Fallen SEAL Legacy

by Sharon Hamilton

  “Most of that crazy shit we drill out of them before they get through Hell Week,” Timmons had told him. “We aren’t looking for the proud and the few. We’re looking for those that will not think about how they feel, they’ll just jump off a three story building and not question it.”

  Had his brother-in-law had some of that and he just missed seeing it? Maybe he was too cynical for his own damn good.

  Timmons told him to go look up Detective Mayfield in the downtown precinct. Said he’d worked with the man last year when some San Diego gang members, trying to coerce their cooperation in getting guns and equipment for them, had kidnapped one of the SEALs and his sister. He said Mayfield could vouch for Cooper too.

  Well, maybe I’ll do that tomorrow. Riverton looked up at the screen again. Boy, there were a lot of slides. They went on and on. And the doctor who had introduced the program was in every one of them. Who’s banquet was it, anyway?

  He sipped on his coke. He didn’t look forward to the conversation he was going to have to have with Brownlee and his daughter. But he had to.

  The bevy of bejeweled rotund ladies returned, and they weren’t graceful as they sashayed between chairs that didn’t leave enough space for their large frames. They sparkled a hell of a lot, though. Was kind of funny to watch, in a sick sort of way.

  Riverton felt old. He knew years ago there was no sense getting married and trying for the happily ever after. That time was long gone. Besides, he spent too much time trying to fix the rest of his family.

  He could understand how Brownlee would want to proactively protect his daughter, without worrying about himself, and could very well get in the police’s way. If he had a daughter, he’d do the same. But he didn’t.

  No use going there.

  All during the slide show he looked up on the screen at a life he barely knew about. Brownlee was as much a stranger to him now as he had been twenty years ago when they had first met at the scene of a homicide. No one had a life like that, at least no one on the force. It was all destruction and decay, everywhere he looked. He’d done his time in the Army, and then police work was the only thing he felt suited for when he got home.

  Some of his buddies went to college. Riverton’s parents were sick most of their lives, and when it was time for college his mom was heading into her first rehab. It had used up the last of the equity in their family home. There was no money for college. And he had to get a steady job with benefits so he could help them , since his sister was still at home, in grammar school.

  He finished off the coke and left it standing next to the chair.

  Night school had suited him fine. He came alive at night. The day was for people that believed in sunshine and love, true love. Happy endings.

  No, if he could just get this one last creep out of everyone’s hair, he’d be satisfied. That was the only happy ending he wanted. Just one more bad guy behind bars, then perhaps he’d put in for retirement. Maybe take a job in a dusty small town in the middle of nowhere. Or, get himself lost in a Mexican fishing village and just check out.

  The lights came on after Brownlee took the crystal bowl back to his table. There he was, with his beautiful wife and daughter. A good man, not perfect, but a good one. Living a life Riverton could never have.

  Because he was too tired to fight anymore.

  Chapter 31

  The guests were leaving the grand ballroom. Cooper noticed Riverton as he filed out between Carla and Libby. He gave the detective a nod but no smile. He knew part of the reason Riverton was there was to watch him interact with the Brownlee family.

  Everyone trying to play psychiatrist. Get inside my head. He saw the man disappear behind a potted plant and then reappear before they made it out on the driveway at valet parking.

  “Where’s Austin?” Riverton asked Carla.

  “Oh, he’s back there talking to a friend. He’ll be along. Asked us to get the car.”

  Riverton gave a brief nod of recognition and then spoke to Carla again, ignoring Libby and Cooper. “Might I have a word with the two of you ladies? No offense, Cooper.”

  Of course I take fucking offense. He wondered what Riverton was up to.

  “I’ll go get your father, “ Cooper said to Libby as he kissed the top of her head and removed his arm from around her waist.

  He tried not to make eye contact with the partygoers as he made his way across the floor. Women especially were trying to catch his attention. Big time. No doubt he’d been seen up on the dais with the Brownlee family.

