Beowulf: Explosives Detection Dog (11 page)

Khat’s laugh proved hollow. “While you and I haven’t exactly been BFFs”—she hooked her fingers in air quotes—“you’ve never treated me like … this. You’re very agitated, more so than normal.”

Was she that obvious? Candyman had yanked her chain. Called her number. “Nothing.” Her gaze leapfrogged over the gala-planning pages, yet she saw nothing but her own humiliation.

“Timbrel.” Soft and pliable, Khaterah’s chiding tone also exuded warmth and caring.

Hard to breathe. Hard to function. “Look, I’m sorry I bit your head off. You don’t deserve that, and I was wrong to do it.” Timbrel shoved the chair back and stood.

A firm but gentle hand on her arms stilled her.

Timbrel froze. Felt the morbid drill of panic boring holes in her steel-reinforced cage that kept her from drowning in life.

“He called.”

Her heart crashed into her ribs, her gaze pulled by some unseen force to Khaterah. “He did?” Why were her eyes burning?

“He thought he might have the wrong phone number for you. Said you hadn’t called him back.”

She swallowed the gush of adrenaline. When she sensed Khaterah step closer, Timbrel turned away. “I … I think I’ll … take some names to call.” She scrunched a paper between her fingers.

Khat’s hand covered hers. “What happened?”

Timbrel shoved the emotion, the fright, the embarrassment over the cliff of denial. She mustered the smile her mother had perfected and taught her. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about.” She strode from the room. “I’ll make some calls.”

“Timbrel.”

She stopped cold.

“Ghost told me not to tell you, but I think you should know.”

Okay, that didn’t sound good. She slowly looked over her shoulder.

“I did not want you to think I was mishandling the money or accounts here. I am very dedicated and loyal to my brother, but also to you handlers. For that reason, I think you should know.”

“What?”

“We had a benefactor for the hotel.”

“Right. You’d said it was do … nate … ed.” Oh curse her foolish brain! Why hadn’t she thought of it before? She swung her head side to side, pained. “Please. Tell me you didn’t …”

“It was an accident. Elysian Evangelos Industries is known for donations, so I called and talked to the chairman of the board of directors, who agreed to cover the cost of the hotel and a sizeable donation.”

Timbrel groaned.

“I promise, I had no idea she was your mother!”

Leesburg, Virginia

Tony dropped the rucksack by the washer and dryer, then eased the back door closed. He stepped through the mudroom. In the gourmet kitchen, he spotted his mother at the Viking stove, stirring a pot. From behind, in a T-shirt and capris, she could easily be taken for a twentysomething.

He slipped up behind her and covered her eyes. “Guess who?”

“Oh!” She yelped and jerked around. “Tony, you’re home!” She threw her arms around him and hugged him tight.

Wrapping her in his arms, he held on. Man, there was nothing like a “mom” hug, no matter how old he got. And it seemed every mission that kept him away made her hugs all the sweeter.

She pulled back and rested her hands on his shoulders. “Why didn’t you call? I could’ve picked you up.”

“Eh, I knew you were busy.” He took in the nearly pristine granite countertops and cherrywood cabinets. Not a thing out of place. He’d never forget her face that day. “Still enjoying your kitchen?”

“Immensely.” She planted a kiss on his cheek. “I still can’t believe you did this. It’s too much.”

“No such thing as ‘too much’ for you.” He’d surprised her for her sixtieth birthday with the complete kitchen remodel, done just as she’d always dreamed.

Her manicured nails scratched over his beard. “All these years, and I still don’t like the fuzz.”

He groaned. “Not you, too.” At the fridge, he tugged it open and scanned the contents before choosing a pitcher of sweet tea and pouring himself a glass.

“Oh? Who else commented on your beard?”

“My CO and Timbrel.”

Her eyebrow arched.

“What?”

“Nothing, just … she keeps popping up in your conversations.”

“So? Is that unusual?”

“Yes, actually, it is.”

He grinned as he lifted the drink and held her gaze. “How are things?”

Her smile flickered, but true to her nature, Irene VanAllen remained composed. “Fine. Not much has changed.”

Tony dumped a big mouthful back—then gagged. Spit it in the sink. “What is this?”

Mischief sparked in her eyes. “Tea.”

“No, this isn’t tea. This is some kind of nasty.”

She laughed. “It’s not sweetened.”

“Why would you do that—
not
do that? Are you trying to kill me?”

“Because I’m watching blood sugars for your father.”

Tony hauled himself back in line. “Oh.” He should’ve been paying attention—she’d said not much had changed, but how many little things like this had changed? “Where is he?”

“Sleeping.” The vibrancy washed out of her, and it seemed she had aged years in those seconds. But then it changed again. She snapped the towel at him. “As much as I love my son, he smells like a jungle and looks like one. Go on with you. Get showered and changed. I’ll call Stephanie and text Grady to let them know you’re home.”

“Don’t bother with Grady,” Tony said as headed down the hall. “He won’t come.”

“Doesn’t mean he shouldn’t be invited.”

“Maybe it does,” he called as he plopped on the bed. He shed his boots, yanked off his shirt, and tossed it in the laundry bin. Armed with a pair of jeans and a shirt, he headed to the shower.

