Protecting Dakota (Sleeper SEALs Book 1)

by Susan Stoker

  “It’s you I need,” Greg interrupted. “I’m going to give you a phone number. I expect you to call me tonight from a secure line. I have a proposition for you.”

  “No disrespect, Sir, but I don’t know you,” Slade said, having trouble keeping his tone professional. He didn’t mind taking orders, but usually he knew the person who was giving those orders.

  “You don’t, but we have a mutual friend who speaks highly of you.”

  When he didn’t continue, Slade asked, “A mutual friend?”

  “John Keegan.”

  Fuckin’ A. Tex. What the hell had the man gotten him into now? “He’s one of the best men I’ve ever met,” Slade told Greg honestly.

  “Ditto. Got a pen?”

  “Yeah.” Slade dutifully jotted down the number he was given.

  “Needless to say, this is a highly sensitive matter. John assured me that you were discreet and would be extremely interested.”

  “At least he’s half right,” Slade mumbled, and ignored the chuckle on the other end of the line. “I’ll call around nineteen hundred, if that’s all right.”

  “I’ll be waiting.” And the former commander ended the call without another word.

  Slade slowly hung up the phone on his end, lost in thought. He tried to quash the spark of interest that flared deep in his belly, but didn’t quite succeed. Working as a contractor for the US Navy kept his toe dipped into the dangerous waters he used to swim in, but it wasn’t the same. Somehow, he knew that whatever Lambert had to say to him tonight would change his life. Whether or not it was for the better remained to be seen.

  “What the fuck have you gotten me into now, Tex?” Slade asked as soon as his friend picked up the phone.

  “Hello to you too, Cutter. How’s the weather out there in California? Let me guess, you’re sitting on the balcony of your apartment watching the ocean and wishing you weren’t bored off your ass.”

  “Asshole,” Slade said with a smile. Tex knew him too well. That’s what happened when you worked side by side, getting shot at and saving each other’s lives too many times to count. “I got a call from a former Commander Lambert today. He said you two talked about me.”

  “Not beating around the bush, I see,” Tex said.

  “I’m supposed to call him back in thirty on a secure line,” Slade told his old teammate.

  “Gotcha. Lambert is one of the good guys. Worked with him a few times. He has a new job, under the table, and wanted the names of some of the best of the best former SEALs I knew. You were at the top of that list.”

  “Under the table?” Slade asked. “Not sure I like the sound of that.”

  “Nothing we haven’t been involved with before,” Tex reassured him. “Hear him out.”

  “You been briefed on this job?”

  “No. I know Lambert wanted to ask me to help out, but with Hope being so young and Akilah still settling in, I didn’t want to do anything that would take me away from home,” Tex told him.

  Slade got that. If he had a wife and new baby, not to mention a recently adopted teenager, he wouldn’t want to leave home either. Feeling restless, he got up and went into his apartment. “You have your hands full with all the teams you work with as well,” Slade told his old friend.

  “That I do. But I love it. I enjoy being involved in all aspects of our Armed Forces. But it’s more than that. I do it to keep the men safe so they can get home to their families.”

  “It’s more appreciated than you’ll ever know,” Slade told Tex.

  As if uncomfortable with the turn in conversation, Tex replied, “That being said, even though I’m not the man for this job, you need anything, you better call. You know no one can find needles in haystacks better than me.”

  “I don’t know, man. I hear there’s a chick in Texas who’s giving you a run for your money,” Slade teased.

  “I’ll deny it if it comes up later, but that’s no lie,” Tex said immediately. “Beth is amazing, and she’s been able to hack into some places I wouldn’t even have tried.”

  Glancing at his watch, and seeing his time was up, Slade reluctantly said, “Gotta run. Appreciate the head’s up and the confirmation that this is on the up and up.”

  “Anytime. I wasn’t kidding, Cutter,” Tex said in a hard voice. “You need anything, you call. I don’t know what Lambert has up his sleeve, but I’m guessing since he didn’t brief me when he called, he wants whatever he’s asking to be on the down-low…meaning you working alone since you’re retired, but nothing is ever fucking solo when it comes to my teams.”

