Beowulf: Explosives Detection Dog (8 page)

P
ounding thumped against his chest.

On any other day here in the desert, the source would’ve been a firefight.

Tonight, it was a rockin’ band with a mean bass. And they were killin’ it.

She hadn’t come. He knew she wouldn’t. But he’d hoped. A sucker for a pretty face, that’s what he was. She’d shoveled a heap of hope into his lap as they sat there in the market talking. As he watched her laugh. Man, what a sound.

She didn’t fool him though. Tony had seen a lot of trauma in his life, and she wore it like a unit patch. They’d been sitting there, him doing most of the talking but that was fine. She seemed okay with it. Way he figured, it’d wear down that wall she had erected around her heart and life.

Though dusk descended, Tony couldn’t miss the pallor that drained that pretty pink from her face. She’d remembered something, an awful something, as her gaze slid from his eyes to his chest, and with it went her smile and willingness to stick around.

That’s when he knew he was dealing with more than a tough woman.

Timbrel Hogan wasn’t just broken. She’d been shattered.

And if he ever met the person responsible …

Throngs of troops threw up their fists, shouting with the music, and some even danced. Tony sat on a table at the back of the building, nursing a Coke. He leaned back against the wall, hiking a leg up and resting his forearm over his knee. She made him want to be a better version of himself. And he’d trimmed his beard.

For cryin’ out loud. Didn’t she get that sacrifice?

Rocket pushed through a group of female soldiers and headed his way. He stuck out a hand. “Hey, no hard feelings?”

“Never.” After a fist bump, Tony tossed his can in the receptacle.

“I’m surprised she showed up here.”

Tony frowned. “She didn’t. Too many people.”

Rocket pointed toward the side entrance.

“You’re just trying to make me look stupid.”

“You do that all on your own, brother.” Rocket patted his shoulder and vanished back into the crowd.

Seriously? Was she here? Shoving off the table, Tony searched the faces by the door. A handful of officers moved farther into the teeming audience, exposing a gap.

And there she was. Alluring with her uncertainty and long brown hair.

Tony lumbered toward her.

Though he couldn’t hear it, he knew the dog growled at him by the way Timbrel signaled him to stand down. Then she saw Tony and smiled sheepishly. “Hard to sleep with decibels like this pounding the base worse than mortars.”

“This?” He shrugged. “I could sleep like a baby. It’s like home to me.”

“And you complained about my dog’s snoring?”

Tony chuckled. She had her fight back. Good. “Let’s head outside so we don’t have to shout.” He pushed open the door, and she and Beowulf exited. Outside, Timbrel tossed the ball and Beowulf tore off after it. “He’s one tough dog.”

“He’s the only guy for me.”

“Yeah, I think you said that a time or two already.”

“You sound disappointed.”

Tony said nothing. He just trudged over to a picnic table and sat atop it, his feet on the bench. “How long have you had him?”

“Five years. Nobody else was willing to work with him.” She shrugged. “Actually, he wouldn’t work with anyone else. The instructors were ready to retire him and he wasn’t even a year old yet.”

“Tough, thickheaded … Don’t they pair handlers and dogs with similar personalities?”

The light overhead bathed her face, colored with surprise. “You did not just go there.”

Tony chuckled.

“Oh wow, you did.” She sat on the bench to his left, accepted the ball from Beowulf, and threw it again. It hit the wall. Beowulf didn’t miss a beat, launching himself off the cement bricks and tearing after the ball.

Leaning back, she crossed her ankles. “So, what do you think will happen—with Burnett and this mission?”

“Mission’s over.” Tony rested his forearms on his knees. “With the way it ended, I wouldn’t be surprised if the whole thing gets officially buried.”

Her brow furrowed. “But he said he was looking for WMDs. How can it be over?”

He nudged her shoulder with his knee. “I said
officially
.“

Casting him a sidelong glance, she nodded. Her dog returned and she praised him, rubbed his fur, then threw the ball a few more times. No dialogue. No idle chitchat. Just chilling with the music pulsing through the USO building. He liked this. Nothing special. No mission. No argument. Just being. With her, of course.

He didn’t want it any other way. But … would they ever get past square one?

“How long do you stay out here?” She looked at him as a hot breeze tossed a loose strand of her hair into his face.

“Till the music stops, I guess.”

“No, I meant your deployment—wasn’t sure with you being Special Forces.”

“Ah.” Tony peered down at her, the top of her head catching the lamplight. “Another two weeks, then we’ll head home for a few months.”

“When you come out …?” Her words were almost lost in the chaos of the concert, especially when the door opened and out spilled a half-dozen soldiers. She waited as they greeted him with a sarcastic salute then moseyed away. Timbrel shifted, pulled a leg up to her chest, and rested her boot on the bench. “When you deploy, how long is it for?”

“Till the job’s done.”

She nodded, but he couldn’t see her face. And that was annoying.

Tony hopped off the table.

Beowulf spun toward him and growled.

Timbrel smirked. “Beowulf, heel.” She petted his sides as he sat down with a huff, his broad mouth pouting.

“He looks offended that you stopped him from taking a piece out of me.”

“He is.” Timbrel stroked the fur, hugged her dog, then looked up at Tony. “He’s a lot like you—ugly, mean, but on the inside, he’s a big ol’ softie.”

“You calling me soft?” Indignant that she’d compared him to her dog—he wasn’t sure whether to be offended or feel complimented. He tugged up his sleeve and flexed his bicep. “Does this look soft?”

