Beowulf: Explosives Detection Dog (46 page)

Austin, Texas

B
undled against the frigid January weather, Timbrel entered the steak house in downtown Austin. Christmas had come and gone without a word from Tony. Without even so much as a “Merry Christmas.” She didn’t know what she expected, but what she
hadn’t
imagined was that he would truly cut her off so resolutely.

With Beo on his lead and wearing his harness that marked him as a working/service dog, she glanced around but didn’t see him. She checked her phone to make sure she hadn’t misread the time. Confirmed, she tucked it away then searched the bar area.

“Sorry I’m late,” came a deep, masculine voice.

Timbrel turned and smiled at Grady VanAllen. “I just got here a few minutes ago.”

Beo growled at him then sniffed.

“Beo, out.” Timbrel smiled at him. “Don’t worry. He doesn’t like anyone.”

“Except my dad.”

She couldn’t argue that. Beo had known Mr. VanAllen was in trouble, and for her guy, that took precedence over personal dislike. And Beowulf hated all men.

“Table for two?” the hostess asked, her blond hair pulled back and her all-black attire making her appear much younger than her whole nineteen years.

“Please.” Grady smiled and motioned Timbrel to lead the way into the more formal seating area of the steak house. “Have you been here before?”

In her boots, jeans, black T-shirt and jacket, she quickly realized she’d underdressed. The white linen tablecloths, candles, and wineglasses had nothing on the dimmed lights, the crystal chandeliers, and the waitstaff in tux shirts. Whoa. Her mind had her swinging around and stomping right back out of there. This place had too much “romance” scrawled into the atmosphere. Her fingers automatically went to Beo’s head. He nudged her hand and stood there, jaw jutted and ready to take down the testosterone.

As the hostess elegantly pointed to a table by a roaring fire, Timbrel checked Grady. In a sports coat, slacks, and a whole lot of gorgeous going on, he didn’t seem to mind the setting. He held out her seat.

Teeth gritted, Timbrel forced herself onto the cushioned chair. The hostess offered wine, but Timbrel waved her off, but not before the petite Latina draped the white napkin across Timbrel’s lap.

Once the woman repeated the move with Grady, she rambled off their specialties then said she’d give them a moment to
peruse
the menu.

I’d like to peruse the exit
.

Timbrel stared at the black-and-white text of the gilded, leather-bound menu, her breathing growing more shallow as the words blurred. A shock of terror rippled through her as she realized—this was a lot like a date. And a whole lot
unlike
a “meet me?”—as in for coffee or dessert—invitation.

Surely …
surely
Grady knew better than to ask Timbrel on a date. A legitimate date. Everyone in the world knew she was Superman’s kryptonite. Snow White’s red apple. An addict’s fatal overdose. She was poison, and if Grady seriously thought this … this …
evening
was anything but two friends talking—talking about Tony … That’s what she thought this would be about.

But she’d been so hungry, so very desperate for word from Tony, that she’d not just leapt but donned a jet pack and rocketed right into this one.

“How was your Christmas?”

Timbrel so wasn’t going to waste two hours like this, but maybe this was a good segue. “Pretty quiet. But I’m used to that. What about you? Did your parents have a good Christmas?”

“Definitely. Watching the kids play made it worthwhile.”

So much for a segue. “How’s Tony?” Timbrel set aside the burgundy binder and the waitress was there, ready to take their orders. That out of the way, Timbrel repeated the question because Grady acted as if he hadn’t heard.

“I’m sorry?” Grady with his wavy black hair and impeccable manners seriously could not be that stupid.

“Tony.” Timbrel swallowed and lowered her gaze. “Your brother.”

Grady swirled the bourbon around his glass. “He’s Tony.” He took a sip and shook his head. “But let’s not ruin tonight talking about him.”

“What else are we supposed to talk about?” She had no tact—it’d been battered into oblivion after years of hangers-on and leeches.

Reaching into the bread basket, Grady smiled at her. “You. Tell me how you met Beowulf.” He wagged the bread at her buddy—and nearly lost it and the hand.

