by Susan Stoker
It wasn’t a lot of information to go off of—it was no wonder Greg had called him—but the picture of Dakota James had made his teeth clench and his hands curl into fists.
He’d never had as visceral a reaction to seeing someone before in his life as he’d had when he’d gazed into her green eyes. They seemed to grab him around the throat from the paper. She wasn’t classically beautiful, her facial symmetry was a bit off for that, but it was the happiness and glee he saw in her eyes that made him want to know everything about her.
The picture was from the latest yearbook from Sunset Heights Elementary School where she was the principal…or had been. She was wearing a dark blue suit jacket with a white blouse underneath. She had earrings in the shape of apples in her ears, and her dark blonde hair was in a bun at her neck. Her makeup was minimal, but still, her eyes were her best feature and needed no enhancement.
Slade had stared at her picture for a full ten minutes, shock holding him immobile as he memorized her facial features. He wanted to see more of her. Wanted to see her body, see how tall she was when she was standing next to him, talk to her—was her voice low or high?—touch her. He’d had a sudden and unmistakable reaction to her photo. What would it be like to actually be in her presence?
Thinking about what Dakota had been through made him growl low in his throat, which shocked him back into awareness of where he was and what he was doing.
He wanted her. It wasn’t rational, it wasn’t normal by any stretch of the imagination, but there it was. Slade wanted to see her smile at him. Wanted to see her eyes twinkle with joy as she looked at him. Wanted to see her eating across a table from him, and most definitely wanted to see her green eyes open and look sleepily at him from the other side of his bed.
Slade had looked at hundreds of dossiers, seen hundreds of targets, and not once had any ever affected him like Dakota James. He would make her safe if it was the last thing he did.
Intel about Dakota’s father had been included in the file he’d received from Lambert. He was in his upper seventies and living in a house just north of San Diego. Not sure if the man would give him any information about his daughter—he actually hoped he wouldn’t, that he was being extremely cautious about Dakota’s whereabouts—Slade had packed his saddlebags on his Harley just in case, and headed out.
Feeling as if time truly was running out for Dakota and she was in extreme danger, his only goal was to get to her as soon as he could. He couldn’t explain the feeling, and if he tried, knew he’d sound insane, but Slade’s intuition had served him well for his career on the teams. He wasn’t going to ignore it now.
“What are you selling?” Dakota’s dad barked from behind the screen. “I don’t need no cookies, I’m fat enough, the election’s over, and I don’t need my lawn mowed.”
“I’m a friend of Dakota’s,” Slade said.
“Bullshit,” he responded immediately. “Dakota wouldn’t have a friend like you. No way.”
Offended, but also somewhat amused, Slade asked, “Why not?”
“You’re too good lookin’,” her dad said. “Her friends all wear fucking sweaters and khaki pants. And no way in hell they’d be ridin’ a Harley like you’ve got parked in my driveway.”
“My leather jacket gave it away, huh?” Slade asked, trying to keep a straight face. He respected this man. He said it like it was.
“Just a bit. Want to try again and tell me why you’re here, askin’ about my Dakota?”
“Your daughter’s in danger and I’m probably the only person who can get her out of it.”
The older man was silent for a long moment, but Slade stood still and let him look his fill. Finally, after what seemed like hours, but was in reality only a minute or so, Mr. James flipped up the little hook holding the screen door shut and said, “It’s cold out there. Don’t know what you’re thinkin’, ridin’ around on a motorcycle. Come on in.”
Letting out a relieved sigh, Slade followed the gray-haired man into the house and stood back as he closed and locked the front door. He shuffled slowly into a small living room toward a beat-up chocolate-brown recliner that had seen better days. The television was on and a show about female killers was playing. Dakota’s father lowered the volume, but didn’t turn it off, and gestured to the sofa nearby. “Go on. Sit. Don’t got any refreshments to offer. I don’t snack much and the Meals on Wheels lady hasn’t come by yet. Thought you were her, honestly. You want to know where my Dakota is, don’t ya?”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because I’m old, not stupid,” was his response. “Look, you’re not the first person to come knocking on my door asking if I know where my daughter is. I’ll tell you the same thing I told them, I don’t know where she is. And I wouldn’t tell you even if I did.”
