Seal Team 16 06 - Gone Too Far

by Brockmann, Suzanne

  “I took it out and opened it, and it was a bunch of really old pictures. A girl and three boys—two bigger boys and one little tiny one, much younger than the others, like maybe Haley’s age. I loved looking at old pictures because it was like staring into a time tunnel. The cars in the street, and the clothes, and even the expressions on the kids’ faces was like from a totally different world. So I flip the picture over and on the back it says, ‘Dick, Frank, Dorothy, and baby Roger, 1934.’

  “And I realize, holy shit, this is Dot and her brothers, and I turn the picture back over to get a better look at the baby—because he’s going to grow up and swing that shovel at Walt, and he’s got this goofy smile on his face. He’s just a little kid. But there’s more pictures, so I look through them, and there’s Dot in her uniform with her brothers, and the little one, Roger—God, I hated that he had the same name as me—was about my age, and I’m still looking hard into his eyes, trying to see the evil that’s in his heart.

  “And then I pull a piece of paper out of that envelope, and it’s some kind of official document, and I realize it’s a marriage license between some guy named Percy Smith and . . . and Dorothy Elizabeth Starrett.”

  “What?” Alyssa said.

  “Yeah. Dot was married before, too,” Sam said. “Just like Walt. I knew that. Smith was her first husband’s name, and she kept it after he died. I guess it just never occurred to me that she’d once had a maiden name. All the correspondence I’d read had been to and from Lieutenant Dot Smith.

  “So I sat there, staring at those pictures, sick to my stomach, because my father was Dot’s little brother, Roger. My own father had crippled Walt. And I was convinced more than ever that Walt and Dot didn’t know my real name. I’d been Ringo to them for so long, I thought . . .”

  He had to take a deep breath. “I thought that they couldn’t possibly know who I was, because if they did, I surely would not be welcome in their house. And I was sick about that. Sick about them finding out and sending me away, and sick about deceiving them. I didn’t know what to do.”

  “Oh, Sam,” Alyssa murmured.

  “I went home and I didn’t sleep at all that night. The next day was Saturday, and Noah was working on his science project in the morning, and I knew it, so I went over to the Gaineses’ house, and I took that big flight textbook and I marched up to Walt and I put it on his desk.

  “And I said, ’Thank you for letting me use your book, sir.’

  “And he kind of sat back in his chair and said, ’You’re not giving up, are you?’ ” His voice had been so mild, and his eyes had been so warm. Walt’s eyes were always warm. Roger had nearly started to cry right then and there.

  “I told him that I couldn’t take flying lessons from him,” Sam told Alyssa now, “because I couldn’t afford to pay for them. And I didn’t feel right taking them for free. Taking his charity. And Walt, he never really got angry, at least not at Noah and me, but he got pretty grim at that. He told me that it sounded like those were my father’s words dribbling out of my mouth."

  “And I said that my father didn’t know about the lessons. And Walt just kind of looked at me. I’m sure he was trying to figure out what was going on. He asked me—” So gently again. So Walt. “—didn’t I want to learn to fly? And I kind of scraped my courage together and squared my shoulders and I told him. I told him that he didn’t know who I really was, and that he wouldn’t want to be so charitable, giving me expensive things like flying lessons, if he knew my last name.

  “Walt was completely floored, I’m sure. I was bracing myself to drop the bomb and tell him I was the son of his mortal enemy, Roger Starrett, when he dropped what felt like a bomb on me. He goes, ‘Roger Starrett, you don’t really think I don’t know your name, do you? Why do you think I call you Ringo? It’s a play on the spelling of Starrett. You know, Ringo Starrett, Ringo Starr . . .?

  “Now it was my turn to be floored. And I told him that I’d just found out, just yesterday, that Dot was my real aunt, my real blood relative—not just pretend, the way I’d thought. I told him that my father was the same brother who’d crippled him, and I said something like, ’I’m a Starrett, too. You should hate me.’ ”

  It was then that Walter got it. He understood that Roger had come to him to return that book to make it easier for Walt to kick him out of the house, out of their lives.

