Fallen SEAL Legacy

by Sharon Hamilton

  “Cooper,” she murmured. “Come. Come for me.”

  God, what was happening? Just minutes after making love he was ready again with full intensity. This had never happened to him before. Her hot mouth moved back and forth. He found himself arching and driving himself in as deep as she could take him. She would not let go.

  “Please,” she whispered. She let the tip of her tongue press into the little ridge at his crown and that was all it took. He was surprised how much sperm he had left. When he was finished, she shimmied up the bed and placed her head into that spot just under his chin and they fell back together as he held her there until their breathing returned to normal.

  “You are something else, Miss Libby.” He didn’t know what else to say. Well, yes, he knew what to say, but he dared not say it.

  She rolled her body on top of his and he enjoyed the feel of her softness draped against his. His hands touched the delicate skin of her pert buttocks, the firm backs of her thighs. They moved up and down her spine as she purred like a kitten and dug her arms around him, under him, pressing her chest to his and listening to his heartbeat with the side of her face.

  It wasn’t just the sex, he thought as he looked up at the white canopy over the bed. It was that he never wanted her to go. He wouldn’t be able to ever let her go.

  Never.

  And suddenly, it was even more important he complete this mission to get this weirdo away from—yes—from the love of his life.

  He wasn’t going to say it yet, but yes, Cooper knew he was finally in love.

  Chapter 34

  Detective Clark Riverton was on his way over to Detective Mayfield’s office, on recommendation of Cooper’s liaison, Timmons. He was determined to check out Cooper’s background. He knew the kid wasn’t the real suspect. But the case wasn’t going anywhere at the moment, and he had to be doing something. So, eliminating him as a person of interest was part of the job he could do. He wasn’t focusing on what he couldn’t do.

  His cell phone chirped. It wasn’t a number he recognized.

  “Riverton.”

  “Detective Riverton, this is Gus Mayfield of the downtown precinct. I’m afraid something’s come up, and I’m not going to be at the office.”

  “Sorry to hear that. Can I meet you later today?”

  “Um. Well, it’s kind of a personal thing. Not sure how long it’s gonna take.”

  “I got you.” Riverton was disappointed. He’d wanted to get this done today. “Look, this isn’t really a big deal, Mayfield. What I’ve got to ask you will only take five or six minutes.”

  “How about over the phone?”

  “No. I have a photograph I need you to identify, if you can.”

  Riverton heard some background noise. There were two women arguing in an adjacent room. “Sorry about that,” Mayfield mumbled.

  “I don’t mind. Used to it,” Riverton lied. “Is everything okay. You—“

  “Ah hell. I’m over at—a friend’s house. She’s a lady friend and she’s having some trouble with her daughter.”

  “No problem. I don’t mind.” Riverton paused and then added, “Please. I really need to do this today. It’s kinda holding up the investigation.”

  Mayfield finally agreed to give Riverton the address of his friend.

  The house was covered with bougainvillea vines in full bloom of bright fuchsia. Large dahlias exploded four feet in the air in front of a raised concrete porch with metal handrail. Cana lilies and zinnias lined the fence dividing the house from the front yard next door. True to form, the fence was painted white on the house side, while the neighbor’s side hadn’t been painted in a decade.

  As Riverton got out of the unmarked police car parked nose to nose with a San Diego cruiser, he glanced up and down the street. The salmon-colored bungalow with tile roof was the only house one would look at on a drive-by. The person who lived there wanted to be seen. It was a statement.

  A huge man in khaki uniform, bearing a badge he knew to be San Diego PD, appeared in the shadows on the porch and waited for him to open the rickety gate and walk up through the owner’s flower garden. The hulking man looked out of place, until Riverton saw his kind blue eyes and forehead lined with worry.

  And then he got it. Mayfield was worried what Riverton would think of this. This woman, whomever she was, had a special connection to Mayfield, and the man was trusting Riverton could keep a secret.

  “Thanks. I’m sorry about all this, but I’m going to be tied up for a few hours here.”