  “I’ll see what he has to say and make the decision whether or not to bring in anyone else,” Cutter told Tex. “But I hear you. I’ll call if I need you.”

  “Good. Later.”

  “Later,” Slade echoed and clicked off the phone. He put his personal cell down on the arm of the chair he was sitting in and took a deep breath. Inhaling the scent of salt and sea drifting through the open balcony door, he took a moment to try to calm his mind and body. The pesky feeling that his life was about to change was relentless.

  Slade thought about his life. He liked it…for the most part. His oceanside apartment was perfect for him. Not huge, not tiny. He’d saved up his money while he was active duty, and his retirement check wasn’t anything to sneeze at. He had a fancy-ass 4K television in the living room behind him, good friends he worked with who he had drinks with every so often, and he could be in the ocean swimming in three minutes, if he was so inclined.

  His family was good. His sister, Sabrina, was married with three kids, and his brother also had a wife and two kids. His siblings were both younger than he was, and lived on the other side of the country. He didn’t see his nieces and nephews often, but when he did, it was as if no time at all had passed. He missed his parents, but he’d never had the kind of relationship with them where they’d communicated on a regular basis.

  But Slade had to be honest with himself. He was lonely. He had a great apartment, a good job, but no one to share his life with. He’d tried online dating, that had been a disaster, and he was way too fucking old to pick up chicks at Aces Bar and Grill, the notorious hangout for current and former Navy SEALs. It had become less of a pick-up joint since it was now owned by Jessyka Sawyer, the wife of one of Wolf’s teammates, but a bar would always be a bar and there would always be women trolling for a one-night stand or the chance to snag a military guy, and men hoping for a quick hook-up.

  Without giving himself a chance to get any more morose than he already was, Slade picked up the secure cell phone he’d been issued by the Navy so he could talk to Commander Hurt and the SEALs under his command, and brought it back out to the balcony with him. He dialed the former Commander Lambert’s number.

  “Right on time,” the commander said as a greeting. “Bodes well for our working relationship.”

  “I’m not sure I want a working relationship with you,” Slade told him honestly.

  “This line is secure, correct?” Greg asked.

  Irritated that he’d think for a second he’d call on one that wasn’t when the man had made it more than clear he wouldn’t talk otherwise, Slade bit out, “Yes.”

  Greg chuckled. “Had to ask. No offense intended. You talk to John?”

  “Just hung up with him,” Slade confirmed.

  “Figured. I’m just going to get right down to it, if you don’t mind.”

  “I prefer it, actually,” Slade said, his body tensing with whatever he was about to hear.

  “I’m in charge of a new initiative, a secret one, to take down sleeper cells of terrorists around the country. The fuckers are getting the drop on us, and it needs to stop. I’ve been authorized to mobilize my own brand of sleeper cells…retired SEALs.”

  Slade wasn’t sure he understood. “And?”

  “And I want you, Cutter. I’ve read your file. I know your strengths and weaknesses. I’ve spoken with John and some of your other teammates. You’re levelheaded and you gather all the i
ntel before jumping into anything. You’re determined and have a love for your country that isn’t matched by many people. But more importantly, you’ve been successful on your own.”

  “I was never on my own,” Slade protested. “Not once. Even if I went in to get a hostage, my team was at my back.”

  “I know that.” Greg backed off a bit. “What I meant was that when the shit hit the fan, you didn’t panic. You simply changed to Plan B…or C, D, or E. I need you.”

  Slade took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He was curious. Dammit. “Tell me more,” he demanded grumpily.

  “Six months ago, there was a bombing at LAX.”

  When the other man didn’t elaborate, Slade prompted, “Yeah? I remember it. There was one bomber, he took a handful of hostages. The building was in the process of being evacuated, but the fucker blew himself up, along with all of the hostages, before everyone was out. Ansar al-Shari'a took responsibility.”

