly down his face. “Where is she?” he muttered.

The man with the ketchup gave him another good spray, and the biker stumbled into a different table, sending it over on its side. A frail woman in blue orthopedic shoes screamed as her purse opened and went flying.

A big handgun dropped out of an inside pocket and skated across the table right toward Jess. She spun the body, caught the grip, and pulled back the slide to check for a round in the chamber. The gun turned out to be her sister’s model, a Glock 9 mm that balanced nicely against her hand. She aimed it for safety toward the floor, glad for the months of shooting lessons her sister had insisted on after a particularly grisly FBI case.

“Hey, that’s my gun,” the elderly owner called out.

Hawk cut through the excited senior citizens, took the Glock from Jess, and handed it back to its owner. “Better keep that someplace safe, ma’am.”

He grabbed Jess’s arm, his expression stony. “Let’s go.” He pulled her toward the door, scowling at Jess’s driver, who was three paces behind them now. “After you show me that fuel pump plug, you hit the road. Understand?”

“It wasn’t my fault that—”

“Later.”

Jess nodded, trying to hear over the banging music. Her leg hurt where she had tripped the trucker. Without warning she stumbled against an overturned chair, then swayed, feeling Hawk’s arm shoot around her like a vise.

She heard him curse and looked up to see a row of bikers in front of them, blocking their path to the door, with the head biker right in the middle.

Hawk pushed her down as a chair went flying over their heads. Holding her with his left arm, he weaved sharply, working his way toward the side exit.

The senior citizens were yelling around them, and two more had produced Glocks. In his excitement, one of them put a round through the ceiling, and plaster rained down like dirty snow.

Jess saw her driver turn and take down a biker before a potted ficus tree hit him squarely between the shoulder blades and he went down with a groan.

Hawk pulled Jess toward the door.

He didn’t appear at all frightened by a brawl. In fact, there was a glint in his eye that suggested he might have enjoyed a little fight.

He held Jess tightly, moving backward. “The lady’s feeling faint, boys. Give us some space.”

The big biker scowled back at him. “She don’t look faint to me. I say you’re dragging her off, and I don’t like it none.” There were muttered assents all around him.

“You’re making a mistake,” Hawk said quietly. The door was less than eight feet away now. He nodded at Jess’s driver, who had recovered and was fighting his way closer on their right.

The biker said something under his breath, and all four of the men stormed forward. Hawk spun Biker Man in a circle and sent him back toward his friends, flipped like a three-hundred-pound bowling ball. All of them went down hard, their heads crashing into a row of stacked chairs.

They were still shouting threats as Hawk pushed Jess through the door. Jess’s driver guarded their wake as Hawk shoved her toward the Jeep and stuffed her into the passenger seat.

“I wasn’t faint,” she snapped.

“I know you weren’t. I was trying to avoid a confrontation in there—not that talking was any help.”

Jess took a deep breath. “I suppose I should thank you.”

“Forget about it.” Hawk fishtailed out of the parking lot and looked back. In the rearview mirror he saw Jess’s driver fighting with three bikers.

“Shouldn’t we help him?”

“He’ll be fine.” He was surprised when he felt Jess’s fingers brush his cheek.

“You’re bleeding,” she said anxiously.

“Nothing important.” He took the road south, pushing the Jeep hard, acutely aware that Jess was staring at him. “Still steamed at me for taking your car?”

“You did what you had to do, I guess. You still won’t tell me what all the secrecy is about, will you?”

Hawk shook his head, eyes on the road. A police car raced past them, sirens screaming.

“I suppose you think I started that brawl on purpose, to pay you back.”

“You may be angry, but you’re not stupid.” Hawk glanced at the beach running alongside the road. After that he checked the rearview mirror. They were stopping at the next turn, and he didn’t want anyone following them. “Why weren’t you with your driver?”

“His cell phone kept dropping calls.” Jess pulled one leg up beneath her, turning in the seat. “When we got here, he asked me to wait outside the pay phones while he made a quick call.”

“Of course you didn’t wait,” Hawk said irritably.

“Of course I
did.
But I had to go to the ladies’ room, and when I came out, he’d vanished.” She propped her chin on her hand, studying him closely. “You’re sure you can’t even give me a little hint? Is it some kind of sting operation? Mafia surveillance?”