  “No problem, Mayfield.” Riverton extended his hand and the two men shook. He swung an arm through the air in a broad gesture towards the fourth of July in greenery and flowers defining the front yard. “Quite a place to conduct a covert operation.”

  Mayfield winced and adjusted his belt, weighted down with his sidearm, flashlight and other implements of his trade that must have calc’ed out to be thirty pounds. Riverton said a little prayer of gratitude he hadn’t had to spend much time doing that early in his career. He’d made detective right away and desk work suited him better.

  He heard the women shouting at each other in Spanish the same time he saw Mayfield turn his head and go alert.

  “I gotta go inside. You’re welcome to come in, if you want,” he said over his shoulder.

  “Don’t want to intrude, Mayfield.”

  “I might need the backup. Women, you know—“

  “I understand.”

  The two men entered the house. A dish had shattered in the kitchen. A younger woman was ranting. Riverton was glad he didn’t understand Spanish, except for a few swear words. The level of disrespect annoyed him.

  “Mia,” An older woman’s voice shouted in English, “You will stop this right now. You do not mean these words.”

  Mayfield had breached the doorway to the kitchen and had stood slightly in front of a handsome Spanish-looking woman not more than five feet tall, with silver strands feathered through her otherwise jet-black hair. Her braids were wound back and forth on the crown of her head. She wore a white flower- smocked dress and red flip-flops. Her tiny toes were painted red to match.

  Riverton noticed how the woman clutched Mayfield about the waist and held her other hand in his massive paw in front of the two of them.

  They’re lovers. Riverton was happy for the man. He noted it gave him actual joy. But then the young woman burst into another tirade, and he focused on the problem at hand.

  The young woman launched into another string of epithets.

  “In English,” the older woman shouted. Mayfield hushed her.

  “In English? Well fuck you, mama. Fuck all of you. How’s that?”

  “Mia, no one wants anything but the best for you. Armando is buying you a house, Mia. You will have a clean, nice place to live,” the woman said.

  “Well fuck Armando, too. He can’t just decide where I should live. Who I should have as friends. It’s my fucking life. I’m a mother now. I’m making all the decisions for me and my daughter.”

  “Mia, that’s not what we’re trying to do. Your mother is sick with worry about you, and we’re only trying to help,” Mayfield pleaded.

  Riverton noted Mia had a knife in her hand. He saw Mayfield hold his palm out to him. It had been second nature to go for his piece, but Mayfield didn’t want to play it that way. But all bets would be off if she went for either Mayfield or her mother.

  “If you won’t talk to me, Mia, talk to your brother. Talk to Armando.”

  At this, Riverton’s attention was piqued.

  Armando? The SEAL Armando? That Armando?

  “Of course. The good son, huh, Mama? Me, I’m the screw-up, right? Poor Mia who can’t fend for herself. Well, you know what? I am fending for myself. And part of this is I gotta get away from this fucking family. Everybody has to make my business their business. Did it ever occur to you I don’t need it? I like the way I live, who I am.”

  She lowered the knife, closing her eyes to wipe hair from her forehead, br
iefly showing her exhaustion. Riverton took quick advantage and wrested the weapon from her hand before she had a chance to come to. Mia struggled, but he had her left arm held tight behind her back and yanked it up until she stopped moving. Without thinking, he grabbed her other wrist and placed a zip tie on her.

  Mia launched another string of expletives and attempted to kick Riverton with her pointed toe high-heeled shoes.

  “You wanna go for a walk with me, missy?” Riverton said, as he clutched her squirming body. It pissed him off the girl had such a lack of respect for her mother. “How about showing me you can be a good mother and calm the fuck down?”

  A firm hand pulled him backward. The handsome SEAL, Armando, quietly took his place. Riverton hadn’t heard him come in.

  As Mia looked into the eyes of her brother, she collapsed into his chest, and sobbed. Armando held her, whispering things to her in Spanish. He rubbed his fingers through her jet-black hair and hugged her with a big arm covered in tattoos.

  “You dumb shit, Mia. Don’t you know we love you?” he said.

