Beowulf: Explosives Detection Dog (20 page)

The barrel of a weapon stared back at her, dipped to Beo, then back to Timbrel. Bashir Bijan couldn’t determine who his biggest threat was.

“I am walking out this door in five seconds or you’re going to be carried out—in a bag,” Timbrel said, her gaze boring holes through the man’s head.

“Not if I shoot you first.”

“It’ll be the last thing you do.”

“It was you—you were the woman in my shop.” Sweat beaded his brow.

Folding her arms, Timbrel noticed the door opening behind Bijan. She needed to keep him distracted. “Here’s the funny thing, Mr. Bijan—the Americans didn’t find anything at your shop. In fact, the mission, as far as Central Command is concerned, was a bust.” She shrugged. “So right now, I’m wondering why you’re threatening to kill me.”

“What are you doing in my room?”

“Oh.” Timbrel feigned ignorance as the door came full open.

Candyman loomed behind the man.

“Sorry, I thought this was his room.”

Bijan froze.

With incredible skill and speed that belied his size, Candyman knocked the gun from Bijan’s hand and noosed his neck with his arm. “Grab the gun.” He held tight and waited as the guy thrashed.

“You can’t kill him!”

Lips flat, bicep bulging around the man’s throat, Candyman went to a knee as Bijan lost consciousness. “Go! I’ll meet you downstairs.” He lifted the publisher and placed him on the bed.

As she watched Candyman carrying Bashir to the bed, Timbrel moved to the door with Beo. She slipped into the hall and made her way downstairs.

Halfway down, she slowed, letting her pulse that had run away with the adrenaline catch up with her. She blew out a shaky breath, stealing a glance across the rotunda to the party. At only ten o’clock, it wouldn’t wind down for another three hours. On a bad night.

Candyman … he’d … he’d been amazing up there. How he’d known to come … She thought of his mussed hair, that flexing bicep … sexy. There. She admitted it—Candyman was sexy. In a warrior way. Not a pretty-boy way like the men prancing around her mom’s home right now. Tony had power, raw power. But more than that, he had restraint. Incredible, gorgeous restraint.

He appeared at her side, taking her elbow. A little hard. She glanced down just as his words hissed in her ear. “
What
were you doing?”

Timbrel yanked free. “Research.” Which was stuffed behind the shrub. How was she supposed to get that without attracting attention?

“He could’ve killed you.”

“But he didn’t.”

“Do not do that with me.”

Timbrel frowned just as an idea formed. “I’ll be right back.” Spinning on her heels, she ignored the fury in his handsome mug and hurried up the stairs.

“Tim—no!” His words were quiet but harsh. And then his feet pounded the marble behind her. “You foolish, pigheaded …”

She ignored him. But his words nailed her heart. How many times had she been called that? Treated as if she couldn’t think for herself?

“He could wake up,” Candyman said as he trailed her, his hard abs jarring her elbow. “Our window of opportunity is very small.”

She rolled her gaze to his. “I told you to keep him downstairs.” Palming the panel, she tried to steady the heart rate that ricocheted off her panic. She punched in the code. “But you couldn’t do that.”

“Not without putting the man in a body bag.”

She hustled through the secured family wing, not even enjoying Candyman’s bewilderment at another entire wing where he thought there was only a wall.

“Timbrel, I’m not kidding. I don’t want any more tours of this place. I am compromised. I need to get out of here and report in to Burnett.” He grunted. “I may not have a career anymore.”

        Thirteen        

W
hy would you not have a career?”

“Doesn’t matter. Never mind.” This was an exercise in futility, trying to make a point to pigheaded Timbrel. Right now, he wanted to strangle her. “We need to get out of here—now!”

“Look,” Timbrel said as she trotted into a bedroom, crossed the wood floor, and threw open two french doors. “I’ll explain to Burnett what happened.”

Right. Just like she did with the bookshop? “Please.” Tony pinched the bridge of his nose. “Don’t. The last thing I need is for Burnett to end up ticked at you and taking that anger out on my butt. At least right now, I think I can still get an honorable discharge.” He scrubbed his fingernails against his scalp and paced. “Maybe.”

He turned back to the room. Creepy. But pretty. Creepy pretty. Because the dichotomy made sludge of his brain. What was creepy about floral curtains and a massive bed with what looked like a very expensive down comforter? He tried to pinpoint what hung up his brain. Same kind his mom liked? No, that wasn’t it.

