Princess Read Free

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 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 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.
    He didn’t answer.
    She took a shuddering breath. “Are you from Kelleher’s