  Riverton was struck with how tender Armando was with his wayward sister. Mia was built like a showgirl, he noted. Long, beautiful legs he tried not to stare at. Smooth, supple skin and—he had to look away. She would light up any convention or room of men anywhere on the planet. She was indeed a sexual siren.

  And an emotional basket case. It was a shame.

  Armando let her arch back and look up at him. He smoothed a hand over her cheek and chuckled. “You little spitfire. You can’t keep doing this. You’re biting the hand that feeds you. You need to learn who to trust.”

  “I want to do it my way. I don’t want everyone’s handouts,” she whined. Her mascara had run down her cheeks and her bright red lipstick had smudged to the side of her mouth.

  “You will, in time.”

  “But it’s not what I want,” she complained.

  “Then make yourself want it, Mia, because there’s no fucking way I’m gonna let you throw your life away. Start acting like a grownup, okay?”

  Mia nodded. Riverton wondered if she’d been on something. She looked like she hadn’t slept in a couple of days.

  Armando turned, still holding his sister with her hands tied behind her back. His muscled arm was wrapped around her tiny waist as he swung her around to face her mother. “Why don’t you start picking on people your own size, hmmm?” Armando said to the top of her head.

  “Sorry, Mama,” Mia whispered.

  Before the little woman could come over to her daughter, Armando interrupted. “No. Not mama. I meant Mayfield, here.” He winked at the big detective, who flinched and then chuckled. Armando’s flashing eyes and handsome features were identical to his mother’s. But hard and chiseled from pure steel. Riverton also saw that the trained killer was smart, and kind.

  Armando took Mia to another part of the house, tenderly cutting loose her ties first. He nodded to Riverton before they disappeared from view.

  “Thanks. Appreciate it,” Mayfield said as he removed his arm from the little woman’s shoulder and looked for a place to put his hands. He had pursed his lips and was frowning, looking down at his feet. Then he cleared his throat.

  “I am Felicia Guzman, and you are welcome in my home,” the petite Latina said, her voice wavering slightly.

  “Thank you, ma’am,” Riverton responded. “I’m so sorry, and can see you have your hands full.”

  “Indeed,” she answered. “She has always been a headstrong child. Her brother, too, but he—“ She looked up at Mayfield as if to ask permission about a reveal she was compelled to make.

  “I know about him, Ma’am.” Riverton looked into Mayfield’s weary eyes. “That’s partly why I’m here.”

  Mayfield frowned. Felicia burst into the conversation, “Something is wrong? More trouble? Is Armando in trouble?”

  “No, ma’am. Look, can I steal Detective Mayfield from you for a few minutes, please?”

  “Sure. Sure. You want some coffee? I can make some?”

  “No, thanks.

  “Water would be great, Felicia,” Mayfield said. He brushed his fingers underneath her chin and the little woman’s eyes sparkled. “I need to talk to Detective Riverton alone for just a few minutes.” He looked back to Riverton. “And I don’t think I’m going to like what I’m going to be told.”

  Riverton and Mayfield sat on a pink flowered couch littered with a bright hand-knitted afghan and an assortment of pillows Mayfield tossed into a nearby chair before he completely occupied half of the space. Riverton just had enough room not to physically touch him when he sat down. He retrieved the photograph of the dead cat from his breast pocket, along with his notebook.

  “You seen this tattoo before?” he asked Mayfield.

  “Geez,” the giant said as his stiff fingers held the piece of paper between them. He held the photograph up closer to his eyes and examined it. “I’ve seen these tats on Kyle’s group, mostly.”

  “Kyle’s group?”

  “Kyle is Armando’s Team leader. They’ve been friends since BUD/S. I think their whole class got ‘em, and then new members get them when they join up.”

  “You know who did it?”

  “Sure. Daisy I think her name is, over at—can’t remember the place, but Armando would tell you.”

  “Tell you what?”

  Neither of the two men had noticed Armando had joined them. Riverton had chills up his spine because this was the second time Armando had moved to within striking distance of Riverton without his knowledge.