Fifteen minutes later, wrapped in a towel, he stood before the mirror and wiped away the condensation.

So. Beard. He ran his hand over it, his stomach tight. This would hurt, in more ways than one. Using scissors, he cut the beard down then used his razor to remove the rest. Rinsing his razor, he caught his reflection … and hesitated.

She’d better like this. He’d spent the last five years with that wiry mess for added camo in protecting his identity. Now he’d have to grow it back out. And those first few weeks of fuzzies drove him nuts.

Tony donned his jeans, snatched his shirt, and emerged from the room. Heading back to the kitchen, he heard voices. Children’s voices! He quickened his pace.

“Uncle Tony!” Bright blue eyes went wide as four-year-old Hayden lunged.

He caught his nephew and, in a fluid move, flipped him up and over his shoulder with a shout. “How’s my buddy?”

Hayden climbed onto his shoulders like a monkey. “Great! Mom, look how tall I am.”

His sister, Stephanie, smiled. “So I see.”

Tony inched over, shirt clutched in his hand, and kissed his sister. “Hey.” He flipped her blond hair, the front much longer than the back. “Nice cut.”

“You don’t like it?”

“It’s short.”

“It’s easier to manage with two children.”

“It’s short,” he said again. A tug at his jeans alerted him to his niece and he tossed aside his shirt. “Marlee!” He lifted her into his arms, careful to keep Hayden balanced. “How’s my little angel?”

“Did you get me a necklace?” Marlee asked.

“Yes, I did.” He’d nearly forgotten. “Okay, deploy, soldiers.” He knelt and waited for them both to scramble off him. “I’ll be right back bearing gifts.” Their cheers sent him jogging toward the laundry room, where he retrieved the items from his rucksack. Now … which one was Marlee’s? The smaller was the necklace, right? He rounded the corner, eyeballing the simple brown paper.

A blur came from the side. A hand swung at him.

Instincts flared.

Tony arched his spine backward, narrowly missing a collision with the experienced fist.

Dad!

“James, no!” his mother cried out.

“What’s Grandpa doing?”

“Get them out of here,” Tony shouted as he deflected another punch.

“James, please,” his mom said as Steph hurried the children to the living room. “It’s Tony!”

Heart in his throat, Tony responded to the attack. Cursed what happened to his dad. Cursed the way his father had been tossed aside, written off. The accident made everything worse.

“Dad, it’s me.” Tony kept his moves smooth, fluid. Nothing aggressive. Nothing that would make his dad feel any more threatened than he already did. That state of mind threw his father back to ’Nam, to confidential conflicts in the years thereafter that his father wasn’t allowed to talk about. Conflicts that shattered his mind.

“Don’t give me any of your lies! You killed my team!”

“Dad, I’m Tony. Your son.” Don’t know why he said it. The dialogue never made a difference. It had in the early days, but not anymore.

“Get away from me, you piece of—”

“James!”

The fist came at him again. Adrenaline and grief strangled Tony. But it wasn’t time to think about it. Knew what he had to do.

Tony stepped in. Caught his father’s fingers. Locked his grip. Pushed down, bending the wrist backward. His other hand went to his father’s shoulder, giving him the needed leverage. He swung the arm up and pinned it behind his father’s back, then he used his free hand to turn his father’s head away, thereby blocking any punches and gaining control. He pressed his thumb into the carotid, blocking the flow of blood to the brain.

Four seconds later, his father went limp.

Tony caught him. Held him the way he would a child. Slid along the wall to the floor, cradling his unconscious dad in his arms. Tears begged to be freed. Anger resisted. Frustration pushed them out.
Oh, Dad …
He touched his father’s cheek. Stubbled but shaven. The scar along his cheekbone, the only evidence of what had happened. The only proof that something changed his father.

Tony held him close, burying his face against his father’s cheek.
Dad … God! Why?

“Let me give him the sedative. Then hurry him to the bedroom, won’t you?” His mother knelt beside him and slid the needle into the meaty part of his father’s thigh. “Before the children see him again.”

“He didn’t know me.”

Her brown eyes held his. “You weren’t expected. I didn’t have time to try to prepare him.” She sniffled. “Though I’m not sure that matters anymore.”

Tony frowned, the tears drying on his cheek but not in his heart. “Is it that bad, Mom? Has he gotten that bad?”

Her tears slipped free. “Worse.”

Pushing himself up, careful not to bang his father’s head or legs, Tony tried to pick up the pieces of his heart, too. His mom guided him through the house and into the room they’d converted for his father. Tony knelt and gently laid his father on the bed.

Mom went to work, covering him with the blanket and checking his pulse. “He’ll only be out a short while. Hopefully, when he wakes, he won’t still be in his fight-or-flight mode.”

There was nothing like staring down at the man he’d just had to incapacitate, knowing he’d been a hero, earned a Purple Heart, several Bronze Stars … And yet there were days James VanAllen had no idea what planet he was on.

Tony’s confliction went deep. He’d gone into the Army to be like his father. And he lived with the terror every day of knowing one wrong incident and he could be just like him.

I’d eat a bullet before I became a burden
.

        Eight