“Who else has been here asking about her?” Slade questioned, his brows drawn down in concern.
The older man waved his hand in the air. “Government types, police types, people from work…you know, the usual.”
Slade wasn’t sure about that, but he let it go for now. “Mr. James, I—”
“Finnegan.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“My name’s Finnegan. Finn.”
“Right. Finn, I think you know that Dakota’s in danger.”
Slade sat still even though Finn narrowed his eyes and stared at him for a long moment before saying, “Why would I know that?”
Taking a chance that Dakota was close with her father, Slade laid it out for him…well, as much as he could. “You and I both know she’s the only survivor of that bombing at LAX. She not only saw things she shouldn’t have, she probably heard them too. If I was a terrorist who wanted to make sure my future plans went off without a hitch, I’d want to ensure all ends were tied up in a nice fancy bow.”
The silence in the room was deafening.
Finally, Finn asked quietly, “Who did you say you were again?”
“My name is Slade Cutsinger. I’m a retired Navy SEAL. I know Dakota has to be scared. I don’t blame her. And Finn, she has reason to be. I’m not bullshitting you about that. I can’t tell you much, but I can say that Dakota has nothing to be worried about with me. My only goal is to help her put this behind her so she can move on with her life. Safely.”
“You got ID?”
His lips twitched. Hell if he didn’t like this old man. Slade slowly reached for his wallet. He slid out his driver’s license and government ID, then leaned over to hand them to Finn.
After several moments of scrutiny, Finn returned them and reclined back into his chair. “See that box on the floor next to the television?”
Slade turned his head and nodded when he saw the beat-up old shoebox sitting under a stack of at least a week’s worth of newspapers.
“Get it for me.”
Doing as he was told, Slade retrieved it and handed it to Finn.
The old man fingered the top of the box lovingly as he said, “Dakota is all I have. My wife died ten years ago, and me and my girl have taken care of each other. She pays for someone to look in on me every day. Pays for the Meals on Wheels people to bring me lunch and dinner. She even makes sure my bills and mortgage are paid. She’s a good girl, and doesn’t deserve any of this. All she did was go about her daily business and get thrust into a situation neither of us understand.”
“I know,” Slade said softly.
“She’s not here,” Finn continued. “Not in San Diego or LA, and probably not even California. She was real shook up after that airport thing. Didn’t say much about it, but told me enough that I put two and two together. Then something happened at her school, though she wouldn’t tell me what. A couple of days later, her apartment complex burned to the ground. Newspapers said it was some idiot burning candles in an apartment, but I’m not sure what to believe.”
“When was this?” Slade asked.
“September. She was so excited for the new school year, but said she had to quit. That someone was following her and sh
e didn’t want to endanger the kids at the school.”
“You haven’t heard from her at all?” Slade doubted that. Someone who obviously loved her dad enough to make sure he was taken care of wouldn’t just completely cut off communication.
“She sends postcards,” Finn told Slade as he ran his wrinkled palm over the box once more. “Not often, but sometimes.”
“Can I see them?” Slade asked, wanting to grab the box out of the old man’s lap and get to work finding Dakota.
“If you hurt her, I swear to God I’ll kill you,” Finn threatened.
“I’m not going to hurt her.”
Dakota’s dad continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “I don’t care who you are or where you hide. I’ll find you and put a bullet through your heart. It doesn’t matter if I go to jail for it either. I’m old, I’m gonna die soon anyway, but it’d be worth it to kill you if you dare do anything that will make my baby suffer more than she already has.”
