Beowulf: Explosives Detection Dog (50 page)

Khaterah came toward them. “Hey. You ready to get to work? We have a lot to get done before tomorrow night.”

“Walk me through the setup,” Timbrel said, glad to get away from Aspen and her mom who immediately launched into colors, flowers, and dresses. Topics that just made her want to break out into hives.

Khaterah smiled. “Sure. Okay, well, as you can probably guess from the columns, we’re doing a Greek-Roman theme because of the first guardian dogs, the Molossus, mentioned in Aristotle’s works.”

Sure enough, white columns mirrored each other and formed a line down each side. Gauzy, sheer material draped elegantly between the outer flanks. “We’ll repeat the look on the stage once it’s done.”

Timbrel eyed the stage where she saw a curtain. “What’s behind the curtain?”

“Oh, just more doors. They’ll be locked. We’ll have security here”—she indicated to where two banquet-length tables sat as sentries before the main access doors—“where everyone will check in. On their way out, they can pick up a small gift.” Wide mahogany eyes held hers. “I know you don’t like your mom—”

“No, it’s not that. Please, just tell me about the gala.”

“Your mom has been very generous. She’s donated all the gifts and door prizes.”

“Door prizes?”

Khaterah nodded. “She is so proud of you and the work you do with Beowulf.”

Stunned stupid, Timbrel found herself staring at her mom.
She’s proud of me? Since when?

“Anyway, I can’t think of anything else. Ready to help blow up balloons?”

Speaking of blowing up … what if this location was where Takkar and his friend were planning to use their weapon of mass destruction? What would they blow up here?

Nothing, she decided resolutely. Not as long as Beo’s sniffer was on the job.

Light jazz notes drifted along the clean lines of the modern furniture with its sleek leather, glass, and steel. Timbrel shifted in the slacks and black scoop-neck blouse. Her mom had wrinkled her nose at the getup, but Timbrel sure wasn’t putting on a dress. Wearing one twice in a weekend surely unseated the balance of nature or something. She railed. Insisted she be allowed to wear what she wanted.

Now, with Aspen and her cute athletic figure in a short black dress with Dane, her HunkyRussianGuy, lurking … and Heath’s wife, Darci. Man, that chick commanded attention in a natural but powerful way that Timbrel envied. But even she had on a slinky black dress. Khaterah—same thing. Not quite as “sexy,” but it definitely had drawn a look or two from the two new handlers, Jared Kendall and Eric Pena, both midthirties, prior Army, and single.

Definitely one of those should’ve-listened-to-my-mother moments. But Timbrel wouldn’t voice that to anyone in this room.

Instead she made a beeline for Mr. HunkyRussianGuy. Dane Markoski, or whatever his real name was—he had this sordid past that never quite caught up with him or vice versa, and he had a personal “in” with General Burnett. So did Darci. But Timbrel was far less intimidated with Dane than Ms. Thang over in the corner laughing.

He saw her coming. Probably a mile out. And man, if Aspen hadn’t snagged this guy and if Timbrel’s heart weren’t firmly wrapped up in the tangled mess of Tony VanAllen’s life, she’d totally be into this guy.

“Timbrel.”

“Hey, can I talk to you?”

Slick and smooth, the guy smiled in a way that made the old movie legends’ smolder seem amateurish. “Sure.” He aimed her toward a quieter corner, away from the others.

“I overheard a conversation, one that has given me considerable concern about the safety of everyone during the gala tomorrow night.”

A lethal seriousness knifed through his expression. “Here?”

“Yes.”

“What have you done?”

“Nothing. Nobody will listen to me. He’s my mother’s boyfriend, and—”

“What did you hear?”

“He said something to the effect that they’d all be there, and that if this person wanted to strike a blow against the Great Satan, this was the way to do it.” Timbrel looked at Dane earnestly. “I’ve tried to contact General Burnett, but he won’t speak to me or return my calls.”

“Mm,” he said, eyes working the room, taking in everything and processing.

“What does that mean?”

His gaze slid to hers. “It means exactly what it is.” He straightened and looked at her directly. “What do you expect me to say, Timbrel?”

“I’d hoped you’d have an idea. And if not, I just …” She fought the urge to release the updo twist that tugged at her very nerves. “I’m afraid something will happen tomorrow. And I feel powerless against it.”

He nodded. “I understand.”

“Do you?”

Appraising her, he smiled. “Confrontation is often a front for insecurity.”

He didn’t hold any punches, but neither did she. “It’s also one of the best ways to let someone know you’re annoyed.” Timbrel gave a cockeyed nod. “If you’ll excuse me.” She stalked off to the bar where she ordered a virgin strawberry daiquiri. She glanced down at Beo. “Why are you
still
the only guy I can stand being with?” She patted the vinyl chair beside her.

Without an ounce of hesitation, Beowulf leapt into the spot. Paws on the bar, he huffed.

The bartender’s eyes came to Timbrel without turning his head.

“Can I get him a puppy latte?”

The bartender’s eyebrow winged up.

“A cup with whipped cream.”

“Seriously?”

“You want to tell him no?”

Beowulf growled.

Blinking, the bartender drew back. Gave a “whatever” shake of his head, filled a cup with whipped cream, then slid it down the counter. As if afraid to get too close to her dog’s mouth.

