Beowulf: Explosives Detection Dog (14 page)

“What do you want?” She’d stood him up. Flown away without a word. Then seeing him at the ranch …

Unzipping his safety jacket with one hand, he spread his other hand. “What do you think? To see you.”

He’d come all the way out here? Which, come to think of it—“How’d you find me?”

Mr. GorgeousCockyGreenBeret shrugged. “Just asked everyone where the meanest, ugliest dog lived.”

“But wouldn’t that lead you home?”

“You didn’t seem to think I was ugly back at Bagram.”

Tanned, toned legs stretched in the morning sunlight, one on the porch step above. Ready to bolt again. In shorts and a tank top, she seemed far less intimidating and much more … sexy. The woman had him wrapped around that cat-o’-nine-tails heart of hers. Chasing a parked rig would be easier and less painful than the pursuit of the woman standing on her porch. And right now those eyes, her guarded expression, and that look that could eat the lunch of lesser men, shouted her warning that she’d take down anyone who dared to enter her sanctuary.

“I couldn’t see your true colors there.” She jutted her chin toward him. “You’ve shaved since then.”

He’d seen the shock when she realized who he was. He’d gotten a little nervous, wondering if she suffered some form of PTSD like his father when she didn’t recognize him. But when that grit zapped back into her posture, he knew the game was on again.

“I wasn’t sure you’d notice,” he said with a half smile as he reached for the gate latch.

Gnashing teeth nearly took off his fingers. Tony pushed his gaze to Timbrel. “Call him off.” She was as much a tough mama as the last time he’d seen her. “Please?”

Without a word, she started up the steps. He heard two snaps.

Beowulf’s attack mode morphed into just plain ugly. The monstrous-sized dog gave another growl, then trotted up. Tony made his way across the path and up the three wooden steps.

He stood over Timbrel as she opened the door. Held her gaze. “Good to see you, Hogan.”

Her cheeks brightened. Score!

“Do you want me to release my dog to chase you back to your bike, or are you coming in?”

He smiled and entered the cramped cottage. Scanning his surroundings, he stilled. Never would he have guessed this place belonged to Timbrel Hogan. Immaculate. Like it was right out of a brochure. “This is your place?”

She scowled. “Yeah. Why?”

Tony set down his helmet, gloves, and safety jacket on an overstuffed chair. “Just didn’t imagine your place like this.”

Timbrel went into the kitchen and stood behind the counter. “What did you expect?”

Was it his imagination or was she taking up position to defend herself? He’d already put her on edge. Good. That’s what she got for standing him up.

“Guess something simpler, less … crowded.”

“The cottage came furnished.”

“Ah.” He gave another sweep of the room. A short hall dumped into a bedroom, the door wide open. There, he spied a low platform bed, a simple white down comforter, and green walls. “Now that—that’s you, right? You decorated the bedroom.”

Timbrel stomped down the hall, pulled the door shut, and turned to him, arms folded. “Why are you here?”

“Thought we should talk.”

Her left eyebrow winged up. “Talk. You haven’t heard of the phone?”

“Funny you should mention that.” He rubbed his jaw. So weird not to have the beard. “You know the number that keeps showing up on your caller ID at least once every other day? Yeah, that’s me trying to call you.” He gave a shrug and held up his hands as he walked the house, pretending to size up her digs. But each step was strategic, putting him in closer proximity to her. “So I thought I’d try face-to-face.”

“Didn’t think you’d be this dense.” The words didn’t have the bite they normally had. “Me not answering is me not wanting to talk to you.”

He strolled around the island and came to her side. Waited for her to look up at him. Man, she was beautiful. Brown eyes with flecks of green and gold. And right now, those eyes were singing a whole different song than what made it past her windpipe. “I don’t think so.”

She huffed and turned away, wandering toward the kitchenette, where she grabbed the finial that poked up from one of the chairs. “What do you know about me?”

“Not enough.” Tony leaned back against the Formica counter, crossed his ankles, and tucked his hands under his armpits. “I’d like to remedy that.”

