Beowulf: Explosives Detection Dog (19 page)

Timbrel didn’t say anything.

Odd. He couldn’t remember a time she didn’t have a retort ready.

“She was smart, Tony. Smart to leave this craziness.” Nina waved a bejeweled hand in the air, apparently indicating her life. “I am addicted to the life, and I find it can be useful and helpful so I can give to causes I’d otherwise be unable to support.”

A blatant reference to A Breed Apart.

Again, no Timbrel comeback. Tony eyed her and found her staring. He followed her line of sight. Why was she locked on to Bijan hotter than a heat-seeking missile?

He placed his hand on her knee.

“And I can host important dignitaries like Mr. Bijan.”

“I appreciate your generosity, Ms. Laurens.” The guy was slicker than snot, even Tony could see that, but apparently Nina either had her blinders on or she was much more practiced than Tony at schooling expressions.

Nina laughed. “Anything for a friend of Sajjan’s.”

Takkar lowered his head.

“Mr. Bijan,” Nina began, “you’ve been with me a week, but I hardly know anything about you. Sajjan says you are a businessman.”

“Indeed.” The man’s beady eyes were made more sinister by the firepit shadows that leapt and danced over his face. “I make books.”

“Do not be modest, Bashir,” Sajjan said with a laugh. “He is a publisher, but what you should know is that he publishes books and textbooks and donates them to the schools in Iraq and Afghanistan. He’s quite the philanthropist.”

“Books.”

A light touch against Tony’s hand caught his attention. Timbrel had tapped him. Why? The way she sat forward on her seat, the spark in her voice and eyes smacked Tony and told him to pay attention.

“Imagine that,
books
.” She met his gaze with a meaningful look. “He’s a big reader,” she said as she tore her gaze from Tony. “Is there a shop nearby? We’d love to visit.”

“I am so sorry, but they are not here. They are in Iraq and Afghanistan.”

Tony’s nerve endings buzzed. Somehow, Timbrel had known the guy was a book publisher. How, he didn’t know, but he would be paying a lot of attention, especially now that the man admitted he had shops in Afghanistan.

All the same, they must be very careful taking leaps like that. There were plenty of men named Bashir and enough bookmakers and bookshops in Afghanistan to make the leap unrealistic that this guy had a connection to the shop they’d raided on their last mission.

Timbrel gave a subtle nod toward Beo and then gave a smile to the others. “Wow! That’s amazing.” Quite the actress, Timbrel plowed ahead. “Where are they?”

Bijan stilled. “Why do you ask?” A hollow laugh did nothing to hide the sudden nerves the guy exhibited. “Are you planning to visit and buy a book? Or does book publishing interest you?”

“Of course she’s not,” Nina injected, her face pale.

“No, not at all,” Timbrel said. “There are places in Afghanistan—”

With a stealthy hand on her knee, Tony gave a soft squeeze. He knew exactly where she was headed with this, and it was so not a good idea.

A wary glance bounced from him to the two men. Timbrel gave a shrug. “I don’t know. I just heard on the news they aren’t letting girls go to school.”

Nice cover. Tony let himself expel the breath he’d held. He leaned back and draped his arm around her back in an effort to look calm.

“What about you, Tony?” Nina curled her feet up on the sofa she shared with Sajjan. “What do you do for a living?”

“Security.” Safe, nonlying answer. “I look out for those who can’t or won’t do it for themselves.” Plot thickening, Tony determined to keep this conversation steered in a direction he could handle.

Timbrel turned her head, her lips brushing the lobe of his ear. It took every ounce of self-control to steel his response and hear her three whispered words, “Keep him here.”

Tony touched her face, keeping it close. In her irises he saw the fires of determination brewing.
What are you up to?

She telegraphed the message,
“Don’t ask.”

So Tony kissed her. He needed an excuse for them to be staring into each other’s eyes, right?

And it flustered her—the pinked cheeks and half smile betrayed her. She scooted to the edge of her seat.

