Fallen SEAL Legacy (22 page)

Libby stood up with hands on her hips. “Mother, for Chrissakes, that’s over with. It was foolish of me.”

Carla went back to examining her hands, looking down, and flipping her wedding ring around her finger. “Can you tell me what happened?”

“No, mother. It’s none of your business.”

“But you don’t think he could possibly be the, the, the—”

“Cat killer? No. Absolutely not. Not a chance in hell of that.”

“Well, I don’t want to pry—“

“Then don’t. Just let me have my privacy. I have other friends I can stay with.”

“Well there’s Neil and Marsha’s.

“You’ve
got
to be kidding.” Libby was barely able to stand her sister-in-law.

“Well, humor me, then. Just for tonight. You’ll come with us to the Coronado. We’ll make a plan—your plan. But tonight, let’s be together as a family, okay?”

Libby didn’t answer.

“So come on, get yourself packed up and let’s get out of this house. My headache gets worse every minute I stay here.”

Libby knew her mother was way more stressed than she let on. Poor woman was walking that difficult divide between two people she cared the most about in her life: her husband, and her daughter. And Libby wasn’t making it very easy on her.

Carla Brownlee left the room after Libby promised to be ready in five minutes.

She began throwing clothes into a suitcase she’d just unpacked a few days ago. Yes. She’d go to the Hotel Del with her parents and try not to think about being a blushing bride of some strong hunky guy who would make love to her all night long just like—

Stop this! You’ve got to wake up. Get real.

She hoped, when it all was over, she could find herself ready for a happily ever after. She wasn’t there yet, though. She knew the right, the smart thing was to focus on her future—getting her degree and finding a good job to support herself.  Focus on her studies and leave all this blackness and pain behind her, even if she had to use duct tape on her resolve to hold all the pieces together today. And for the first time in a long time, though there was little hope, she didn’t feel like running away. It was time to stand and face the fact that she didn’t need anybody, and she could take care of herself.

Cooper played with pencils on a vacant sales associate’s desk at the Patterson Realty office while Christy Lansdowne worked with Armando and Kyle in the conference room, leaving him alone with Fredo. Gunny had taken off to oversee the close-up of his gym. The Mexican SEAL was swinging his short torso around on a wheeled office chair, testing and adjusting the height and angle of the back until the thing flipped over on top of him when he landed on the floor.

Coop gave a hand to his best friend, who was sputtering a string of curses in Spanish. The back of the chair had become dislodged from the frame and parts had scattered all over the floor. As if on cue, both Team guys kneeled and began collecting items scattered around
before them. Without saying a word, they located the screws, levers and other parts and began to put the chair back together again. They guessed at the height and back tilt and set about adjusting the finished project accordingly. Once it was completed and judged to be sturdy, Fredo rolled the chair gently into the desk cubby, and let out a satisfied sigh when the armrests made it safely under the wooden surface without scraping.

Cooper watched Fredo look around the office for something else to do, something to fix. He knew it was hell on his friend to wait. It was hell on him as well. Overseas, that was the worst part: waiting. Waiting for some action. Hard for civilians to understand, but it was way better than waiting to die. Boredom killed people. Lack of concentration could get a Team guy in real trouble. Better to be in action. Doing anything. Thank God for video games.

Coop used to tinker with a gadget he brought with him on his last tour. It was a plastic arm piece, a toy remote control device, except it didn’t control anything, just squawked and flashed lights, running on four AAA batteries. A kid’s toy.

Coop added some switches and some simulated detonator buttons and made the thing look entirely lethal, although harmless. No one ever let on that the thing was a complete fake, something they were grateful for later.

One time, when they were on an emergency snatch and grab mission, he’d forgotten to take the device off his arm. There was some limited exchange of fire, and a mob of Tangos was gathering at the end of a dusty street, menacing and angry. Coop held up his arm with the toy device, and did a mock aim into the crowd, turning on the red laser light. All they saw next were asses and elbows. The team had to struggle to maintain straight faces and not to laugh their butts off. But the toy had probably saved their lives.

