Beowulf: Explosives Detection Dog (3 page)

Tony grinned at the thought of those brown eyes and the strike-first attitude. “We don’t have
her
though.”

“Her? Seriously?” Rocket leaned forward, his eyebrows pushed into his scalp. “She’s unpredictable and volatile. If she were still in regs, she’d get thrown out on a psych discharge.”

“Afternoon, boys,” came a taunting, sultry voice.

Tony turned. “Be still my beating heart.” Oh man. She looked better than ever. Hair pulled back, black A Breed Apart T-shirt that hugged all the right curves, dark brown hiking boots, and a ball cap shielding her eyes—all screamed tough mama. And
hot
mama!

On his feet, he held out his arms. “Hey, beautiful!” He couldn’t resist. Knew it riled her. But she could use a little color in those cheeks.

She hesitated—clearly remembering the last time they saw each other at the ranch. And that she’d called the cops on him. She almost seemed to wilt. But she finally groaned. “They haven’t killed you yet?”

Tony slapped his chest. “Too valuable.” He stepped closer and reached for her.

In the split second it took for his brain to transmit the warning signal, Tony knew it was too late. The indicators snapped through his brain. The ominous rumble—growling. The blur of black.

From the shadow erupted a beast of a dog. Jowls snapping. Canines groping for flesh.

My flesh!

Something hit his cheek, the snout just inches away. Snapping, and with it a ravenous bark. A bark that shoved Tony back over the table and tumbling onto the other side. He came up, drawing his weapon.

Lip curled, sharp white teeth exposed, broad chest lowered, the dog growled his challenge.

Then without warning, the dog straightened. Heeled. His large pink tongue slopped the drool from his massive mouth.

Silence devoured the room.

Heaving breaths squeezed oxygen as Tony slowly straightened. Slowly realized he was staring down his weapon.

Lips thinned, nostrils flared, Timbrel glowered. “Aim that at my boy again, and it’ll be the last thing you do.”

“Next time your dog tries to take a piece of me …”

Her hand went to the broad skull of the dog at her side. No, not just a dog. A beast. A mountainous monster of canine muscle. Broad skull, perpetual pout—and teeth. Holy merciful God, that thing had huge teeth! A black-and-tan mural of a coat cloaked that dog in evil.

Demon dog.

Beowulf.

Nerves buzzing, Tony ran a hand over his thick beard—and felt something thick and slimy. A look at his hand made him recoil. Slobber.

“Just so we’re clear”—Watters rested fingers on the utility belt, a smile toying at his lips—“you
can
keep that dog under control, right?”

Timbrel eyed the captain with his sun-bronzed skin and dark hair. “Rugged” came to mind. He looked older than Candyman’s twenty-sevenish years, but she wasn’t sure since they both had beards shielding their appearances. But there was also a kindness in his eyes she’d noted even while working with him and the team in Djibouti.

“He didn’t kill anyone, did he?” Timbrel wouldn’t get riled. It wasn’t meant as a slam. Captain Watters’s concern was for his team. “Yes, Beowulf obeys my commands. Would you like a demonstration?”

“Not necessary,” the captain said.

The side door swung open and in filed a half-dozen men. Timbrel kept her posture relaxed, knowing her boy fed off her body language.

“Cool,” a guy with wiry light brown hair and personality grinned—she’d met him in Djibouti, right? What was his name … Java? “A working dog.” He high-fived another member. “Guess we get to live today.”

Timbrel smirked. Most troops wanted MWDs with them because the dog’s training and presence increased the probability that threats would be detected before anyone lost limb or life.

“You guys just missed the excitement.” The lanky guy they called Rocket chuckled.

“Yeah?”

“Hogan’s dog about ate Candyman’s lunch.” Rocket seemed far too pleased.

“Seriously?” Awe brightened Java’s eyes. He nodded to Timbrel. “Sweet. Whatever you need, you got it.”

The others—the older member with reddish-blond hair everyone called Pops, and the soldier who seemed to be an old guy in a young man’s body with so much going on in those eyes—she couldn’t remember his name—joined the laughter.

“I didn’t know Tony could move that fast.” Captain Watters didn’t hide his smile.

“Hey, I like to keep my parts intact,” Candyman said, his face red against the tanned skin and bushy beard. But his eyes … his green eyes came to her.

And she remembered. Man, did she remember—the tickle of his beard against her jaw, his fiery touch, his breath …

“Yeah, but his heart is another thing,” muttered someone. And she couldn’t tell who’d spoken the words—everyone suddenly seemed gun-shy as an awkward silence settled them in the chairs around the table.

