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.
He was too close for her to raise a knee to his groin. She could feel he was enjoying the struggle, and gaining in confidence. His hand slipped under her panties forcing her to make a decision. She found the opportunity and focused on it. She gripped his middle finger, bending it back with all the strength she could muster. He started to yell, attempting to retract his hand, but Libby held it firm, continuing to squeeze the finger against the top of his hand until she heard a satisfying crack as the joint shattered. He screamed like a wild animal.
“Goddammit, sonofabitch,” he yelled, retreating to the corner to look at his finger pointing up in a peculiar and unnatural angle. “You little cunt. I never wanted to hurt you.” He glared at her. “You’ll be sorry. You’ll pay.” He came at her, and this time he grabbed her neck.
She missed kneeing his groin, so kicked him in the shin. Then she turned to struggle again with the door lock, but couldn’t make it budge. He was cursing her name, ripping at her blouse, pulling her back into his chest.
She’d been turning the lever the wrong way. She reversed direction and heard the click of freedom as she one-handedly opened the door a crack, only to have it slammed shut when Dr. Gerhardt’s body crashed into it. She found his disjointed finger again, yanked and twisted it with everything she had. He screamed and went down on one knee in pain.
For a brief second he left her alone. It was all the time she needed.
She grabbed her purse, swung the door open, glad to smell the cool, fresh air of the hallway. Her heart pounding in her chest, adrenaline pulsing throughout her body, she passed several students as she power walked down the hall in a hurried daze, tears streaming down her face. Then she began to run, and ran all the way to her car. When she locked herself inside, she rested her head on the steering wheel and sobbed. She felt hot tears hit her chest and top of her bra. Looking down, she noticed for the first time her blouse was completely unbuttoned.
She felt ashamed. Dirty.
Libby went home that afternoon and took a long hot shower, ridding herself from the stink of his scent. She placed a phone call to the Psychology Department chair, asking for office time.
That night she had slept little, tossing and waking up seeing Gerhardt’s face in her nightmares. Twice she checked the locked doors and windows of her apartment. She didn’t answer her phone.
The next day she reported her mentor to the Chairman. The welcoming look on his face soured at her accusations. “You’ve been one of our bright, promising stars, Libby. I’m so sorry to hear this,” he’d said. But she could tell he was more worried about the reputation of the University, and his department in particular.
“I’m going to withdraw from all my classes,” she said. The semester was only two weeks from ending. “I’m earning A’s in most of them. You can verify with my professors. I won’t go any further if I’m allowed to receive whatever grades I’ve earned, rather than the drop-F.”
“Agreed.” He didn’t even flinch. This had happened before, she could see.
“An
d I want him fired.” She aimed a steely look right at him. He cowered.
“Libby, in a perfect world…”
“Don’t give me that perfect world horseshit. I’ve been living there my whole life. I almost got raped, Dr. Halvorsen.”
“He’s got a problem. I think he’s in therapy. But he’s a gifted professor.”
“No, sir. He’s a sexual predator.”
Dr. Halvorsen winced. “Not exactly. Consenting adults and all that. You are what, twenty-five or -six?”
“Twenty-four. He preys on his students. I’ve heard the rumors before. I just didn’t pay any attention to them. And there was nothing consensual about it.”
“Well, he didn’t hurt you, and that’s what’s important here. I’m so very sorry, honest.” He stood. The meeting was clearly over. Libby noticed the man wasn’t going to offer a hug, under the circumstances. It was a smart choice.
Just before she left the office, she turned and leveled one last glare at a man who had allowed this to happen under his very nose. “If you don’t fire him, I’m going to the police and will file a report. I’ll let you explain to them what you told me.”
For the first time in her life she didn’t have a plan. Was she running away, or running toward an unscripted future?
The real world wasn’t anything like she’d thought. She’d awakened from the dream of a perfect life. She needed safety from the cruelty she now knew lurked in the shadows, ready to consume her.
I need to go home.