Timbrel gave him a playful smile. “That looks like you’re compensating.”

Oh, getting ruthless. He must be hitting home or reaching new places. “Compensating.” He took a step closer. “What would I be compensating for?”

“Well, with that wall of muscle you call a chest and the tattoo—”

“Now what’s wrong with my tattoo?” Tony eyed the ink sliding out from under his sleeve.

“How big is it?” Hands on her hips, she faced off with him.

He knew if she saw this thing, she’d draw a correlation to his manhood somehow. And he so wasn’t going there. “It has meaning.”

She laughed. “How big?”

She was so dang pretty. Did she know that? He’d do anything for her. Including this. Tony hiked up his shirt and tugged it off, angling his shoulder down toward her.

“Holy cow!” Timbrel’s laugh echoed through the night as if they were the only two who existed. She touched the ink that traced up his bicep, over his shoulder, and swooped down around his left pectoral. “Wow. This is some piece of work.”

Her touch set off emergency flares in his gut.

With one hand on his left shoulder and one on his right arm, she tilted him toward the light. “That’s … amazing. It had to be painful to get inked that much.”

He lowered his chin, bracing himself against her soft fingers tracing his bare chest.
Do not to react. Correction:
stop
reacting
.

“What is it?”

Think.
She’s talking to you, moron
. “It’s … uh, it’s from the
Book of Kells.”

She was still touching. Tracing.

Stay still. Don’t … don’t do it
.

His hand went to her face. So soft. So …

Brown eyes snapped to his. He had no doubt she suddenly realized the power she held over him. That she knew what was blazing through his mind because her lips parted as his hand slipped to the back of her neck. Tugged her closer.

She resisted.

Tony stilled. Afraid to set her off. Set off her dog.

But he felt the tension collapse.

He craned his neck toward her face.

She looked up, watching as he honed in.

RPGs had nothing on the mess happening in his heart. He touched his lips to hers. Heard the whisper of a snatched-in breath. Tony kissed her again, this time lingering. Reveling in his victory. She hadn’t pushed him away. Was it really possible …?

He slipped a hand around her waist. Felt the tickle of her hair against his other arm. He kissed her again, debating on deepening it.

Tension roiled through her shoulders. Knotted. She arched away.

No no no
.

Her hands pushed against his chest. “Stop.”

Just one more kiss
.

“Let. Me. Go.”

Growling erupted.

Veering off, Tony grunted. “Okay. Sorry.”

Timbrel’s chest heaved. Head down, she stepped back. Bumped into the table. Her breathing went shallow. Panicked.

“Tim?”

She raised a hand. Shook her head. Long, wavy hair shielded her face.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

“Don’t.” She pivoted. “Just … leave it. Forget it.”

“Forget it? I don’t want to forget it.” He reached toward her.

Beo snapped at him.

Tony yanked back.

“Beo,
heel
.” A volley of force punctured her words. “Look, I’m sorry. It’s … it’s not you. Okay? Just … it won’t work. It just … won’t …”

“No, no way are you getting off that easy.” He narrowed his eyes. “Why? Why are you showing me the door? You wanted that kiss as much as I did.”

“Yeah, and I want a million dollars, too, but it’s not going to happen.”

“That was lame. Even for you. If you wanted this thing with me, you could.” Tony noticed two female officers checking him out and he remembered his shirt. “But you’re walking away. No, you’re running.” He thrust his arms through the sleeves and tugged it down. “Why? At least give me that much respect.”

“Because.” She cocked her head then shook it as if to ward off something. She patted her chest. “I can’t do this. Okay? I can’t.”

It sure sounded like there was more after that, but she choked it off.

“Then don’t. This doesn’t have to be anything but one day at a time.”

She waved her hand and turned in a circle, a caustic laugh trailing her. “That doesn’t work, Candyman.”

Why was she still calling him that?
To keep me at a distance
. Was it really that simple to her? He stepped into her personal space again. Touched her arm. “I want to make this work, Timbrel.”

Her eyebrows raised in question then she frowned. “Why?” Then blinked. “No.” She touched her forehead. “Never mind. Just—let’s forget this happened. Ya know, just forget me.” Her words sounded raw, wounded, as she backed away. “Trust me. You’ll be happier in the long run.”

“You’re the most
un
forgettable woman I know.”

“You don’t even know who I am.”

“I’ve been on several lengthy missions with you, spent a total of about six months with you—the heat of combat sears relationships together.” He held up a hand to stop her from interrupting. “But I hear what you’re saying. Just … just don’t say no to this, to us. We won’t make plans about anything other than today. No expectations.”

Cautiously, she reached up and touched his face. Something strange, tormented flickered through her expression. “I don’t kiss beards.”

If the fuzz was a problem, then, “The beard is gone.” Tony inched in toward her. “Does that mean we can restart this?”

Her lip and chin seemed to tremble. “I never make promises I can’t keep.”

“Good, I wouldn’t want you to.” He smiled down at her, trying to soften the tension. Okay, she was still here, that counted for something. Still talking to him. Counted for more. He had to keep her engaged. “Listen, I’ll be at mess at 0700.” Hope lay pinned between her tortured expression and the banging of his heart. “Just going in the same direction, right?”

Timbrel lifted her chin. “See you, Candyman.” With that, she turned, signaled to her dog, and walked into the night.

Why did that feel a lot like, “So long sucker”?

        Six