Hot SEAL, Labor Day by Cynthia D’Alba

Chapter 1

Sawyer “Nomad” Beckett roared up to the curb around the corner from McP’s pub. He was lucky to have found curb parking as he hated to leave his new Harley-Davidson out of sight. It’d get its first blemish soon enough. No sense temping the gods by parking it in a crowded lot.

SEAL Team Romeo had commandeered a couple of tables behind the chained area outside the walled patio. The drinking had started without him, which he understood. Sawyer was a SEAL team floater who filled in on a temporary basis when a team had an opening. Sometimes the opening was due to illness, but occasionally a death required him to gear up and jump in. He liked the floater role. No commitment to any one team, only to the Navy.

“Nomad,” Cash “Inferno” Mancini called. “Over here.”

Sawyer lifted his head in acknowledgement. Carrying his helmet under his arm, he stepped over the chain and dragged a chair up to the two tables pulled together.

“Ten fucking days off,” Cole “Joker” Landry said.

“I plan to spend all of them fucking,” Brian “Heartbreaker” Anderson replied.

“Fuck yeah,” answered Jack “Mars” Marsden.

“I think I’m taking the family on a short vacation,” Chris “Zig” Bykowski added to the conversation, which drew a round of “Awws,” from the team. From what Sawyer had been told, Zig had married the widow of a fallen fellow SEAL and taken on the father role with unreserved gusto.

“Gator and I are gonna hang and surf,” Cash said to Sawyer. “You’re welcome to join us.”

“Thanks, but I’ve got plans.”

“You guys deserve the time off,” their team leader Ted “Bear” Black said. “See your families, chill, but be ready to deploy by the fifteenth.”

The team had been notified this morning that they would be deployed to Niger for an undetermined length of time. While the U.S. had maintained forces all over Africa for a long period, most served in training and intelligence roles. However, there were times when U.S. forces were called upon to provide fighting support. Romeo Team was being deployed to assist in these efforts as fighting in the region had picked up.

Sawyer liked the guys of Romeo Team. If any team could tempt him to stop floating and stay, it would be this group of guys, but at this point, he would continue as he had, moving from team to team as needed. He would be deployed with Romeo as he continued to fill a spot left open with the retirement of Eli “Wolf” Miller. Team leader Ted Black had assured him that a new guy would be in place by November. Since today was the Friday of Labor Day weekend, and Sawyer had been with the team since the middle of July, he figured Ted Black was one particular sonofabitch when it came to adding a new guy to the team mix. Sawyer could appreciate that. He’d worked in a lot of different roles on a number of teams. Some were better run than others. Romeo was one of the better run teams because their leader ran a tight ship.

Sawyer had ordered three fingers of Blante’s Single Barrel bourbon from a passing waitress as he’d made his way to the team. Now, the blonde returned and set his bourbon neat on the table.

“Santé, gentlemen,” he said, lifting his glass.

Drink glasses were clinked, and the guys got back to their drinking. Sawyer leaned back in his chair and sipped the ridiculously expensive bourbon. He didn’t have many vices, but sipping a high-quality bourbon was one of them.

The team stayed for only a couple of rounds of drinks. Each man seemed ready to get started on their leave. Sawyer couldn’t blame them. If he had someone waiting on him, he’d probably not even shown up for drinks with the team. But he didn’t, and frankly, he wasn’t looking. Roots weren’t his style.

He was the last man to leave because he’d wanted to slip their waitress an additional fifty-dollar tip. He fired up his Harley and roared off to his motorhome. As he traversed the streets, he racked his brain over where his motorcoach was parked. Not that he had memory problems, but he liked to move his forty-foot Winnebago around to different campsites as the mood hit him. Then he remembered he’d moved to a small, private campground on San Diego Bay, and headed there for the night. Tomorrow, he was headed to Lake Kincade for a week of doing nothing.

Originally, the plan had been to meet his parents there, but his dad, General Harold Beckett, had been ordered to Belgium for a meeting, and Sawyer’s mom went wherever her husband went. It’d always been that way. He knew his parents loved him, but his dad put career first, and his mom put her husband first. Sawyer was right there in the top ten, but he was never first. He’d learned to accept it.

The Beckett family had followed Harold Beckett through every move, every promotion. In fact, at thirty-five, Sawyer had lived in more countries, cities, and states than the total number of years he’d been alive. He didn’t think he’d ever started and finished a school year in the same location, but he’d adjusted. He’d had to learn to adapt if he’d wanted to survive. All those moves, all the required blending-in in new environments, all the friendships that he’d made on the fly made being a SEAL team floater ideal for him.