  “And Walt said—I’ll remember this forever.” Sam’s voice shook but he kept going. “He said, ‘Ringo, sweetheart, you are not your father. You are you, and I will love you until the day I die. I would love you even if you told me your last name was Hitler.’ He told me that Dot was a Starrett, too, and he didn’t have any trouble loving her, either. It was, um . . .”

  Sam’s voice didn’t just shake, it flat-out wobbled, and he stopped. “It was the first time I really, truly understood the way love was supposed to be,” he whispered. “Unconditional.” Up to that very moment, the blessed sanctuary he’d found at the Gaineses’ house had always been something that could’ve been taken away from him. He’d lived every day knowing that sooner or later he’d do what he always did and go too far. He’d do something unforgivable and he’d be cast out of this paradise he’d found.

  “I started to cry,” Sam admitted. “I mean, not just a quiet manly tear rolling down my cheek, but you know, a big snotty waterfall—sobbing and shit. And that embarrassed the hell out of me even though it wasn’t the first time Walt had seen me melt down."

  “I was about to flee the scene, but Walt grabbed me and hugged me and he told me he’d never been more proud of me than he was right at that moment—especially so because I was crying. He told me that people with big hearts cried and that showing emotion was something I should never be ashamed of. And he told me, um—”

  Sam’s voice was shaking again—that “no shame” crying thing was something he still couldn’t quite manage, so he cleared his throat, but it didn’t help, so—fuck it—he just pressed on.

  “He told me that even at age twelve I was one of the best men—one of the most honorable—that he’d ever had the privilege of knowing, and that I was going to grow up to be a good man, and that there was no better goal in life than that—to be a good man, to be honest and forthright, to do the right thing—even when it was terribly hard to do so.”

  Sam took a deep breath. “That’s what I was trying to do by marrying Mary Lou. The right thing. Only I was stupid, because marrying someone you don’t love isn’t the right thing to do, and if Walt had still been alive, he would’ve told me that. I’ve tried my entire life to be a good man, to be someone Walt would be proud of, and I think I’ve probably managed to fail with the things that matter the most. You and Mary Lou, and now Haley.”

  Alyssa was silent.

  “You still there?” Sam asked.

  “Yeah,” she said. “I am. Still here.”

  Except she wasn’t. Not really. His bad choices, his stupid mistakes had made him lose her a long time ago.

  “I’m so sorry I hurt you, Lys,” he said softly. “I was just trying to, you know, be a good man, and instead I really fucked the duck.”

  “Yeah,” she said with a soft laugh. “You’ve really got to stay clear of those ducks, Ringo.”

  He laughed, too, but then he stopped. “You really think I packed up Ringo, the way I did to Roger? And I definitely did that with Roger. After finding out that my father was the one who attacked Walt, I didn’t want his name. If I had been old enough, I would have legally changed it. Shit, if I could have, I would have removed his blood from my veins, I hated him that much. Although . . .”

  “What?” she asked.

  “After finding out what I found out after he died, you know, the pictures of little kids.” Sam shook his head. “It made more sense. His anger and his hatred, you know? He freaking hated himself, probably even back when he was seventeen, when he went after Walt with that shovel. I mean, imagine going through life wanting something that you know is wrong. He was raised to be devoutl
y religious. Even homosexuality was looked upon as something evil in his church, and he didn’t just like men—which in his mind would’ve been enough to doom him to hell—he liked little boys.

  “And here comes his sister, announcing that she’s going to marry a black man, which at that time, in that part of the country, was nearly as taboo as being a pedophile. And she just didn’t give a damn, and all of his anger and frustration and self-loathing pushed him over the edge.” Sam laughed softly. “Obviously, I’ve spent a great deal of time trying to understand him. I mean, it’s one thing to hate the person who’s hurt someone you love and label him evil, you know, the way I did when I was twelve and I saw those pictures of him when he was a baby. But I think it’s more likely that he was just a fucked-up man with a shitload of self-hatred.”