“Oh, look! I think Audrey’s dog likes you, Bashir.”

“Actually, he might need to take care of business.” On her feet, Timbrel exited their private grouping. “If you’ll excuse me for a moment. Beo, come.”

Nerves on fire, he watched her leave. Should he go after her? The girl he knew as Timbrel Hogan didn’t want help with anything. And most often, he’d agree that she didn’t need the help. But there were times, with that bullheaded nature, that she got herself in deep.

“Tony.” Nina set in as soon as Timbrel disappeared into the house. “Something’s bothering me.”

Great
. He met her gaze.

“We’ve met before, I just know it.”

“Is that right?”

“Yes.” She squinted and looked down and to the left.

Oh man. Here it comes …

“Oh, I remember—”

With the late hour and dim lighting, he couldn’t be sure, but it seemed she blanched.

“Yes?” Sajjan asked. “Where is it you met?”

Nervous was a new emotion for Nina Laurens. “Oh, I think on one of my tours. I’ve been all over.” She met Tony’s stare. “You said you worked security. It’s with one of those contractors, right?”

So Nina remembered but didn’t want her new beau to hear about her behavior.
That’s interesting
. “Something like that.” Her need to conceal that racy moment would benefit him. Tony didn’t need Bijan to find out he was a Green Beret because the guy might connect some loosely hanging dots in this picture.

Annnnd … too late
. The silence that dropped over them felt as dense as the concussive hearing loss from a flash-bang.

“So, you were there in Afghanistan fighting?”

Some people believed it was wrong to lie. And so did Tony. Except when it came to protecting lives, to competing harms. Like during the Holocaust when Germans hid Jews. This wasn’t a situation of that caliber—at least he hoped not—but discretion was priority one here. “My group delivered food, supplies, and medical help to the poor.” Completely true.

“But you said security.” Bijan narrowed his eyes.

“I did. When delivering food and supplies, we make sure the villages are secure.”

It wasn’t a lie. He just omitted facts. And by the look in Bijan’s eyes, Tony had a deep, dark feeling the gig was up. Bijan knew.

Shadows and voices flickered through the dark room. Timbrel moved quickly, using her hand to guide Beo’s search. His snout trailed her. Along the bed, below it, at the foot, then the luggage sitting on the ottoman. “Good boy,” she said as she led him to the closet.

He strutted in, rotated, his nose pressed to the carpet as he traced the floorboards.

Timbrel didn’t care what General Burnett or Tony or anyone else said. That so-called book publisher had something going on under the table. She recognized him. Somehow. Some way. The whole picture just wouldn’t click together.

Bathroom and bedroom cleared, she and Beo snuck out and made their way to the next room. The east wing sported her mother’s typical extravagant tastes with the hardwood floors, rich mahogany doors and trim, imported Persian rugs, and antiques accented with floral arrangements that reached into the hundreds of dollars. Timbrel eyed the four doors, grateful her mom only had four guest rooms. She pivoted and peered across the catwalk-style landing that led to another hall where you needed a code to enter the family wing. To a lavish master suit that could easily be a middle-class family’s entire home.

And right next door—a similar setup.
My room
. She hadn’t been there since …

Timbrel shuddered, her stomach churning.

She covered her mouth with the back of her hand. Jerked back to the guest wing. Refused to entertain or be tormented by what had driven her away. He hadn’t lasted. The thing was—he lasted
too
long in her mom’s life.

Beo whimpered.

“Yeah, me too, boy.” Timbrel took a knee, encircling his broad chest with her arms. She inhaled and let his unique scent steady her heart, mind, and stomach. Face buried in his neck, she mumbled, “You’d have ripped his throat out if you’d been around.”

As if to agree, he licked her.

She laughed, her sense of safety back, and let her attention return to the hall. “Okay, let’s finish this, find Candyman, and get out of here.”

After a gentle rap on the nearest door yielded no response, Timbrel eased into the room. “Beo, seek.” He trotted around the room, sniffing, moving, working.

