The obvious answer was to alleviate guilt. What did he have to feel guilty about? Another thought tripped onto the last. Bennett. Ben. Had she unknowingly named her son after him?
Noah had suggested the name Ben their last night together, cuddled under the covers. She’d been barely six weeks pregnant, but they’d spent the night imagining what their child would be like. Boy or girl, blond or brown haired, outgoing or shy. Afterward, the name had provided another connection to Noah.
“What happened to Caldwell? Where is he?”
“Last I heard he got out right after Noah was—” Allison cleared her throat.
“I never got the full story, you know. On Noah’s death.”
“Not even now?”
“I’ve asked every year on the anniversary. Why do I keep torturing myself? It’s always the same answer.” She put on a pompous voice. “‘Details are classified, but rest assured, Mrs. Wilcox, your husband died a hero. Let me send you the same vague report we’ve sent the last four times.’”
“Darren gave me the same runaround when I asked him. He takes classified intel seriously, but I can try again. Not sure if he’s up to reliving it, though.” Allison sent a weighty glance toward the stairs.
“No, don’t do that.” The last thing Darren needed was Harper selfishly adding to his troubles. “My imagination is digging up conspiracies that aren’t there. Knowing won’t bring him back, so I guess I should let it go?” Her voice lilted the statement into questioning territory.
“Maybe.” Allison popped up. “But maybe not. You deserve closure, and if details are what you need, then Bennett Caldwell has them. Also, this award thing is superweird. Let me grab my laptop and we’ll do a little cyber-stalking.”
Harper scooted her seat around and bounced her knee as the computer booted up. “What if he turned into one of those hermit preppers who live in an old missile silo?”
Allison typed in his name and hit enter. “Or … holy moly, what if he runs a survival school in Virginia?”
The first hit was for a Caldwell Survival School, Virginia Beach, Virginia, owner/operator Bennett Caldwell. Harper muttered a curse that made a regular appearance in her vocabulary but made Allison giggle-gasp.
Allison clicked on the link and a well-designed, welcoming website popped up. A wideshot of a man in camo, hat, and sunglasses standing on the ridge of a mountain was in the bottom corner along with a brief tag line—“Decorated former Navy SEAL Bennett Caldwell.”
“It’s been five years. You sure you want to open this door? It might be more painful than satisfying.” Allison’s voice hitched with hesitancy.
“Could be, but I can’t in good conscience use money if it isn’t really mine. I need to know why he pretended Noah was awarded that money for bravery.” Harper sat back and crossed her arms over her chest. Betrayal nipped even though she wasn’t sure why. “I read the bare minimum of facts the military provided, but I want to know … everything that happened to Noah.”
Allison breathed her name. A warning Harper would ignore.
“Looks like my next stop is to see Bennett Caldwell.”
Chapter 4
Past
Bennett Caldwell stashed his clothes in the closest locker and examined the men he’d be spending the next six months with. Some of them, anyway. Statistically, the washout rate was cited as anywhere between 75 and 90 percent, depending on how bad the man you asked wanted to scare the shit out of you.
While Bennett wasn’t overly confident, he wasn’t a wet-behind-the-ears recruit straight out of boot camp like some of the kids. He was twenty-four and had served his time in the regular Navy on an aircraft carrier in the Middle East.
Two of his roommates, Hollis and Carter, were ordinary in every way, except for a special swagger only bestowed by BDUs. They had arrived first and claimed the top two bunks, not that Bennett cared. This was a temporary stop on his way to receiving his trident.
Bennett hadn’t offered his name or much more than a grunt in greeting and didn’t miss the eye rolls as Hollis and Carter left for the chow hall. Not that he gave a damn what they thought.
“Where you from?” Bennett’s third roommate was a blond-haired, blue-eyed All-American type with ruddy cheeks and a broad, lanky body. His smile was friendly and open.
Bennett narrowed his eyes and didn’t return the overture. He wasn’t here to make friends. He didn’t need them. His plan was to keep his head down and do the work. “Mississippi.”
“That’s awesome. I’m from Georgia.” His tone implied because they were both from south of the Mason-Dixon that afforded them a special bond. It didn’t.
Bennett’s years being passed around foster care in Mississippi didn’t incite the warm fuzzies. If he never stepped foot in Mississippi again, it would be too soon. He didn’t offer up additional information, but the kid didn’t get the hint.
“I’m Noah Wilcox.” He stepped closer and held out a hand.
Bennett hesitated longer than was polite but took it in a shake. There was no reason to be a total dick. “Bennett Caldwell, AW.”
“You’ve been serving already?”
“Six years. Last assignment was on the Carl Vinson.”
“Cool.” Noah’s tone was awed with more than a hint of worry. “I signed up straight out of high school. This seemed like a good idea at the time. Now, I’m not so sure.”
The kid was wide-eyed and untarnished. Bennett was pretty sure he’d never looked like that. Not much he could offer except the truth. “BUD/S is going to be hard as hell.”
Passing Basic Underwater Demolition was the first step in becoming a SEAL. Actual SEAL training followed, with men washing out at every phase. Optimism wasn’t in Bennett’s nature or vocabulary, but his grim hold on reality had gotten him through tough times before, and he would make it through BUD/S or die.
“I guess the worst that can happen is I get shuffled into regular Navy.” His laugh was an anxious one.
Bennett grunted, his respect for the kid taking a dive. If Noah was already thinking in terms of contingencies then he might as well quit right now and give his spot up to someone who wanted it more.
After he got his things neatly stored, Bennett lay down on top of the blankets and closed his eyes. Sleep would be a thing of the past soon enough, and he wasn’t going to spend energy on a kid who was already a ghost.
* * *
Wake-up the next morning came before dawn. The alarm dragged Bennett out of a deep sleep where old dreams didn’t trouble him. It was dark in the room, but Noah was up and rustling through his locker for clothes.
Within ten minutes, the BUD/S class gathered on the black-painted concrete and asphalt yard outside the quarterdeck doors, affectionately referred to as the grinder. Bennett quick-stepped to the far side where there were fewer men. He didn’t realize Noah was on his heels until he stopped and the kid bumped into him, mumbling an apology. Besides high color on his cheekbones, he was pale and looked ready to shit his pants.
Bennett wasn’t that far gone, but his heart galloped along, nerves fraying his usual calm. This was the start and, for many, it would soon be the finish.
He’d done his best to ignore the bell hanging from the rafter next to the open space of their soon-to-be torture area. But the bell drew his gaze as if magnetized. It was smaller than he’d anticipated, innocuous looking even, but ringing it would signal the death knell of his dreams.
He snapped his attention forward and his body straight when a monster of man in BDUs stalked to the front of the class. Another man, shorter, slighter, but no less cut, stood to the side in parade rest.
“You maggots want to be SEALs?” the monster in the front yelled with a Southern twang. Just Bennett’s luck to be tortured by a man from the South.
The group hesitated and when they answered it was at different times and on top of one another.
“I said, do you little fuckers want to be SEALs?” His voice increased in volume and intensity if that was possible.
“Sir, yes, sir!” This time they managed to answer in unison.