“Forget it.”

“To quote one of my favorite movies, ‘You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means.’ ”

Timbrel tried to hide her smile but it cracked.
“Princess Bride.”

He inclined his head. “You’re a fan?”

She looked down, her hands twisting the wood as if a towel she wanted to wring. “ ‘Miners, not minors.’ ”

Shock rippled through him.
“Galaxy Quest?
You’re quoting
Galaxy Quest?”
Tony laughed and placed a hand over his left pec. “Be still my beating heart—a girl who watches sci-fi.”

Timbrel laughed and eased into the chair. She now worried one of the fabric napkins set out and waiting for guests who probably never came. Timbrel was too guarded and isolated to entertain. The napkins, like the house, were another element for the “got it together” facade.

She tugged the elastic from her ponytail and let her hair fall, digging her fingernails into her scalp.

Tony joined her at the table. “Hey, you okay?”

She lifted her face and he saw her torment.

“Your mom?”

She sagged. “She wins. Every time, she gets her way.”

“This about the money she’s giving ABA?”

A solemn nod. “The only reason she’s donating is to wiggle her way into my life.”

Elbow on the table, he sat sideways in the chair. “I’m not playing with all the pieces, so help me understand what’s so bad about her giving money to the organization.”

Her face twisted. “I don’t even know why I’m talking to you about this.” She rolled out of the chair and moved back to the kitchen island. To her barrier.

“Timbrel, listen—I am
not
defending her. I’m trying to understand. I don’t know the whole story.” He closed the distance.

“This is her way of controlling me, of keeping me under her thumb. I’ve been her little puppet, her little doll since I was born. An adornment to make her look good. This isn’t about her doing something good. This is about her trying to insert herself into my world, and make herself look good doing it.” Timbrel let out a growl-shriek. “I am
so
sick of it. I won’t play her games anymore. There is no way I’m going out there again and—”

“Out where?”

“LA.” She rounded to the other side. “LA ruined me …”

Tony held up a hand. “Timbrel, stop moving.”

She looked at him with a frown. “What?”

“Do you see what you’re doing?” He indicated to the island, the space between them. “Are you doing it on purpose?”

Innocence wreathed her face. “Doing what?”

He rapped his knuckles against the Formica. “Using this as a barrier to keep me away.”

“No.” Her gaze dropped to the cream surface. Her pretty brown eyes came back to him. “Yes.”

He tilted his head.

“I mean—yes, that’s what I’m doing.” She seemed to be searching for something, her gaze skittering around the kitchen, then came back to him. “But it wasn’t on purpose.”

Whoa. This was a whole lot of honesty, especially for Timbrel. “I’m not a threat. Hurting you is the last thing I want to do.”

“I know.” Her voice was small, the realization apparently dawning on her at the same time she spoke.

Heady admission. It unnerved even him. All this time chasing her, and she was here, being open, honest. Wouldn’t last long. Better to leap back before she slammed the door again. “Okay, back to your mom.”

Timbrel groaned.

“Let me go with you.”

Lips parted, she stared. “What?”

“Let me go with you to get the check. You said it was a dinner, right?”

“Candyman, listen—”

“Tony. I want you to call me Tony.”

“This isn’t dinner like you and I might go out—”

“Which we will, right?”

“This is a fancy event. Dresses, suits.”

Okay, now it was his turn to blanch. “Suit?”

“Yeah.” She swept her hair from her face. “So, it was a sweet offer, but—”

“I’m in.”

Disbelief rushed through her expression.

“Hey,” he said with a shrug, “I dress up in a beard, keffiyeh, and smelly gear for terrorists, why not a suit and goop for your mom?”

“Because the moment she sets eyes on your gorgeous self, she’s going to go all cougar on you.”

Tony grinned. “You think I’m gorgeous? Does that mean you’re going to fight her for me?”

“More like throw you to the wolves—or in this case, the cougar.”