Chapter 4
Cooper drove the Babemobile, onto base without uttering a word. Bay was safely kenneled, as he had been during the flight home. His incessant barking was background music to Coop. He’d take the dog to the vet today, and start working on someone to look after him while he was overseas.
Daisy would have been the obvious choice, but not now. He was reluctant to face the attractive tattoo artist, even though she was easy about asking what was on his mind. Something had shifted. The sobering reality of being utterly alone was hard to get used to. Sorrow hung like a black cape over his shoulders. He wished he could just go to sleep and not wake up.
But then, who would feed Bay? Had the mutt saved him from himself?
The guard at the shack wasn’t Dorian, or any of the other regulars. The kid looked like he was all of seventeen, and Coop didn’t have the heart to mess with him.
“Thank you for your service, Mister,” the boy said as he handed back Cooper’s military I.D.
What the hell is happening?
Coop decided the boy needed to be messed with after all. “Got me wrong, kid. I just clean the toilets.” He pointed to his tan cargo pants and light blue T-shirt.
“Yeah. You’re the cleanup crew all right.” The boy sported a half smile on his very fuzzy and not yet shaven upper lip. He had a pimple under his splotchy nose, right in the middle of that soft flesh, dug in like a gem. It probably hurt like hell.
But his teeth were good. Perfectly straight. That meant someone who’d raised him loved him enough to send him to the orthodontist. If Coop had needed braces, and he never did, his mom would have gotten a part-time job to pay for it.
Sun was pouring in through the dirty windshield as Coop turned to the young man and did what he never did. He checked out the plastic nametag and read Leonard. “You surf, Leo?”
“Um, it’s Leonard, sir. And no, sir, I do not surf.”
“Wanna learn?”
“Abso-fuckin-lootly!”
Bay barked as if understanding the profanity. The kid smiled and tiptoed up to peer in Coop’s window at the dog. Bay appeared to smile behind the wire door of the kennel.
“Can you be here by six tomorrow morning?” Coop asked.
“Sure.”
“All right then, Lenny. We’ll get wet and sandy and ride us some waves. Maybe check out the girls.”
“You mean that, sir?”
Cooper raised his sunglasses to rest on the top of his head, and just looked at the boy.
“Don’t ever ask me that again, son.”
Damn. That was an unkind thing to call the kid.
“Sorry. I’ll be here before six, sir.”
Coop readjusted his glasses and put the machine in drive. He hit the pedal, spewing out smoke and a backfire, signaling he was done talking.
Okay, so maybe I’m gonna pull out of this after all.
He parked, untangled his long legs from the cab of the beast, and unlocked the kennel. Bay limped out, wagging his tail so hard he nearly toppled. Cooper took him outside on a leash so he could relieve himself before Coop checked in with Chief Warrant Officer Timmons.
Once Bay was safely re-kenneled, Coop exited his home on wheels, locking it. There was an edge to his gait. He was rushing to get this meeting with Timmons over with. The sooner he could get back to duty the better. Maybe some time in the next decade he’d unearth the feelings haunting him from the empty coffins he’d watched being buried just two days ago.
He was grateful he didn’t run into anyone he knew on his way to the Warrant’s office. Timmons’s scratched metal desk was piled with papers, indicating things were normal with the Team handler. Only thing that was different was the lack of a big green frog holding a red surfboard in his webbed fingers. Coop had looked into the eyes of that frog dozens of times as he talked to Timmons over the three years he’d been with Kyle’s platoon.
Not today, though.
“I’m not happy to see you, Coop.” Timmons was in a sour mood. He was drinking a glass of milk, which meant his gut was hurting him.
“I didn’t miss you much either, Warrant.”
“You shouldn’t be back here. What the fuck were you thinking? I gotta have men who are whole.”
“I’m good.” Maybe he should have worn his cammies.
“Like hell you are.”
“I said I’m good.”
