Beowulf: Explosives Detection Dog (18 page)

Interesting match: Ms. Hollywood Socialite and her Sikh boyfriend.

Timbrel looked that way then shoved herself back against the chair, craning her neck toward Tony.

He frowned and rested his chin on his shoulder. “What’s going on?”

“His name is Sajjan Takkar,” Timbrel spoke, her voice low, her spine pushed into the back of the chair, almost like she wanted to hide from someone. “He’s a philanthropist according to my mother. But that other man …”

Sajjan Takkar turned to the person on his left. He lacked the turban, so he either wasn’t a devout Sikh, or he wasn’t a Sikh at all. But definitely Middle Eastern. Ten years, give or take a year or two, older than Tony. Whereas Takkar sported smiles and a nice presence, his friend was trouble. Tony could smell it. The hard lines around his mouth. Irritation while dealing with the waitstaff as they served the first course …

“That is trouble.”

When Timbrel read his mind, Tony skidded his gaze to her. “Yeah?” What’d she see? “Tell me.”

“Dunno,” she said with a lazy shrug. “I just have this feeling I’ve met him before. I can’t place where. Just that I have a really sick feeling in my stomach when I look into his eyes.”

Beo’s nose worked the edge of the table, and eventually he went up on his hind legs, searching for a meaty morsel.

“Down, Beo.”

“Audrey, dear—must that beast of yours really be in here during the meal?”

“He’s a working dog. He doesn’t leave my side.” Timbrel angled her body away from her mother. “What do you think about Sajjan?”

“The Sikh? He’s … tall.”

Timbrel frowned.

“Handsome?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Tony laughed. “I know. Just trying to relieve some of that tension knotting your neck.” He eased back and reached back to massage her shoulders.

Beo growled.

Tony growled back.

Beo snapped.

“Really, Audrey!”

Timbrel swatted his arm with a laugh. “Stop antagonizing him.”

“No, this dog and I need to come to terms.”

“With what?”

“That I’m here to stay.” Tony rested his hand on her shoulder. Pressed his thumb into her shoulder-blade muscles, massaging. “Why’d you ask about your mom’s boyfriend?”

“I don’t know. Just … honestly?” Timbrel seemed to struggle with her words. Or with what she was about to say. “I can’t make out whether I like him or not. Usually, I hate all of her flings.”

“Flings or boyfriends?”

“There’s a difference?”

He laughed. “I guess not.”

Nina Laurens stood, and like a pop-up game, men around the room came to their feet as she made her way out of the room on the arm of Sajjan. The other guy had vanished.

Nina walked to Timbrel, bent down, and whispered something.

Timbrel’s eyes closed and her lips went flat.

Nina straightened. “Join us on the veranda, Mr. VanAllen?”

“Um …” Tony gauged Timbrel. “Sure. I’ll be there in a minute.”

Timbrel pinched the bridge of her nose as the din in the room rose. “She said she wants to talk and get to know you better.”

“But you don’t want to go out there.”

“I don’t want to do anything my mom wants me to do, especially not where it comes to my love life.”

“Love life?”

“
Not
what I meant.”

“But it’s what you said.”

She groaned and rolled her eyes. “Let’s just get this over with. You can interrogate me later.”

Tony grinned without remorse. “You promise?”

“If you can get past Beo.”

Timbrel emerged from the restroom and spotted Tony sitting on the stairs, Beo next to him. Raptly, Beo stared at Tony. Heart in her throat, she thought he was growling. No, Candyman had a chunk of steak in his hand.

“Now, you’re going to back off and give me room to figure this out,” Candyman said. He tossed a piece and produced another from his pocket.

Timbrel covered her mouth, afraid she’d give her presence away.

“I know you were here first, but this time, you have to learn to share.”

Beo growled.

“Just give me a chance.” Candyman held out the steak on his palm. “Give
her
a chance to figure out she likes me.”

Beo wolfed down the meat.

Candyman tugged back his hand a little reticent.

Timbrel stepped in. “Ready?”

Jerked upright, Candyman’s gaze flickered with uncertainty. “D’you just hear all that?”

“Yep.”

He glanced down at Beo. “Traitor.”

“Him?” Timbrel laughed. “Why is he a traitor?”

“He has superhuman hearing. He knew you were there.” He huffed. “He just wanted me for my steak.”

