Broken Honor (12 page)

Her gaze seldom left him. He knew she was weighing how much he had told her, how much he knew.

Too much. Far too much.

He left a couple of bills on the table, more than enough to cover the check and a generous tip. “I'll walk you home.”

For a moment she looked rebellious, then nodded.

“I'll be over later,” he said as they walked to the door and out into the hot, humid Washington night. He meant it as reassurance, but she stopped and looked up at him. He brushed a soft curl from her face and tucked it behind her ear. “It's probably nothing,” he said. “Anything could have happened in Memphis. This Mallory woman could have enemies, a jilted lover. Chances are it has nothing to do with us.”

“And my apartment?”

“I've seen it,” he said wryly. “The aftermath of a hurricane.”

She grinned at that. “Says the world-class neatnik.”

At least a grin. And tomorrow he would make sure she was safe.

nine

M
EMPHIS

The hotel room looked bare and lonely. Although it was called a suite, it had the same bland lack of character that every moderately priced hotel or motel had. The upholstery was slightly worn and stained, the carpet gray and thin. An aroma of cleaning fluid clung to it.

No Bojangles. No welcoming bark or nose nudging her legs. Only institutional indifference. Amy thought of her own house with its vivid warmth, and was sick to her stomach. She'd tried hard not to think about it these past days.

She'd learned to accept what couldn't be changed, but now she leaned against the interior wall of the room. She took a deep breath, then another.

“Dr. Mallory?” The colonel's voice was warm, full of concern.

She tried to smile. “Just dizzy for a moment,” she lied. “And no one uses ‘doctor' to refer to the holder of a doctorate. Call me Amy.”

“Someone should stay here with you.”

She shook her head. She hadn't told him she planned to take Bo and leave tomorrow. She didn't want to give anyone warning or an opportunity to stop her. In fact, she was becoming more and more determined to do it. Once Colonel Flaherty left, she planned to go to the bank, which was just only blocks away; if she hurried, she could get everything accomplished. She'd already called the police. She was told her boxes would be delivered this afternoon. She had to be back before then, and before Sherry returned Bo.

All that movement was going to hurt like blazes, and she would still hurt tomorrow. But she wouldn't feel safe until she was out of Memphis.

She tried to hurry her benefactor away. “Thank you for the ride, but I think I need some rest now.”

He looked at her with skeptical eyes, as if he doubted that she intended to rest. But she didn't care. It was none of his business.

After a moment's hesitation, he took a business card from a pocket and scribbled something on it. “My cell number,” he said. “Call me if you need anything.”

She took it. It would be rude not to. But she had no intention of getting any more involved with Colonel Flaherty. He made her wary in more ways than one.

She merely nodded, which was neither agreement or refusal, then opened the door for him to leave.

The wry look on his face told her that he knew she had no such intentions, and she felt a small twinge. He had saved her life. Still, she was not sure of his motives. All she knew was that he appeared when everything had turned bad. She wasn't at all sure their interests were compatible.

Part of her regretted the resignation on his face. But
she
was what was important now, she and Bo, and living beyond the next few days. She closed the door firmly behind him.

She waited just long enough to see his car disappear through her room window.

Amy looked enviously at the bed. No time now. Bank first. Then she could rest. Maybe. She wondered if she could ever close her eyes again without seeing blood, without fearing that someone was trying to get to her. Her body ached. It was telling her to rest even if her mind shied away from the idea.

Her mind turned to the boxes. The police had looked through them and found nothing. They believed that the burglar just grabbed the nearest thing when he heard someone coming. They were looking into Jon's background, not hers. The fact that he was killed by a hit-and-run driver around the same time as the burglary seemed too coincidental. As for the attack on her, that was attributed to the burglar's fear that she might have seen more than she had.

Any connection of these recent events to a fifty-year-old theft in another country seemed far-fetched to the detectives. And to her. But she couldn't dismiss it as easily as they had. It wasn't their life on the line.

Once the boxes arrived, she would go through them. Perhaps
she
would find something. But she knew she didn't want to ask the colonel for help.

She was afraid he would sacrifice her grandfather's name to clear his own grandfather's. She had little faith in authority figures, particularly the military. They had lied in Vietnam to protect their war and their reputation, overestimating enemy casualties to a criminal extent. Would they lie to protect another image? Would
he
lie to protect his family?

M
EMPHIS

Irish made some calls to friends, one an intelligence officer in Memphis. They had worked together years ago and had remained in contact. He asked a few questions, got a name of a private detective who could be trusted. He then called the detective and asked where he could obtain a GPU device.

“Who you wanna track?”

“A young lady who might be in danger.”

There was a pause, then, “Well, if Lieutenant Brannigan sent you, it must be okay.”

Within hours, he had what he needed. He'd also picked up his .48 from his hotel room. He grabbed a hamburger and fries, then returned to Amy Mallory's hotel at dusk.

He already knew which car was hers. After looking around, he bent next to her car and put the homing device on the undercarriage, then returned to his own car. He didn't have the luxury of scanning the entire car for any other such devices. He could only hope there was none.

He drove to a secluded corner of the lot and selected a parking place that would be out of her sight if she looked out, but in a position where he could watch who came in and out of the door. Someone could, of course, approach her room from another door, but this was the most convenient—and private—one. This would be the entrance of choice.

Amy Mallory might not want him around, but he sure as hell wasn't going to leave her alone. Not with a killer around. He had another reason. If this had anything to do with her grandfather's papers, then he was a part of it, too.

And his antenna was up. He had great faith in his own personal antenna. His instincts had always been good. He'd been careful today, checking frequently to see whether he was being followed. He thought he might have seen the same car more than once on the way from the hospital to the hotel, and had made some quick turns, then hadn't seen it again. He would guess, though, that Amy's attacker probably already knew where she was staying. For a moment, he thought about checking on her, then squelched that idea.