Timbrel flinched at the comment referencing her and relocated herself away from his gaze and proximity. She swallowed and moved to the side wall, slid down it, and sat, legs stretched out and ankles crossed. Beo reclined against her. Chin on her thigh, he let out a huff.

Smoothing his beautiful coat, Timbrel kept her gaze down. So that “something” she felt a minute ago after humiliating Candyman in front of his team—it was familiar. She’d felt it on I-35 the night she hung him out to dry.

Guilt.

Crazy. She hadn’t done anything wrong. Sure, she’d let Beo challenge Candyman, but they needed to understand what Beo could do. The other men needed to trust her boy. Besides, maybe Candyman needed another reminder that there was only one guy for her—Beowulf.

“Right, boy?” Using both hands, she massaged Beo’s head, then bent forward and kissed the top of his skull, right along the indention that traced between his eyes, straight to his keen sniffer.

Beowulf slumped back, his head against her chest, legs spread and belly exposed.

“Big baby.” She smiled as she rubbed his stomach.

Stomping boots yanked Beowulf upright. Head swiveled toward the door.

Six one, graying, take-the-bull-by-the-horns General Lance Burnett removed his cap and slapped a file on the table. “Take a seat, gentlemen.” His gaze skidded to Timbrel. “Miss Hogan.”

“General.”

He sighed as another soldier entered. Brie Hastings. Timbrel had liked the lieutenant even though Brie had shown an affinity for Aspen’s Russian hunk, Dane. Brie worked her way around the room handing out file folders to the team, then one to Timbrel.

“Now, why didn’t that dog attack Hastings?” Rocket asked. “I was so waiting—”

“You’ll notice,” Timbrel said, “the obvious one—she’s a woman. And second, Brie kept her movements small and respected Beo’s space. She didn’t make a move toward me.”

“Listen up,” Burnett groused. “Those folders have reports that have come in over the last six to eight months. We’re trailing something we can’t finger.”

“How so?” Captain Watters asked.

“There are hints, indicators of some big trouble coming, but we can’t seem to pull the pieces together.”

“So …” Watters looked around the room. “What are we doing today?”

“You’re going out with Hogan and her dog. See if he gets any hits.”

“WMDs?” Rocket jerked forward. “That’s what we’re looking for, right? You’re not saying it, but the commander said her dog is EDD, specialized in chemical weapons. That’s why you brought her and that dog, right?”

“Beowulf. His name is Beowulf.” Timbrel stood and dusted off her backside. She swallowed the adrenaline spiraling through her system. “General, you never said anything about WMDs when you asked for Beo and me.”

He didn’t flinch. “Thought it’d be obvious, Hogan. Think I wanted you out here to put my men in a bad mood?”

She ignored the jibe. “Beo’s also trained for drugs and bombs.”

He waved at her. “We got those dogs by the dozen.”

Stay calm, stay calm
.

“Isn’t this what you’re trained for, Hogan?” Burnett growled. “Or do you two want to head home with your tail between your legs and forfeit your contract? And your in-theater authorization and certification?”

The threat lifted her chin. It’d taken Jibril Khouri too long to get them cleared. He’d have her head if she messed things up. He’d warned her to hold it together, to set aside her agitation if she expected any more gigs.

And she didn’t want to leave. She thrived on the chaos of danger. But the thought of hunting down weapons of mass destruction … chemical bombs …

“Well?” Burnett demanded.

“We’re good, sir.”

“Good.” He shifted his attention back to the men. “We’ve narrowed down a radius, but we’re flying blind. This is a recon mission. Do not engage. Don’t think I have to explain the delicate nature of this situation, especially as our forces move toward a more advise-and-guide role here.” He gave a nod. “You’ll head out first thing. Dismissed.”

Anger churned through Timbrel. She waited as the others cleared out then moved to Burnett’s side. “Sir, with all due respect—”

“You’re either in or you’re not. And if you’re not, I need you out of my way.” He narrowed his eyes. “In fact, I can reactivate you.”

“I was Navy, sir.”

“I don’t care. I can make your life a living hell right out of the Bible, Hogan, or you can lend me your expertise right here, right now. I need you, but I don’t have time for you to get comfortable with the danger level. Think those men are happy about going out there?”

“But Beo—”

“I’m sure Watters has several ‘buts’ he’d like to add—in fact, probably six of them.”

One for each member of ODA452. She got the point.

Heat plumed through her chest at that threat. She couldn’t go back in …

“This isn’t about you. In fact, it’s bigger than you. Understand what I’m saying, Hogan? We’ve got a butt load of trouble coming down the pipe.” He jabbed a finger toward Beo. “And I need that dog to find it before it’s too late.”

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