To say that his parents had been unhappy when he’d chosen the Navy over the Army would be like explaining the sun would be warm to the touch. Sawyer had joined immediately following high school, and now, seventeen years later, his dad kept waiting for him to realize not joining the army had been a mistake. Not going to happen.

When he got to his Winnebago, it was still early. He wasn’t ready to call it a night. Lake Kincade was only three or so hours down the road. If he could change his cabin reservation to include tonight, there’d be nothing keeping him from immediately starting his vacation.

The sun had barely set when he got on the road at seven that evening. The weather was a perfect seventy-five degrees with a light breeze. Ideal for a late evening ride on his Harley. He’d made this trip numerous times during his stay in California. The lake had some of the best trout fishing in the area.

He headed out I-15 North toward Hwy-330, which would take him to a backroad he could follow the rest of the way to Lake Kincade. The interstate was crowded, but it was a typical Friday in California. Luckily for him, the traffic was traveling at a decent pace and he reached the Hwy-330 exit in only two hours, a record for him. Being that this was Friday night of Labor Day weekend, the traffic on the highway headed to his favorite fishing lake was heavy which was why he had every intention of taking the backroad he’d discovered on one of his earlier trips.

Night had fallen when he turned onto Woodbury Road. The quarter moon gave little illumination to the dark road. This was the rural California that the rest of the U.S. never saw and would never believe existed. No streetlights to light the road. Faded divider and side lines, seen only when flashed by headlights.

Ahead of him was an older Chevrolet Malibu. The car might’ve been blue at some time in its life, but rust would be the better color description now. The driver was puttering along under the 50-mph speed limit, not seeming to be in much of a hurry to get anywhere. Sawyer assumed the driver was a local making his way home after work, or maybe contemplating a stop in a bar for a drink with fellow employees who had the valuable long weekend ahead. He considered the idea that the driver could be drunk, but the car was staying between the faded road striping, so probably not.

Should he roar out and pass the car? The road was curvy with no designated passing lines. With the hills and curves added to the darkness of the evening, passing would be risky. Plus, they weren’t that far outside Lake Kincade, so he’d be risking his life for what? A five or ten-minute advantage. Not worth it. He settled in behind the older car to bide his time.

The Chevy swerved, and bright red brake lights flashed. Dark smoke filled his vision. Sawyer slowed, not sure what was happening ahead. The Chevy jerked and bounced as the car eased off the road to one of the few vista pull offs.

As Sawyer passed, he noticed the blown front tire on the driver’s side. He checked his rearview mirror and saw a couple of other cars pass without slowing. It was late. This was a dark, rural backroad. Stopping to help a stranger might be considered dangerous for many people.

Visitors to Lake Kincade would typically stick to the main highways, so traffic on this road would be sparce. To add to the driver’s problems, cell service in the area was spotty, at best, so the driver would find it difficult to reach out to his friends and family for help. Sawyer had nowhere he had to be and no one looking for him. So, he whipped around and headed back to see if he could be of any assistance.

The Chevy sat heavily on the driver’s side, listing because of the blown tire. Sawyer pulled his bike in front of the car, letting his single headlight shine on the situation. Once he got a look at the tread on the tire, he wasn’t surprised to see it’d blown. The dadgum tire’s tread was so past needing to be replaced, it was almost smooth.

He climbed off the motorcycle and walked up to the driver’s door. The window cranked down about an inch. The aroma of fresh peaches wafted through the opening. Peaches? Odd for this time of the year.

“Need some help?” he asked.

A beautiful female with long chestnut hair looked up at him with wide eyes—wide, terrified eyes. She was gnawing on her bottom lip while her gaze whipped from him to his bike and back.

Sawyer realized he probably did look a little rough. He’d let his beard grow out during the team’s last deployment so to blend in better with the male population of the Middle Eastern country where they’d been operating. His long, black hair had been whipped around during his ride, the top smashed flat by his helmet while the pieces around his shoulder were probably sticking out in all directions.

“Looks like you need a hand,” he said, trying again. “Do you have a spare?”

“I don’t know,” she replied, still wearing her terrified expression. “My cell phone isn’t working.”

“Typical for this area. Pop your trunk and I’ll look.” He was vaguely familiar with this car. His mom had driven one like it years ago, and being the typical pre-teen male at that time, he’d spent hours looking it over.

She didn’t move for a second or two, as though deciding what to do. Finally, she said, “I don’t know where the latch is.”

Sawyer didn’t roll his eyes or do anything that would suggest he was dealing with someone whose light wasn’t so bright. Instead, he smiled. “Do you have a key fob for the car? There’s usually a release on it.”

