Beowulf: Explosives Detection Dog (16 page)

Beowulf let out a happy bark as he lunged into the car. “Better than American Express.”

He laughed. “Never leave home without him.”

“I knew you loved me.” She bent to step into the car.

“And this gentleman?” His face like granite, Rocky eyed Candyman.

“Oh.” Timbrel turned. “This—”

“Tony VanAllen, sir.” He stuck out a hand.

Granite softened to putty.
Nice, SexySoldierBoy—putting the driver at ease
. Pleased, no doubt, by the use of the term “sir,” Rocky gave a nod. “Mr. VanAllen.” He slanted a look at her. “Ms. Nina doesn’t know about your …
guest
.”

Timbrel gave a lazy shrug. “Last-minute decision.” She tucked herself into the car and spotted Beo stretched out over the backseat. Her mind did the math—with the seating capacity, if Beo didn’t sit next to her, Tony would. Timbrel wedged in and lifted Beo’s head onto her lap.

Tony’s bulk blotted the light as he slipped into the darkened interior, eyeballed her and Beo, then sighed as he lowered himself onto the seat, his back to the driver. “I meant what I said.”

Scratching Beo’s belly, she withheld her gaze. “What’s that?”

“I’m no threat to you.”

If he only knew …
He threatened everything. Especially her heart. She smiled at Beo, ignoring the conversation, savoring the minutes that stretched between them.

Tony scooted to the edge of the seat, his hands close. But he apparently didn’t plan to let it go.

Beo popped up, snarling.

Candyman glowered.

“Beo, out,” Timbrel whispered.

“Timbrel, what’s with the space?”

She lowered her head, pretended to adjust something on Beo’s collar.

“Look, if I intended to hurt you, if I wanted to …
take
something from you, I could—I have the training.” He held her gaze. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”

The car slowed and angled up a shrub-lined drive.

Saved once again! “We’re here.”

At the top a wrought-iron gate forbade entry. Hot and cold traced down her spine as the limo came around the fountain. Breathing grew more difficult with each second.

Candyman whistled. “This is some place.”

“Sure is,” Timbrel said as the door opened. Rocky held out his hand, and she placed hers in his and climbed from the car.

Timbrel stared at the house. So many memories. So many nightmares. All rolled up into one mansion-sized building.
I swore I’d never come back …

Oh man. What was she doing here? This was a mistake. She had to—

“Remember,” Tony whispered, his words warm against her ear.

The surprise, the shock of having him so close forced her to draw in a breath. She held it then slowly let it out.

“I’ve got your six.”

His words almost made her giddy. She gave a nod. How could one man exude gorgeous and dangerous so perfectly? In those few words, he’d given her a reassurance nobody else could. Because she knew without a shadow of a doubt that this Green Beret could deliver. Smiling at him was the worst thing she could do. It’d encourage him. But she couldn’t stop it. Didn’t want to.

“And a flash-bang.”

She hesitated. “Seriously?”

He shrugged sheepishly. “In case we need a stealthy exit.”

“Audrey, darling!”

As soon as the shrill reception crackled the air, Tony drew back. Watched as Nina Laurens sashayed—
never thought anyone really did that
—down the path toward them. She caught Timbrel’s shoulders and pulled her into a hug. Tony prayed she didn’t mention meeting him, that she’d have forgotten her offer of seduction back at Bagram. And he’d begged God a thousand times that she hadn’t gotten a copy of that picture they took.

A low growl rumbled through the night as Nina dragged Timbrel toward the house.

Tony grinned at Beowulf whose massive jowls tremored with rejection. “Me too, buddy. Me too.” Beo licked his chops and growled even louder.

“Oh, Audrey,” came words filled with disgust. “Tell me you didn’t bring that beast.”

“Depends on which one you mean.” There was entirely too much amusement in Timbrel’s voice, but Tony knew his place. Not moving till her hound of hell went first if he wanted to keep all his body parts intact.

Her mother took a step back in her umpteen-inch stilettos, and her gaze finally hit him. “Oh. Hello, handsome!”

Timbrel looked as frustrated as Tony felt. “Mother, this is Candyman.”

Still? She was still calling him that? He extended his hand. “Most people call me Tony.” Why he gave only part of his name, he didn’t know. Maybe he didn’t want her finding him. Or blackmailing him. Or whatever. He just didn’t want this woman having information on him.

Nina stepped to the side and placed a hand over her heart. “Oh, Audrey.” Stroking Tony’s arm, she sent her daughter a conspiratorial grin. “Very well done, daughter.” She let out this hideous giggle-laugh thing.

Pardon me while I hurl in your thousand-dollar shrubs
.

Then her eyebrows knotted. “You seem familiar. Have we met before?”

It would’ve been a bad line from a B-rated movie if she wasn’t right.
Please don’t remember where … please don’t remember
.

“Sorry, ma’am. I don’t normally attend gigs like this.”

“Mom,” Timbrel huffed, “can we go inside?”

“Oh.” Her mother shot Tony an appraising look loaded with question. “Of course. Yes.” She linked arms with Timbrel. “I want you to meet someone.”

“Again?”

“Be nice, Audrey.” Nina cast another glance at Tony as she led her daughter into the three-story home.

