Fallen SEAL Legacy (3 page)

If you can’t pay cash, you don’t deserve to own it,
his dad had always said.

But this, this was something they had never planned for, talked about. This was something he’d seen overseas in those hellholes. Not here. Not to him. Not to his family.

He wiped a tear from his eye and walked up the little hill that used to overlook the farm
.
The ground was steaming as sunlight poured silently down all around him. The row of birch trees beside the back porch of the farmhouse was gone. Limbs and pieces of wood siding lay scattered, sometimes stuck into the ground at odd angles. The birds did not sing.

He thought he could hear Bay barking, just like when he came home from school. He knew his mind was playing a trick on him. The incessant barking got louder, and echoed, unlike any vision he’d had before. He turned his back on the farm’s location. Off in the distance a brown dog was trying to run, but was limping with a lame front leg.

“Bay?” He wasn’t sure at first it could be, but then he found himself running to the disheveled animal. The mutt squealed in pain as he hugged his friend—pain from the wound on his front paw, mirroring Cooper’s own pain at the loss of his family.

He examined the dog quickly and confirmed that, yes, God had granted him this tiny miracle after all.

Chapter 3

Libby Brownlee turned down the tree-lined street of her old neighborhood, past endless
  S
panish-style mansions protected by red tiled roofs and manicured front lawns worthy of any world class PGA course.  It had been three months, and she needed to be back home. This time, she needed to see her parents—especially her dad. It had bothered her when he’d sounded somewhat distracted on the phone when she called him yesterday, informing them of the visit. Was there something wrong?

How stupid.

Although she was twenty-four, she was still trying please him, as she had her whole life. Her mother never interfered with this strong father-daughter bond, so Libby enjoyed almost unlimited access to him.  They shared an open and frank relationship.

Am I running to them or running away from Santa Clara?
It didn’t matter, she decided. She just needed to be home.

But Libby also knew lately there were dark, private places where Dr. Brownlee chased the shadows of his past—a past involving the death of his twin brother, Will, who never came home from Grenada.

Libby’s older brother was married to a woman the entire family had a hard time getting along with. They had children, but rarely came to visit. Though she and her father were inseparable as she was growing up, she and her brother had never been close.  Their relationship was complicated, she thought. Libby enjoyed being single and not in any hurry to take the plunge, she wasn’t interested in jumping right into a career or family, like her father and brother had. She wanted to live a little—outside of the Petri dish of academia.

Her dad was gardening near the front steps of their peach-colored estate.  A row of palm trees grew alongside the curved driveway. She parked her Classic white 1966 Mercedes convertible out at the curb in front.

Two things she was sure about. For starters, she wouldn’t tell them about her situation with Dr. Gerhardt. That just wasn’t something she wanted to burden her parents with. She was handling it by removing herself from the situation, for now. The second thing was that she needed to tell them about her decision to drop out of school for a semester. She’d tell them she needed time off to travel, get out from under the grind of her studies, so she could go back and resume her Master’s in Psychology.  She was a little uneasy about that part, and knew her father would be concerned.

He frowned as he stood up and adjusted his back, like a day laborer, rather than like the most respected psychiatrist in San Diego. Tall and thin, he was tanned, his silver and black hair tied neatly in a short ponytail at the back of his neck. With his stunning good looks, he was often mistaken for an actor.

“Bad actor is more like it,” he would say in response to the comment. Behind her soft-spoken hero of a dad, Libby knew there was a man of steel, with an ego rarely seen in public.

“Hey, Dad.” Libby rushed to his side. Dr. Brownlee barely had time to dust his dirty hands before his daughter was in his arms. The reassuring scent of him set her mind at ease, and she found herself tearing up as he held her. She gave him a peck on the cheek, which tasted salty. He released her quickly, and stiffened.

“You’re an hour early,” he said with a frown. Libby thought he looked a little pale.

“So I’ll just go down to the harbor and have a cappuccino and wait, would that be more acceptable?”

He winced and nodded. “Very perceptive of you. Sorry. I’ve got a lot on my mind.” He placed an arm over her shoulder.