Atta boy
. “Sorry, he doesn’t like being treated like a dog. And we met at Lackland a little more than five years ago. I was an MP and had gotten accepted into the working-dog program.”

She gave a shrug, not really interested in sharing the long version. The one she’d shared with Tony.

“Why’d you get out of the Navy?”

She needed to sever the questions before he dragged them into the weak hours of the morning. “I was raped. Didn’t want to hang around.”

Grady stared at her, his face a bit gray.

“But I’d dare anyone to try anything nowadays,” she said, indicating to Beo, who stared undoubting at Grady.

“No doubt.” Something flickered through his expression, and Timbrel chided herself for priming that C4 cake. “Wait—you had him in the service, right?”

Timbrel stared at him.
Do not be an idiot and go there
.

“How’d the rapist get past him?”

Timbrel looked away, her pulse rapid-firing. What on earth was wrong with men? And she thought
she
lacked tact.

“Sorry.” Grady tossed down the bread. “Forget I asked that.”

“I will.” Timbrel took a couple of steadying breaths. Ran her fingers over Beo’s short, dense fur, but it did not deter her guy from protecting her.

Grady’s phone buzzed and he withdrew it from his interior jacket pocket. “Excuse me.” He glanced at the screen that lit his face. She had to give it to him—he was handsome. In a slick-guy sort of way. Not a rugged, all-you-can-stare-at type like Tony.

“Look.” He leaned toward the table. “He just texted me.”

“Who?” Timbrel knew the tactic was to get close to her and she wasn’t playing.

“Tony.” He wagged the phone. “I’d told him I wanted to meet up for coffee—”

“Coffee.” Timbrel indicated with her eyes to his steak delivered to the spot in front of him.

He shrugged. “He texted me the next day.”

Wary, Timbrel eased forward and tilted her head to read the display.

A bright flash exploded, blinding her.

Beo’s barking pervaded the restaurant.

Timbrel blinked furiously trying to clear her vision.

“Audrey Laurens, who’s your mystery man?”

As if someone sat on her chest, her lungs would not function. She hauled in a breath, stumbling out of her chair. Reached for Beowulf.

Someone shouted at the photographer.

Timbrel shoved her hand in the camera and ducked her head to prevent them from capturing any more images as she stalked out of the restaurant.

“Timbrel, wait!”

She barreled out of the place, shielding herself from the openmouthed stares, the humiliation, the anger …
Oh, sweet Jesus, help—the anger!
How in all that was wrong in this world did the paparazzo find her? Even know she was down here?

A man in a suit grabbed the door for her. “I am so sorry. We’ve secured the photographer.”

Timbrel shook her head and hand at him. She rushed across the parking lot and headed for her Jeep. Beo leapt ahead of her into their vehicle.

“Wait. We should go this way,” Grady said as he caught up with her.

“What?” Timbrel stopped. “Why?” Heart in her throat, she didn’t want to encounter any more paparazzi. “My Jeep’s right there.”

“But the guy parked over there.”

Timbrel stared at him. “He parked over there?” Did he really just say that? Did he seriously know…?

Grady closed his eyes.

“How do you know?”

“Just listen to me,” Grady pleaded.

“You did this.”

“I—”

“No!” Swirling thoughts left her sick to her stomach yet so angry she almost couldn’t think straight. “You set this up?” No, that was ridiculous. But the thought gained momentum. “You told the press I’d be here.”

“It was a harmless date. I just figured …” He shrugged.

Timbrel turned away from him. Shook her head. The biggest hurdle for her mind to leap over was that Tony’s brother would do this. Amazing how all that trust she’d placed in Tony had inadvertently transferred to his family. “You wanted them to see me with you.”

Grady said nothing.

Timbrel shook her head again. “You have
no idea
what you’ve just done.” Unbelievable. She’d hidden at his home after her house had been torched. How much common sense would it take to figure out she didn’t want a high profile? Tears stung her eyeballs, but he ticked her off too much to let those drops fall.