  “The tattoo parlor where Daisy works.” Mayfield turned his attention back to the photograph and then looked up at Riverton. “Can I show him?”

  “Sure.”

  Armando whistled. “Fucking monster. You after a cat killer?” His eyes flashed as a little smile made a brief appearance.

  Felicia Guzman brought two tall glasses of ice water and handed it to the detectives. “You want something, Armando?”

  The SEAL grabbed his mother and gave her a bear hug. “No, thank you, mama. I’m going to go show Mia the house. She’s getting a few things together.” He was still holding the photograph in his left hand, but down at his side and away from Felicia Guzman’s view.

  “Good.” The little woman retreated to the kitchen, and Riverton noticed Mayfield was focused on every step she took.

  Riverton took several long gulps of the cold water and set his drink down. He accepted the photograph Armando returned to him.

  “I have Daisy’s number on my phone.” Armando displayed it so Riverton could copy it down. “Seabreeze and Fourth, no Fifth.”

  Riverton was thankful for the information. “So, you think she did this one, too?”

  “Probably, Armando said. But look here, see how dirty the fingers are? And see that scar?”

  Riverton looked at the photograph, ignoring the cat. It was hard to tell, due to its size, but yes, the fingers did look stained, or in shadow. He didn’t see a scar. He cursed to himself for not noticing this detail.

  “What scar?” Mayfield asked.

  Armando leaned over and pointed to a spot on the wrist. Barely visible was a thin cross made from two lines bisecting each other.

  “That a cross?” he asked.

  “Not really,” Mayfield said as he examined it over Riverton’s shoulder. “That’s the mark of a suicide attempt. At some point in time this fella was intent on taking his own life.”

  “Which means he isn’t one of us.” Armando said it as a fact.

  “Why would you say that?” Riverton asked him.

  “Don’t you know, man?” Armando took a step back and held his massive arms out to the side. “We’re God’s gift to women. SEALs are way too conceited to off themselves and deprive the world, especially the lovelies, of the pleasure of their company.”

  Everyone chuckled.

  Armando continued. “You know how it goes, gentlemen. Big egos, big—“

  “Okay, that’s enough. I get your po
int.” Riverton frowned but was still laughing on the inside. “How about a former SEAL?” he asked.

  “More than likely a wannabe. Someone who thought of himself as one, but never made it.”

  “A copycat SEAL.”

  “Oh, they’re out there. You usually find them when they’re trying to pick up girls in the bars. Actors. You call someone a Hollywood and that means he’s a faker.”

  “Could he have been someone who washed out?”

  “Could be,” Armando said, nodding his head, thinking about it. “We weed them out. Hell, even some really great guys who would have been awesome wash out. This guy is a mental.”

  Riverton looked back down at the picture.

  Mission accomplished. He discovered he was actually relieved to know SO Calvin Cooper was no longer a suspect. That eliminated one suspect just as he’d learned from Libby about Dr. Gerhardt. He didn’t want to run up to San Jose, but if it was warranted, he would. The guy sounded like a creep, all right. Could he have had some kind of preoccupation with the Special Forces? Was that even sane?

  Shit, no. But neither was hitting on your students. Riverton’s stomach churned with revulsion. He hated to see innocent people get hurt.

  But good news about Cooper. It always pleased him when his hunch matched up with the facts. He also liked it when he gained a couple more allies. Having a small force of SEALs to help him catch this bad guy wasn’t a bad thing at all.

  It rather made his day.

  Chapter 35

  Cooper picked up Libby’s bag in one arm, and wheeled out her mother’s suitcase with his free hand. That didn’t leave his hands free to touch Libby’s ass as she sashayed down the hallway and then bent over to give Bay a pat on the head, encouraging the dog to go down the stairs.

  He was beginning to lose track of how many times they’d fucked today, orally or otherwise. Like every true addiction he’d run across, the more he got inside her, the more he wanted her. He was going to have to talk to Timmons. Maybe he should sit out the next rotation until this fever died down.