“I’ve spent my life fighting for the underdog. I’ve gone where I’ve been sent and seen and done things that no one should ever have to,” Slade told Finn, looking him straight in the eyes. “But one look at a picture of your daughter, and I knew I’d do whatever it took to make her safe.”
Finn held his gaze for a moment, then looked down. He cleared his throat twice, as if trying to compose himself, then held out the box. “They’re not signed, but I know they’re from Dakota.”
Slade took the shoebox from Finn and sat back on the couch. He eased the top off and picked up the first postcard. It was from Australia and had a kangaroo on the front. He flipped it over and saw Finn’s address written in a womanly script. As the man had said, it wasn’t signed, but there was one word written. “Peace.” The postmark was from Las Vegas.
He picked up another. It was a picture of the Statue of Liberty, and once again Finn’s address was on the back in the same handwriting as the first. This one said “Love.” It was appropriately postmarked from New York City.
Slade flipped through the rest; there weren’t a lot, about ten or so. Each had a different postmark and only one word written on it.
“Do you think she’s really traveling all over the country?” Slade looked down at the cards in his hand. “From New York to Florida to Seattle?”
“No,” Finn said without any hesitation. “She’s getting others to mail them for her.”
“But she could be,” Slade insisted.
“Me and my girl would watch TV when she came to visit,” Finn said, gesturing to the television set older than Slade. “The ID Channel. Mystery, forensic, and murder shows. We used to talk about how people could get away with killing for years before they were caught, without even really trying. Not long after the airport thing, she was here and we were watching one of them murder shows. I could tell something was wrong, but didn’t want to pry. She flat-out told me she might have to to lie low for a while. I told her she could stay with me, but she shook her head and said the last thing she was going to do was put her daddy in danger…”
Slade sat patiently, waiting for the older man to regain his composure.
Finally, he cleared his throat and said, “She told me she didn’t know how safe it would be to call, and was leery of writing letters with any information in them that could lead anyone to her.”
“Postcards,” Slade said softly.
Finn nodded. “Postcards,” he confirmed. “I don’t know where she is, but she’s gotten her hands on them postcards from all over. Then she has others mail them when they get home from wherever they’re visiting when they meet her.”
“And the messages on them? Do they mean anything?” Slade asked.
“It’s not code, if that’s what you’re asking,” Finn said. “It’s just Dakota’s way of letting me know she’s fine. Love. Peace. Contentment. Happy. She’s trying to reassure me she’s okay. But she’s not okay,” Finn said. “Look at that last one. The one with the Grand Canyon on it.”
Slade pulled it out and turned it over.
“Fucking ink ran. She was cryin’ when she wrote it. My baby was cryin’ and I can’t do anything about it,” Finn said bitterly.
“This one’s postmarked Las Vegas,” Slade mused. “There was another one from Vegas as well.”
Finn simply shrugged. “Told her a father would instinctively know if his little girl was alive. What an idiot I was.” The old man pinned Slade with a hard gaze. “I don’t know if she’s alive, if she’s in pain, if whoever she thought was following her has caught up to her and is hurting her. She could be hungry, or cold, and I’m sitting here snug and happy in my house and can’t do a damn thing about it.”
“But I can,” Slade said firmly.
“If she’s in danger, don’t bring her back here,” Finn replied. “Just let her know her old man loves her and is thinkin’ about her.”
“I will, but I have a feeling she already knows.” Slade put the items back in the box and ran his finger over the mark on the last postcard where one of Dakota’s tears had fallen and smeared the ink. Simply touching the same piece of paper she had somehow made her all the more real to him. He’d fallen hard for the woman in the photograph, but seeing how much she loved her dad, and was loved in return, really struck home for him.
He returned the lid to the box and stood, placing it back by the television stand and replacing the newspapers on top.
Finn pushed himself up and out of the chair and the two men stood toe to toe. Slade was at least five or six inches taller, but Finn didn’t let Slade’s size intimidate him. “Remember what I said,” he ordered gruffly.