The light was on in her room. The curtains were closed; he couldn't see whether anyone was inside. But the lights reassured him. The attackers had been professional. They wouldn't have left a light on.

He saw her friend leave through the door, and he slouched down in the car until he heard an engine start and the car leave the lot. Only then was he able to breathe easily and relax. He readjusted his long body in the confines of the rented car and kept his eyes on the door closest to her room.

The moon was half-full, casting shadows over the building, but the lights around the hotel were bright. A police car entered the parking lot, cruising slowly, and he ducked again. He really didn't want to explain why he was skulking around at this time of night.

The car stopped. A uniformed officer stepped out and took three boxes from the backseat. He locked his car, then took them inside.

The police officer came out almost immediately, stepped back into his cruiser, then drove out of the parking lot.

Several moments later, he saw Amy. She was carrying a suitcase and was headed for her car. A dog trotted at her heel, obviously unwilling to leave her side for any reason. She glanced around, and he didn't duck fast enough. In an instant, she was over to the side of his car.

He sighed, opened the door, and stepped outside.

Conflicting emotions crossed her face. Apprehension, then anger. “What are you doing here?”

He gave her a rueful look. “Looking out for you.”

“I don't remember asking you to do that.” Her voice was edgy. Well, his would be, too, if he had gone through what she had.

“You didn't,” he admitted wryly, giving her the reassuring smile that usually worked. It didn't. She glared at him.

“Look, Colonel Flaherty, I appreciate your help earlier, but I don't need it now.”

He didn't respond. Instead, he looked at the suitcase. “Leaving?”

“Yes. In the morning.”

He wanted to ask where she was going, but she had told him several times before that her business was none of his, and he suspected she would only remind him of that.

“Perhaps that's the wisest thing to do,” he said.

“How nice you agree,” she said testily. She knew she was being unreasonable, but she just wanted to get away from everything and everyone that reminded her of the last few days. “I plan to go
alone
.”

“I'm not sure
that
is the wisest thing to do.”

“I don't care what you think,” she said.

She looked tired and vulnerable. The T-shirt she was wearing showed the bulkiness of bandages on her side, and her face was pale. He had the damndest urge to take her in his arms and protect her. Even … kiss some of those fears away. He didn't think she would take that well. So he tried words instead. “Perhaps you should wait a few days. I could ask the police.…”

“They've already told me they can't do anything.” Some of the control left her face, and her lips trembled for a moment. “And I don't intend to wait for someone to try again.”

“Where …?”

“Where no one can find me,” she said. “Not even you.”

“Your injury may need attention.”

“It's much better,” she said.

“You shouldn't be driving.” He knew he should stop. With every admonition, her chin went higher and higher.

He understood why she didn't trust him. He wouldn't trust easily, either, if a stranger showed up on his doorstep after all that had happened recently.

He was impressed. She had the kind of gritty courage he admired. But it was also the kind of courage that could get someone killed.

He knew, though, he would get no further with her now.

Instead, he looked down at the dog. It was medium size, obviously part wirehaired terrier and God knew what else. It had a snaggle tooth and looked at him through scraggly whiskers. One ear was only half there. The other stood up as if it were saluting.

“Bojangles,” he acknowledged.

She looked surprised that he remembered. He leaned down to pet the dog, and it scooted behind her. “He doesn't like men,” she explained. “I got him at the pound, and I think he'd been mistreated, probably by a male.”

He didn't press it. He knew enough about dogs to know it would take time for any stranger to win trust. Still, the dog said something about her character. She certainly did not pursue the beautiful and celebrated. Bojangles was, quite simply, a dog poorly endowed by his creator.

He was not going to say that, however. He'd already given her a card with his phone number, but he had the thought that she might well have thrown it away. He took another from his pocket. “In case you … misplaced the other one,” he said.

To his surprise, she took it.

“I would appreciate it if you would leave now,” she said.

He gave her a crooked grin that was meant to be reassuring. “All right,” he agreed. “Try to remember, I'm on your side.”

Her dubious look pierced through the shield he thought he had built around himself. Reluctantly he returned to his car. He noticed in the rearview mirror that she did not move until he drove out and down the road. He waited until he was well out of sight of the motel, then pulled into a parking lot.

She said she was leaving in the morning, but her eyes had said something else. She was not a practiced liar.

And he did not intend for her to get very far from him.

In addition to the unexpected protective feelings he had for her, he knew she was the key to a mystery he had to solve.

It had been all she could do not to cry as she stood next to the colonel. The tears behind her eyes were held back by sheer force of will. Dear God, how she wanted to accept his offer to look after her.

But no one could really take care of her. She had to do it herself.

Amy had been doing exactly that for years. And doing it well. She had never been a wilting flower. She'd received a doctorate and succeeded in one of the best private colleges in the country. She was close to catching the brass ring of tenure, and she'd done it all on her own. She'd sacrificed a personal life for that stability. And safety.

And now someone was tearing it away from her, or trying to, and she wasn't going to let that happen.

She hadn't really lied to Flaherty. She had planned to leave in morning. She'd just wanted to get everything ready. But now she knew it was important to leave tonight. She wouldn't travel long, just far enough where no one could find her.

She had never been so alone in her life. She wanted to trust Flaherty, but his appearance had just been too convenient. She couldn't get beyond that fact.

She hated feeling so vulnerable. She had to do something to regain control of her life. Going through her grandfather's papers might do that, and she had to do it alone and in safety. She was not going to risk those papers by giving anyone access to them.