Beowulf: Explosives Detection Dog (7 page)

“Hey.” Java slapped his gut. “You going tonight?”

“Where?”

“Concert—rock group’s coming in. Eight Beatings or something like that.”

Tony shrugged as he lifted a tray from the beginning of the line. “Yeah, sounds good.” Downtime. Wouldn’t have to think. Maybe Timbrel would come.

“D’you hear?” Java followed him to a table and sat down.

“No, but I’m guessing you’re going to tell me.”

“Burnett talked with Hogan.”

Tony paused. Eyed Java.

“Apparently there was shouting—a lot.”

The smile couldn’t be hidden. He didn’t imagine Timbrel would take the reprimand lying down. Or standing up. Or breathing.

“Speaking of …” Java spun out of the chair. “I’ll be back.”

Shoveling in a mouthful of Alfredo noodles, Tony bounced his attention to the door and spotted Hogan seconds before Java made it to her. The two talked for a moment, then she gave a slow nod before moving through the chow line. Hiking boots. Tactical pants. A clean tank. Long brown hair loose around her face. Man, she was more woman than most men could deal with. Including him.

But he was willing to brave the fight.

Bring it
. That was, after she kenneled her MWD. The dog’s withers reached Timbrel’s thigh. Huge. Barrel-chested. Mean.
Hates me
.

Why did she have to bring that attack dog with her everywhere? It was as if she used him to ward off men and terrorists alike.

That’s exactly what the hound of hell was. Her safety net.

Tony lowered his fork and rubbed his beard. His brain snagged on the shorter length. Would she notice?

Her gaze skipped around the hall, checking tables and chairs, then rammed into his eyes. A blink of recognition. Then another. Her lips quirked and an eyebrow arched.

Yep, she noticed.

And be still his beating heart, she was headed his way. Good, homegrown manners pushed him to his feet.

She strode right past him. “Hey!” She greeted a female officer—Brie Hastings.

Swallowing his pride and tending his bruised ego, Tony grabbed his tray. He stalked across the chow hall, her laughter tangling his mind and ticking him off.

Why? Why wouldn’t she give him the time of day? He’d even shaved! Sort of. He slammed the tray onto the counter with the other dirty ones and stormed down the hall and into the night heat.

Growling exploded from the side. Jerked him up straight, ready to fight.

Laughter—her laughter wrapped around him. “You are so easy, Candyman.” To his right, he found her leaning against the wall.

The smile that made it to his face lit through his whole being. “You …” He snorted. “You ignored me on purpose.” To antagonize him. And though he wanted to turn and toss some smart-aleck comment in her face, Tony had this feeling … He started walking.

“Hey.”

He smirked but didn’t stop. “What do you want, Hogan?”

“Nothing.” She sounded hurt. “Forget it.”

Tony turned. “Look. I’m sorry. Things didn’t go well with Burnett and I’m just eating a lot of stress right now.”

“It seems that’s all you’re eating.”

“Welcome to life in the Army.”

“Look, I just wanted …” She puffed her cheeks and blew out a heavy breath as she looked around. “I’m sorry.”

This conversation so wasn’t going the way he thought it would. “For what?”

“What happened today. I know Burnett came down hard on you and the team.”

“Heard you weren’t exactly left out.”

Hands in her back pockets, she tucked her chin. “No, but I’m used to getting yelled at.”

Something about the way she said that twisted up his gut. “Sorry to hear that.” But he started walking again. Playing it nice, playing soft, didn’t win with the enigmatic woman. Besides, if he invited her along, she wouldn’t come. So he hoped this ignoring her thing would keep working.

“I heard … I heard you stuck up for Beo and me.”

He slowed his pace but not much. “Yeah, who told you that?”

“Doesn’t matter. Just—thank you.”

He stopped short. “Hold up.” He cocked his head. “You think I backed you just because—?” He swiped a hand over his face. “Look, it’s no secret I like you, but what I did in there, it wasn’t because I was taking sides or because my thinking was compromised.”

Her lips parted as she watched him.

“That wasn’t about you, Timbrel.” Was he coming off too strong? If he was, well, too bad. She needed to understand. “My team comes first. And if I ever think something you’re doing will put them in danger—all bets are off, baby.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Good to know.” Took a step back.

He paced her. Touched her arm. “You also need to know that I believe in you.”

She swallowed.

“And I trust you. That’s not just because you’re drop-dead gorgeous.” Man, the heat had sure cranked. “You’re good at what you do. You hold your own, and I respect that. What happened in that bookshop could’ve happened to anyone, anywhere. And I don’t care what Burnett says, something’s off.”

Her face went slack.

What? What had he said now?

“Thank you, Candyman.” Emotion thickened her words.

He huffed. Were they really still at square one? “Tony. Please. Call me Tony.”

She wrinkled her brow. “But your name is James.”

Great. They
were
at square one. Frustration knotted his muscles and he shoved his gaze to the surroundings. To the tan buildings, tents, and vehicles. Choppers thundering away. “It’s also my dad’s name so I go by my middle name—Anthony.”

Her brown eyes sparkled as they traced his face. Could she feel that electric current humming between them? “You don’t look like a Tony.”

“Call me whatever you want as long as you’re still talking to me.”

She laughed. “You’re slick.”

“Does that mean you’ll keep following me down to the market and get dinner at the same time?”

She squinted an eye at him. “Are you asking me out?”

“No way. I learned my lesson once.” He grinned. “Just wanting to know if you’re headed the same direction I am.”