She’d half expected Candyman to follow her up here, but he’d understood her message. The one she didn’t have to speak, the one that said she needed to check something out and Bijan had to stay put. Tony held her face. Then the rat stole a kiss.

That was the third one. The first happened because she’d lost her mind at the base. She was tired, stressed, and weak. Then he’d stolen one earlier tonight. Was it wrong to admit she liked his kisses? They were soft, gentle, yet indicated a restrained passion.

Unlike—

Darkness rushed in like a plague. Timbrel blinked, feeling a distinct chill.
Beo
. Where was he? She strained to see through the blackness that engulfed the room. “Beo?”

Movement a dozen feet in front pinpointed him.

By the fireplace, he sat in front of a cozy armchair. A large suitcase stretched across the heavily padded arms. With a look at her then at the case, Beowulf remained resolute with an expression that said, “Wake up and smell the coffee.”

Her heart surged. He’d alerted!

Pulse pounding, Timbrel hurried across the shadow-ridden space, resisting the urge to flip a light. Normally, this would be where she notified EOD and they took care of whatever Beo hit on. But since there wasn’t a reason for Bijan to have a bomb here …

Okay, I’m
hoping
he doesn’t
.

Better to exercise caution than initiate her will. Thoughts ran wild as she examined the suitcase to make sure it wasn’t rigged to blow upon opening.

Ugh. The thought of dying, of not being here for Beo … Who would take him?

Candyman.

Timbrel almost laughed out loud. Right. Candyman and Beo. The two would have each other for lunch. Leftovers for dessert.

She traced the zipper with her fingers. A man like Bijan, if he was trouble the way she believed, would use extra precautions—

Her fingers hit … something. On her knees, she tucked a loose curl back and angled for a better view of the side. A silver pin glinted. She grinned. A way for him to know if someone opened it. The unwitting thief would either ruin the zipper opening it or prick herself. Timbrel eased back the pin, half expecting a click that would signal her impending death. Instead it came free without a hitch. A nervous, breathy laugh sifted through her body. She stuck the pin just below the zipper, marking its spot.

On her feet, she lifted the lid and peered inside.

So a chemical residue didn’t necessarily have to be visible. It could be invisible and odorless—at least to humans. But good ol’ Beowulf had a sniffer that could ferret out something hidden six to ten feet belowground.

Timbrel rustled his head. “That’s my boy. Good boy. You’ll get a big treat on the way home.” She rifled through the contents, searching for something, anything that would put him on the scene in that bookshop they’d raided.

Eyes … nose … that profile. A wash of warm fear poured through her veins.
It’s him—the guy from the shop!
The one who’d banged her shoulder as ODA452 led him from the hidden room at the back of the shop. If he owned the shops, then why was he dressed like a worker?

To escape.

Escape what?

An icy finger traced her spine. That was about ten days ago. But the residue would still be on his clothes. Right?

“Long shot,” she muttered, frustrated that there wasn’t anything suspicious in the suitcase.

Voices carried through the house. Close. Timbrel let out a low growl. Too close. She rummaged once more. A white lab coat glared back at her. Timbrel held her breath, fingers hovering over the material. No logo, no name, but it was just like the one the guys at the bookshop had worn. She snatched it up, careful not to upend the rest of his clothes. Crap! Where would she hide it? No way she could hide the coat on her person. Nervous jellies swarmed her stomach as she groped for a solution.

Beowulf stared back at her. Reflection of the yard light through the window caught in his eye.

Window! She rushed to the window and peeked beyond the sheer curtain. Yikes! Pool veranda. Timbrel darted to the other side, spotted shrubs directly below. Once she opened the window, she balled up the coat and flung it into the bushes. With a whoosh, it rustled the leaves and hit with a gentle
thwat
against the bed of mulch.

As she closed the window and locked it, the sound echoed through the room.

Wait. Not an echo—a door!

Beowulf growled and lunged as Timbrel came around. “Beo, stay.”

Rooted, legs spread, chest down and back-end up, Beowulf issued his challenge.