Beowulf: Explosives Detection Dog (49 page)

As I lay on my back, staring up at the sky, thoughts drenched in her blood.
Me
drenched in her blood. I’ll never forget the warmth that seeped through my waistcoast and tunic as I held her tight. Cried. Growled for help that never came. I knew he would kill her. I always knew that’s how it would end. But I had hoped.

Like a stupid, lovesick dog.

I could not help but wonder where she was up there. The angel who defied convention and stood resolute for her Christian faith. She told me she did not fear dying, and she would not let fear of death stop her from voicing the truth.

“I am the way, the truth, and the life …’ ”

I could still hear her melodious voice, the words from the Bible drifting through my mind. Light sliced through the shadows. Pulled my head to the side for a better view. Clouds slid aside and revealed the full moon, glowing like a beacon. Beckoning me.

To what?

A fiery thought scorched my dull mood.

With a quick look to my door, I verified it was locked. I’d done that since the day they dragged her away from me. The colonel—I would no longer call him Father as; he was no such a thing to me—had heard Nafisa talking of Isa. I think the colonel feared I believed her words. Believed what she said.

I slid my hand beneath the mattress and retrieved the small book. As I slipped to the wood floor, back against the bed, I traced the gold script on the cover. Reading from her Bible helped me feel like she was here, right in this room with me. Talking to me. Teaching me.
Loving me
.

The last words she spoke to me had locked into my soul. She said she left her peace with me. Oh, that it could be so. I felt no peace. I felt hunger—to be free. Free of the colonel. Free of the fear that he would kill me, too, when he found me unworthy.

I flipped through the pages, still surprised even these many days later, to find that she had marked up the holy text with her own notes. In this way, she
was
still here. Sitting beneath the moonlight, I angled my shoulder so I could better see the thin pages. Reading, I wondered what Nafisa would say, what story she would tell me about her father teaching this story or that one at their small gatherings.

It wasn’t till I heard voices in the courtyard that I realized the blanket of night was being pushed back by dawn’s deep blues. I hadn’t slept. Quickly, I slid the Bible beneath the mattress and slipped into the cold comfort of the bed and blanket. Getting only two or three hours barely prepared me for the arrival of some daunting news.

“Get up!”

Dragging myself from the weight of sleep, I sat up on the bed. Squinted at the light that exploded through the room. “What … what is it?”

“Pack a bag. We fly out in two hours.”

“Fly? Where?”

But the colonel was already out the door before my questions were finished. He had not treated me the same since he killed Nafisa. I was not sure whether it was my grieving that repulsed him or the thought that I might actually believe in the Christian God.

I was not sure I did. But if I weighed the actions of Nafisa on a good scale with the colonel’s … I know whose side I would choose.

And the Bible. It was not that much different from the Qur’an, but there was something about it that kept me reading. After a shower and packing my bag as ordered, I stood outside my room. The compound was buzzing with noise.

Irfael stormed toward me. The man had never liked me, and now that the colonel seemed to share that feeling, Irfael was rougher with me than ever. “Outside, Dehqan. In the car. Now.”

“Where is my father?”

“Do as you were told!”

As I moved toward the door, I knew that the time was upon us. The plan my father—the colonel—had plotted all these long years was happening. He would attack the Great Satan. America. And I was suddenly wondering if the colonel was wrong about that, too.

I was convinced as I climbed into the armored vehicle that a way would present itself for me to escape. To be who I should be. Whoever that was. Dehqan. Aazim.
Nafisa’s love
. Peering through the dark, bulletproof side window, I gazed up at the still-lightening sky. A stirring in my chest seemed to betray where my thoughts were heading.

If You are the true God, help me stop him. For her
. For me.

        Thirty-two        

The National Hotel
New York City, New York

W
ould you like a walker for your dog?” Timbrel looked up from her phone at the bellhop. “What?”

“Your dog.” He pointed toward Beowulf. “We have a service that will retrieve your pet and take him for a walk.”

Avoiding the laugh that crept up her throat at the thought of some little high schooler even trying to put a lead on Beo, Timbrel shook her head. “No, thanks. We’ll be fine. In fact, he’s a working dog. Is there a way to note on our room that nobody should enter without our express permission, unless they want to lose a hand or other body part?”

Beo grunted and sat at her feet, staring the bellhop down.

The guy shifted. “Um, sure.” He cast a look at Beo then whipped around and closed the door.

“You are wretched, darling,” her mom said as she sailed through the room in a satin robe. “That poor boy is probably scared stiff.”

