Broken Honor (11 page)

“And you've had no accidents?”

“No.”

“Nothing suspicious?”

He hesitated, then shook his head. “Nothing but my encounter here in your room.”

“You hesitated,” she said.

“You're observant,” he replied.

“Obviously not observant enough,” Amy retorted. “Why did you hesitate?”

He shrugged. “I just returned from Kosovo after eighteen months there. My tour was supposed to be a year, and was unexpectedly extended even after I'd already received orders to return to the States. I didn't think much about it then, because unlike others, I didn't have a family. But now I wonder whether someone wanted to keep me out of the country.”

“Why didn't anyone contact us?” she asked. “Anyone official, I mean.”

“Third generation? No reason to. I don't think anyone really thought that the three senior officers actually stole anything. It was more about carelessness, and that was easily explained by the circumstances of the time. War was still raging across Europe. Who really cared about a train of wedding rings and second-rate paintings?”

“But the gold?”

“After more than fifty years?” he asked. “I don't think anyone thought it could be recovered, but now with the United States putting pressure on other countries to make reparations, it couldn't avoid looking into this. Unfortunately, our grandfathers aren't here to defend themselves.”

“You think they're being made scapegoats?”

He shrugged. “A commanding officer is always responsible for the actions of his men. But I imagine their minds were on the drive across Germany, not inventories of trains.”

Amy digested that, then, uncomfortable with more questions about her grandfather, asked, “What did you do in Kosovo?”

“Tried fruitlessly to keep the number of arms down,” he said wryly. “Stockpiled arms and destroyed them. But there are so many of the damn things that they can go on killing each other for the next century.”

The light had left his eyes, and she realized that he felt things far deeper than he wanted her to know. That made her want to trust him. Want to. But could she?

He walked over to the window. She wondered whether it was an attempt to remove himself from recent memories.

“You said you had an older brother? Where is he?”

“He died when he was twelve,” he said flatly.

His voice was noncommittal, but she sensed pain in him. She wondered how old he'd been, but she'd already been too invasive. While inquisitiveness was in her nature, she didn't want to revive sad memories.

He turned around and looked at her. “And you? Any siblings?”

“I thought you knew everything about me,” she said.

He had the grace to redden slightly. “I didn't check that closely.”

“Didn't you?”

“I didn't find one,” he said, obviously a bit abashed. “That doesn't mean there weren't any.”

“Well, there weren't,” she said without going into details she knew too well. She'd heard them too many times as a child.

A short knock came at the door then, and the doctor entered. “Ready to go?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said.

He looked at the chart, then at her. “You'll probably feel some discomfort for a while. The bullet didn't hit anything vital, but you're going to be sore. The dressing needs to be changed frequently, but everything looks good.”

“I can change the dressing,” she said.

“I'll have a nurse and patient's representative come in. They'll give you instructions and a prescription for pain. I want you to take it easy.” He hesitated. “You do have someone to look after you?”

“Yes.”
Herself
.

“I don't want you driving for a few days,” he said. “You've lost some blood. You need a lot of rest.”

How could she do that when someone was apparently trying to kill her? But she didn't ask that question. Instead, her gaze went over to the colonel's, and his met hers. His face was impassive, and yet she thought she saw a flash of sympathy. That and a dime might buy her a cup of coffee, but wouldn't assure her that there wasn't poison in it.

At this point, she could depend only on herself. And so she paid lip service to the doctor, and later to the nurse with her prescription, knowing she wasn't going to pay any attention to either. Wise or not, she planned to retrieve her grandfather's boxes from the police and drive to someplace safe. She did agree to return to the doctor's office in ten days and make sure the stitches had dissolved as they should.

Then she was left with the colonel and his offer. Could she really trust him—and if not him, then who? A ride home would be safe, particularly if others knew about it. She would leave a message on Sherry's answering machine and also make it clear to the officer outside that Flaherty was taking her home.

And when she returned to the hotel?

A shudder ran through her. A gun. Should she get a gun? She, who had always been on the front lines for gun control?

She did know she was not going to follow the doctor's suggestion and not drive for several days. As soon as she could, she was going to get in a car and leave the city.

“The offer of a ride remains, Dr. Mallory,” Flaherty said.

Her eyes turned to his. “Thank you,” she finally said. “I would appreciate a ride. I'll call Sherry and let her know she's off the hook.”

A gleam appeared in his eyes, and she knew that he knew exactly what she was doing. Protecting herself. Was it approval she saw there? Or chagrin? She wasn't sure.

She only knew that her trust was limited. Very, very limited.

W
ASHINGTON
, D.C.

Art's was a small and noisy bar. It was a place Dustin wouldn't usually frequent, and a place his cousin would.

It was situated in a working-class neighborhood, squeezed between a laundry and a loan company.

Sally loved it. She was a princess there. The bartender loved her. So did most of the customers. It was her second home.

It wasn't that she drank that much. She was cautious about that. Two drinks, maybe three. Nursing them. She seemed to feel more at home here than in her own home. He suspected he knew why. No one expected anything more from her than her quick smile.

Just thinking about it made him smile. Sally's smile was infectious. It always had been. He knew, though, that it curtained a well of insecurity. That insecurity had been her worst enemy.

He had tried to give her what she needed, but his own feelings were too dangerous, and he'd found himself backing away.

He parked his car, hoping it would still be there when he returned.

The bar was dingy and filled with smoke. He had quit smoking years ago, and nearly choked on it now. Sally was at the bar, leaning over it in discussion with the bartender. He sidled in next to her, but he didn't sit.

Sally looked at him and her eyes lit up, even in the dim light of the bar. The bartender frowned.

“Let's find a table,” Dustin said.

