by Susan Stoker
“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.”
Slade grinned, despite the seriousness of the situation. Without a word, he twisted his body and unsnapped one of the saddlebags. He pulled out an identical helmet to the one he was wearing, except a size smaller, and held it up for Finn’s inspection.
“Good,” was all Finn said, before backing into his house and closing the door.
Slade stowed the extra helmet he’d bought specifically with the intention of having Dakota James on the back of his bike and turned to face the front. He backed out of the drive and headed for the highway. He’d call Tex as soon as he could and let him know he was on his way to Vegas, but first he needed to beat the LA traffic out of town. I-15 to the Nevada border was always a crapshoot this time of year. Starting his search in Las Vegas was a given, as there were two postcards with that postmark.
Whether or not Dakota was there wasn’t quite as certain, but one thing was clear…Slade was more determined than ever to find her and keep her safe. Any woman who cared enough about her father to try to reassure him she was all right while on the run from terrorists was someone he wanted to know. But because it was Dakota who’d done it…she’d just blown away any doubts he’d had about her. He’d find her, make her safe, then hopefully convince her to give an old retired SEAL l
ike him a chance.
Chapter Three
“Have you ever seen an alien out here?”
Dakota James forced a smile and turned to face the tourist. She was working the afternoon shift at the Little A’Le’Inn in Rachel, Nevada, and got asked this exact same question at least once a day. But she really couldn’t blame them. They were, after all, right outside Area 51 in the Nevada desert, and the small diner she worked at had gone out of its way to put every kitschy piece of alien crap on sale that it could find.
“Nope. Just lots of hungry tourists,” she told the teenager, then shrugged in apology for the lame answer and hurried to bring a platter with three plates of hamburgers and fries to the group sitting at a small circular table in the middle of the room.
She smiled and left them hungrily tucking into the food she’d brought them.
Working as a waitress and sales clerk wasn’t what she’d had in mind for a life plan when she’d gotten her master’s degree in higher education, but life had a funny way of making sure you never got too big for your britches.
Wiping her hands on her apron, Dakota rang up a T-shirt with an alien head on it, a bumper sticker and mug with the A’Le’Inn logo, and an inflatable plastic green alien, then collected money from the pair standing at the register.
She’d been working at the small restaurant/bar for quite a while now and knew it was about time for her to move on. She was grateful that Pat and her daughter, Connie, had hired her. They’d obviously seen the desperation in her eyes when she’d shown up all those weeks ago.
Rachel, Nevada, population around fifty-four, wasn’t exactly on the beaten path. People didn’t accidentally end up there, and Dakota was no exception. She’d hidden out in Las Vegas for a week, but hadn’t liked how dirty the city seemed. Not only that, she always felt as if she was being watched…and since there were so many people, she couldn’t figure out if she was really being watched, or if it was only in her head.
So she’d left, deciding to make her way across the US, away from California and him. She’d stopped for gas just east of Vegas and started chatting with a happy-go-lucky group from Indiana. They’d said they were geocachers, and were headed to the ET Highway. Dakota had no idea what they were talking about, but she’d gotten a crash course soon enough.
Apparently geocaching was kind of like treasure hunting with a GPS. The players downloaded coordinates from a website and followed them to the “treasure.” It could be a Tupperware container, film canister, or even a large ammo box. Sometimes there were toys inside, and others only enough room for a log book, which the players were required to sign.
The group was on its way to the ET Highway because there were literally thousands of geocaches alongside the ninety-eight-mile road. They’d talked about the black mailbox, Area 51, the town of Rachel, and the Little A’Le’Inn as if anyone who didn’t see them once in their life was absolutely missing out.
So off she’d gone. Instead of heading out of Nevada along Interstate 15, she’d turned north on Route 93 to Highway 375—also known as the ET Highway.
It’d actually been fun. She’d stopped at the black mailbox, which was now painted white. Enjoyed the desert vistas, mooed at some random cows, and waved at clusters of people she now knew were geocachers who’d randomly stopped along the road searching for the elusive little containers.
Rachel certainly wasn’t what she’d been expecting. She thought it would be a typical little town, with a gas station, hotel, and fast food restaurants…but it wasn’t. It was literally a pit stop in the middle of nowhere. There were no businesses, other than the A’Le’Inn bar and restaurant. No other places to eat and, more importantly, no gas stations.
She’d planned on seeing what the fuss regarding Rachel was all about, then continuing north to Reno and eventually up into Idaho. Since she’d coasted into town on fumes, she was temporarily stuck. But the second she’d seen the tiny town, she’d decided it was actually a good place to lie low for a while.
Pat and Connie, the owners of the Little A’Le’Inn, had agreed to let her work as a waitress in the restaurant/bar and as a maid for the rooms they rented out—mostly to geocachers on their way through—in the trailers behind the bar. The pay wasn’t huge, but it was enough to slowly increase her meager cash reserves before she headed off again.