  I’m no fuckin’ rock star. The audience was dotted with young ladies who no doubt were former customers of the Lavender House. These were girls who had grown up a little too fast. He could spot them all right. They were all over his community and the SEAL bars.

  Frog hogs.

  He saw doctor Brownlee in a heated argument with the man who had introduced him, his former partner.

  What’s his name? Doctor-I’m-a-fuckin’-good-sport. Cooper didn’t like the man, and suddenly he found himself more than a little concerned and protective about Libby’s dad.

  “Look, I’m not trying to take any of your patients. I have more than a full load,” Brownlee was saying as Cooper came up beside him and waited.

  The other doctor extended his hand to Cooper. “Hi there again, son. You enjoy yourself tonight?” he asked.

  “It was his party. I’m just the escort,” Coop answered, and then wondered why he answered it with that sexual innuendo.

  It did raise the doctor’s eyebrows.

  Cooper shrugged his shoulders. “That came out wrong. Look, I’m a friend of Libby’s. Dr. Brownlee wanted his daughter to come, so that’s why I’m here.” Cooper hoped that ended the discussion.

  Brownlee inserted himself in the conversation with his biting sarcasm. “As opposed to something else he wanted to do tonight,”

  Brownlee’s colleague looked confused. Among the three of them, Cooper noticed there wasn’t an ounce of friendship anywhere.

  “Call me tomorrow, Dolan. We’ll have coffee and hash this out. Let me see if there is someone from my schedule who might be better served working with you, okay?”

  “I’m not interested in your rejects, Austin. And I don’t need your pity or your sloppy seconds.” Dr. Dolan was bright red. Cooper noticed something was not right about the man, who huffed off in the opposite direction.

  Brownlee and Cooper sliced through the crowd that was thinning out.

  “Sorry that you had to witness that, Cooper.”

  “What’s gotten into him? You guys are partners.”

  “Were. Very past tense. The man’s had a rough couple of years.”

  “You think maybe you should tell Riverton?” Coop asked, trying to be helpful.

  “Oh, hell, no. He’s going through a little rocky patch is all. Lost his wife two years ago. Lost his daughter about five years ago, too. A suicide. I’d just started to treat her, as a favor, of course.”

  “You don’t think that’s important?”

  Brownlee stopped, pointed his index finger at Cooper’s chest, and, lucky for him, did not touch Cooper. “Look, you do what you do best. Let me do what I do best. I know people, and I’ve known Dolan since before Libby was born, before Carla. So don’t tell me what to do, who to name and not name.”

  “I understand,” Cooper said as quietly as he could. “But even with all the training we have, you can’t always tell your enemies from your friends. There are only truly a handful of people you can ever trust.”

  “Hmm.” Brownlee turned to head out through the doors to the parking area. Cooper grabbed his arm and stopped him in what could be a dangerous physical move, if Brownlee was another SEAL.

  “You do understand this guy is not right?” Cooper said.

  “Which guy? Dr. Dolan or the guy trying to scare my family?”

  “Both. You ask yourself, doctor, could this be the same man?”

  Libby noticed Cooper was not talkative all the way back to the Hotel Del.
But neither was her father. Had the two men had a fight?

  She wanted to tell him about the warning Riverton had given her and her mother.

  “Surprised to see him here tonight,” Riverton had said. “Thought I told you not to have further contact, until I could rule him out as a suspect.”

  “It was Austin’s idea,” Carla had said.

  Cooper kept looking out his side window, facing away from her, which shouted he wanted to be left alone with his thoughts. Her mother was suspiciously watching her father too. She held the heavy crystal bowl in her lap almost like a burden. The whole evening seemed suddenly petty and ridiculous to Libby. Keeping up appearances. Her father and Cooper in some private war. Some creep in the shadows somewhere. Even taking up occupancy in the bridal suite at the Hotel Del seemed like a bad joke. A blanket of doom descended over all of them.

  When they arrived at the hotel, Cooper did his usual thing, showing deference to her mother and letting her out of the car first, then leaning in and reaching for Libby’s hand. He wasn’t smiling as he carefully helped her out of the car. He was careful. And solemn.

