Protecting Dakota: SEAL of Protection, Book 10

by Stoker, Susan

  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 like him a chance.

  Chapter 3

  “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.

  An hour later, Slade turned onto the ET Highway and grimaced. He was suddenly very glad he’d let the gas station attendant talk him into the extra four gallons strapped to the seat behind him. The weather was chilly, but he knew he’d actually lucked out. It could be a lot worse, and he hoped the weather would hold out until he made it to Rachel and, if he was lucky, found Dakota.

  The chatty gas station attendant had told him all about how Rachel was the only town along the ET Highway, and they didn’t have any services there, only a bar, which seemed wrong to Slade, but nobody asked him. This long desert road wasn’t the place to be driving drunk, that was for sure. Not only would it be extremely easy to drive right off the road, it was actually active grazing land for hundreds of cows. The attendant took great delight in telling him two gory stories about motorists who’d hit cows that were standing in the road, minding their own business in the middle of the night.

  Taking a deep breath, Slade gave the Harley some throttle as he continued down the long stretch of highway. The faster he found Dakota and got her to safety, the better.

  * * *

  Dakota grimaced when the bell over the door to the bar tinkled. She was tired and ready to get out of there. She’d been playing bartender for a while now. Doug and Alex, two brothers who worked at the Tonopah Test Range, had come in at the tail end of the day and asked for a couple of beers. They’d said they didn’t want any food as they’d grabbed sandwiches at home before heading up to the bar. That had been hours ago, and they weren’t acting like they wanted to leave anytime soon.

  It was Dakota’s responsibility to make sure people got what they wanted to drink, paid, and to try to talk them out of driving if they were out-of-towners. She’d shot the shit with the brothers for a while, but she was bored, tired, and wanted nothing more than to head to the open room in one of the trailers for the night. Luckily, there had been a cancelation that day, which meant she got to sleep in a real bed.

  The stress of constantly being on the lookout was getting to her. It was definitely time to head out and find a new place to settle for a while. One more populated than Rachel this time. She’d talk to Pat and Connie tomorrow and let them know she would be moving on.

  She smiled in the direction of the doorway—and froze when she saw the man who’d just walked in. He was probably a couple years older than she was. His black hair was graying, but instead of making him look old, it only made him sexier. He had a short beard that was well trimmed and brought attention to his full lips. He had on a leather jacket and an old, worn pair of jeans with black boots. His nose looked like it’d been broken at least once and his cheeks were rosy from the cold, dry air.

  He was tall, really tall, at least half a foot taller than her own five-eight. He wasn’t skinny, but he wasn’t fat either. He was…built. Muscular.

  She should’ve been scared. He could easily overpower and hurt her, but somehow, she knew he wouldn’t. How she knew that, Dakota had no idea, but for just a moment, the thought that she knew him flashed through her mind.

  That was crazy. She’d never seen this man before in her life, she would’ve remembered if she had. But the spark of recognition was there, nevertheless.

  The man lifted his chin at her in greeting, and Dakota’s knees wobbled. How in the hell he could make her want him with a mere chin lift she had no idea, but suddenly, having a wild fling with a stranger sounded like the best idea she’d ever had. It had been a long time since she’d had any sexual feelings about anyone, especially in the last couple of months, but all her worries seemed to drain away simply by looking into his dark eyes.

  “Welcome to the Little A’Le’Inn,” she said automatically. Business was business, and she didn’t want to be the reason the bar got a bad review online. “Grill’s closed, but we’ve got snacks and liquid refreshments. Although if you’re continuing on your way to Tonopah, I don’t recommend drinking anything alcoholic. It’d be dangerous.” Dakota smiled as she said the last, wanting to seem friendly instead of preachy. It would be an absolute shame for this man to come to any harm, that was for sure.

  The man’s eyes seemed to pierce right into her soul, as if with one look he knew all her secrets. The scariest thing was that it wasn’t an altogether unpleasant thought. She’d never had someone she could lean on to help with troubles in her life. She’d been okay with that, modern woman and all, but in that moment, all she could think was that this man would keep her safe. He’d never let anyone do her harm.

  Dakota turned her back on him, pretending to wipe off the counter to try to regain her equilibrium.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the man sa
unter into the dimly lit building and gaze around. She’d seen many reactions from tourists who’d wandered into the eclectic bar, but this man had absolutely no reaction whatsoever. It was…odd.

  “Nice place,” he said, and Dakota’s toes curled in her sneakers. His voice was low and growly and she felt it all the way to her tummy. She had no idea why she was reacting to this man’s obvious maleness, but she was.

  “Yeah. The owners have worked hard to make it…unique.”

  “Slade,” the man said, holding his hand out to her in greeting.

  “Oh…uh…I’m Dallas,” Dakota said shakily, almost forgetting her fake name, and tentatively put her hand in his own.

  She was half afraid he’d crush hers with his brute strength, but he merely smiled and grasped her palm with a firm, but not bruising grip and said, “It’s good to meet you.”

  Dakota gave him a half smile. “You too.”

  They stood still for a beat, each looking at the other without blinking, before Dakota reluctantly pulled her hand back. He let go without complaint, but she swore she could feel his touch long after they’d dropped their hands. He had calluses, which made her think about what his hands would feel like on her bare skin. Damn, she had to get it together.

  “So, what’s it gonna be?” Dakota asked.

  “Just a Coke, I think,” Slade said.

  “What kind?”

  “What kind of Coke?”

  Dakota chuckled and shook her head in self-deprecation. “Sorry. Habit. I call all soda, ‘Coke.’ I use it generically. I can get you one,” she finished quickly, knowing she was beat red with embarrassment.

  “So if someone asks for a Coke, you ask what kind, and they say a Pepsi. Or Dr. Pepper, or something else?” Slade asked with a friendly smile. He leaned his forearms on the scratched wooden bar top in front of him.

  For a moment, Dakota wished that it was summer and Slade was wearing a short-sleeved T-shirt. She’d pay just about any amount of money to see his biceps and forearms. She’d bet they were muscular as hell. When he tipped his head and raised his eyebrows as she continued to stare at him, she blushed even harder. “Sorry. Yeah, that’s how it works. So you really do want a Coke, right?”