Flowers spilled over the sidewalk as if someone had painted them in a perfect pattern. Not a weed or thorn in sight. Trimmed and shaped bushes stood proud like a woman on a runway—why did that thought not surprise him?

Because this is Nina Laurens we’re talking about
.

Tugging at the bow tie strapped to his neck, Tony trailed the ladies up the walk. He could just hope for some entertainment, compliments of the bullmastiff trotting alongside Timbrel. Wait—that entertainment would probably include Tony’s backside and very large teeth.

Maybe he should just wait outside. Or in the bushes. He could recon with a long gun and scope. In the dirt. Safer, away from the claws of Nina Laurens.

Tony eyed the columns that held point at the outdoor foyer, or whatever it was called. A glint blinded him. What was that? He squinted up and found a dozen more sparks shooting at him. A chandelier? Seriously? Who has a chandelier
outside
their home?

As he passed beneath it, he couldn’t help but wonder if the thing was rigged to nail him. Tony hurried his steps. Cool air brushed against his skin as he stepped into the marbled foyer. A grand staircase swept right and left, up and over the main foyer, forming a catwalk. All marble. All gorgeous. Glass, crystal, wood—elements he’d been known to break, shatter, and obliterate. He tucked his elbows as years-past admonishments from his mother roared their ugly heads.
“Careful or you’ll break that.”
Which he invariably did.
“Don’t bump that, you’ll knock it over.”
Yup. That too. He was the veritable bull in the crystal shop. At least, his mom had said that a thousand times.

Tony hustled down five steps thinking he’d take a foxhole and desert heat over stiff-shirted events like this any day. A din of voices and fancy music filtered out of a large room filled with sparkly dresses, cleavage, testosterone, and full-of-themselves guests. And more crystal. He resisted the groan lodged in his throat and stuffed his hands in his pockets.

Yeah, he belonged out in the dirt.

Immersed in the opulence and ridiculous extravagance that defined most of Hollywood, Tony slowed and pulled to the side. His combat-trained mind went to work, plotting out exit strategies. The entire south wall offered a half-dozen open doors that led outside. A side panel, used by the waitstaff, offered another exit. Tables draped in white linen and adorned with silver already hosted a few guests. Most were mingling, apparently waiting to be called to dinner.

A chorus of laughter bobbed above the surface of the heavy chatter, drawing his gaze to Timbrel again. Another roar of laughter erupted—from Nina. She leaned into a man in a slick olive suit. Probably Italian or something.
Not a tux though
. South Asian features defined his appearance, but his actions, his behavior, felt distinctly American. Laughing, carrying on, intermingling. The man was comfortable in this setting.

Timbrel averted her gaze, lips flattening. Clearly not happy with the display of affection her mother gave the guest.

“Hey.”

Tony turned to his right where a platinum-blond bombshell slunk closer.

“I haven’t seen you at one of Nina’s soirees before.”

“That’s probably because I haven’t been to one.” Tony had to admit she was pretty. And young, but not inexperienced by the way she posed.

“Are you in the guild? It seems everyone’s in the guild or wants to be.”

“No.” Tony wished he had something to deaden his ears.

“Good, I hate meeting men who are in. They’re all about positioning and posturing, looking out for themselves.” She nodded toward Nina. “As you can see.”

Tony’s gaze skidded across the room to the ever-growing huddle. The girl was right—Nina Laurens had the crowd around her. “Is it always the same people?” Simpering women, fawning men, but it seemed Nina had eyes only for her Indian hunk.

Brown eyes struck his.

Timbrel.

“No, not always,” the girl said. “Some of us are regulars because we’re
friends
with Nina, but there are the others …” The curl in her lips carried into her words. He didn’t need to look at her face to see it. Nor did he want to look away when he had Timbrel’s undivided attention.

Long, delicate fingers, jammed with so many diamonds he needed his Oakleys, wiggled in front of his eyes. Tony blinked and drew back.

“Simone Bergren.” The girl gave a coy smile and waited for him.

Did she expect him to kiss her hand or shake it? He gripped it tight. “Tony VanAllen.”

Her electric blue eyes, encircled in black, widened. “Wow, that’s some grip.”

Groan
.

“So, you’re not an actor—”

Was Timbrel still watching? His gaze flipped across the room. Head cocked, Timbrel arched an eyebrow and jutted her jaw in question. He just wasn’t sure what that question was.

Maybe it was jealousy. But that’d be too much to hope for.

The chick tugged his arm, snapping his attention back to her as she pulled him out of his self-imposed corner of isolation.

“What … what are we doing?”

“I want you to meet someone.”

Oh man. Just give me a double-tap now
.

“Hey, Carla,” Simone said as she touched the shoulder of a woman who stood with her back to them. “Have you met Tony?”

Petite, curvaceous, she probably turned a lot of heads. Smooth black hair cascaded in waves down her spine—and only then did Tony realize half her dress was missing. He shoved his gaze away, but not before the woman turned.

Holy plastic cougars, Batman!
The woman had to be at least twice his age. As her gaze raked him, Tony felt buck naked. Her eyebrows, which looked like someone took a Sharpie to them, arced. Her lips looked stitched on. Her skin pulled tight like some freak-show mannequin or something. And he thought the carnage after an IED was bad? A shudder ripped through Tony.

“Oohhh.”

Did she really just purr?

Where is my emergency evac?

        Eleven