“I noticed.” She pointed to the hose that was flooding the border chrysanthemums he had just planted.  The overflow had already floated one plant halfway down the lawn.

Dr. Brownlee was quick to shut off the brass hose faucet. He picked up his gloves, which he usually wore but hadn’t today, and motioned for her to follow him to the house.

“Let me get my things.” Libby headed toward the car and, over her shoulder, saw her father retreat into the ornate Spanish metal and glass door without waiting to take her bag.

Something’s definitely wrong. But thank God I’m home.

Inside the two-story bright foyer of the home where she had grown up, she felt safe from the rest of the crazy world. Coming back was always a good thing. Wherever else she lived, this was always home.

“Sweetheart,” her mother said, arms outstretched.  Even in her difficult undergraduate years, it had been soothing to be bathed in her mother’s embrace. She’d missed them both.

Her mom was wearing yoga pants and a halter top. It was she who picked up Libby’s bag and began the long climb up the wrought-iron spiral staircase as Dr. Brownlee wandered distractedly out through the kitchen to the pool area in the backyard.

Libby decided to pose the question, even though she knew she’d never get an honest answer. “So what’s up with Dad? He all right?”

“Sure, sweetie. But you know your dad. He’s been working long hours. I
made
him take a couple of days off.”

“I’ve never heard of such a thing in this household. A couple of days off? Now I know something’s wrong.”

“Silly,” her mother laughed as she pinched Libby’s nose. “None of us is getting any younger. Your father has a big birthday this year.”

“So he’s not perfect? I thought he was immortal.”

“No. He’s just a man, not like those alpha vampire hunks in those books you read.”

“Education, Mom. All part of my education.”

“Well, I’d rather you read about it than…”

“Too much information, Mom.”

The two women entered Libby’s old bedroom, and she was thrilled at the sight of Noodles, her cat, curled up in the center of her white canopy bed.

“He’s there every day. Likes to take his afternoon naps there. Won’t sleep anywhere else,” her mother said.

“Noodles, I’ve missed you,” Libby said.

The big cat stretched and then rolled over on his back, looking at Libby upside down. She rubbed his huge belly. The cat feigned a defensive attack on her hand.

“You’re the only cat I’ve met who gets fat on Chinese food,” she laughed.

“He’d eat it every day, if we could afford it,” her mother said. “You picked out the perfect name for him.”

Libby turned to Noodles. “You live one of your past lives in an emperor’s palace in China?” Libby’s dad had found the kitten abandoned behind a Chinese restaurant, and Libby had nursed him to health one summer between semesters at Santa Clara.

“I think he sleeps here, just waiting for you to come home for good,” her mother said.

“Wish I could take him. If I had my own house—”

“He’s no bother. We don’t mind,“ Mrs. Brownlee said.

“Probably a lot safer here than with all the traffic in San Jose.” Libby’s insides clenched as she realized she also didn’t feel safe there anymore.

Libby started to unpack, hanging up a dress and cardigan sweater. When she flipped back the top of the suitcase, her eyes glanced over her favorite toy as a child: an almost hairless brown Cocker Spaniel stuffed dog with big chocolate-colored eyes. It had a talking chord to a voice box long since silenced.

“So you’ve been keeping a watchful eye on my room, Morgan, hmmm?” She grabbed the toy and held it to her chest. Her mom smiled back at her, stepped closer and sifted her fingers through Libby’s hair.

“Nice to have you back home, even if it’s for a little while. A week is it?”

“Um hum.”

“Everything okay, Libby?” her mother asked.

Uh oh, I’m
on my mother’s radar
.  She straightened her spine. “I’m fine, Mom. Just needed a little mom and dad face time.” She smiled back at her mother, hoping that would end the inquiry.

“Won’t this interfere with school?” her mom continued to probe.

Yes. That’s why I’m here.

Libby tossed the dog on the bed next to Noodles, who peered at the stuffed animal with disdain. “Nope.” She gave her mom a cheery smile, hoping to send her way.  It worked.

