Beowulf: Explosives Detection Dog (15 page)

“He and his family were crossing the border into Turkey. They were brought by helicopter to the base and delivered here minutes ago.” Irfael rushed around the corner, sunlight chasing him as he took the stairs to the basement.

Allah be praised!

Down another flight of stairs and through a long, anemic cement brick hall, he tried to push back the thrum of excitement. So many months, tracking, tracing …

Irfael threw back a steel door and the colonel swept past him.

Huddled in the corner like a pack of rats stood the al Dossari family. Sweat rings darkened the father’s shirt. Mussed, matted hair suggested the doctor’s head had been covered with a hood. Two boys and a girl hid behind their father. As if that would protect them.

“Altair,” he began as he strode toward the foursome, “a man of your character and reputation … I would’ve expected more. But you’ve condemned your children to death by taking them with you.”

“Please, this does not have to happen,” Altair al Dossari said. “Try me for my crimes, but my children are innocent.”

“Ah.” The colonel shoved his hands behind his back and nodded. “A father would, of course, say that to protect the ones he loves. But that is not true.”

Fierce fire and light beamed through the man’s eyes. “The Qur’an, which you are no doubt familiar with, states that when ones goes astray, he does so to his
own
loss.”

His fist flew. Straight into the man’s face.
Crack!

Altair al Dossari stumbled back and collapsed.

The girl yelped and caught her father, her brothers aiding her.

Blood spurted and dripped down al Dossari’s face as the man coughed and grunted. His eyes fluttered.

“Do not quote to me from the holy scriptures when you yourself have abandoned it for the way of the infidels.”

“No, not infidels. I have found Truth.”

The colonel lifted his Webley and aimed it. Fired.

“No!” al Dossari shouted as he lunged to his fallen son.

“The
truth
you found is that you have waged war against Allah and Islam by bedding with the Great Satan.” Huffing, he holstered his weapon and paced. “I will rout those like you who are deceiving innocent minds.”

“You have lost your mind,” al Dossari cried as he closed his now-dead son’s eyes. “Abdul was prepared to lose his life for—”

Knowing where this was going, the colonel drew his weapon again.

Altair shielded his children. “No more! What do you want with me?”

“You are to be made an example of.” The colonel dragged a chair to the center of the room then straddled it, staring down at the cowering family. “Your cooperation will buy the lives of your children.”

“No,” the daughter growled as she turned to her father. “Do not do it. Please. Stay true to God, Father. Do not—”

“Quiet, Nafisa.” Al Dossari brushed her long, black hair from her face. “Remember, ‘no weapon formed against us…’ ”

She gave a slow nod as if reprimanded.

A bond here could be used.

The colonel eyed Irfael and gave a lone nod.

His lieutenant stomped in and hauled the girl off her father.

She shrieked and screamed.

“Stop this, Colonel!”

“Father!”

“Dispose of her.”

The girl spun to her father. “I am at peace, Father. I will die for Him, if I must.”

“No, release her!”

Irfael drove her to her knees.

Tears streamed down her face as she looked to her father. “Please, Father. Do not abandon God. He said call to Him in your hour of need—”

“This is why you are doomed, Altair. You have taught your children wicked things.”

“The holy scripture,” a voice from behind said loud and true, “says, ‘the soul certainly incites evil, unless my lord do bestow His mercy.’ Also, ‘O My servants who have transgressed to your own hurt, despair not of Allah’s mercy, for all sins doth Allah forgive. Gracious, Merciful is He.’ Surah Az-Zumar 39:53.” Dehqan smiled at the colonel.

Rage squeezed through the colonel’s chest. “You would suggest this woman deserves mercy?”

With a smirk, Dehqan took two more steps into the room. Casual, calm—an almost deadly calm—lurked in his gaze. “If she deserved it, would it be mercy?”

“Should I kill her?” Irfael asked, his weapon now against her temple.

The girl’s eyes pleaded—not with the colonel but with Dehqan.

“No,” the colonel said, an idea taking hold. He turned to Dehqan. “You seem a bit taken with the girl.”

Dehqan shrugged. “As I said earlier, some more than others.”

“I will do what you ask,” al Dossari yielded, desperation choking his voice. “Please. Nafisa is a child. She is young.”

“Father, be at peace,” the girl said.

“Peace is only found in Allah,” Dehqan said.

When the other brother lunged, the colonel watched in awe as his son’s training took over. He moved to the side, deflected the punch. Came around, and with one well-placed strike, dropped the traitor.