  He sighed and they sat there for a moment in silence. In two different cars, on two different sides of town.

  “Ringo wouldn’t have gone six months without seeing Haley,” he said. “Jesus, Alyssa, do you think she’ll ever forgive me?”

  “Yes,” Alyssa said. “She will.”

  “You know, I think the only thing worse than her not recognizing me is her actually remembering who I am—and knowing that she probably spent six months wondering where I went.”

  “You can make it up to her,” Alyssa said.

  “How?”

  “Like Walt said, you’ve got a big heart, Ringo. I’m sure you’ll figure out the best way to use it.”

  Sam laughed. Then stopped. “My heart’s telling me to find her, Lys. I know you want me to come in and let you be the one to track her down and pick her up, but God damn it, I can’t do it that way. Because I know how it would go down. Mary Lou would be grabbed and Haley would be yanked out of her arms and handed off to some stranger, and they’d both freak out. I won’t let it happen that way.

  “I’ve made arrangements for Nos and Claire to take care of Haley. But I thought if I could find Mary Lou first, then I could take them both with me to Noah’s house and make sure Haley was comfortable there before I turned me and Mary Lou in and . . .”

  Alyssa was silent.

  “I know that you think it’s about me not trusting you, but it’s not. I’m sorry I can’t do it your way,” Sam said.

  “Let me talk to Max,” she said.

  “You said you didn’t have that kind of influence over him.”

  “He asked me to marry him tonight.”

  Sam hadn’t thought it could get much worse than this. Terrorists—killers—after his ex-wife, his baby daughter God knows where, his former CO accused of treason, an FBI BOLO with his picture on it, and the knowledge that the only woman he’d ever loved really was in the habit of soul-kissing Max—the fucker—seemed about as low as it could go. But no. He’d been wrong.

  He knew he was supposed to say something. No fucking way was the first thing that came to mind. “Congratulations.” So this was evisceration. “Seriously, Lys,” he managed to choke out, “he’s a good man. I know he’s going to make you happy.”

  And he really did want her to be happy. Really. Really. Aw, shit.

  “I didn’t say yes,” Alyssa told him, and the knife blade stopped moving. But then she twisted it. “Yet.” She paused. “I think I might have more influence over him than I’d originally thought. I’ll talk to him in the morning.”

  “Great,” Sam said.

  “You know what really kills me? That Noah’s your cousin.” She laughed softly. “God, Sam, he even looks like you, doesn’t he? I can’t believe I didn’t see that.”

  “He looks more like Walter than Dot,” Sam told her. It seemed surreal that he was able to keep talking to her, considering he was bleeding to death, with his guts spilling all over the floor of the car. “But yeah. We kind of look alike, even though it was really his father who was my first cousin. But you know, most people can’t see past the different skin tones.”

  “He’s got your beautiful smile.”

  Beautiful. At any other time, that would have made Sam’s heart beat hopefully. Alyssa thought his smile was beautiful. Fuck of a lot of good that was going to do him with her married to Max.

  “I think it’s probably more accurate to say that we’ve both got Dot’s smile,” he countered. “She was just as amazing as Walt, Lys. Knowing her was a . . . a gift. You would’ve loved her. She was a lot like you in so many ways. Fearless, you know.”

  “You think I’m fearless?”

  “Yeah, I do.”

  She laughed. “Well, thanks, but you’re wrong.”

  “You’re fearless when it comes down to the things that really matter.”

  “Thank you,” she said softly. “When did she die? Dot?”

  “In ‘95. She had another stroke and . . . she died in her sleep,” Sam told her. “She just didn’t wake up one morning.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “Look, I have to go. Thanks for talking to me.”

  “I’ll call you in the morning,” she said. “After I talk to Max.”

  “Yeah,” Sam said. He hung up the phone, and then proved—if only to himself—that his heart was very big, indeed.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Someone had been in her room.