  Her dad finished with the valet and caught up with them as they walked inside to the lobby.

  “Ladies,” Dr. Brownlee started, “I want to have a little chat with Cooper. If you don’t mind, I’ll meet you upstairs in a few minutes.”

  Libby felt her heart lurch as Cooper nodded in agreement and wouldn’t look at her.

  She grabbed his hand and he looked up. “You coming up later?”

  “Not sure. I’ve got some things to arrange. Tomorrow’s going to be a very busy day.”

  “Come say good night before you leave, then, okay?” She saw the faint smile as he leaned in and kissed her forehead—not her lips.

  The women turned and aimed for the elevator, but just before entering, Libby looked at her father and Cooper, walking down the narrow, dark corridor towards the bar, side by side. She wondered if the two men realized they were both removing their ties at the same time. Even their gait seemed to be the same. Cooper was almost five inches taller than her father, but they both were lean and handsome. Their actions were so similar, they could have been mistaken for father and son.

  Dr. Brownlee slumped into an oxblood-colored booth and Cooper followed behind and sat across the little table from him. The place was dark, lit by small votives. Some jazz was playing and the bar was barely one-third full. Signed, autographed photos of movie actors lined the wall above the shiny walnut wainscoting. Several colorful movie posters, encased in Plexiglas, were displayed between them. A cocktail waitress in a black, low-cut body suit was there in an instant. She leaned into Cooper and gave him a generous view of her rack.

  “Hey there, sailor. What’s your pleasure?”

  Cooper wondered how they always knew he was in the Navy. None of his tats showed. He didn’t want to ask. Brownlee was watching him.

  “I’ll have mineral water, with some lime, if you don’t mind,” Coop said.

  “Don’t mind at all. And you, sir?” She gave Dr. Brownlee a practiced smile. Libby’s dad cleared his throat and asked for Scotch. Neat.

  Cooper noticed he didn’t order a double.

  Brownlee folded his hands in front of him and fiddled with the cocktail napkin. He waited until they were served before he began. Coop wasn’t sure what was on his mind.

  “First, you want to tell me about this?” Brownlee pointed to Cooper’s mineral water while he took a sip from the glass tumbler.

  “Not much to tell, really. I prefer it,” Cooper lied.

  “Sure you do. That’s why you watch me drink so closely.”

  Cooper smiled and lowered his eyes to concentrate on the little bubbles traveling up his glass. Without looking at Dr. Brownlee, he nodded. “That obvious, huh?”

  “You forget what I do for a living, son.”

  “Would you stop calling me that?” Cooper pierced him with a stare he hoped the doctor would understand.

  “You’re good at changing the subject, Cooper. But I get what you’re saying, and will try not to do it any more. I don’t mean to annoy you. You know that, don’t you?”

  “Not really. I think you enjoy annoying me.”

  Because I’m fucking the hell out of your daughter, and loving it. And she does too.

  “You’ve got me wrong, Coop. So, maybe I better tell you a story. It’s about Will.”

  Cooper wasn’t sure he wanted to hear it.

  “He and I were the best of friends, more so than brothers, really. Very competitive in all ways. As a matter of fact, we thought if we didn’t get into college, we’d both try out for the Teams too.”

  Cooper wondered why Libby had never told him this, and suspected it was because she never knew.

  “I got accepted to Stanford with a scholarship, and Will didn’t. We’d have gone together, in fact, we’d have gone to the same school, if we could. But Will got the wrong letters. I went to college, and he enlisted in the Navy.”

  Brownlee finished off his drink and indicated for another. “My folks were scared to death about us both going overseas and getting hurt. The war in Southeast Asia was over, but those were wonky times, men coming home not physically damaged, but mentally damaged. Just seemed like the whole world had exploded. Never knew who you could trust. Kinda like now.”

  Cooper knew exactly what Brownlee was saying. He’d thought about the same thing.

  “Yeah, first to enter, last to withdraw,” Coop whispered to his glass.