“I’ll remember,” Slade told him. “But I’ll say it again, you and your daughter have nothing to fear from me.”
A knock sounded and Slade’s head whipped around to stare at the front door.
“Meals on Wheels,” Finn reminded him. “She’s right on time.”
Slade nodded, but kept close to Finn as he opened the door just in case. As he’d said, a woman wearing a company jacket stood on the other side. “Hello, Mr. James, it’s good to see you today.”
“You too, Eve,” Finn said and unlocked the screen, letting the woman inside. “I’ll be right in, give me a second to say goodbye to my guest.”
“No problem. I’ll just get this served up,” Eve said as she breezed past them, obviously having been inside the house before.
Finn put his hand on Slade’s leather-covered arm. “She means the world to me,” he said seriously.
“I don’t even know her, and I think she means the world to me too,” Slade responded, dryly.
Finn laughed then. A dry, rough chuckle that sounded like it hurt. “That’s my Dakota,” he said, smiling.
Slade’s lips curled up in response and he nodded at the man. He was about to leave when Finn said softly, “She’s not going to trust you. You’re going to have to prove that you’ve talked to me. That I trust you.”
Finn had all his attention now. Slade’s lips pressed together as he waited.
“Dakota loves Starbucks. Their peppermint mocha was always her preferred choice this time of year. And donuts. Glazed with that maple frosting shit on top. She won’t eat no other kind. You bring those with you when you find her, and tell her I told you they were her favorites. The rest is up to you.”
Knowing the old man was right, and that he did need a way to convince Dakota to at least hear him out before she ran, he nodded in appreciation. “Thanks. I’ll remember. Can I ask something?”
“Sure.”
“Why did you let me in? Tell me all that about Dakota?”
Finn looked at Slade for a long time before he said, “My daughter told me the bad guys might come here pretendin’ to be good guys. She warned me not to trust anyone, no matter what they looked like.” The old man paused. “Several have tried to get me to talk. Reporters pretending to be Dakota’s friends, people sayin’ they’re government employees who just have her best interests at heart. Bah—liars, all of them. But you…you weren�
�t lyin’ to me.”
Slade’s lips twitched. His former team members would get a kick out of Finn’s assessment of him, especially considering he was always the best liar of the bunch.
“Man ridin’ around on a Harley, leather jacket, bags packed…you can’t exactly kidnap a woman on a motorcycle. Besides…your eyes told me what I needed to know.”
“My eyes?”
“Yeah. You took one look at my Dakota’s picture and that was it for you.” Finn nodded. “Love is a weird thing. When it hits you, it hits you. I knew the second I saw my late wife that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her. Take care of my girl, Slade. I’ve worried about her since she was born. The one thing I want is to see her protected and taken care of when I’m gone. Oh, I know, she can take care of herself, but as self-sufficient as she is, she needs someone who will make sure she eats when she gets busy, give her a backrub when she’s had a hard day, and will be there for her when she needs to talk.”
Finn’s words struck Slade hard. Yes. That’s what he’d wanted all his life. To have a woman by his side and to be the one someone else leaned on.
“Am I wrong?”
“You’re not wrong,” Slade said “I’m not going to stand here and tell you that your daughter and I will get married and all your worries are over, but I am telling you that I’ll do everything in my power to make her safe and allow her to return to her normal life. After that?” He shrugged. “It’s up to her. But, if my reaction to her picture was any indication, I’m going to do what I can to convince her to let me be a part of her life.”
“That’s why I let you in. Why I told you what I did,” Finn said, then stuck out his hand. “Good luck. Make my baby safe.”
After a final handshake, Slade strode toward his Harley in the driveway, knowing Mr. James was watching him as he did so. He swung a leg over the leather seat and grabbed his helmet.
He began to buckle it when Finn said loudly from the doorway, “You got two of those? Because if you plan to have a passenger, I expect her head to be protected.”