Coop mused that perhaps he could make a few more of them while he waited for their next workup. He’d stop by the toy store later this afternoon. If not, there were some upscale kid’s stores around the island that might carry something that looked halfway real. That would be a good start, he thought. He had boxes of spare parts and deadly-looking wire switches back at the motor home. Shoot, if he ever got tired of being a SEAL he could work on a Sci-Fi set in Hollywood.

Gotta get my mind off things.
His insides ached and his pants felt tight. No question about his need. And no question who was the only person on the planet who could fill that need.

He thought about getting another tattoo. He remembered the feel of Daisy’s delicate fingers on his sensitive flesh, and how hard she used to work on him. She’d bite her pouty lower lip as she was concentrating, her boobs brushing against him, depending on the placement of the new tattoo, until it would drive him crazy.

But hooking up with Daisy wasn’t fair to her and probably wouldn’t work anyway. Besides, Daisy deserved much better.

So Kyle had gotten himself a wife and now had little Brandon, who was slobbering all over the sliding glass door in the conference room, trying to stand up. Brandon spotted Coop, and the toddler’s eyes lit up.

“Time to babysit, or we’ll be here until nightfall,” Coop said to Fredo as he walked towards the glass door.  Brandon fell back on his well-diapered butt and started to play patty cake with excitement. The little one knew all the Team members and was comfortable playing with any of them.

Coop slid open the door and the three at the table looked up. “I’m going to take Brandon for a bit, you mind?” he asked.

Christy smiled and nodded. “I have a little bottle in his diaper bag here. Coop, he might need a change.”

Coop instinctively held the toddler at arm’s length just in case the baby’s wetness became his problem. Brandon squealed and wiggled, his chubby legs busy with bicycle kicks.

Armando threw his head back and laughed. “A million dollars’ worth of taxpayer’s money spent on your training, and you’re going to play nanny, Cooper.”

“Yes, and he cooks, too,” Kyle added.

“And I can still kick your asses any time you two decide is right, and you know it,” Coop retorted. He tucked Brandon into the crook in his arm, leaned over to pick up the blue diaper bag covered in dinosaur print, swung the heavy bag over his other shoulder and exited the war zone. “Sorry Brandon,” he said to the baby. “I’m going to have to watch my language pretty soon or you’ll start swearing like a sailor, and that won’t work at preschool.”

Brandon was still trying to wiggle out of his arm. This was going to be fun. Trying to change a diaper on a toddler who wanted to slime the entire office.

He found a receiving blanket and spread it on one of the unoccupied desks, and lay Brandon on top of it. The baby tried to flip over, but Cooper held him firm. “Stop it. We’re gonna see if you have…” A large gob of yellowish poo was exposed just as soon as Cooper released one side of the diaper tape.

“Holy shit,” Fredo said as he came over. “What’s she feeding him?”

Annoyed, Cooper swore at Fredo, and, with one large hand on the baby’s bare chest turned to his Team buddy and said, “Guess.”

“Cereal? Bananas. That looks like bananas, all yellow and shit,” Fredo answered.

“You are an idiot, Fredo. Didn’t your mama or your sisters talk about this sort of thing while you were growing up? Ever date a gal with a little one before? Yeah, you have. Don’t you know anything about babies? He only eats one thing. He gets what you dream about every night, Fredo. Breast milk.”

Chapter 21

Libby and her parents situated themselves in, of all things, the Honeymoon Suite. She wondered why the suite had a second bedroom. Perhaps it was for hesitant brides who weren’t sure they wanted to consummate their wedding night? It could have been amusing if it wasn’t such a damned sad joke. But it did give her a separate room with a private entrance that locked securely.

The rose-colored suite was a bit much, but featured a great view of the Pacific Ocean. The beautiful Coronado beach stretched in both directions, with only a smattering of adults, children and dogs playing in the surf. Seagulls were standing guard on the balcony next door like tiny lifeguards.

A huge spray of Fire and Ice roses stood in a crystal vase on a glass and chrome coffee table, next to a chilled bottle of champagne and a platter of cheeses and crackers. The modern kitchen was fully stocked with drinks and some covered entrees they had ordered ahead of time. Antiques dotted all the rooms, along with framed sepia posters of movies that had been made at the Del over the years. A mahogany sideboard, stocked with books Libby recognized as romance novels stood against one wall. In more normal times, this could be a place where she could have hibernated in for months, if money was no object.