Trimmed beard. Loaded personality. Killer smile. Timbrel sat across the table from Candyman as he put away a meal from one of the local on-base vendors. She plucked apart some naan, a local bread, and tucked a piece in her mouth as he went on about his sister, niece, and nephew. Family life.

“Anyway, Stephanie was so mad when I helped Marlee grease up and gear up for their church’s harvest festival.”

Timbrel smiled. “Why? Because you dressed your niece like a soldier?”

He thumbed away a laugh-tear and shook his head. “No, Steph’s not uptight about that stuff. It was because she’d just spent a hundred bucks on a Tinker Bell costume that Marlee demanded.”

His family was way more domestic and … normal.

Beowulf stretched out by her feet, sound asleep and snoring.

“He always snore that bad?”

With a laugh, Timbrel rubbed her boot gently along Beo’s belly. “Even worse on our bed back home.”

Tony leaned forward, his eyebrows raised, chin lowered. “ ‘Our bed’?” He dropped back against the chair. “No way. He sleeps with you?”

“Where else?”

“On the floor? On a pallet or in a crate?”

Timbrel reached down and rubbed his triangular ears between her fingers. Relegating Beo to the floor meant he was far from her. He wouldn’t be there for her to hold when the nightmares resurfaced.

Candyman went on. “My parents had a German shepherd, Patriot, who slept in a crate by their bed. I could deal with that, but no way I’d want a dog getting between my woman and me.”

Now it was her turn to raise her eyebrows.

“Whoa. Hold up.” He thumped his chest, belched, then cleared his throat. “I wasn’t making a reference to you and me in that statement.”

“Good to know.”

Though Tony laughed it off, Timbrel wondered … No, she didn’t wonder. She realized. Realized they could never have a future. Beowulf didn’t like Tony. And Tony didn’t like Beo. And if Tony didn’t like dogs in beds … well, not that it would go that far, but what was the point of sitting here right now, talking, risking everything she’d protected if there was no point?

An acrid taste glanced along her tongue. Fire lit through her body, tugging her from the greedy claws of darkness. Rolling onto her side, she groaned. Dirt and rocks pressed against her arms. Panic edged into her body with a zipping dose of adrenaline
.

Mentally, she dragged herself out. No. This wasn’t Bahrain. It was Bagram. She was safe. With Candyman.

But the sticky perspiration made her antsy. The memory clung like a strong spiderweb to the fragments of her courage. To the small pieces that convinced her to sit, enjoy some downtime.

Timbrel dragged her booted feet under her and pushed to her feet. Beowulf alerted and pounced upright at her side. “We’d better get back. Early morning.”

Even though he still wore the beard, she saw his jaw stretch. Disappointment lurked in his eyes as he looked up at her and nodded. As if he’d known. Expected her to bail. He tossed down his napkin and stood. “Bedding down pretty early. There’s a concert down at the USO rec center.”

“Yeah, I’m not really into crowds.”

“It’d be nice to see you there.” He glanced at Beo then touched her shoulder. “Thanks for walking in the same direction as me.”

She tried to kill the laugh, but it didn’t work. She tucked her chin and gave a quiet snort. “Lucky coincidence.”

Candyman grinned. “Then I hope my luck holds.”

“I … I really don’t think so, but thanks for asking.” Timbrel stepped away from the table, but not before his expression reminded her of his disappointment, clinging to Candyman thicker than his trimmed beard. “Bye.”

“Night, Timbrel.”

She held up a hand in a small wave but trudged back toward the tent she shared with a couple dozen female soldiers. But that disappointment seemed to have attached a tether to her heart because she couldn’t shake the image of his face.

No … Timbrel hesitated. She wasn’t remembering his disappointment. She lifted her head and looked off at nothing in particular. It was her own disappointment.
I wanted to stay with him. But that … that can’t happen
.

She dropped onto her cot and buried her face in her hands.
I’m so tired of hiding. Of being alone
.

A soft, wet snout nudged her hand.

Timbrel held Beo’s head and kissed the divot between his eyes. “Thank you, boy.” He knew. He always knew when she was down, when she needed a rescue.

Much like Candyman.

“Hey,” a young female private said, stopping by her cot. “We’re heading over to the concert. Want to join us?”

“Oh.” Timbrel considered the group of three. “Thanks, but I think we’ll just hang out here.”

“You sure?” Cute, blond, and entirely too suited for the uniform she wore, the private smiled again. “It’s a lot of fun. There are movies and pool tables, too.”

“Thanks for asking, but I don’t think so.”

The other girls nudged their friend along, and soon Timbrel found herself alone. Her gaze roved the tent. The beds, crisply made with hospital corners. Lockers. A stray colorful scarf broke the monotony. She’d once found comfort in the drab scheme here. Now, it just felt … lonely.

She stretched out on the cot and crossed her ankles. Beo climbed up next to her and slumped down, almost immediately snoring. Timbrel stared up at the canvas covering, and with a thick, humid breeze, she felt the oncoming nightmare.

Heat radiated through Beowulf’s brindle coat, soothing the cuts and dispersing the cold that wrapped her in the dark hour.

Not cold. It was summer. Not cold. Stop thinking about it.

Instinctively, she curled her arm around the neck of her 120-pound bullmastiff and dug her fingers into his fur.

Dark. It was still dark.

Why did her legs feel cold?

She glanced down—and froze.

In a violent, terrifying wave, she fell once again into the terror.

        Five