“I can’t tell you anything, Jess.”

She shrugged, and Hawk made a mental note to ream out both Izzy and the driver for a lapse that could have cost lives. Clearly this operative was still wet behind the ears and shouldn’t have been let free in the field yet.

“You’re doing that thing again with the mirror. Is someone following us?”

“It’s just basic driving skills. I’m not about to take chances with a collision in this weather. The roads are still a mess, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“I noticed. I also noticed that you’re an expert driver. But you want to be sure that no one followed us.” Jess continued to stare at him, a frown working down her forehead. “I could help you if you’d just tell me what to do.”

Hawk bit back a curse. By now any other woman he knew would have been shrinking into the corner, terrified of his scowl and curt answers. He didn’t try for the effect, but somehow it always seemed to happen with women. He had been told that his chitchat skills were nonexistent and his flexibility quotient sucked.

Training hard and living in a constant state of combat readiness had that effect on you, but as it happened, the women he spent his limited free time with had never showed interest in anything besides fast, impersonal sex.

For that matter, neither had
he.

As Hawk turned off the road, he wondered why Jess was different. Why wasn’t she afraid when he glared at her? Was he getting soft or something?

Right now she was digging in her purse, her expression thoughtful. She produced some kind of a bar in plastic wrap, which she carefully broke in two pieces, holding the bigger one out to Hawk.

“You eat it,” he said gruffly. Seeing what passed for food at the greasy spoon back down the road had destroyed his appetite.

“Go on, you need the energy. It’s a peanut butter caramel protein mix that I make myself. You’ll be getting twenty-one grams of protein, four grams of healthy oils, and seven grams of fiber. Tastes pretty decent, too.”

As Hawk reached out for the bar, their fingers met. Instantly he was jolted by the memory of her body in the stalled elevator.

Just freaking great, Mackenzie.

Erotic memories of amazing elevator sex were the last thing he needed in his head right now.

He took a bite of the bar, expecting the worst. “Not bad.”

Jess smiled thoughtfully. “I tinkered with the ingredients for months. Now I send bars to my sister because she forgets to eat.” Her lips curved. “Her husband and I have a secret pact. He stashes one inside her briefcase and sends it to work with her.”

For a moment there was something wistful in her voice.

“Sounds like you two are pretty close.”

“No doubt about it. Summer and I are blood loyal—when we’re not trying to murder each other for reasons too petty to remember afterwards. What about you?”

Hawk frowned. No one he knew dared to ask him personal questions. If they did, he made sure they didn’t do it twice.

“My parents live in Virginia,” he said awkwardly. “I told you, I’ve got one brother.”

“Does he do spy work like you?”

As it happened, his brother had a higher security clearance than Hawk did. But Hawk couldn’t discuss that or anything else about his brother. “No, he runs his own software firm. Travels a lot.” That was the cover story his brother generally used, anyway.

“You mean, he makes video games?”

“Not games. He designs commercial software for business and scientific use.”
For military and strategic use, actually.

Among other things he trained to do.

Hawk finished the bar. When he looked down, he was surprised to see that Jess was holding out a small Thermos bottle.

His brow rose. “Hemlock?”

“Very funny. It’s coffee, Mackenzie. I filled this and stashed it right before the fight broke out. If things got bad, I was going to throw boiling black coffee on the big guy.”

The woman didn’t miss a beat, Hawk had to hand her that. And when he took his first sip, he felt a little kick of surprise. She’d just added dry creamer, only a little, exactly the way he liked it.

Hawk glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. His first instinct was that she was trying to get something from him. Why else would a woman he barely knew bother about details like that?

Jess seemed oblivious to his train of thought, carefully packing up her bags, cups, and powders.

If this wasn’t some kind of subtle manipulation, what the hell was it? Women simply didn’t take care of him. Women usually didn’t even talk to him.

They generally didn’t bother to hang around for good-byes on their way out of his bedroom, even if they were smiling in satisfaction.

She didn’t look up as she continued digging inside her purse. “Sorry I only had the dry dairy powder. I usually try to restock when I’m at a hotel. With everything going on today, there wasn’t time, but I remember you don’t like much.”