She entered her room and dumped the meager contents of her bag on her queen bed, and then hung up her travel case on the towel rack in her white marble bathroom . She was used to the vibrant colors of her parent’s Spanish-style home, with its bright, intricately colored tiled trim and red pavers. Just as well, she thought. The clean white lines of the bathroom felt soothing. The evening called for a soak in the tub and then to bed early, maybe with one of the books from the living room. She wondered if she’d have the place to herself, since her father would normally go down to the bar for a nightcap before falling asleep in front of the TV.

She scanned the bookshelf and picked out a thick book with a naked man’s torso on the front cover, by an author she recognized. Reclined on the couch, she nibbled on crackers and cheese, since her parents were occupied behind their closed bedroom door.

Glad someone has a little romance in their life.

Libby woke up with a start, dropping her romance novel to the floor. The living room was dark except for a light coming under her parent’s door. She didn’t want to disturb them, but she was restless. The pink-orange glow of the sunset was long gone and all that remained was a faint blush at the horizon. A couple of bonfires in fire pits were spaced at intervals along the beach right in front of the hotel.

To her left, bright lights from several military vehicles shone down on teams of men in single file formation. They looked like ants. She’d watched the BUD/S trainees before. She wasn’t sure it would be smart, but she felt drawn. She left a note for her parents and made it through the creaky hallways of the old hotel, brushing past ghosts of romances past and present. At last she was out on the beach, with the sounds of the surf muting every other noise. The early evening was clear and gorgeous.  Warm sand seeping between her toes  made her feel oddly at peace.

The moist sea air caressed her face. One of the things she loved about living in San Diego was that the temperature rarely varied more than about ten degrees. She wore her sleeveless white ruffled blouse and a light tan pair of cargo pants, along with her favorite pair of daisy flip-flops.

She heard the barked orders from one of the BUD/S instructors, assigned to pour pain and fear all over the young recruits. One crew of eight was struggling to get a rubber boat up over a seawall of sharp boulders. Out of the blackness of the ocean another crew emerged, laying down their oars and picking up their boat to attempt the same task. From her research, Libby knew they’d do the same thing over and over again until they worked as one crab-like unit with one mind, one purpose. The men would be switched. They’d be paired up in all sorts of ways. Weakest with the strongest. Weakest against the strongest. There would be the Smurf crew, and the giants. All while doing timed tasks where what you were doing was as important what your neighbor was doing . Elimination runs put pressure on everyone, and no one wanted to be on the boat that got eliminated.

She’d done a paper in high school on the SEALs, and brought several items to class that had belonged to her uncle Will. She’d read about the training. She missed never knowing her dad’s only brother and best friend.

Her father had acted ambivalent about her paper and had refused to let her take the medals and the folded flag her dad got when her grandparents passed on. But her mother secreted the mementos, placing them in Tupperware containers, disguised in paper towels. Libby had gotten an A+ on the paper, and cemented what was already a very solid A in the class.

She found she had more of a taste for history than she had imagined, and considered a minor in it at Santa Clara. But she rationalized her interest was because she never knew much about her uncle Will, as if there was some big dark secret there her parents, especially her father, would never let her in on.

Gradually, her studies in psychology took over, and she became as disinterested in the military as her father was.

Until now.

Yes. No doubt about it. Her world had been rocked. And she needed to get over it very quickly. Maybe it was time to start thinking about either returning to Santa Clara or applying to some other graduate program. A friend of hers loved the University of Hawaii, and she made a mental note to check online for their Masters programs.

She took a seat in the sand and watched from behind orange plastic netted barriers as the teams of men worked their muscles, worked their attitudes, and made all the necessary adjustments. She wondered what it would take to become someone like that. To think with a quick mind of a killer, but to love with the intensity she knew Cooper had. That capacity for loyalty, honor, courage, no matter what the cost. Nothing in her life until now had even come close to the adversity he’d seen.