  “Exactly. I wanted to be a doctor, so I did some volunteer work at the VA hospital in Palo Alto. Will did his medic training after joining the Teams. I saw all these young boys coming home—it was a shame how they were treated. The more I saw, the more I was convinced I’d be able to help.” Brownlee inhaled and then pushed out his breath, leaning forward on the table, moving his drink aside. “I tried to convince Will it was too dangerous. He kept telling me it was bad luck. But I kept it up.”

  “No one would have been able to talk me out of it either, if it makes you feel any better. My folks just—” Coop couldn’t finish the sentence.

  “Grenada. Botched operation in Grenada,” Brownlee said. “What a waste.”

  “Which led to the intel they needed to get it right the next time. You know as well as anyone we learn from our mistakes.” Coop had heard it a million times. He’d said it a million times.

  “I hated him for dying. I really hated him. Can you understand that?” Brownlee said, after a long pause.

  “I do. I’ve felt the same from time to time. Lost my roommate in BUD/S, and I’ve lost others, too. It’s not something that ever gets easier. They lie about that.”

  “The lingo for it is ‘survivor’s guilt.’ I’m here, falling in love, fulfilling all my dreams, and building a great practice. I was the lifeline for my parents until they passed. Will was always the golden boy who could do no wrong. He would always be remembered as the perfect son. And that’s because he just didn’t live long enough to screw up and disappoint them. He was remembered as being perfect, while I was merely human. Made no sense, though I tried to accept it. Just was his time to die.”

  Cooper didn’t want to delve any deeper. What the hell did he know about all this psychobabble, anyway? “We all have that date, sir.”

  “That’s a fact, Coop. And every night I come home and see his smiling face on the mantle.” Brownlee’s eyes teared up. “And every night, I wish it was me. I wish Will was the one living in this house, having a beautiful wife, a beautiful life. I often wish it was me they hauled all the way home to bury here in San Diego.”

  Brownlee was getting very morose, and Cooper suspected it had more to do with the depressive effects of the alcohol than anything else. He was starting to feel very uncomfortable. He wasn’t so sure he should know all this.

  “Where are we going with all this, sir?” he finally asked.

  “Not sure, but I think an apology is in order.”

  Cooper wasn’t sure he was he
aring the doctor correctly.

  “You don’t owe me anything, sir.”

  “Oh, yes, I do. I’m sorry. Sorry for being an asshole. A royal asshole.”

  They looked at each other for a long few moments, and then finally Cooper broke the gaze.

  “You wanted to know about my not drinking,” Cooper began. “Well, I used to. I drank a lot.”

  “Um hum,” Brownlee said softly.

  “I was with a couple of my Team buddies. We were getting ready to ship out and we were tying one on at the beach. My friend got a ‘Dear John’ letter from home and, it pretty much tore him up. We got shit-faced.” The vision of that night came flooding in. He hadn’t thought about it for a good couple of years. He’d worked really hard to bury it. Deep.

  “My friend wanted to go for a swim. He looked okay. But I knew I was in no shape to go into the water. We laughed at him, made jokes about it. He dove into the surf, and we didn’t see him for a long time.”

  “He was a good swimmer, though? All you guys are. What happened?” Brownlee wanted to know.

  “Found out later on he was allergic to shellfish, and we had it in the take-out we’d ordered. He had a reaction, drowned in his own vomit. His body came rolling in like a discarded telephone pole. We worked on him until the paramedics arrived.”

  “Nothing you could have done,” Brownlee said. “It was his time.”

  “No it wasn’t. I might have been able to save him. Maybe it was what he wanted, but that wasn’t the point. He had to have known he was eating seafood. Or maybe not. I really don’t know. I was too shit-faced to keep him out of the water. Too trusting of his survival skills, even under impaired conditions. Too fucked up to realize he’d been in too long. We didn’t look out for him. We didn’t have his back.”

  “I’m sorry, Coop. Really sorry about that.” Brownlee’s pained expression looked honest.

  “I wasn’t the hero I thought I was. Ever since, I made a course correction and decided not another drop of alcohol. Ever.”