“Oh!” Her eyes, while still leery, brightened. “I do. Hold on.” She pulled out the key and held up the fob. “Ta-da,” she said triumphantly. Her thumb moved over the fob buttons until the trunk lid opened. She looked up at him with a wide grin, like she’d done something unique.

“Put on your parking brake and it’d be better if you got out of the car.”

A panicked expression crossed her face.

“But you don’t have to,” he lied. “You’re going to see me at the back passenger side blocking that tire so the car won’t roll. I didn’t want you to wonder what I was doing back there.”

“Okay. Thanks for telling me that.”

After finding a large rock and blocking the rear tire, he proceeded with pulling out the spare, which didn’t look a whole lot better than the rest of the tires. He rolled the spare to the front, collected the jack from the back, and got to work. Twenty minutes later, he was pulling the large rock from under her tire.

“That should do it,” he said through the one-inch opening.

“Oh, let me pay you,” she said, pushing a twenty through the tiny slit.

“No, ma’am. I’m glad to help you. You keep that money.” Considering the state of her car, she needed the money more than he did. “There’s a tire place in the town just ahead. Why don’t I follow you into Lake Kincade in case you have any more problems…? When we get there, I can show you where the tire place is, if you don’t already know.”

“I don’t have a clue where it is.” She frowned. “I doubt it’ll be open this late.”

“You’re probably right, but you’d know where the tire store was and how to get back to it tomorrow. You’re headed into Lake Kincade, right?” He’d assumed that was where she was headed, but maybe she lived outside of town. Something about her shouted that she was out of her comfort zone.

“Yes, Lake Kincade.”

“Perfect. I’ll pull in behind you.” He grinned. “Now, don’t drive too fast. I want to keep up with you,” he joked.

“Oh, I won’t,” she said, her face so sincere he hated he’d joked with her.

They pulled back onto the road, and he followed her at a speedy forty-five for the next ten miles. Forty-five was the speed limit, and by golly, she kept that car pegged at that speed. On the downhill, as they neared the town, she slowed to forty as the speed limit sign directed.

Sawyer hated to admit it, but this was probably the slowest he’d ever gone on his bike, unless he was slowing to stop. Still, he was entertained by the obvious care the woman was giving to the twisty road. Brake lights flashed in his face so often, he wondered if there would be brakes left on that rust bucket of bolts when they got to Lake Kincade.

Once they reached the city limits, he sped up to forty-seven, passed her, and then gestured for her to follow him. There were a couple of tire places, but the closest one was Billy Bob’s Tires. Corny name, but a really nice guy Sawyer had met on a previous trip.

The lights were on when they pulled in. Sawyer climbed off his bike and gestured for her to wait in her car. Billy Bob was still there chatting with an older man.

“Surprised you’re still open,” Sawyer said as a way of greeting.

“Got to chattin’ and lost track of time. Sawyer, isn’t it?”

“That’s right, sir. Sawyer Beckett.” He gestured to the Chevy Malibu idling in the drive. “Found this lady with a flat tire on the way into town. I put on her spare, but its tread lacks a lot to be desired. She seemed a little lost, so I don’t think she lives in the area. She was kind of skittish around me.” He scratched his beard. “I might look a little rough around the edges tonight.”

Billy Bob chuckled. “You leave her in my hands, and I’ll see what I can do.”

Sawyer shook the older man’s hand. “Thanks, man.”

He walked back to the Chevy and gestured for the woman to lower her window. This time, she actually rolled it down halfway and he could see the woman inside. Under the fluorescent lights of the shop, he could tell her long hair was a dark shade of red and surrounded a beautiful face with a pair of jade-green eyes and a mouth with plump lips. She was a stunningly attractive woman. Too bad they were ships passing in the night.

He was intrigued by her. Where had she been headed alone so late at night? Where was her family? Her expensive linen clothes didn’t fit with the ancient, rusty car. Why wasn’t she driving something nicer or newer?

And why did her face look slightly familiar? Did he know her?

No, probably not, since she gave no indication that she knew him from somewhere.

She was a mystery he’d love to solve. Too bad he wouldn’t get the chance.

“Billy Bob’s still here. He’s the older man waving from the garage. He’ll see that you’re taken care of.”

“Thank you, again. Are you sure I can’t pay you for your trouble?”

“No trouble, ma’am. You have a nice evening,”

He climbed on his Harley and headed toward Harbin’s Harbor Cabins. Harbin’s wasn’t one of the newer, fancier places that had sprung up around Lake Kincade. The cabins had been built before Sawyer had been born, but the family-owned resort had maintained and updated them over the years. They were one of the best kept lodging secrets in the area. This was where all the locals and those in the know sent family and friends who visited.