“Well, it keeps nosy people out of our room, and will, for those who recognized you, keep the paps out of here, too.” Timbrel retuned her attention to her phone. She pulled up General Burnett’s office number and hit T
ALK
. Phone to ear, she waited as the call connected.

“Offices of Generals Burnett, Holland, Reagan, and Whiting. How may I help you?”

“This is Timbrel Hogan. I’d like General Burnett’s office, please.”

“Let me transfer you to his admin. He’s in a meeting right now.”

Deflated, Timbrel agreed and held her breath as the call was transferred.

“Lieutenant Hastings.”

Timbrel’s hopes perked. “Brie, this is Timbrel Hogan.”

“Hello.” That didn’t sound friendly the way she remembered the lieutenant. “What can I do for you?”

“I wanted to talk with General Burnett—”

“Sorry, he’s tied up for the day.”

“Again?”

“I’ll be glad to give him a message though.”

Frustration soaked her tired muscles. “Okay.” Timbrel sat on the edge of the settee and peered out the floor-to-ceiling bank of windows that overlooked the city. “I needed to talk to him about a conversation I overheard with Sajjan Takkar. I’m pretty sure it’s trouble, an attack.”

“Okay, I’ll give it to him. Thanks for calling.”

“Brie—don’t blow me off.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

If that wasn’t a kiss-off, she didn’t know a better one. “Right.”

“Thanks for calling. Bye.” Brie ended the conversation. Severed Timbrel’s tiny thread of hope that she could get an audience with the one man who could stop this impending avalanche.

Why wouldn’t he listen? Tony hadn’t brushed her off, but he sure didn’t give her the time of day. He’d given her a piece of his mind, and she shoved hers right back at him. After his comment about his manhood and Beo’s, he’d gone into the new building to work with his new
girlfriend
Rika.

Timbrel resisted the green envy flooding her veins. He’d really seemed enthralled with that dog.

Wait. If he was … That dog … Timbrel recalled Khaterah talking about a therapy dog. She pivoted and looked at Beo. Was that who Rika was? A therapy dog? Was she the plush coat Timbrel has seen Jibril with?

Timbrel’s heart broke a little more for Tony. And for a moment, she understood a little deeper that his terse words, his pushing her away, probably had more internal wounds than external wounds driving it.

“Okay. I’m ready to head down to help with decorations.”

Timbrel smirked as she peeked over her shoulder. “You mean over—” Her words fell flat at the sight. Her mom in jeans, a T-shirt, and her hair pinned up. “You’re seriously going to
work
?”

Her mom bristled. “Of course, I’m going to work.” Her mom angled her head. “I actually enjoy decorating for parties.” She strutted to the door, and Timbrel had to admit—Nina Laurens still had it going on. No wonder Sajjan Takkar had turned his head.

Timbrel just wished he’d keep turning—and twist right off. The man was trouble with a capital
T
. But nobody would listen. And trying to tell her mom that was even harder.

Well, if she couldn’t convince her mom, maybe she could protect her. “Right, Beo?” Timbrel brought him to his feet with that question. As they entered the elevator at the end of the hall, Timbrel stepped in and pressed the button for the first floor where the ballrooms were located. “I’m surprised you didn’t have Rocky and Terrin.”

“Rocky’s here,” her mom said. “His daughter lives here, so I gave him the day off. And Terrin, well, he fell ill last night. Sajjan and I agreed it’d be okay for him to stay back.”

“Your head of security and you left him behind?”

“I have Sajjan.”

“Oh, and there’s some reassurance,” Timbrel muttered.

Elevator doors slid open at the same time her mother flashed Timbrel a glare. “You might think I can’t take care of myself, but I’m almost fifty years old, and I raised you, didn’t I?”

The verbal smack made Timbrel draw back. She touched her mom’s arm. “I don’t think that, Mom.”

Brown eyes framed by that platinum-blond hair gave her mom a youthful, playful look. “You don’t?”

“It’s not your fault I’m as messed up as I am,” Timbrel admitted as they entered the grand ballroom.

“Good morning, ladies!”

Timbrel turned toward the voice and smiled. “Aspen! I didn’t know you were coming.”

White blond curls sprang from a lazy updo as Aspen Courtland hooked Timbrel in a hug. “You didn’t? But we’re all getting together tonight for a semireunion. I thought you knew.”

“Who’s we?”

“A Breed Apart.”

“Oh!” Her mom spun to her. “I completely forgot to tell you. We’re doing this private little soiree tonight for the handlers and dogs, to honor them.”

“Heath and Darci will be here.” Aspen smiled. “Dane’s flying in. And Jibril has invited the two new handlers. It’ll be fun.”

Right. Fun. That she hadn’t been invited to.