Beowulf: Explosives Detection Dog (43 page)

The words rang like a shriek of bats in a cave, terrifying yet pinning her to her spot, unable to move. He didn’t mean those words. They were spoken out of trauma.

He’s trying to protect you
.

From what?

Himself
.

The words swirled heady and strong like a crosscurrent in a storm. “I’m not leaving you, Tony.”

“Can I help you, Sergeant?”

Timbrel shifted and looked toward the door where a nurse stood.

Eyes still on Timbrel, Tony said, “I’d like this woman removed, please.”

“Tony—”

“Ma’am. I’m afraid you shouldn’t be in here anyway.” The nurse was at her side. “I need you to come with me.” When she reached for Timbrel, Beo growled and went into aggression mode, causing the nurse to yelp. She darted out of the room.

“You’d better go.” Tony closed his eyes. “She’s probably bringing security.”

“Tony, stop this. Please, I know you’re upset about your leg, about being like your father—”

“You have no idea”—his voice roared through the night—“no
idea
what you’re saying.”

“I do, actually. I can see it in your eyes and hear it in your voice. You’re not a burden—”

“Get out!”

“Where is the man who could stand up to my sharpest word, the man who loved me when nobody else saw anything worth caring about?”

“He’s dead!
Dead!
”

Timbrel poked his chest. “This isn’t the man I fell in love with. That man wouldn’t sit here feeling sorry for himself and shoving everyone into dark corners of his life until all that’s left are shadows and death.”

“It’s fitting,” he said, his eyes ablaze. “I’m a soldier. All I do is kill.”

“You
protect
.”

The door flung open.

Two MPs stood there, weapons at the ready, not aimed at Beo, who stood with his legs apart, shoulders rolled forward, and his canines exposed. “Ma’am, I need you to call off your dog or I’ll have to do it for you.”

“Beo, out,” Timbrel said as she locked gazes with Tony. “Please.” He was serious. Dead serious about this. “Please, don’t do this. I want to be here. I was wrong before. I apologized. Let me—”

“Good-bye, Timbrel.” Tony nodded to the MPs. “Please remove her.”

        Twenty-eight        

Two Months Later
Leesburg, Virginia

S
tairs loomed up the hall lined with decades of family portraits. Tony stood on the landing, eyeing the unlit corridor. Crutches in one hand, he hopped up the steps the way he might’ve as a kid to mess around. Make it harder. Have a challenge. But now … now everything was a challenge.

He aimed for the last step and miscalculated. With a grunt, he collided with the step. His shin took the worst. Tony rolled onto his hip and sat. Huffing, he stared at the crutches that had clattered back down to the basement floor. Frustration coiled around his heart and squeezed an iron fist around it.

Teeth gritted, he returned to the bottom. Yanked up the walking aids and faced the steps once more.

“Tony,” his mom called then her head appeared at the top of the stairs. “Ah. There you are. I made your father some clam chowder. Want some?”

“No thanks.” He hopped up a step, holding on to the rail.

“Here, dear. Let me help you.” She started down—

“Mom.” Tony held up his hand.

She stopped, one sneakered foot on a step higher than the other. “Tony, what is wrong with me helping you?”

“Because I have to do it myself.”

“There is nothing wrong with accepting help or me offering. Don’t treat me like a criminal for being your mother.” She pivoted and disappeared around the corner.

Head on his forearm, Tony groaned. Would he ever be treated like a normal person again? It was true—his mother was Suzy Homemaker. A good, strong woman who loved helping people. Her motive was always borne out of her desire to be a blessing, not to make anyone feel inferior. But she was so doggone good at it—both the helping and the making one feel inferior …

Just like Timbrel.

Tony straightened and pressed his back against the wall.
“This isn’t the man I fell in love with.”
Her words still poked at him. He knew she’d come back. Knew she’d try to make him see her side. It was how she was wired. How she coped. That knowledge prepared him for her appearance.

Okay, not fully prepared. She’d been more beautiful than ever. So confident and strong.

“You’re doing a good job holding up that wall.”

Tony rolled his gaze to the side and saw his brother sitting on the landing.

“Why don’t you sit outside in the cold and hold up the deck next so Mom and Dad don’t have to pay for its repairs?” Grady slurped some white liquid from a bowl. Chowder, no doubt.

“Have you started paying rent yet?” Tony hopped up two steps. “You’re here enough.”

“I think with all the whining and brooding you’re doing, Mom has forgotten I exist. I could probably clear out their bank account and she’d never notice.”

Tony made it up two more, tempering his anger at Grady. “Dad would, and then he’d take you out back and do us all a favor.”

“Tsk, tsk, Jimmy. Where’s your brotherly love?”

“At the bottom of these stairs.” Tony stabbed the crutch at Grady, pushing him out of the way. “Move.”

