Beowulf: Explosives Detection Dog (44 page)

Tony surrendered to the agony that gripped his soul and cried. Sobbed.

        Twenty-nine        

A Breed Apart Ranch
Texas Hill Country

A
rich, thick, spiced scent coiled up the stairs and lured Timbrel from her loft bedroom at the A Breed Apart ranch. She lay across the bed and wrapped her arms around her barrel-chested bullmastiff. Beo threw his head back, slinging a line of drool with him.

Timbrel ducked and rubbed his side. “How’s my favorite guy?”

He swiped his tongue along her cheek as she reached for his rear paw. Checked the pad by thumbing over the surface. Healed. “Lookin’ much better, Beo.” She placed a kiss on the top of his broad skull and scooted to the edge of the bed.

After stuffing her feet into her boots, she grabbed a black hoodie. Together with Beo, she headed downstairs. As they descended the wood stairs, her heart did a dance at hearing Beo’s nails on the wood. He’d been given his all-clear two weeks ago, but the sound still made her heart happy.

“Khat, something smells wonderful!” They rounded the corner into the kitchen and drew up short. “Mother.”

Her mom stood with her boyfriend—
interesting, still with the same guy
—at the kitchen island with Khaterah, who pored over some pastries laid out on the counter. Her mom sauntered toward her. “Hello, darling.”

“What are you doing here?” This felt like the ultimate betrayal.

“I invited them,” Khaterah said without looking up from her work, which, if Timbrel had guessed right, was homemade baklava.

“Why?” Timbrel hated to sound petulant, but having her mom here was the last thing she wanted.

“Well, first,” Khat said as she laid down another ultrathin sheet of phyllo dough, brushed butter on it, then repeated the process, “it’s Thanksgiving.”

“You said you don’t celebrate it.”

“No, I said we don’t make a big deal of it. But we do celebrate. Only my father was Iranian. Not our mother.” She delivered a tray to the oven. “But second, Ms. Laurens, Mr. Takkar, and I have some final details to put together for the gala, and she brought over the check.”

The check. Right. But still. “The gala’s two more months away.” Really, Timbrel wasn’t sure any day would’ve been a
good
day to see her mother in her own home—or rather, the home in which Timbrel rented a room.

“I know,” her mother said with almost a touch of glee. “It’s so close. We can’t afford to waste any time.” Her mom came closer and touched Timbrel’s face. “Please don’t be mad, Audrey, darling. I’ve been so worried about you.”

Suppressing the temptation to blast her mom for intruding in her life yet again, Timbrel stilled. Remembering acutely the way Tony had cut her out of his life, she suddenly had a new perspective on how much that hurt. Was that what her mom felt? No wonder she’d been obsessive about communication. While they weren’t close, they didn’t have anyone else.

“I’m okay.” She gave a smile then moved out of her mother’s touch. “Where’s Jibril?”

“Outside. Emory brought over the female GSD and he’s been working with her nonstop.”

Timbrel paused. “A German shepherd? Is Emory a new MWD handler?”

“Trainer. I thought you knew.” Khat cleaned up the counter and washed her hands. “This dog is for therapy. Possibly security as well.”

“What kind of therapy?” Takkar asked.

My, what a handsome specimen
. Timbrel couldn’t believe her thoughts, but she suddenly understood the power this guy held over her mother. Dark eyes. Dark hair with a debonair touch of gray and a mysterious air that would leave any girl reeling. Though she had met him that night in LA, Timbrel hadn’t really been able to assess him in a casual setting. No doubt he stood out on the red carpet as an exotic addition to Nina Laurens’s fashion trends.

But even as much as Timbrel wanted to relegate this man to a “fling,” she could see there was something different about this guy.

Yeah, it’s called “terrorist.”

“Wounded soldiers,” Khat said. “They can train dogs to intervene when the person is getting upset or agitated. The dogs can detect when their handler is afraid. They can also train them to detect abnormal body chemicals, hopefully to prevent seizures or the like. I’ve encouraged Jibril for years to explore that option.” Khat smiled at her handiwork. “Not bad. It won’t last the day once Jibril knows they’re here.”

She waved a hand and started for the hall leading to the offices. “Okay, let’s get to work. Hopefully we can finish before the turkey is done.”

“Since when has he used ABA money to train dogs that won’t bring us a profit?” Timbrel followed the trio into the back, Beo on her heels.