  After walking on the beach—the water glistening romantically in the light from a moon that didn’t realize she was alone—Gina had wandered over to check out Fandangos, the club where she was going to be playing tomorrow night.

  It was going to be a no-pressure gig. The room was incredibly friendly. She’d sat at the bar and shut the place down, listening to the elderly members of a jazz quartet jam their way through some pretty out-there arrangements of standards like “Night in Tunisia” and “Harlem Nocturne.”

  They looked like they were pushing ninety, but they were impossibly hot players, particularly the guy on bass. The music was so great, she’d almost made herself forget about Max.

  But then she got back to her room to find someone had been in there, going through her things. Searching for information about where she was heading next week, no doubt. Mad as hell, she called Jules Cassidy, waking him up. She told him in no uncertain terms that this kind of invasion of her privacy was going way too far.

  Approximately three minutes after she hung up, her phone rang. It was Max.

  “Boy,” Gina lit into him, cutting him off before he could speak, “you really don’t fool around, do you? You know, I should call the police, report a break-in.”

  “I already have,” he said, his voice tight. “Gina, you need to get out of there, because it wasn’t us.”

  “What?”

  “Go into the motel lobby,” he ordered her. “Right now. I’m on my way, and the local police are, too—”

  “There’s no lobby.” This room was small, but she hadn’t checked under the beds or in the closet or the bathroom or . . . She backed toward the sliding door, stretching the curly phone cord as far as it would go, her heart suddenly pounding. “There’s an office, but it’s closed and locked at night—”

  He swore sharply. “Is the parking lot well lit?”

  “I don’t think you could call it well lit.” Her voice shook, and she made herself slow down. Don’t panic. Don’t flip out. “This is stupid,” she said briskly, as much to convince herself as him. “I’m just going to look under the beds, because I know no one’s in here.”

  “No. Go out to the parking lot,” Max told her. “Stand in the middle, away from the parked cars. If you see anyone at all, if you see anything move, start screaming. Wake up the entire island if you have to. I’m two minutes away from you.”

  But the parking lot was filled with shadows despite the brightness of the moon, and the fear she was working hard to keep at bay came crashing through her tough-guy facade. A lot of bad stuff could happen in two minutes. She knew that from experience.

  “I can’t go out there,” she whispered. “I’m sorry, I can’t.”

  “Okay,” he said, no argument, just that warm, famili
ar voice, wrapping around her. “Just stay on the phone with me then, Gina. Stay as close to the door as you can.”

  “I’m there.”

  “Good. I’m passing that resort that looks kind of like a castle,” he told her. He was very close. Not two minutes away after all.

  “I’m sorry,” Gina said. “I know you don’t need this right now.”

  “I’m sorry, too,” he said, and he actually sounded as if he meant it.

  And then there he was. Max.

  His headlights swept across her as he pulled in to the parking lot. He got out of his car and ran toward her. He’d thrown a long raincoat over—no way!—plaid pajama pants and a gray T-shirt that had a picture of Snoopy dressed up in an aviator helmet and scarf to fight the Red Baron. He’d jammed his feet into a beat-up pair of sneakers, his hair looked like he’d gone straight from his bed into his car, and he definitely hadn’t shaved in the past three or four hours. It was such a far cry from his usual dress code, she started to laugh. It was either that or burst into tears.

  He pocketed his phone as he approached, as he looked at her hard, making sure she really was okay.

  “Plaid, Max?” she said.

  “If you mention it to anyone,” he said, “I’ll flatly deny it.” He pulled her into his arms and hugged her as hard as he’d looked at her, but it was way too brief. He set her aside and stepped into her room. “Wait out here.”

  He actually had a gun.

  Gina hadn’t really thought about the fact that as an FBI agent, Max carried and knew how to use a gun. Holding it like that, with that steely look in his eyes, he looked dangerous. Even with the plaid pajama pants and the bed-head.

  But a gun was just a gun. Having one in your hand didn’t shield you from the other guy’s bullets.