“That’s mean.” Tony winked at her. “But for you, I’m in. I’ll just tell her we’re dating.” He walked around behind her. In her ear, he breathed, “Intimately.”

Last Year

Ten long years he’d been fighting, working, toiling to find a way to stop the infidels. To prevent the influence of the West upon the people of Islam. Time and again he’d come close. But failed.

Why, Allah? Why have you set me to failure?
The scripture that came to mind gave him no peace:
“Allah does what He wills.”

He slammed his fist against the edge of the sofa then held it against his forehead.

A quiet presence tugged at his mind, and he turned to the side. Dehqan stood, hands behind his back. He’d grown a lot the last two years.

“What can I do for you, Father?”

He warmed at the endearment Dehqan had adopted of late. Even the way the boy said it and the way his shoulders drew back in pride stirred something deep in him. An empty place he’d not visited in many, many years. Not since Baghdad.

“Come. Tell me of your studies.”

Having just turned seventeen, Dehqan had filled out. Strength lurked in his arms, maturity in his young face—as much as could be said of a teenager—and an awareness of the dark forces they warred glimmered in his brown-green eyes. Little remained of the street urchin he’d found almost eight years ago except the unusual iris color.

“They go well enough. I was told that I could apply for a scholarship.”

He raised his eyebrow. “Scholarship?”

Dehqan nodded. “For university.” There was that hunger he’d seen so early in the boy’s eyes.

“What of the army? I’ve taught you everything so you can follow.”

“Yes.” Dehqan tucked his chin. “I do not want university. You asked of my studies, and I report what is told to me.”

Was it truly humility that brought those words to the air? He was not certain of the boy’s motives. He’d learned well how to hide his feelings. Dark and brooding, Dehqan did very well.

“What is it you want, Dehqan?”

Uncertainty flickered through his features many had called handsome. “Sir?”

On his feet, the colonel moved to the gilded desk that sat in a swatch of sunlight. He set down his crystal glass and poured more water into it. “What do you want to do with your future?”

Irfael had suggested arranging a marriage for the boy. It should be done. It was normal. “A wife? A family?” Watching the boy’s reaction carefully gave the colonel the answer. “So, is there someone you have set your sight upon?”

Dehqan again studied the marble floor.

“What is her name?”

Then swift as an eagle, Dehqan lifted his chin. “No, sir. I seek no woman.”

“Do women not please you?”

His face went red. “They please me quite well.” Bashful? Dehqan? It did not seem possible. “Some more than others.”

The colonel laughed and clapped his hands once. “I see. Is she pretty?”

Stretching his jaw, Dehqan would not meet his gaze. “I do not speak of one girl. And this is of no consequence. I believe Allah placed me in your capable hands for a purpose.”

“And what is that?”

“To train me, to equip me. That I would not be among the lost.”

Ah, here they were on the correct path. His chest swelled as he smiled upon the boy who had become his family. “Equip you to what end, Dehqan?”

Dehqan squared his shoulders. “To be a servant of Allah.” He frowned. “To avenge those who killed my father and mother.”

“Very good. Very good.” Squeezing the boy’s shoulder, the colonel raised his eyebrows and laughed. “You are already taller than me!”

“Yes, sir.”

He laughed. “Irfael thinks you should take a bride.”

Eyes wide, mouth open, Dehqan drew back.

Was it fear? Shock? “But I am not convinced the time is right. You have much to learn and you are young.”

A loud rap severed whatever response sat poised on the edge of Dehqan’s tongue.

“Enter.” The colonel returned to his desk and eased into the chair as the door groaned and issued Irfael into the study. “Ah, we were just speaking of you.”

His lieutenant rushed across the richly detailed Persian rug and snapped a salute. “Sir, we’ve captured al Dossari.”

Fire exploded through his gut. “Two years we have chased this snake.” He pointed to Dehqan. “We will talk later.” Hustling across the room, the colonel followed Irfael into the marbled hall, past the massive pillars, and down the sweeping staircase. “Where did you find him?”