“Timbrel, I’m surprised at you.”

She frowned at her mom. “What?”

“I’d think you’d show more concern after—”

Her defenses flared.
“What?”

“After that bomb killed someone you worked with and hurt your boyfriend.”

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Oh?” Her mom’s expression wasn’t flat or amused. This time, she genuinely seemed concerned. “You broke up with him?”

Shaken by this shift in the love-hate relationship with her mom, Timbrel turned to her friend. “Khat, seriously? We’re having to do a fund-raiser to stay afloat”—she motioned to her mother and Takkar—“so why is ABA training therapy dogs? That’s a massive investment, and once the dogs are adequately paired, they’re gone. They can’t be hired out, no ROI. Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for canine therapy, but here with ABA?”

“It’s Jibril’s pet project, if you will. You will have to talk with him about it.” She handed out folders to Timbrel’s mom and Takkar. “I’m very excited. The fund-raiser is turning into an international event. We’ve had handlers from Britain, Australia, and Switzerland agree to send representatives to speak on the benefits of working dogs within the armed forces. Okay, here’s what we have so far …”

Something in Timbrel wanted to strike out. Too many things she didn’t know. Too many things that made her feel left out. Off kilter. “Mr. Takkar, where is your friend?”

He paused. “Excuse me? Which friend?”

“The one I met at my mother’s home. He seemed especially glued to your hip.”

“Timbrel,” her mother reproached.

“What?” She shrugged. “I just thought …”

“Bashir is back in Afghanistan,” Takkar said, his voice smooth as a serpent’s movement. “His publishing business just received a large grant to help get the schools stocked with books.” He gave a cocked nod. “He does much for the people of Afghanistan. And this meeting about the gala would not be in the best interest of his time.”

“But it is in yours. Why? Surely my mom’s fame doesn’t add
that
much to your life or position.”

Her mother swarmed forward. “Timbrel.” She took hold of her arm. “Stop this. Please.” The hurt in her mom’s eyes surprised her.

Timbrel suddenly understood with astonishing clarity. “You really like him,” she whispered.

Her mother lowered her head and looked to the side as if it pained her to admit it. “Yes.” Brown eyes pleaded with her. “He’s important to me. I care for him very much.”

An explosion detonated in Timbrel’s chest. What if … what if this man was like his friend Bashir? “Just be careful, Mom.” She eyed Takkar, who watched them closely. “I don’t want you hurt again.” The words she didn’t say had no need to be voiced,
Or drowning in the bottom of a bottle of Grey Goose
.

As had been her mother’s way with every boyfriend breakup.

That was what Timbrel would’ve said, would’ve warned, if there hadn’t been a much-greater concern—that Takkar was a terrorist.

“Don’t hurt her,” Timbrel said, backing out. “Or I’ll make sure you die begging for mercy.”

“Timbrel!”

She spun and stomped out of the room. Down the hall. Drove her fingers through her hair as another headache threatened. She thought about the three of them gathered around the conference table, pretending things were normal and good. Khat and her mom buying that guy’s lies like charmed snakes.

With the gala coming up two weeks after Christmas—

Timbrel stopped short of the first trail. Christmas. Several months ago, she thought she’d be spending Christmas differently.
With Tony
. But that wouldn’t happen. Now … now, she’d be alone. Single. No hope of ever changing that.

Shaking off the suffocation, Timbrel and Beo headed into the trails snaking around the ABA property and made their way to the overlook, which provided a gorgeous view of the property, and right into the training field.

From here, she spotted Jibril working with the female German shepherd. A gorgeous red-and-black plush-coat, it looked like. The girl had some pep to her.

Beo alerted on the dog. Panting stopped, he watched, his entire presence—shoulders, eyebrows, ears—seeming to point to her.

“She’s a pretty thing, eh, big guy?”

But again, it didn’t make sense when the organization needed money to stay in operation that he’d take on a charity case. Okay maybe that was a wrong attitude. She knew the amazing work those therapy dogs did, the life-and-death difference they made in the lives of their handlers, and she certainly could not ever begrudge that.

But … something felt off.

Dressed, Tony grabbed his gear and crutches then made his way out to the living room where Stephanie waited. He’d asked her to drive him out to Nashville, where Scrip’s parents lived. It had killed Tony to miss the funeral, but being laid up in a hospital made it impossible. Still, he couldn’t let it go any longer without paying his respects to his friend’s family.