The House At Sunset: SEALed At Sunset - The Beach Renovation (Sunset SEALs Book 5)

by Sharon Hamilton

  She knew it was entirely unrealistic to hear from him so soon. He’d warned her of this. She’d been through it once already since they’d gotten together, but it still didn’t help her courage. Shelley was a good friend, but she trusted Andy’s advice, especially when it came to street smarts. He had, after all, been a great help to Corey, the SEAL she’d been dating, Andy’s best friend, before Andy came out to visit and they fell in love.

  Corey would be the last person she’d ask for advice, even though he was well familiar with drug and alcohol addiction.

  She felt like she was freefalling, in limbo. Her once perfect world might still be perfect, but now the edges of that story were lightly singed. Nothing was as it appeared. Now she wondered about her trust of the attorney, Jasper Kornblum. What was she to think about the estate and inheriting money she never asked for? And why was she chosen? She still had no answer to that.

  It was like a great big five-thousand-piece puzzle dumped on the table without a picture to follow. Parts of the whole thing lay scattered in front of her. Where should she start? What was the information she needed to make a correct decision? Should she contact her ladies on Andy’s new team for support, people she hadn’t even met, like she would have on his old Team 3? What would they think about her having a drug-addicted homeless brother? Shelley wanted her to call the police, but what if that would mean an extra layer of violence on her brother just at the time when he was trying to reach out?

  “Aimee, I asked you a question,” Shelley demanded. Her hardness wasn’t necessary, and it rankled her.

  “Shelley, would you just stop pushing me? I can’t figure anything out when I’m under pressure.”

  “What’s to figure out? You’re in danger, Aimee.”

  That really started the fires of hell. She stood, pointing to her best friend. “Dammit, Shelley, I said back off!”

  Shelley whirled around the retreated to the kitchen where she proceeded to empty the dishwasher and bang pots and pans together, making a heroic gesture to let her know she was put out too.

  Aimee didn’t feel she owed an apology to anyone. It would have been the “nice” thing to do, but she just didn’t feel like it. At the moment, she didn’t care if Shelley thought she was being selfish, or that her bratty behavior came as the result of her feeling entitled. Shelley’s own story had been ragged and a bit raw and she’d seen a much more difficult slice of life than Aimee had.

  But that still was no excuse.

  She peered around the corner and watched Shelley brew more coffee and wash her hands in the sink. Her friend looked up at her while drying her hands in the dishtowel, discarding it with a toss onto the countertop. She crossed her arms and waited for an apology Aimee knew she expected, but she would not give.

  “I’m going to go back home and make my calls there. I think I will be more relaxed. I know you mean well, but I can’t stand you hovering over me while I do it. You’re right to be concerned about me and Logan. I get that. But I can’t think straight here, I just can’t.”

  “No one’s holding you against your will, Aimee. I’m fine with you leaving any fucking time you want. And I’ll probably be here the next time you call in a panic.”

  “I wasn’t in a panic.”

  “You knew and still know you’re in danger. Don’t try to do this alone, Aimee. I know I’ve said it a dozen times by now. That’s not a healthy way to do it.”

  “But I have to do it my way, Shelley.”

  “Okay, suit yourself. But if I can’t get hold of you, I’m calling the cops.”

  It was a standoff, a compromise. And they didn’t lose their friendship over it. It was as good as Aimee could get today from her best friend.

  When she returned to her place, the bag with the clothes and food items was gone. Nothing was left in its place. She remembered that she’d promised to give more food next time, so she set her overnight bag down, and began making a sandwich for Logan, then added another one. Anxious to get this easy decision out of the way, she wrapped them up, added more apples and one last banana, some waters again and a couple granola bars. At the last minute she slipped in two disinfectant wipes Andy always brought with him on fishing trips and on deployment.

  She set the brown lunch bag on the doormat and locked the door.