Timmons stood up with his hairy arms attempting to cross his growing belly. Then he dropped them. “And I say you are full of shit, sailor.”
Cooper knew he shouldn’t argue. But he couldn’t help himself. “When I said I’m good, sir—“
“No fuckin’ way you’re good. You’ve not completed your leave. You can’t tell me you’re going to go out there in the theater after you’ve just buried your family. Hell, Coop, you’ll get yourself and your whole Team killed with that kind of lapse in judgment.”
“I need to go—“
“Oh, I get it. You wanna take out your frustrations on the enemy. Get us all in trouble, right, just so you can process all the bullshit you’re carrying around? That your plan? Those dudes in Afghanistan are bad motherfuckers, but they sure as hell didn’t send the tornado that killed your family, son.”
“I’m not your son.” Cooper’s fingers curled into fists. He clenched his jaw and squinted at his liason.
“Thank God for that.” Timmons kicked the metal garbage can under his desk. If the frog had survived Coop’s direct attack five days ago, it would have been the target.
“Sit.” Timmons pointed to a metal folding chair that was ridiculously small for the giant SEAL.
Timmons rummaged through a file drawer and pulled out a manila folder. He sat back down on his chair that made a sound like a cat squealing in heat and opened up the file. He removed a white piece of paper and began to read aloud.
“Special Operator William Brownlee. He was a medic. Died in 1983, Grenada.”
Coop recognized the name as the one that was engraved on the KA-BAR knife he was given the day he received his Trident. A fallen SEAL. That knife was entrusted to Cooper’s care. Every SEAL carried the memory of a fallen comrade in arms.
“You do remember that name, s—“ he stopped himself before saying it.
“Yes, sir, I do.”
“I understand his brother’s family lives right here in San Diego.”
Cooper stared back into the Timmons’ glassy, bloodshot eyes. He didn’t want to hear the words the man was going to dish out.
“Gu
y’s a psychiatrist. Works with nut cases.”
Cooper glared back at him.
“Not sayin’ anything, just a point of fact, sailor.” Timmons removed a piece of lint from the front of his shirt, and then looked back at Cooper with those sad eyes of his. “They’ve lost their SEAL. You’ve lost your family. I’d say that’s a match made in Heaven, Coop.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Do I look like I’m kidding?”
No. He didn’t look like he was kidding at all.
An extremely tall shadow fell through the ornate glass and metal front doors of the Brownlee house. At first, Libby was frightened.
Get a grip.
The melodic doorbell chime had been imported all the way from an abandoned abbey in the South of France. Whoever he was, Libby Brownlee thought, he’d not be able to get through the doorway without ducking, or smacking himself in the forehead.
“Yes?” She didn’t remove the brass chain connecting the door to the doorframe. It couldn’t really stop anyone, especially someone of his size, she realized too late.
What she saw scared her, but in a way she didn’t recognize, couldn’t identify. He was a handsome, very, very tall and fair-haired young man about her age. His piercing blue eyes didn’t stray from hers as he coolly nodded his head, and took inventory of her character without peeling his steady gaze from hers.
She felt undressed, yet powerless to cover up. But she didn’t look away.
“Ma’am, I’m looking for the Brownlee family.” He said this as he ducked his head and leaned forward. She observed he was trying to make himself smaller. The effort made him look huge.
“This is the Brownlee residence.” Her response was worthy of a domestic. No need to let him know she was a relative.
“My name is Special Operator Calvin Cooper. I’m…”
“I know what a Special Operator is.”
He smiled but continued, “—currently serving in the Navy. I’ve been asked to reach out to the family of Special Operator William Brownlee.”
“Uncle Will.” She bit her tongue. Too late to take it back. “My father’s twin brother. I never met him. He’s been dead for many years, since before I was born.” Libby looked at the ground, but was soon distracted by the size of the young man’s canvas slip-ons. The light brown hair on his ankles and lower legs, punctuated by light purple scars, blazed in the afternoon sun.
Fallen SEAL Legacy Page 3