“Come down when you’re finished. Dinner will be in an hour or so.” Her mom disappeared to the hallway.

“Thanks, Mom.” Libby called out after her.

She walked to her window, lifted the ivory sheers and looked down at the perfectly manicured brick walkway that was artfully framed by two colorful patches of flowers.  A couple of cars and a landscaping van were parked at the curb down the street.

She turned back to her room. Everything was in its place here. Flowers bloomed. People hugged each other, cared about each other. It was the perfect kind of normal that she needed, and was looking forward to its healing balm.

Libby flopped herself on her bed, snuggling next to Noodles and the stuffed dog like she’d been doing for years, reveling in the memory of her innocent adolescence, carefully preserved in this room-shrine by her parents. But those idealistic days were gone forever. Could she just step back into this room and set back the clock?

She looked up at the canopy top made of ruffled dotted Swiss.  As a child, she used to look at all this beautiful white each night before she fell asleep, visualizing a wedding dress made of the same frilly fabric. After she left for college, she’d insisted she was too old for the canopy bed, yet, her mother never removed it.

Right now, she was glad it remained, even if it was homage to a past that no longer existed. Instead of a wedding dress, her thoughts suddenly turned dark and she saw the twisted face of a man she had trusted.

Those images from school haunted her. She had been helping her advisor teach a freshman introduction to social psychology. It all began when she was grading papers one late afternoon,. He had locked the door behind him. The cubbyhole office they shared had suddenly seemed oppressively small. The lustful look in his eyes frightened her.

Why didn’t I recognize the signs earlier?

Libby had been so trusting, thinking his smiles and encouragement, the lunches and dinners they shared, sprang from a deep respect for her and her abilities. She’d idolized the man, who had published papers and received a string of awards. She ignored thoughts of anything inappropriate, and loved his intellect, feeling fortunate to be the recipient of his mentorship.

There had been rumors, but she tossed them aside. One of her best friends mentioned that Dr. Gerhardt “lights up whenever you come into class.” Perhaps things would have been different if she hadn’t been so stubborn and listened.

The professor, who was her father’s age, clearly had intentions of the sexual sort.

“Libby, you know I admire you,” he said as he approached. She backed up into her desk, spilling a half cup of cold coffee onto the papers.

At first she thought she’d overreacted, made a mistake. “Dr. Gerhardt, I’m sorry, but what are you doing?”

He tried to encircle her waist as he attempted to pull her to his chest. “We would be so good together, Libby. Can’t you tell? It would be a beautiful thing,” he whispered, his voice low and raspy. The familiar aftershave he wore was now hideously pungent. His lips and his breath too intimate and too close to her face. His trimmed beard lightly brushed against her cheek; his hungry eyes fixated on her mouth.

“No. Stop this.” She scooted to the side and away from his arms.

He didn’t halt his advance. “Come on, Libby. You know you want it. We already spend so much time together. You know how much I want to make love to you, sweetheart. Don’t you want it too? I know you do. Please, let me show you.” He was on her again.

She tried to open the door, but couldn’t remember how to open the lock. That was all the time he needed. He grabbed her again, and with his powerful arms pressed her into him. He planted a kiss that started on her mouth, but wound up in the side of her head as she turned and wiggled, clutching for freedom.

“I’ve had other students. My wife understands. It’s just sex, beautiful sex.”

“No. I’m not...” her face heated and tears welled up. All her dreams and aspirations began to evaporate inside her. She was getting angry. Angry at herself. Angry at being so damned gullible.

She was also angry she’d never taken that self-defense class she’d procrastinated about. The professor was a tall man, physically very fit and easily twice her weight.

Her only tool was the determination not to be raped. She didn’t care if he flunked her for refusing his advances. She didn’t care how hard she had to fight or if she got physically beaten. She wasn’t going to have sex with him.

“I said
no!”
The strength of her own voice gave her courage. His hands were roaming all over her body, igniting a fury she didn’t know she possessed. His palm found one of her breasts underneath her bra, while his other hand snaked under her skirt and slipped along her backside. His hungry breath smelled of stale coffee.