  “Correct. That’s what was reported in the news,” Greg said.

  The hair on the back of Slade’s neck stood on end. “That’s what was reported on the news?” he repeated.

  “Yes. Internet chatter has been extremely active. The bomber was a college kid. He’d been recruited online. The leader’s name is Aziz Fourati. Government believes he’s Tunisian, and based on the success of the LAX bombing, he’s actively recruiting more soldiers. He wants to duplicate his success…on a national level.”

  “Jesus,” Slade swore. “If we thought 9/11 was bad, if he’s successful, he could cripple transportation in this country for months.”

  “Exactly. But that’s not all.”

  “Fuck. What else?”

  “He was there,” Greg said flatly.

  “Where?”

  “At the bombing. He was one of the so-called hostages. Gave a speech and everything right before the kid pulled the trigger and blew everyone sky-high.”

  “How do you know?” Slade demanded.

  “All security cameras at the airport were jammed right before everything went down. So there’s no public video of anything that happened inside, but someone’s been posting audio and video on the Dark Web of his speech on the Internet, and using it as a recruitment tool.”

  Slade knew there was more. “And? Jesus, spit it out.”

  “Besides Fourati, who slipped out right before the bomber let loose, there was one other survivor.”

  The words seemed to echo across the phone line. “What? Who?”

  “Her name is Dakota James. She was supposed to be flying to a conference in Orlando that day.”

  “There wasn’t ever anything in the newspaper,” Slade protested. “How do you know for sure?”

  “I’ve got copies of the propaganda videos Fourati has been sending to his minions. She’s there, but her body wasn’t one of those found when the pieces of that section of the airport were sorted. Lo and behold, she showed up at work the next week with a broken arm. Told her co-workers she’d fallen down a flight of stairs.”

  “So, what’s the deal? What’d she say about the bombing?”

  “That’s just it,” Greg told Slade. “She’s in the wind.”

  “She’s gone? What about her job?”

  “Quit.”

  “Just like that?” Slade asked.

  “Just like that,” Greg confirmed.

  “You think she’s involved? That what you need me for?”

  “No. We don’t think she’s involved, but we have nothing on Fourati. We have no photos, no videos that show his face. Nada. Zip. Zilch.”

  “But Dakota James saw him,” Slade concluded.

  “Exactly. We need her. Fourati has to be stopped before he can carry through with his plan. As far as we can tell, right now he only has a handful of men he’s recruited, but the more he gets, the more his plan can snowball.”

  “You want me to find her.”

  “Yes. Find her. Get a description of Fourati, then track that asshole down and eliminate the threat.”

  Ah, there it was.

  Slade had been waiting for confirmation that the former commander wanted him to kill for his country once again. The thought should’ve been repugnant. He’d left that part of his life behind. But then Slade remembered the pictures of the ruined section of the airport. Remembered the pictures and videos of the victims. A mother traveling with her three-month-old baby. The couple celebrating their fiftieth wedding anniversary by flying to Hawaii for a two-week vacation. The business men and women who were caught in the crosshairs of a terrorist.

  The resolve to take down the asshole responsible solidified in his belly.

  He opened his mouth to agree to take the job, when Greg spoke again. “There’s one more thing…”

  Ah, shit.

  “Fourati has decided that Dakota James is his.” Lambert’s voice was matter-of-fact.

  “What? How does he even know her?”

  “Apparently, he saw her in the crowd at the airport, and whatever happened between them made him decide that he wants her for his own. This is why we think she ran.”

  “Fuckin’ A,” Slade swore. “She obviously didn’t want to be a terrorist’s plaything.”

  “Apparently not. From what we’ve been able to intercept and decode, he’s on her trail.”

  “Where is she?” Slade demanded. The thought of the poor woman surviving a terrorist bombing, only to be on the run because said terrorist wanted her for his own, was too much for his psyche. His team had told him on more than one occasion that he had a knight-in-shining-armor complex, but Slade didn’t care. He loved women. All kinds. Short, tall, fat, skinny, it didn’t matter. When push came to shove on a mission, if it involved a woman, Slade was made point. He did whatever it took to protect the women and children.