When he got to the office, there were three envelopes taped to the door. S. Beckett, C. Kirk, and A. Cristiano.

Sawyer pulled off the one with his name and opened it knowing what he’d find. A key to his cabin—number twelve—and a welcome letter with a list of area activities. He’d requested cabin twelve, but the woman who’d made his reservation hadn’t been able to guarantee a specific cabin, but had promised to make a note of his request.

Twelve was his favorite cabin. Waterfront and secluded. A place to tie off a boat if he decided to rent one, and he was leaning in that direction. A firepit for cool evenings was shared with the only other cabin in the area. Ideal. He’d have to go by the office and thank them tomorrow.

For tonight, he hauled his duffle in, took a quick shower, and hit the sheets.

Nervous energy pingedthrough Ana Cristiano. First the danged flat tire and now having to talk to this man about something she knew nothing about. Until about fifteen hours ago, she’d never owned a car, and wouldn’t have bought this one if she could’ve secretly rented one. But rental cars required a credit card, which would leave a trace. Of course, so did buying a car, even from a seedy second-hand car lot. However, the owner of the dealership had been the second cousin of an acquaintance who’d vouched for him, and he’d given her a low price for cash. By the time the state processed the registration and license, maybe she will have decided what she was going to do next.

Ana did have a driver’s license. Randall had taken her to get it when she’d been seventeen. In the twelve years since, she could count on her fingers and toes the number of times she’d driven, and still have toes left over.

Pulling out from the car lot had been terrifying, to put it mildly. California drivers were intimidating with their whipping around her and passing her like she was parked. A couple of times—okay, so more than five times—the passing driver had flipped her the bird. A couple of drivers had honked, making sure she saw the rude gesture. Maybe she was driving a little slower than everyone else, but she was doing the speed limit. Wasn’t that what she was supposed to do?

None of that mattered. She was free. No one to clock her time. No one to tell her to watch what she ate. No one to tell her how disappointed they were. She was just Ana Cristiano, free woman, not Ana Cristiano, a woman under intense scrutiny. Watch out world. Ana was coming!

“So, I’d advise you to put on a whole new set,” Billy Bob was saying. “I can use the best of the group as your spare. But you aren’t safe on these tires, ma’am. You were lucky Sawyer came by to help.”

“Sawyer?”

“Sawyer Beckett, the guy who changed your tire. You didn’t ask his name?” the man said, his eyebrows rising.

Ana shook her head. “I should have, but my head wasn’t clicking right then. So, a full set. What will that cost?”

She thought about the cash she had on her. She had credit cards for a real emergency, but charges would show on her account and then Randall, or his son Geoffrey, would be on her doorstep as fast as he could drive.

Same issue with a check. Her bank would get the check. How long would it take for a check written in California to clear a bank in New York? She’d look that up tonight and see if she should risk it for tires.

“Welp,” Billy Bob said. “I’ve got some good used tires off some feller’s car who wanted a different brand. Lots of tread and life left in them. I can make you a good deal on those.”

“Sounds perfect.”

“But the wife’s already called twice. This is a holiday weekend, so it’d be Tuesday before I can change them out. You gonna be in the area that long?”

She had a reservation at Harbin’s Harbor for a week. The acquaintance with the second-cousin-car-salesman had recommended Harbin’s. She hoped that place was better than the car.

“I plan to be. Am I safe to drive on these until then?”

Billy Bob walked around her car and looked at the tread. “Three days. Yep, as long as you ain’t got no plans to do hundred-mile sightseeing drives.” He shook his head. “I wouldn’t recommend it.”

“Nope. I’ll stay around town.”

“Good.”

“I’ve got a reservation at a place called Harbin’s Harbor Cabins. Can you give me directions from here?”

Twenty minutes later, she turned onto the gravel drive that led to Harbin’s. She was arriving much later than she’d told the woman on the phone when she made her reservations, and she hoped they’d held the cabin for her. Her heart sank when she saw the office light was off. In the back of her mind, she thought the girl who’d taken her reservation had said there’d be an envelope on the office door if they were closed.

To her immediate relief when she walked up to the office door, she saw a white envelope with A. Cristiano written on it. She jerked it off and looked inside. There was a cabin key—cabin number 10—and a list of area attractions. Additionally, there was a handwritten note written on the lodge map welcoming her to Harbin’s Harbor, signed by the owner, Mandy.

Ana breathed a sigh of relief, the first one she’d taken since she’d planned her escape yesterday.