Four of Coronado’s Finest Perish in Cuba
Amy lets out a labored breath. If Ray had heard the story right her search should’ve brought up an alternate link in the news category, but there is nothing. She closes her screen and sets her tablet on the counter before disrobing and climbing into the shower. It’s there, under the loudness of water where her voice can be muffled, that she lets out a body-shaking scream and vows to make Ray forget about what he heard.
Six Months Later
THE WHIZ OF CARS accelerating as they merge onto the interstate can be heard through the paper-thin walls. When I first arrived at the run down building I thought for sure I had the address wrong. There is no way someone as distinguished as Carole Clarke, the future mother-in-law to my best friend, Evan Archer, would know or visit a place in the run down part of Seattle. Yet, Carole has raved about her friend, Marley Johnson, being the best private investigator in the business, which is why I’m here. I need the best. I never thought about hiring a woman until Carole made a comment that women think alike and insinuated that a woman looking for a woman might be better. At this point, I have nothing to lose.
Marley’s office is different from the others. Hers is cheery with brightly painted walls, flowers, and has a homey feel. The other offices I’ve been to felt more like a bad Colombo movie, and at any moment I expected the overhanging lights to start moving back and forth, but not here. Here it feels like Marley is going to give a shit about my plight and help me find my family.
I find myself sitting up straighter when the door opens and Marley walks in. She’s of average height and slightly slender, reminding me of Penny. I do that often; pick out features of woman I’m staring at who pass me on the street, in parks, and the grocery store, looking for any hint that they might be my wife. Each time I see a woman with brown eyes it makes me wonder if she’s Penny with a wig, or had plastic surgery. Deep down I know Penny would try Botox or color her hair, but not her eyes. She’d never change those. They’re the only part of our daughter, Claire, that she shares with her. The most important part as far as I’m concerned.
Marley sits down and smiles at me. It’s not one of those, “I feel sorry for you”, but a genuine “I’m happy you’re here” type smiles. I try to return the gesture, but its been so long since I’ve smiled that the muscles in my face are permanently frowning. My life, for the past six years, has been spent in the confines of hell, hunting men who I’ve always vowed to protect my daughter from. When I came home all I wanted to do was crawl into my king size bed and have the loves of my life hold me and never let go.
Instead, I came home to a house that was no longer mine. When I opened the door and walked in, like I did all those times before, I stood there wondering why Penny hadn’t told me that she bought new furniture. After I set my bag down on the coffee table, I went to the wall to look at the pictures Penny had hung up, only to find that I didn’t remember any of the people in the photos. The familiar sound of a gun being cocked caught my attention. I slowly turned around with my hands up in the air to stare down the barrel of a shotgun. It was that moment when everything changed for me. The six years I had been gone didn’t matter anymore.
“Hello, Tucker,” Marley says in a sweet and calm voice. I find it comforting, much like when Ryley, Evan’s fiancée, promises that everything is going to be okay and reminds me that I have to have faith.
“Ma’am,” I say, clearing my voice. For the past six months, I have been living where I can. Being dead for six years and suddenly coming back to life—or returning from your unclassified mission—makes it hard to acclimatize yourself back into the community. With no driver’s license, birth certificate, or any proof of who I am, it’s hard to find a place to live. One would think that the United States Navy would provide me with a place to stay on base, but that hasn’t been the case. In fact, as far as they’re concerned, I don’t exist. Unfortunately for the USN, I refuse to accept the fact that I’m not a SEAL. I’ve worked too hard to obtain that title and I’m not about to let it go because Admiral Jonah Ingram is a corrupt bastard.
“A little about me,” Marley starts. “My specialty is finding the parents who have kidnapped their child.”
“Penny didn’t kidnap Claire,” I interject.
Marley holds her hand up, asking to continue. I nod, and slink back in the chair as if my teacher has reprimanded me for talking out of turn.
“According to your file, you came home from a mission to find your wife and daughter missing. What makes you think this isn’t a parental kidnapping?”
I adjust awkwardly in my chair and try to rein in my temper. Ever since my return the littlest things set me off and I often find myself blowing up. I know, deep down, these are questions that have to be asked, but I hate them nonetheless. I also know my story is unbelievable, especially considering the lack of media attention surrounding it. It was only after Senator Lawson and Admiral Ingram were arrested, that the team became primetime news, but the story never went national. As far as the team was concerned, it was too late to make up for the lack of coverage when we all came home. What made it all worse was the one man who tried to bring attention to our return was found dead. Someone has been making sure this story stays buried.
“I’m a SEAL, stationed out of Coronado. My Team was deployed, and when I came home, she was gone. Not just gone, someone else was living in our house.” I keep the amount of years I’ve been away to myself, knowing that as soon as I tell her it’s been six years there will be skepticism in Marley’s features and I’m so tired of seeing it.
“It’s common for wives of servicemen to leave once their husbands deploy. I’ve seen it before.”
I shake my head. “Ma’am, have you heard about the four SEALs that returned after a six-year mission?”
Marley shakes her head, but leans forward, acting interested in my story. “Of course you haven’t.” I sigh and clear my throat. “My team …” Even though I’ve told this story two other times, it doesn’t get any easier. No one believes me and the burden of proof falls on me. “Six years ago we were deployed and four months in, our families were told we were killed in action. Six months ago, we returned home.”
Marley’s mouth drops open, hanging there for a moment. She sits back in her chair, with her pen between her fingers, tapping it on her pad of paper.
“Let me get this straight,” she says, leaning forward in her chair. “Four Navy SEALs went on a mission, something I’m sure you do more often than I know, and your families were told you were dead only for you to come home six years later?”
I blanch at her words, but nod. The way she says it makes me think she’s pitching the next Tom Clancy movie.
“What were you doing for six years?”
“Hunting,” I reply, getting right to the point. I’m not willing to elaborate, either. Regardless of how I feel, I’m a SEAL through and through, and no one is going to get classified information out of me.
“Hunting. Right …” Trailing off, Marley looks as if she’s pondering whether I’m telling the truth. “So you came home and your wife was gone?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And that’s it?”
I shrug. It’s my new automatic response to the repeated same question. “Everything I’ve been told, which has all been the same, is she left right after we were buried, yet I don’t know if I can trust the source. But she did so without saying good-bye to everyone.” I leave out any information about Frannie Riveria being my source and her involvement because that’s for me, and right now I’m not convinced Frannie has anything do with Penny and Claire disappearing. If she does … well, that just makes the bullet I plan to put between her eyes even sweeter. I don’t care if River was our team’s leader; his wife is a traitor and is responsible for everything that has happened to them. She’ll pay.
“Have you checked in her hometown?”
My blood starts to boil and I want to ask if Marley is stupid, but I bite my tongue. “Her father died when she was younger and I never met her mother. Penny and I met in a bar. She was in San Diego on vacation. To say we hit it off would be an understatement. When she left I thought I wouldn’t see her again, but she proved me wrong immediately. As soon as she made it to her first layover, she turned right around and came back to California. I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her, but had no idea she felt the same way until she came back. We married quickly because there wasn’t a reason to wait. Penny told me she was pregnant a few months into our marriage and our daughter, Claire, was born. She’s nine-years old.”