        Ten        

Los Angeles, California
Embassy Suites, Glendale

A
two-room suite wasn’t enough to separate Timbrel from the gnawing dread in her stomach. Candyman—Tony—
whatever
—was here. They’d flown out using the credit card her mother had given her years ago. One she’d used only to pay for the flights back to LA, and since her mom was blackmailing her into coming, she might as well foot the bill for Candyman’s ticket, too.

But here, in the hotel, just an hour before the dinner, Timbrel had major reservations. Not just about the slacks and silk top, though they were conservative by all accounts, but facing Candyman in them. And having her mom meet Candyman. Her mom would assume all the wrong things, and he’d made it clear he intended to milk this trip for all it’s worth.

But the biggest knot in the dread was walking out of her room and into the adjoining living area—and watching Candyman’s reaction.

Oh, curse it all. She had to admit, she wanted to see approval in his eyes.

But she also didn’t.

She knew where that could lead. That yearning had gotten her in trouble before.

Candyman—
“Tony. I want you to call me Tony. ”
—had nailed her about the counter. Even though she hadn’t done it on purpose, she felt safer behind it. Which was crazy. She’d never trusted anyone the way she did Candyman … Tony.

She wrinkled her nose. He so didn’t seem like a Tony.

Thud! Thud!

Timbrel flinched.

Beo barked.

She flung around. “Heel, boy.”

He came to her side and licked her hand. Staring down at his big, brown eyes, she sighed and petted him. “Why can’t he be like you, Beo?”

“Timbrel,” Candyman called from the other side, “it’s six twenty.”

“Shoot!” Timbrel snatched her black beaded bag from the vanity and drew in a measured breath. She opened the door.

Candyman’s eyebrows winged up. “Whoa.”

Had her tongue not been dried up by the total package of gorgeousness in a tux standing before her, hair stylishly gooped, as he’d put it, Timbrel would’ve snapped at him. Instead she found herself appreciating his appearance. Too much. Far too much. The threads of the sleeves seemed to strain against his bulk. In seventy pounds of gear, a do-rag, goggles, ACUs, and a beard, his good looks had truly been camouflaged.

Unabashed, he held his jacket and strutted from side to side. “Not bad, eh?”

Her nerves crashed. He was a very beautiful man, and her mom and every female there tonight would be all over him. “You need to change.”

He frowned. “What? Why?”

“You look too good.”

He hesitated, holding her gaze. Then a broad smile split his lips. “Yeah?” Insufferable flirt. Did he just puff out his chest?

“And don’t smile.” Why did she suddenly feel sick to her stomach?

“Why?”

“Because she’s a cougar.”

Now came a cocky smile that she wanted to punch off his face. “You’re jealous.”

“I’m not jealous. I—” Timbrel clamped her mouth shut. What was she then? Why did it upset her that her mom would fawn over Candyman? That her mom’s girlfriends—and maybe some guy friends—would be all over him, too? Why did it matter? She vowed long ago not to care about another man. To not get involved. “Forget it. Just put on a suit.”

With a disbelieving laugh, he shook his head. “You saw my pack. It has exactly one pair of jeans and a T-shirt.” He thumbed toward the slick threads he wore. “I rented this, remember?”

Her phone rang. She glanced at the screen. “We’re out of time. Limo’s here.”

“Limo?”

“Don’t do that,” Timbrel said, a groan working its way up her throat. “It’s just a car.”

“A really long one.”

She shot him a look. “Right.”

He offered his arm. “My lady.”

“This is the twenty-first century. Not the fifteen hundreds.” She stalked to the door and whistled to her dog.

Beowulf trotted across the room and snapped a growl Candyman’s way as he came to heel.

“Wait, you’re bringing him?”

“Of course.”

“Your mom’s okay with that?”

Timbrel smiled. “Nope.”

His frustration scratched into his face. “Finally, she and I have something in common.”

“Another reason to throw you to the cougars.” Timbrel locked the door and headed to the elevator. The doors slid open and Timbrel entered with Beo and Candyman on her heels.

A woman in a mink stole and gown recoiled.

“Don’t worry. His drool just adds character.” Timbrel wanted to laugh at the way the woman’s lips slithered like a snake as she drew away, pressing her back into the mirrored walls.

Tony choked back the laugh and nearly made Timbrel give away hers. Thankfully the doors slid open and delivered them into the lobby. Even from the doors, Timbrel spotted the limo and a friendly face.

She hurried out to the one “thing”—the driver—her mom had gotten right. “Hey, Rocky.”

The midsixties gentleman smiled as he held the door. “Hello, Miss Audrey. You look beautiful.”

Oh, she hadn’t really thought about how that name would be used, how Candyman would react to it. Too late to do anything now. She pushed up on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “And you still look as handsome as ever.”

He chuckled, a blush coloring his ruddy face. “See you brought your beau again.”