Beowulf: Explosives Detection Dog (28 page)

“Shh.” She stood by the door to the back deck and placed a finger against her lips, then pointed to the seating group.

Tony’s heart powered down.

His father sat on the wicker sofa laughing. Talking. Patting the knee of the person to his right. Timbrel!

A dozen questions peppered his mind—Where had she been? How did she find him? What was she doing here?—but he clenched his teeth.

“That’s when I realized we were in trouble,” Timbrel said.

“Ha! I got one better than that,” his father said, a thick heaping of pride in his words. “Once, we slipped out to find a team that had been captured. They were elite soldiers, so how they got ambushed is beyond me, but we went in there under the cover of darkness. I tell you, that was one messed-up mission from the word ‘go.’ Halfway in, we start coming across bodies …”

“Dad never told me this one.” Tony felt his frown but couldn’t shake it. He looked to his mom. “You?”

Hand over her mouth, tears in her eyes, she shook her head.

Tony touched her shoulder but didn’t move from the spot. He wanted to rush out there and light into Timbrel, but …

“We got in there, Timmy. But we were too late.” His father grunted and went silent. He looked down. “Oh. Hello, fella.” Hand out, he chuckled as Timbrel’s dog leaned into the touch. “Bet she hasn’t given you an ounce of love.”

Timbrel laughed. “Definitely not. He’s too mean.”

Bending forward, his father whispered conspiratorially, “I won’t betray your secrets, old fella.” Then he looked out at the yard. “Sure is heatin’ up. Could you get me a glass of water?”

“Um, sure.” Timbrel was on her feet and coming straight toward where Tony stood before his mind could reengage.

Her gaze lifted.

Eyes locked.

Timbrel stilled.

Tony couldn’t move. Could barely swallow that squirt of adrenaline that hit the back of his throat, forcing him to process it.

“Well, what happened? Your shoes stuck, pretty little lady?” His father laughed and stroked Beo’s head. Weird that the dog hadn’t tried to take off his dad’s hand yet. “Nothing to be afraid of around here. You should meet my son. He’s not married.”

Timbrel balled her hands, wiping her fingers. Nervous.

Oh he wanted to be mad. Very mad. Beyond mad.

But he couldn’t. Understanding her plight severed that tension cord.

“I’ll get the water,” his mother’s voice came from somewhere in the middle of this black hole of he didn’t know what. Just knew he couldn’t get his brain to order his mouth to speak.

After a pause, Timbrel came forward. “I’m …”

Tony didn’t trust himself to speak. He might not be ticked off, but the hurt she’d inflicted left a crater-sized hole in his ability to be reasonable. But the way she stood, rubbing her palms, looking contrite—no, scared.

Another uncertain step forward. He could tell by the way she wouldn’t hold his gaze for longer than two seconds that she was no longer confident of his feelings for her.

Good thing. Neither was he.

Less than a foot stood between them. “Tony, I …” Their eyes met and froze. Her brows knotted.

“Excuse me,” his mother said as she slipped out the door. “Here you go, Jimmy. You wanted some water?”

“Where’d that pretty girl go?”

“Why, James VanAllen, don’t tell me you’re flirting with younger women.”

His father laughed.

Tony’s heart caught.

“Can we talk?”

Without a word, he stepped aside and motioned her into the house. And for the first time in … well, forever, Beowulf stayed with his father, who still stroked the bullmastiff’s head.

“Tony,” his dad called, “don’t keep her to yourself for long. I like that girl.”

Silent, Tony led her to the family den where cozy furniture and built-ins gave the room a warm glow with the evening sun poking through the wood blinds. Hands tucked into his underarms, Tony stood at the fireplace, legs apart. Ready for a fight.

It’d been five years since she’d been without Beowulf. Not having him now … Timbrel instinctively wanted to retrieve the purple and green afghan draped over the leather sofa to cover herself. She felt naked standing before Tony VanAllen right now. Crazy since she was fully dressed and it was only autumn.

Her gaze trolled the pictures, the frames, the trophies—Tony had been quite the jock.

Not that it surprised her. There wasn’t anything he couldn’t do, including getting her to come to him after she’d given him the shaft. Timbrel felt more out of place than any place she’d ever visited before.

The family photo of five—Tony and a brother and sister. Timbrel couldn’t tear herself from the young girl stuffed between her two big brothers. What must it have been like to be protected? Teased? With blond bangs and freckles, the sister looked like an all-American girl. And by the picture on the mantel, she apparently had a family of her own now. Strange that Timbrel could envy someone she’d never met, but she did.

Only as the quiet wrapped around her could Timbrel pull herself from the quicksand of lost dreams. She hugged herself, much like she had at the basin, and wet her lips as she forced herself to look at him.

He stood there, arms folded, legs spread. Did he realize how intimidating he was?

Yes. Yes, he absolutely did. Might as well get on with it.

“I …” She tugged the note from her pocket. Smoothed the crinkles out as best she could. “Thank you.”

Tony said nothing. His green eyes yielding no hint of his feelings.

She let her finger trace the blurred blue ink. “I’m sorry.”

“If you’re going to apologize, have the decency to look me in the eye.”

Startled at his tone, she drew up straight. And did just as he asked. No guessing now how he felt. Everything in her swelled to a pique, ready to lash out at him. But Timbrel quelled it. “I’m sorry”—the confession pushed her onward—“for everything. For Little Rock, for not talking to you, for not answering your calls.”

Seconds felt like minutes. Finally, he gave a curt nod, lowering his arms and resting his hands on his jeans belt.

