Free Beowulf: Explosives Detection Dog by Ronie Kendig Page A

sixtieth birthday with the complete kitchen remodel, done just as she’d always dreamed.
    Her manicured nails scratched over his beard. “All these years, and I still don’t like the fuzz.”
    He groaned. “Not you, too.” At the fridge, he tugged it open and scanned the contents before choosing a pitcher of sweet tea and pouring himself a glass.
    “Oh? Who else commented on your beard?”
    “My CO and Timbrel.”
    Her eyebrow arched.
    “What?”
    “Nothing, just … she keeps popping up in your conversations.”
    “So? Is that unusual?”
    “Yes, actually, it is.”
    He grinned as he lifted the drink and held her gaze. “How are things?”
    Her smile flickered, but true to her nature, Irene VanAllen remained composed. “Fine. Not much has changed.”
    Tony dumped a big mouthful back—then gagged. Spit it in the sink. “What is this?”
    Mischief sparked in her eyes. “Tea.”
    “No, this isn’t tea. This is some kind of nasty.”
    She laughed. “It’s not sweetened.”
    “Why would you do that—
not
do that? Are you trying to kill me?”
    “Because I’m watching blood sugars for your father.”
    Tony hauled himself back in line. “Oh.” He should’ve been paying attention—she’d said not much had changed, but how many little things like this had changed? “Where is he?”
    “Sleeping.” The vibrancy washed out of her, and it seemed she had aged years in those seconds. But then it changed again. She snapped the towel at him. “As much as I love my son, he smells like a jungle and looks like one. Go on with you. Get showered and changed. I’ll call Stephanie and text Grady to let them know you’re home.”
    “Don’t bother with Grady,” Tony said as headed down the hall. “He won’t come.”
    “Doesn’t mean he shouldn’t be invited.”
    “Maybe it does,” he called as he plopped on the bed. He shed his boots, yanked off his shirt, and tossed it in the laundry bin. Armed with a pair of jeans and a shirt, he headed to the shower.
    Fifteen minutes later, wrapped in a towel, he stood before the mirror and wiped away the condensation.
    So. Beard. He ran his hand over it, his stomach tight. This would hurt, in more ways than one. Using scissors, he cut the beard down then used his razor to remove the rest. Rinsing his razor, he caught his reflection … and hesitated.
    She’d better like this. He’d spent the last five years with that wiry mess for added camo in protecting his identity. Now he’d have to grow it back out. And those first few weeks of fuzzies drove him nuts.
    Tony donned his jeans, snatched his shirt, and emerged from the room. Heading back to the kitchen, he heard voices. Children’s voices! He quickened his pace.
    “Uncle Tony!” Bright blue eyes went wide as four-year-old Hayden lunged.
    He caught his nephew and, in a fluid move, flipped him up and over his shoulder with a shout. “How’s my buddy?”
    Hayden climbed onto his shoulders like a monkey. “Great! Mom, look how tall I am.”
    His sister, Stephanie, smiled. “So I see.”
    Tony inched over, shirt clutched in his hand, and kissed his sister. “Hey.” He flipped her blond hair, the front much longer than the back. “Nice cut.”
    “You don’t like it?”
    “It’s short.”
    “It’s easier to manage with two children.”
    “It’s short,” he said again. A tug at his jeans alerted him to his niece and he tossed aside his shirt. “Marlee!” He lifted her into his arms, careful to keep Hayden balanced. “How’s my little angel?”
    “Did you get me a necklace?” Marlee asked.
    “Yes, I did.” He’d nearly forgotten. “Okay, deploy, soldiers.” He knelt and waited for them both to scramble off him. “I’ll be right back bearing gifts.” Their cheers sent him jogging toward the laundry room, where he retrieved the items from his rucksack. Now … which one was Marlee’s? The smaller was the necklace, right? He rounded the corner, eyeballing the simple brown paper.
    A blur came