  “That’s the thing. We don’t know.”

  “What do you know?” he bit out impatiently. “From where I’m sitting, it’s precious little. You know there was a woman, and her name, and that she quit her job, but that’s about it.”

  Greg didn’t even sound the least bit upset. “That’s why we need you. Find Dakota. Get her to tell you what Fourati said before his soldier blew himself up. Figure out what that fucker looks like so we can find him, shut down his dot-com operation, and get one more terrorist off our streets. Yeah?”

  “What backup do I have?” Slade asked, knowing he was going to say yes, but wanting as many details as he could get before he did.

  “None,” was Greg’s answer. “Well, none officially. You can call me and I can get you information. But as far as the operation goes, you’re on your own. This is an unsanctioned op. If you get caught, you’re also on your own. The US government will not bail you out and, if asked, will deny any responsibility for anything.”

  Slade wasn’t surprised in the least. He’d expected that. “Compensation?”

  Greg named a figure that made Slade’s eyebrows draw up in surprise. Apparently, the government wasn’t fucking around.

  “I’m in,” Slade told him. He wasn’t concerned about failing. He’d find Ms. James, get a description of Fourati, kill him, and continue on with his life. He was actually looking forward to the assignment. Not to kill someone, that wasn’t something he ever enjoyed, but getting out into the field once more. Using his skills to eliminate a threat.

  Once a SEAL, always a SEAL, apparently.

  “Good. I’ve already arranged with Commander Hurt for you to take some time off. Starting tomorrow. There’s a relatively new but vetted employee who will be transferred over to your job immediately. Even though he doesn’t have your level of clearance, he can still help Hurt keep his head above water until you return. Your replacement has been briefed and your job is secure until you get back.”

  “Wow,” Slade exclaimed. “I shouldn’t be surprised, yet I still am. How’d you know I’d say yes?”

  “John said you would. I trust him.”

  Slade mentally nodded. Yeah, he trusted Tex, too.

  “Tomorrow at o-eight hu
ndred, a folder will be delivered to your apartment with all the information I have on the terrorist group, Fourati, and, of course, Ms. James. Find her, get the intel, then stop Aziz Fourati once and for all.”

  “Is there a time limit?” Slade asked.

  “Not per se. But time is always of the essence. As of right now, Fourati doesn’t seem to have enough followers to be a viable threat. However, the more recruits he gets, the higher the possibility that someone will be able to take his place and carry out the threat if he’s killed.”

  Slade understood that. So while Greg said there was no time limit, there was.

  “Oh, and not only that, Fourati has said that he wants his new wife by his side before the new year hits.”

  “Fuck,” Slade swore quietly. It was almost the end of November. That meant Fourati was getting impatient, and could have a lead on where Dakota was hiding. The urgency of the case just got ramped up. “I’ll look for that folder,” Slade informed him.

  “Thank you, Cutter,” Greg said, using Slade’s SEAL nickname once again, proving he really did know a lot about him. “Your country will never know about this, but they’re in your debt nevertheless.”

  “Is this the number I should contact you at if I have questions?” Slade asked. He knew the deal. He knew no one would ever know how many times he’d killed for the sake of national security. He’d long ago gotten over that.

  “Yes. I’ll be waiting for updates.” And with that, Greg hung up.

  Slade clicked off the phone and put his head back on the seat. A million things were racing through his brain. Details about the weapons he’d need, how best to take down Fourati without causing a panic, and how in the world he’d pull it all off on his own.

  But the one thing that wouldn’t let go, that he kept coming back to, was Dakota James. Where was she?

  Chapter 2

  “Hello, Mr. James. My name is Slade Cutsinger. May I speak with you for a moment?”

  Slade waited patiently a respectable distance away from the door he was standing in front of. He’d received the information folder the morning after his phone call with the former commander and had read every word, twice.