She’d rented a small room from a local resident, but didn’t stay there often. The owner was a smoker who didn’t get out much. Dakota had slept in her car most nights, preferring that to being cooped up in a trailer home full of cigarette smoke. Pat caught her one morning and, after hearing why she was sleeping in her car, offered to let her stay in one of the motel’s trailers when it wasn’t booked.
Working at the motel/bar/restaurant also allowed her to see most of the people who came to town. It wasn’t foolproof; if he walked in and found her, he wouldn’t hesitate to hurt anyone who came to her aid. But the little town suited her. She much preferred the genuine caring nature of most of the people of Rachel to the city folks she’d come into contact with in Vegas.
She’d changed her name to Dallas, thinking it was close enough to her own that she might actually remember to answer to it. The work was monotonous, but the people she met kept the job from being absolutely horrible.
She’d also admitted to Connie that she’d run out of gas, and the other woman had volunteered to bring back enough to allow her to get to either Tonopah or Warm Springs. Dakota had taken her up on the offer, and felt good knowing she wasn’t trapped in the small town. She could leave at any time.
Until now, she’d been enjoying working for cash; it kept her from using credit cards and being tracked through them. Though recently, she felt itchy and nervous. As if someone was watching her again. As much as she hated to just up and leave the quirky little town, it was looking like the time was coming when she’d need to do just that.
“Hey, Dallas, order up,” George called from the back. He was the line cook who worked from one to seven. Pat or Connie usually had the morning shift, serving breakfast and early lunch, and after seven, tourists who stopped in could choose from pre-packaged snacks and drinks.
Dakota shook herself and smiled at the older man. Rachel, Nevada, might literally be in the middle of nowhere, but the people who lived and worked there were some of the friendliest she’d ever met. It was too bad she’d be leaving soon.
“Hey, Tex,” Slade said when his old friend picked up the phone.
“’Bout time you called, Cutter,” Tex complained. “I figured you were glued to the slot machines or something. Leaving a message telling me where you’re going isn’t the same as actually talking to me, you know.”
“Yeah, well, I was a bit busy,” Slade told him. He’d called two days ago when he’d reached Primm, the border town between California and Nevada. Tex hadn’t answered, so he’d left a message about what he’d found out and where he was headed. He’d waited until now to call again because he’d wanted to have some concrete information to share, not simply conjecture.
“I did some checking while waiting for you to call back, and there’s been a lot of chatter on the Net about picking up a certain package and preparing for a ceremony,” Tex told him.
“Fuck,” Slade murmured.
“You got any ideas where she might be?” Tex asked.
“I’ve been all over this city in the last couple of days. I’ve shown her picture to everyone, and I might have a lead.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. You ever been out to Area 51?” Slade asked Tex.
“Nope. Is there anything out there other than desert?”
“Not much. But I’m at a gas station just northeast of Vegas and a clerk says she thinks she remembers someone matching Dakota’s description asking about the infamous ET Highway a couple months ago. Said she remembered her because she specifically asked if they had any peppermint flavor for her coffee, and picked up a flier about the road on her way out. I could use your help checking traffic cams for any more recent
signs of her in the city, in case this lead is bogus. I thought I’d check out Rachel, Nevada, midway point of the ET Highway, and see if she’s been there.”
“Already on it,” Tex told him. “Started my search right after you left your message. So far, I haven’t found anything from the last day and a half, but I’ll keep on it. If I find she’s been in Vegas recently, I’ll let you know.”
“Appreciate it.”
“You be careful,” Tex warned. “With the increased chatter, it certainly sounds as if Fourati has intel on where Dakota might be hiding and could be moving in.”
“I will.”
“Eyes on your six, Cutter,” Tex told him. “If anything feels off, get the hell out of dodge. And don’t hesitate to live up to that nickname of yours. Hear me? I’ll cover your ass if it comes to it.”
“Got it.” Slade didn’t like the fact that Tex was feeling nervous. If he thought Fourati had a lock on where Dakota was, and had sent some of his minions after her, he was probably right. And Tex telling him not to hesitate to slit someone’s throat was telling.
It was Tex who had come up with the moniker during one of their first missions together. Slade had cut the throat of a terrorist who’d had no idea his position had been compromised. It wasn’t the first person he’d killed that way, and certainly wasn’t the last. Tex had congratulated him on the kill and that was that. The story Slade usually told people, however, was that he was called Cutter because of his last name. It was a bit more politically correct than airing his SEAL kills to polite society.
“I’ll call when I can,” Slade told Tex.
“You do that. Later.”
“Later.” Slade hung up and sighed in frustration. The fact that Fourati was one step behind him wasn’t comforting, but at least he was behind him, and not ahead of him.
Slade slipped the phone back into his pocket and headed into the gas station. If he was going out into the desert, he wanted to top off his tank. He got great gas mileage with his Harley, but had no idea what he’d find when he hit Area 51 and wanted to be ready for anything.
