Code Name: Nanny (SEAL and Code Name #5)(119)

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.”