  The sand message had dried, and the edges partially collapsed. She went out onto the beach on a very mild winter day without a cloud in the sky. The warm sand felt good on her bare feet and she vowed to get back into her running routine again. It did help her make decisions and sort out her concerns in life.

  Maybe that’s the problem.

  Her cell phone pinged, and she didn’t recognize the number. She scrolled for something from Andy and found none. Then she looked up her directory and called Dr. Denby at the Sunshine Palms Treatment Center.

  It took nearly two minutes before Denby came on the line.

  “How are you, Aimee? Anything new about your brother?”

  “I’m good. We got married on Christmas Eve. Andy’s on deployment, but oddly enough, I think Logan is reaching out to me.”

  “Really? How?”

  “I think he made me a bracelet from stuff we find at the beach. Shells, rocks, pieces of wire. He left it in a box on my doorstep.”

  “So, he knows where you live?”

  “Apparently.”

  “And how do you know it’s Logan?”

  “Well—” she wasn’t going to tell him it was a hunch or that it looked like something Logan would make, but that was the truth. Then she remembered the heart drawn in the sand. “He drew a heart with both of our names in it, on my back patio, in the sand. He spelled my name correctly, Dr. Denby, which almost never happens. But I think this was a wedding present to me. I took it to mean it was a sign he was reaching out.” She examined the charms hanging around her wrist. “Very carefully done. Beautiful. Like he put his heart into it.”

  “Well, Aimee, I have to admit we don’t usually see that. Usually the kind of contact families have with their member is ransacking the home, stealing stuff, or begging for money, promising to get clean. Money for a bus ticket to a rehab place they have no intention of visiting. Very sad. But I have to warn you.”

  “Yes, I knew this was coming.”

  “Well, Logan can be very charming when he’s in control. I saw a glimpse of it a time or two. But I really worry about all the damage living on the street has permanently done to his body. And these patients don’t usually have an epiphany and all of a sudden get clean on their own.”

  “But couldn’t this be the first step?”

  “Possible. Anything is possible. But you have to be prepared for the opposite as well. Don’t put too much faith in it. And now we have the problem of him knowing where you live. And you live alone now?”

  “Yes.”

  “See, that’s a problem. He didn’t show up when your husband was around, so that’s a red flag in my book, Aimee. And I have to tell you to please be very careful.”

  She sighed, flopping her body onto the buttery yellow leather couch, watching the waves outside. “I gave him some clothes, and a little bit of food.” She expected a scolding.

  “I see,” Dr. Denby said calmly. “It would be harmless if you weren’t so vulnerable. One thing they do, Aimee, and they do it really well, is calculate whom they can use to get what they need. They’re expert at taking advantage, look for opportunities to do so. The moral code is corrupted, overpowered by years of abuse. You can’t assume they think straight, or even care as much as you think they do. And they’ll use that, too. Use it against you to get what they want.”

  “But I can afford to help him, just a little bit. I’m not giving him money. I gave him some clothes, some water bottles and fruit, sandwiches. No money. I know better than that.”

  “So, you’re like training a wild dog or cat, trying to coax him into your world. That usually doesn’t work out very well. You have to be careful, and I’d recommend not doing any of that going forward
.”

  “But what do I do?”

  “I think you need to go down to the police department and have a discussion, so they have a file on you, and on him. Just in case you call with a problem. And you should tell them that as far as you know, he’s not been violent with anyone and he doesn’t have a weapon, or you don’t suspect he does. That’s very important. How you call for help can make the difference between life or death for him. The police are charged with your safety, even at the expense of his. It’s how they’re trained.”

  “So, I should make a complaint, then?”

  “It’s called an incident report. You can recommend that he be given another stay here, if you like, something other than going to jail if he acts out or violates the law. He may not know any longer where his own boundaries are, or yours either.”

  “I feel so helpless.”

  “You’d be doing him a service to report it, Aimee. I think your husband would want you to do the same, especially since you’re alone. And can I recommend something else?”