“I wanted Tony to see us. I wanted him to—”

“Augh!” Timbrel took a step away. Leaned to her left, arms bent and raised in a defense posture, hands fisted. And thrust her boot upward. Right into his chest.

A flash exploded.

Emerging from the shower after physical therapy, Tony grinned at his new girlfriend. “Hey, sexy.” He scruffed the top of her head as he passed to the lockers, where he changed before heading out of Walter Reed. Rika trotted right along with him as if they’d been paired years ago.

Snow coated Route 7, but Christmas had come and gone quietly—save for the squealing of his niece and nephew who’d made out better than bandits. It was good to watch them get things they’d wished and dreamed for. Not too much to spoil them. Well … not much. That BB gun for Hayden might’ve gone over the top. Steph hadn’t been too thrilled with that, not even when Tony promised to take the little man out and teach him gun safety and then how to shoot. Mom had made her infamous pineapple-ham and turkey.

But with all the happiness, with all the good, it felt empty.

Tony knew why. But dealing with it, facing what he feared …

Not yet
.

As he pulled up to his parents’ house, Tony slowed. Though he’d paid his respects to Scrip’s family, thoughts still haunted him. Why had he survived and Scrip hadn’t? Why had he only lost a leg when Scrip lost his life?

He headed to the backyard to let Rika take care of business and planted himself in a chair. Tony stared into the roaring fire, feeling the heat, seeing the sparkle and pops, yet feeling chilled to the bone.

I should’ve died
.

His mind slipped into the past, into the agony of waking up in the compound and finding his leg mangled. Of Timbrel worrying over him.

He’d never forget her panic. Her screams. Her crying. Begging him not to leave her.

Which was why he couldn’t reinitiate that relationship. Timbrel did not need to be shackled with a burden. She deserved better. And if he did somehow get back into shape enough to past the PFT, he didn’t want to be involved with someone he had to leave behind. Leave to worry that he might not come back intact or at all.

Something plopped into his lap. Tony glanced down and found a newspaper as his brother stepped around him and dropped into a side chair, rubbing his forehead.

“I don’t read the …” Tony pushed to his feet and tossed the paper onto the large wooden table that straddled the space directly in front of the fireplace. As he did, the name caught his attention. A tabloid?

“I always thought I was smarter than you.”

His brother’s words pulled his attention that way.

Grady, knuckles rimming his lips, slouched. Staring into the fire. “You had the brawns. I had the brains. It was like this unwritten code or something.”

“More like an unintelligent, mistaken belief
you
had.”

On his feet, Grady shoved his hands in his pockets. “I didn’t mean … I …” The hesitation in his words, his actions seemed to expect something—no, not something. A fight.

What? Tony considered his brother then glanced at the paper again. His gaze fell to the headline. Screamed at him. His gut seized, twisted, knotted. The pictures. Timbrel and Grady cozied up at dinner. Then one of Grady taking a boot to his chest—Timbrel’s, to be exact.

Tony threw a hard right cross.

Nailed Grady.

Barking ensued.

His brother stumbled back but came up like a punching bag, ready for a fight. But as he did, the wide eyes and gaping mouth gave way to slumped shoulders and a lowered head. “I deserved that.”

“It’s not half of what you deserve.” Tony stalked back and forth, ignoring the rubbing of his prosthesis, the weight of it he still hadn’t adjusted to but eventually would. “You
stupid
idiot!”

“Yeah, don’t bother.” Heel of his hand to the side of his mouth, Grady stalked toward the kitchen. “I already went through a list of expletives to call myself.”

“You haven’t even hit the bottom of my list yet.” Tony stalked after him, ignoring the pulse of pain through his thigh and the low growl rumbling through Rika’s belly as she trotted after them. “What were you thinking?”

“I just …” Grady spit into the sink and ran the water. He grabbed a chunk of ice and a paper towel for a makeshift ice pack. “I thought if you could see that she wasn’t pining after you, if you saw her out with me—”