Slowly it came to him … the floral pattern … the
feel
of the room—it matched Timbrel’s home on Prevost Drive. The one that hadn’t really felt like her. But … maybe … it
was
her. And maybe the girl standing in the walkin closet wasn’t the real Timbrel.

Heady thought. Especially considering the realization he wasn’t sure who she was. What she wanted. One minute he thought she wanted him. The next, she’d jettison him with the waste. With his career. This was muffed up.

“Just calm down and listen,” she said from the closet as things clunked and thumped.

Tony paced, just daring her to come up with some legitimate reason for getting herself nearly killed. “What were you even doing in his room?” What was he doing with a gun? It didn’t track.

“Looking for something.”

“Wow,” he said with a snort and dropped against the bed. “I couldn’t have figured that out on my own. Thanks.”

“Grow up, Candyman. I recognized him from the bookshop, so I wanted to have fibers of his clothes tested.”

Tony hung his head back. Fell back against the bed. “Please! Tell me you’re kidding.”

“Listen, you pigheaded—”

“Me!” He launched onto his feet. “That’s you. Look it up online. I put your picture there!” His anger catapulted through the roof. He rubbed both hands over his face, trying to scrub off the frustration. The fear of seeing Bijan step beyond that mahogany door, and just having this
gut
feeling that’s exactly where Timbrel had vanished to. Nothing like that feeling.

“I guess that makes two of us.”

Eyes raised to the curtained canopy, Tony prayed silently,
Lord, why did You make me fall for her? At this point, I would’ve taken her dog over her!

Feeling like he was being watched, Tony tilted his head. A painting leapt from the curtains tucked behind the headboard. He swung his torso sideways and stared at it.

He pushed himself off the bed—gaze still locked on to the framed oil painting. A young woman and a little girl reclining on a chaise. The background a blanket of flowers. But the girl—those eyes!

“This is your room?” Tony jerked toward the closet. “Tim, is this your—?”

Beowulf went to all fours, growling at him. His canines exposed.

“Hey.” Tony jabbed a finger at the dog. “You and me, we need to have words. Or bites.”

Beowulf snapped.

“Bring it,” Tony warned.

“You’re adorable.” A backpack flew out at him.

He caught it. “Adorable? This isn’t adorable. This is ticked!”

Timbrel gave him a coy smile. “Is there a difference?”

He looked through the backpack. Jeans. T-shirt. Another shirt. “What? D’you run out of clothes at home?”

“I hid one of Bijan’s jackets in the bushes. Needed a way to get it without drawing attention.”

“That’s what this is all about?”

“Yeah.”

“You stupid …” He tightened his jaw and refused to let any more words out.

“It’s a sound method.”

“It’s not. We were there, in the bookshop. We didn’t find anything, remember?”

“Oh, I remember. And what I also remember is that Beowulf got a hit. He doesn’t make mistakes like you or me. And Bashir escaped as a worker, dressed in a lab coat. So what’s on that lab coat? What will those fibers tell us?”

Unable to fight her logic, he slung the bag messenger-style over his shoulder and chest. “Fine.” He huffed through an angry breath. “But when we get out of here, you and I are going to talk.”

“I already promised you an interrogation.” Timbrel led them out of the room and to the left, darting to the servants’ passage at the back of the 1920s home. It’d take them down to the lower level and out the side—right by the window.

The look on Tony’s face, the distinct impression of failing him, sat like anchors in the pit of her stomach. Yet she railed against the way he talked to her, the way he chewed her out. Her mother was the same way. Carson, Don … all took the same tone.

She scrambled down the hall and through the kitchen. At the lower lounge area, she located Rocky. “Hey.”

He peeked over a newspaper, his eyes widening. “Audrey!”

“If you wouldn’t mind, I’m ready.”

With a knowing huff, he snapped the paper closed. “That bad?”

“Worse.” He’d always understood. More than her mother. More than Candyman. Okay, that wasn’t a fair assessment since he only had about a third of the information Rocky held. “I’m going to let Beo do his duty. Meet you out front?”

“On my way.”

Down the hall and up a half flight of stairs, she pushed into the evening. A cool breeze tugged at her curls. Freeing her hair of the bun, she trudged across the grass. Beo trotted off to relieve himself as Timbrel scurried along the wall into the bushes. Double-checking her location, she looked up at the room.