  “What?”

  “Get a dog. Get a grown dog who will be protective and will bark when someone’s around.”

  Aimee immediately thought that would be a good idea. “Where would I go?”

  “There’s a no-kill shelter not far from you. I can text you the phone number. Sometimes you have to pay vet fees if they’re a rescue or were abandoned. And the neuter or spay fee. It’s a good way to get a friendly, watchful friend.”

  “They don’t allow dogs on our beach, but there’s a dog park nearby. I like that suggestion, doctor.”

  “Good. But you also should make that report, and I’d do it today. And don’t leave anything else on your stoop. You have to ask yourself what if it isn’t Logan, but someone using him and his identify somehow to get something from you.”

  “Okay, I’ll do it this morning. Can I have them call you?”

  “No, they won’t do that. You can mention that I’ve treated him before, and I might get a call if they pick him up, but no guarantees. They’re very busy, and if he’s broken the law, I most definitely won’t be called. Nor will you.”

  Dr. Denby also gave her the phone number of a local NAMI chapter, and encouraged her to start to attend meetings to learn about mental illness.

  “You will find fellowship amongst the other families who have dealt with this heartbreaking situation. These are people you can talk to about things no other person would begin to understand. You will learn from them, Aimee. Give them a shot.”

  “Thank you.”

  After her phone call, she checked the front porch and found the brown paper bag gone.

  Chapter 12

  Andy was awakened by Dallas, who put his finger up to his lips, indicating to keep quiet. He couldn’t figure out where he was at first. The dark night was the blackest he’d ever seen, figuring there wasn’t an incandescent light within twenty miles of the camp.

  But there was enough of a moon to see the silvery outlines of expressionless faces, packs, boots, cots and tall bushes tossing from side to side in the stiff African savannah breeze.

  Dallas pointed to his own ear, so Andy retrieved his Invisio to be able to hear what their point man was going to whisper.

  “There’s a large encampment on the other side of the clearing. Sven and I took our NV goggles and the whole place lit up. I’m going to paint the corners. Give Peterson a call and let him know we have at least 60 count. We gotta get close, get some pictures and get the hell out of here tonight.”

  “Roger that,” he whispered, and dialed.

  “Holy shit. Combatants or prisoners?” Peterson demanded, as Dallas stepped into the huddle a few paces in front of Andy.

  “Don’t know yet. We’re getting in close to give you some markers. Make sure they sent that bird up tonight.”

  “No, it’s planned. They might already be there.”

  Dallas gave him the hurry-up sign. “Gotta go. We’re not staying tonight, so look for us and if you hear something, that would be bad news.”

  “God speed. That phone has a locator. Make sure it stays on so the men upstairs will know.”

  “Roger that.”

  Dallas indicated they go single file behind him. Archie and Kit came next, their very white skin reflecting off the moon. Andy tapped Kit on the back and handed him a jar of face paint they took turns using as they followed the trail. Qwanme grinned, pushing Andy’s hand away to turn down the goop, as he called it, his big white teeth reflecting in the limited light. His skin was already darker than the night sky.

  Monkeys occasionally called out and were answered, as if they also had a perimeter that was guarded. With their NV goggles, eyes stared back at them from the bushes, following their progression.

  Two guards were sitting on two flat rocks, slumped over and snoring loudly, facing one another, their rifles slung across their shoulders. One had a long-sleeved hooded sweatshirt in a dark color. The other one wore some kind of soccer jersey from a team Andy didn’t recognize.

  A bonfire was burning a short distance away, blinding them at first, then illuminating the walls of the old school or storage building without doors or windows. Inside, they heard coughing sporadically and in one case, Andy was sure it was that of a child. Sven turned and faced him.

  “Children,” he whispered.

  Dallas used three fingers to indicate the others were to run perimeter in the other direction and take pictures. Immediately the two of them turned and headed the opposite direction, toward the backside of the structures, flipping to IR.