“Thanks.”

Beo went to town licking out the cream, making Timbrel laugh.

“
That
is disgusting,” came the familiar, taunting voice of Heath “Ghost” Daniels as he slid onto the bar stool to Timbrel’s left.

Timbrel laughed again.

“I think you about gave your mom a heart attack with this.” He waved toward Beo slobbering and flinging drool and whipped cream around.

“Eh, gotta stir up some fun sometime. And don’t tell me you don’t give Trinity a puppy latte.”

“Not a chance. Want to keep her lean and mean.”

“Like you.”

“We’re a matched set.”

“Where is she? I’m surprised you didn’t bring her out.”

“She’s here.” He nodded toward a corner.

Timbrel spun around and bobbed her gaze around the crowd till she found the corner where the Belgian Malinois lay at the feet of her handler’s bride. Darci’s eyebrows bounced as she watched the partygoers from the comfort of the floor. “Wow, she looks … bored.”

“She’s ticked.”

Timbrel eyed him. “Why?”

Heath stared into his water glass. “Darci’s pregnant. Thing of it is, Trin knew before us. She became überprotective of Darci, wouldn’t let her out of her sight.”

“Wow. Pregnant.” Timbrel tried not to say it, but the words tumbled past her lazy mouth guard. “That was fast.”

Heath lifted the glass to his mouth and paused. “You have no idea.” After he gulped down the water, he turned to her. “So, what’s going on with you—besides trouble?”

Timbrel tried to laugh off the jab. “What else is there?” But it hurt. She was sick of being trouble. Of it finding her. Of nobody believing her because of how often trouble and Timbrel seemed to pair up.

“Hey, Hogan.” His use of her name pulled her gaze up. “You okay, kiddo?”

“Yeah.” She didn’t need to be a killjoy. She bumped Heath’s shoulder with her own. “Besides, you need to get back over there and take care of your wife.”

“Please don’t make me. They’re talking nursery colors.” He roughed a hand over his face. “This is where I think I should’ve married someone like you.”

“Someone like me?” Timbrel swallowed the way that hurt.

“Yeah, you’re not all domestic. You wouldn’t be there talking colors and animals, and … then again.” Heath paused and scratched the back of his head. “I didn’t think Darci would be doing that either.” He playfully punched her shoulder. “But you’re cast-iron tomboy. I think that’s why Candyman had a thing for you.”

Had
. As in past tense?

She eyed the former Special Forces handler.

“Too bad this isn’t happening down in Helmand Province, or even Bagram.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because the team would be here. For security.” Heath grinned like a banshee. “You’d get to see him again. He could play the wounded soldier.”

Timbrel forced her gaze away from him. Away from the way those words scalded. Tony was the wounded soldier, and he wanted nothing to do with her. “I bit his head off the other day. I doubt he’d want to give me the time of day.”

Maybe … maybe if she’d been more domestic, more pliable, Tony wouldn’t have walked away from her yesterday.

“Yeah?” Heath shrugged. “Seems you always gave him whatnot. He seemed to like that, that you weren’t afraid of him and stood up to him.”

“Well, like everything else, I messed it up.”

“There he is,” Heath muttered, his attention elsewhere.

Stung that he hadn’t even heard her comment, Timbrel looked up as a commotion of noise and laughter ensued. As she did, her gaze struck Dane. Like a flicker of light that exploded and vanished in a second, something shifted in his expression. But he schooled it. Yet not fast enough for Timbrel not to see.

Dane’s gaze was locked on to Sajjan Takkar. Like a missile.

Then he looked to Aspen beside him. Smiled at her. Excused himself.

As he strode away from the group toward the restrooms, he looked at Sajjan. The two shared the briefest of glances. But it was there.

Dane recognized him. He knows him. Dane knows Sajjan
.

What did that mean? Timbrel started after Dane. If the guy thought Sajjan was trouble the way she did, then no way would she let this go.

“If I may please have your attention.” Sajjan’s voice rose over the din and pulled Timbrel around. Wearing his turban and a cloak of humility, he lifted his chin to talk so everyone could hear. Her mom, clinging sap that she was, stood nearby, fawning. No … not the right word. Staring at the guy in complete adoration.

“In the last couple of months,” Sajjan continued, “my Nina has come to look upon you, especially Khaterah, as her friends. Family.”

He did not just go there
.

His gaze hit Timbrel’s.

You are trouble, and I’m going to expose you
.

“And since my family is not here in America, it just seemed appropriate that you would be my witnesses.”

He’s going to blow us up! That’s why Dane left
.

Timbrel’s heart pounded.

She snapped her fingers. Beowulf leapt off the chair.

Trinity’s ears swiveled and she lifted her head from the floor.

Sajjan reached into his pocket.

“Stop!”

He was already on a knee.

Several shot her a confused glance.

Then Timbrel’s world seemed to grind to a halt as Sajjan produced a radiant ring with a large emerald surrounded by diamonds.

Attention returned to the couple. Not just a couple. Her mom. And her boyfriend. Her terrorist boyfriend. Mortified, Timbrel heard Tony’s words as she watched.
“What are you going to do?”

“Nina, would you do me the great honor of becoming my wife?”

        Thirty-three