She leaned over the bar. “Take tomorrow off,” she told the bartender. “Your daughter's birthday is more important than a day's pay.” She started to leave, then added, “Hey, I used to be a bartender. Ask your boss if I can fill in.”

The bartender's face brightened. “I'll call him.”

“He knows me,” Sally said. “He'll agree. I'll phone in sick tomorrow at work.” She looked around the bar, located an empty table. “I'll be over there with Dudley Doright.”

Dustin felt the familiar ache. She'd called him that on and off for years, sometimes with affectionate teasing, sometimes with resentment. He couldn't quite catch tonight's nuance. It had started when she'd once tried to kiss him, and he had given her a stilted, uncomfortable lecture on why he couldn't do it. He'd been stiffer than usual because he'd wanted her so badly, even while not wanting her to know it.

“That is ridiculous,” she'd scoffed at him. “It's only a friendly kiss, and even if it wasn't, cousins have married throughout the centuries.”

But not in a straitlaced Episcopalian family, they didn't. And he knew that one kiss often led to another, and another.…

“Oh, pooh,” she'd said. “You're such a Dudley Doright.”

It had hurt then. But over the years, it had become an endearment of sorts. She was the outlaw, and he was the careful one.

He tried to ignore the yearning in him as they sat in a little booth, protected on both sides by tall wooden dividers. He waited until she had settled down, then leaned over, keeping his voice low. The feeling of privacy created by the dividers was, he knew, an illusion.

“Tell me what happened,” he demanded. “You said it was urgent.”

“A Colonel Flaherty called me. He said there had been attacks on General Mallory's granddaughter. He's one of the.…”

“I know who he is,” Dustin said. “I had a message from him, too, but it just asked me to get in touch with him. What, exactly, did he say?”

“He asked whether anything strange had happened to me. A burglary or mugging. I told him no.”

“That's true, isn't it?”

Sally hesitated just long enough to make his stomach twist.

“I'm not sure,” she said finally.

“What do you mean you're not sure?”

Her gaze met his directly, and there was worry in it. “I had an odd feeling a week ago. It was several days after I took the painting to a safe deposit box, as you suggested. I went in the apartment and I just felt … weird. As if something was wrong. Nothing was missing, though, and I'm not sure.…”

The knot of apprehension grew tighter inside him. “Nothing was out of place?”

She shrugged. “You know I'm not the neatest person. I never pay attention to where I put things. I don't even know why I felt uncomfortable. An unusual scent, maybe. I just don't know.”

“Can you take some vacation time?”

“Right now?”

“Yes.”

She shook her head.

“Then you will be sick. I'll take care of it. You go to my place in Maryland … until I can talk to this Flaherty and see what's going on.”

He stopped, then realized that if someone was stalking all of them, they would know about his Maryland cottage.
They
. He didn't like the idea of unknown, unnamed, faceless stalkers. “There's another possibility,” he said. “But it will take me tomorrow to arrange. We'll leave tomorrow after work.”

“The day after tomorrow,” she said. “I just offered to fill in for Robert.”

He knew she wouldn't change her mind. Not when she got that stubborn look on her face.

“Then take your clothes with you tomorrow night, and I'll pick you up when you finish. I have a meeting the next day. I can't miss it.”

Her gaze didn't leave his face. “That means you won't get any sleep.”

He shrugged. “I've gone days without sleeping. I won't leave you alone.”

She didn't ask questions. He saw both fear and trust in her eyes, and the latter made him straighten. He'd never been anyone's knight. And though he probably did seem like a Dudley Doright, it had always been for the wrong reason. Ambition. Pure, raw ambition. But now something ugly might be reaching out to touch the one person he cared about.

Your career
, he reminded himself.
You can't let this affect your career
.

Whatever
this
was.

The first thing, after making sure Sally was safe, was to talk to this Flaherty and see what he knew. And Dr. Mallory.

He knew a little about her, at least her academic career. And a lot about Flaherty. He was someone who wouldn't let go once he sank his teeth into an objective. Dustin had decidedly mixed feelings about that. He didn't want Flaherty going back in his family's history. He couldn't afford it.

How in the hell could he find out what Flaherty knew and still keep him from probing any further into the Eachan family?

Well, dammit, he was a diplomat, wasn't he? This should be a piece of cake after the other negotiations he had conducted. He could deal in subterfuge as well as any man alive.

But first he had to make sure Sally was safe.

A waiter came over and they ordered drinks—a scotch for him and wine for her—and dinner. Hamburgers and fries. He ate them only with Sally, who loved both. He didn't trust anything else at Art's.

Her large blue eyes settled on him. The fear faded, and he felt ten feet tall. She reached over, and her fingers went around his. “I've missed you,” she said.

Dustin felt his own hand tightening. Hell, he felt his entire body tensing. His eyes met hers, and awareness flashed between them.

He withdrew his hand as if burned. “From now on, I don't want you to open the door to anyone if I'm not there. I don't want you to meet anyone. I don't even want you to go out to lunch alone.”

She tried to smile. “I can take care of myself.”

“The hell you can,” he retorted, but even he heard the softness that took away any sting. “I would stay tonight, but I have a meeting in an hour.”

“What's going on?” she asked.

“I wish I knew. But once you're safe I'll find this Flaherty and try to find out.”

“I still can't believe that Grandfather stole anything. He was so … righteous. He destroyed my father because he didn't live up to
his
standards.”

“Your father destroyed your father,” Dustin corrected softly.

“He had help,” she said, her defense of her father as strong as always.

Their food came, and he ate fast, checking his watch as he did so. Forty minutes until the meeting. He had to have recommendations on the deputy secretary's desk by eight in the morning, and he'd called in several of his brightest and best assistants for one last evaluation. For the first time in his career, he wished he could brush his job aside.