  “Watch out for animals.”

  At first, Andy wasn’t sure what he meant. But all of a sudden, they heard a donkey bray not far away. They froze in place until several minutes passed to make sure it wasn’t a defensive trumpeting of their position.

  Dallas retrieved the tubes of paint from his pack, turned on his scanner so he could see where he poured the paint laced with iron and other metal shavings. He slowly walked along the outer wall of the building. This specialized marking would enable the drones to pick up the signal without problem. He squeezed the bottle, which looked like a catsup container, sending bits of liquid out in front nearly two feet. A clear and odorless liquid, in daylight, it wouldn’t be visible without a scanner like he had tonight.

  Andy followed behind, watching for signs of another sentry turning to face backwards often to check for someone following them. He snapped pictures silently, sending them to Peterson for the upload. He was trying to lean into an open window to take a picture of what looked like young children when he heard the sounds of water falling and realized he was standing not more than three feet away from a little boy peeing in the night. He completely froze and let the kid do his business.

  It was all over in less than a minute. The kid, probably scared of the dark, ran back inside the large room and disappeared into the sea of bodies. Dallas returned, and they waited until it sounded like no one else had awakened, and then snapped shots of the blackness inside the open window they hoped would reveal something when properly projected.

  Dallas pointed a reverse course to head back where they started, shooting everything, including boulders and felled trees.

  When they met up with the other group, Kit Holmes was eager to tell them something. He got close, whispering, “Found some ammunition crates and some spent rounds, even some .50 Cal, as well as empty C4 containers lying around. Looks like they brought in a pygmy railroad car by helicopter and dropped it here. All locked up. I’m betting they’re storing some serious firepower there.”

  “That’s good intel. Somebody’s been practicing.”

  “A training camp?” Archie asked.

  Dallas shrugged. “How about you?” he asked Sven.

  “I’m guessing yes. This isn’t a garrison. I want to see the pictures when we get back.”

  “Nobody saw any evidence of our hostages, then?” Andy posed.

  The collective shaking of heads was disappointing, but part of the job was el
iminating possibilities.

  They returned to their base, quickly retrieved everything, covering up all indication anyone was there, and quietly crept through the lip of the crater and down the side. Medium-sized rocks rolled down the sides of the hill, several men sliding on their butts when they almost took a twisted ankle fall. It took them nearly an hour to come down the sides that took only half that time on the climb.

  At the bottom, they removed their sweaty helmets and stopped for a water break, releasing a collective sigh that no one was injured, and the element of surprise was still on their side.

  An hour later, they stumbled into camp, just as the horizon was beginning to blush. It was nearly four. Andy was looking forward to a little sleep before their next round.

  Peterson grinned as he collected the two phones. “Great work, gents. I think we made some fans tonight.”

  Qwanme took possession of the delicate Invisios so he could disinfect, clean, and store them for next use.

  “Can’t wait to hear what they make of the pictures. Did you see any vehicles up there?” Peterson asked.

  “No sir,” answered Dallas. “I think they’re dropping in supplies. The crater wall going up is so rocky and treacherous, it’s a natural barrier. No way could you haul anything heavy in there, so I think it’s dropped by chopper.”

  “Did they all look like kids?”

  “Couldn’t see,” answered Andy. “Might have been a mixed group, but I didn’t see any girls, did you guys?”

  Kit and Connor shook their heads.

  “Saw spent cartridges all over the place,” Sven added. “I think it’s like a little training camp. Little boys volunteered or abducted to train. They get them old enough to be able to hold and shoot without it sending them back on their butts. An army of children.” Sven spat into the night.

  “How was your day? Train any baboons?” Andy asked Peterson.

  “Gunnar had a fit when he discovered his labor crew was gone. You owe the boys who stayed behind some serious bank. And you should have seen Conley. He was patching up scrapes and bruises and took care of someone’s ingrown toenail. Pretty disgusting stuff.”