“Man, did the bomb blow up your manners, too?”

“Shut up.”

“Aha, I see. That’s why Timbrel hasn’t been here.” Grady slurped from the spoon as he stood in the hall, watching Tony clamber.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Actually, I do.”

Tony eyed him as he readjusted the crutches.

“Ya know,” Grady said as he moved into the kitchen, set the bowl in the sink, then slid his hands into the pockets of his slick gray slacks, “I never thought I’d see the day my brother resorted to threats and wife-beating tactics to break up with a girl.”

The rubber stopper of the right crutch slipped. Tony whooshed forward. Grabbed the granite counter. His brother saw that? Saw the fight with Timbrel?

Disappointment colored Grady’s face. Where Tony had the sandy blond hair and green eyes, Grady sported the tall-dark-and-handsome genes. And brains. Grady had inherited the near-genius level intellect that had him soaring to the top of a computer security company. Had him driving a BMW 320i.

“Since you’re done with her, since you shattered her heart, I’m going to see what I can do to pick up the pieces.”

“Tss,” Tony said with a smirk. “Threatening me?”

“Oh no, little brother.” Grady guzzled a glass of water, rinsed it, and placed it in the dishwasher. “No threats.” He walked toward the back door and opened it as their mother reappeared with a tray of empty dishes. “Remember, you walked away—or should I say hobbled?” He planted a kiss on their mother’s cheek. “I like her. Mom likes her. I think it’s time to introduce her to the way an incredible woman like her
should
be treated.”

“Grady.”
Tony’s jaw muscles hurt from grinding them so much.

His brother walked out the door.

“Grady!” Tony swung his crutches and carried himself toward the garage.

The sound of a powerful engine roared to life and peeled away.

Slamming his hand against the jamb gave him little relief. He punched the wall. Again. Again.

“Tony.” His mom’s voice filtered through his fury. “Let me get you some water. Or do you need some pills?”

“Leave it!” He jerked around. “I’m sick of your pity. I’m not him. I’m not Dad!” He stabbed a finger toward the back porch where she’d served his father lunch. “Don’t treat me like a cripple. Got it?”

Something slammed against his chest. Pinned him to the wall.

Breath knocked out of him, he blinked. His mind whiplashed. He found himself staring down at his father, whose arm pressed into this throat. “Dad,” Tony croaked. Great. His father was having an episode again.

“Don’t. Ever. Talk. To my wife like that again.” His father’s nose pushed against Tony’s cheek, breath puffing in hot blasts. “Ever. Am I clear, boy?” Perfect clarity shimmered in his father’s eyes. No, this wasn’t a flashback. His father had hauled him up just as he had when Tony was twelve and mouthed off to his mother.

“Yes, sir,” Tony choked out.

His father released him. Patted his shoulder. “I don’t care if half your body is missing, you won’t treat your mother like that again.”

Tony gave a nod. Felt the world crumbling. Assaulted by his own actions, by the shock and grief on his mom’s face, he lowered his gaze. Pulled it back up and met hers. “I’m sorry, Mom.”

When she reached for him, tears glistening on her cheeks, he shook his head. Hobbled down the hall. To his room. He hopped inside, swung the rubber-tipped crutch at the door. And flung himself around.

The crutch caught.

Tony pitched forward, jerked off his foot. He went down. His face smacked into his footboard. Snapped back his head. Pain exploded. He slumped.

As he sat there, disgusted with himself, his gaze hit the shelf behind the door. Trophies. Team photos. Footballs. An autographed baseball that held the signatures of his team when they won state. Hockey. Prom. Sorority balls. Military balls. All things he’d never do, play, or be. Ever. Again.

Fury whipped him over. He grabbed the crutch. “Augh!” Swung it around. Aimed it at the shelf. Raked the trophies off. Smashed the photos.

Hobbling around, he spied himself. Spied the rage in his face. Hated himself more. He threw the crutch discus-style at the mirror.

The motion pulled him off balance. He landed hard against the desk. Footing lost, he flipped. Rolled. Swung out his hand to catch his balance. No good. The narrow casing that held his DVDs and Blu-rays tipped. Pushing him backward. He hopped to avoid the avalanche. The small desk chair clipped the back of his knee. Tony pitched backward.

His head thunked against the wood floor. The case chased him.

Arms over his head, Tony cried out as it battered him. Pinned, he growled. Shouted at God.

As the dust settled, the broken pieces of his grief and shame lay amid the ruins of his room. Instinctively, he shot out his leg to push off the shelf, but it was his left. And there wasn’t enough leg to reach.

“Augh!” Weakened and defeated, Tony slumped down, then onto his back. He lay there, staring straight through his ceiling as if he could see the God of heaven and earth. The God who had rewritten Tony’s life by stripping away his pride right along with his left tibia and fibula.