Talk about awkward. She fidgeted with the paper, unsure where to go from this point. “I’ve never done this before.”

“What? Apologize?”

A snappy retort dangled at the tip of her tongue, begging for release. Instead, Timbrel eyed him, gauging him for anger. “No, come back. I’ve never … come back.” She shifted on her feet. “I’m not … I’m not really sure what else to say.”

“Where have you been? How’d you get here?”

“Everywhere. Drove.” It was supposed to be funny, but his deadpan expression warned her of the fail. Holy cow, he wasn’t going to make this easy, was he? “After spending some really cold, wet hours at the Tidal Basin, I drove till I found somewhere to sleep. A motel”—she waved her hand then scratched her forehead—“I don’t remember where. Crashed there.”

“It hasn’t rained in several days. Why were you wet?”

Timbrel wet her lips and squeezed out that answer. “Decided to”—her throat burned—“to um, take a swim, but uh … Beo wasn’t up for it.” She tried to smile, but it quivered and collapsed just as quick.

Admitting she tried to commit suicide didn’t rank real high on the “smart” scale, and she just didn’t have the emotional capital to go there with Tony. She wanted things fixed between them. She’d do anything to have him crack a joke. Make her laugh. Tell her things would be okay. To have him hold her, fix this mess she’d created.

“Burnett said your home is gone.”

Timbrel ducked. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. My mom has called my cell nine times begging me to let her help.”

“Running back to your mother?”

Defiance plucked at her attempt to remain humble. “No, I’ve never run back to her, but this time, I may not have a choice.”

“We have a brief at 0800. Burnett wants you there.” Tony stepped off the bricks and crossed the room. “You can crash here for the night.” He stalked toward the door, sweeping around her without a glance. “I’ll have my mom get you set up in Steph’s old room.”

“Tony, please.” Timbrel whirled around, stopping him. “I’m sorry. I really am. What I did to you in Little Rock—” She couldn’t even say the words. But she had to. He deserved that. “Leaving you …”

“Yeah, what about that, Timbrel?”

“Look, it was stupid.”

“Score one for Hogan.”

“You know things—things about me nobody else does. And I just … I got scared you’d tell someone. That you’d—”

“Hold up.” His brows nose-dived toward blazing green eyes. Like a fast-moving storm, he swooped in. “You’re going to stand there and tell me this is my fault? You’re questioning
my
integrity when I’ve shown nothing but absolute and 100 percent belief in you? When I’ve taken your snide comments, your razor-sharp words … And you thought
I
would be a problem? Tell me one time”—his chest heaved—
“one time”
—the words were deafening, his temples bulging with the effort of shouting before he took a long, ragged breath—“when I didn’t act with the utmost honor regarding you.”

Timbrel closed her eyes. He was right. He was always right. And it hurt.
God of heaven, it hurts
. Not the reprimand but knowing he had a point. She would do anything for Tony VanAllen, anything to make him proud of her, to make him see that she wasn’t the loser she’d proven herself to be time and again.

But … what did his anger mean? Was he saying they were over? Not that they ever really got
started
, but …

She looked into his eyes, saw the fury, noted his shallow breaths. “You’re right.” She slipped around him. “I’ll leave. I should’ve known coming here—”

Tony hooked her arm. Silenced her.

Eager to mend this rift, this giant chasm she’d created between them, Timbrel turned to him. What she saw there—the rage rising and falling through his facial features like a mighty storm, the torment, the way he closed his eyes for a second and looked to the side—kneaded a ball of dread in her stomach.

What have I done?
The one man worth fighting for …

Tony huffed out a breath. “You’ll stay here tonight.”

“I don’t—”

“Tomorrow we meet up with the team.” His voice was almost normal. “After that … I don’t know.” Anguish poured through his green eyes that held her captive. “If there is such a thing.”

Relief felt like someone hit the O
FF
valve on the toxin pouring into the container of her life.

“What you did, Timbrel … It wasn’t just about ditching me. What you did told me I can’t depend on you to be there when things get tough.” His eyes narrowed with meaning. “Do you get me?”

As much as it pained her… “Yeah.”

“It also tells me fear is controlling you. That whatever you think you’re protecting is more important than me.” He held her gaze. “That’s no basis for a relationship. Right there in Little Rock, you ended what we had. That can’t be fixed.”

“But what of Isa?”

After watching my father raze the village of Christians, I tensed at her question. It burned against my conscience. “No more of that question.” I shut the book, pushed to my feet, then trudged over to the sitting area. There, I dropped onto a chair and gripped my head in my hands. If only I could sear those images, those screams from my mind.

Watching the guilty die was one thing. Witnessing the murder of innocent children …

The scent of roses swirled around my face. A soft presence pressed against my awareness, and I opened my eyes.

Nafisa’s brown eyes held my gaze, mere inches from my face. Green. I see flecks of green in the brown eyes. Why hadn’t I noticed that before? She’s so beautiful. So sweet.

“What is wrong, Dehqan?”

Lowering my gaze, I wrestled with telling her of the brutality. Part of me was afraid to speak of it, to give voice to the evil lurking beneath the surface. But if I did not, the evil would consume me. Already, I felt a strange anger toward her. I did not want her to talk to me. Did not want her to bring up Isa again. Ever! What if my father heard her?

A shudder shook my body.

Nafisa’s expression clouded. “Did something happen?”

“He … he has a plan,” I managed. The words were so far from what I wished to tell her. I felt repelled from the truth. And as the words rang in my own ears, I realized they were also filled with what ailed me. Father had a plan. A vicious, brutal plan to kill Americans. Many people would die. Innocent?