Laughter trickled through Timbrel’s chest and seized her. She laughed more. Teared up. And couldn’t stop.

Until she saw him. The man. He crossed the foyer, oblivious to her presence. Thank goodness.

Do I know him?
No, she couldn’t. Yet a distinct chill and a thick fog of fear dropped over her. She’d done her best to stay out of the man’s sight, but his identity hounded her all through the meal. And now—now he’d vanished. How and when?

“Tell me about the guy.”

Timbrel looked up at Candyman, her mind and heart still racing.

Something’s not … right
.

“Tim?” Tony’s touch at her elbow yanked her back to the present.

Wrong. It’s wrong
. He’s
wrong. Doesn’t belong …

“Timbrel.” The terse crack of her name snapped her gaze to Candyman. “Timbrel, you with me? Beo’s growling.”

“What?” She pulled away. “Yeah. I …” Yanked from the hollowness of that moment, she looked at Beo. On all fours, he faced the direction in which the man had disappeared and growled.

“Is that a hit?” Candyman asked. “Or does he hate all men, like you?”

She eyed him. “I don’t hate
all
men.”

“Since when?”

Since you
. The thought speared her with virulent fear. Yet it … did strange things to her stomach, too. She shrugged. “He’s trained for passive hits—meaning, sitting when he spots something. Not growling.” She wrinkled her nose. “I just don’t know why Beo reacted that way to him. He’s not easily bothered.”

“Except by me.”

“There is that. C’mon,” she said, hurrying after the guy. “Let’s find out what’s going on.”

        Twelve        

D
id Timbrel realize she was still holding his hand?

Okay. Technically not his hand, just two fingers. He didn’t care. She’d done it so casually, so without thinking, which he liked. Because it meant it was a natural gesture. One that implied trust.

The moment ended as they stepped between two marble columns and out onto the veranda. A clear pool the length of the house featured a wall of earth and rock that banked out and up at a rapid rise. Tucked into it, amid the picture-perfect vegetation, a fountain spewed its content into a smaller pool.

String lights stretched over the seating areas offered little light but plenty of ambience. Romantic. Some couples cuddled and talked with others, while a group at the back appeared to play a game of cards, their laughter and shouts echoed through the night.

Hand on Beowulf’s head, Timbrel took a deep breath.

Tony touched the small of her back. “You okay?”

“Not when I’m around her.” Timbrel moved down the tier of three stone steps and crossed the veranda to the intimate seating group beneath a covered area on the opposite side of the fountain.

“Ah, Audrey, darling. We were just talking about you.”

Timbrel’s fingers trailed a repetitive path along the indentation of Beowulf’s broad skull. Her jaw was set, and the fire of determination brightened her eyes.

“Mr. VanAllen, please—have a seat. You remember Sajjan from dinner.”

Tony offered his hand. “Of course.” Even as they shook hands, Tony felt the presence of someone behind him.

“And this,” Sajjan said as he stood and indicated over Tony’s shoulder, “is Bashir Bijan.”

Two things stood out to Tony—that Sajjan did not refer to the man as a friend, and the way Timbrel stiffened at his presence.

“Ah, Bashir,” Nina said. “This is my daughter, Audrey, and her boyfriend, Tony.”

Boyfriend. He liked the sound of that. No need to correct the uninitiated to the fact he only served one purpose here—to be Timbrel’s backup as she got the check. And hooah! Timbrel hadn’t corrected her mother.

“Please, everyone, let’s relax and talk.” Nina situated herself next to Sajjan and caught Timbrel’s wrist, tugging her into the chair to the right.

Beowulf objected at the woman touching his girl, but Timbrel gave a hand signal and the dog ceased aggression. So … that meant that while Timbrel hated her mom, she wasn’t willing to inflict bodily harm.

But as they sat and an awkward silence ensued, Beo didn’t sit. He wove in and around the seats and people, nose to the ground, furniture, and eventually pant legs.

“Timbrel, your dog.”

“Relax, he won’t bite their legs off,” Timbrel said with a rueful smile. “Unless I tell him to.”

“She’s quite obstinate, isn’t she, Tony?”

He considered Timbrel, gauging whether he’d live to see tomorrow if he answered. But in her eyes, he found a challenge. “She’s determined and focused.”

“Oh, Audrey.” Nina’s words were almost a laugh. “You’ve hooked a good one, darling.”