Broken Honor (24 page)

“A bachelor usually learns or starves,” he said. “But you've seen most of my repertoire now. Steaks and omelets.”

She tasted it. It
was
terrific. One of the best she'd ever tasted. There were any number of subtle flavors. Some, like garlic, were readily identifiable. Others were not. She tried to think of that instead of the information he'd just dropped. It didn't work.

She couldn't resist asking the question that had been nagging her. “Have you ever been married?”

“No,” he said.

“Why?” It was none of her business, and she always, always hated it when someone asked her that question.

“It's difficult for a woman to be an Army wife,” he said. “You have to give up a great deal, including security. You move a lot. There's a lot of loneliness. There's damned little financial reward.”

Amy thought she detected a touch of bitterness in the words. The slight smile disappeared from his lips. He took a long swallow of coffee, and she knew he was closing the subject. Had he lost someone?

She changed the subject. “Did you find anything last night?”

He put down the coffee cup. “Did your grandfather ever talk about writing a book?”

She thought back. Her grandfather had a large library, almost all of it pertaining to the military. Mostly nonfiction. Some selected fiction. Toward the end of his life, when his eyesight faded, he would ask her to order books and she would read them to him. But writing a book?

“No, I don't think so. I don't remember him ever mentioning it.”

“The notes were interesting.”

“Why?”

He hesitated. “The notes didn't seem to have any military value. They were more like personal reminders, observations.” He paused, then asked, “There weren't any diaries?”

“I never saw one. And he wasn't the type of man who would keep them.”

“What kind of man is that?”

“He was never … reflective. He was gruff. Matter of fact. He had decisive opinions he didn't give up easily. I never saw him write anything but a check.”

His gaze bore into her. “You read the notes?”

“I skimmed over them. I didn't see anything.…” Her voice trailed off. She didn't know what she had been looking for. A smoking gun? Something dramatic? The notes had seemed innocuous to her.

“What's really interesting,” he said, “is that papers with notes stopped as of April. There were documents, but no notes. As if he found no reason for them any longer. Or,” he added, “someone removed those with private notes.”

She should have noticed that. Or maybe she had. Is that why she thought of Jon yesterday?

“You're sure there couldn't have been any more papers?”

“No,” she replied. “I'm not sure. But I cataloged everything after his death. The estate had to be … liquidated because of taxes. Everything was sold but those boxes of papers and some personal items bequeathed to me. I didn't know why he had saved only those boxes. He'd never mentioned them to me. Since they were in the attic, I just supposed he overlooked them. I went through them to see whether there was anything of value. I was working on my dissertation and didn't have time to really study them, so I stored them along with some furniture and a few other items that had some importance to me.”

“What furniture?”

“His desk. It was a giant rolltop desk.”

“Was it in your house?”

She stared at him. “No. It's still in storage in Kentucky, along with several other large pieces. I was in an apartment when my grandfather died, and didn't have room for them. Then I just … didn't have time to get them.”

It was a lie. She
had
had time. She just had never been sure she wanted the desk in her cottage. It was huge, designed for a large study. But that was her excuse. She hadn't been sure she wanted the memories, good and bad, in her new world. Yet she hadn't been able to give it up, either. So she'd shoved it out of her consciousness.

“I think we might look at it.”

“Secret compartments?” she scoffed.

“Nothing would surprise me now,” he replied so seriously that her halfhearted attempt at humor faded.

“All right.”

“First, though, I want to meet with the Eachan grandchildren,” he said. “It would be interesting to know whether they have had any of the same … experiences we have, or whether they have any documents.”

“He was adjutant to your grandfather.”

“And he served with yours. I wonder whether he had the same opinion of my grandfather as David Mallory did.”

She recalled some of the notes. It had been obvious that her grandfather had not liked his grandfather, had thought himself the stronger man, but he had never gone beyond Brigadier General and Mallory had his second star.

Amy finished the omelet, gave remnants of her toast to a patiently waiting Bo, and rose to pour them both fresh cups of coffee. “What was your grandfather like?”

Irish played with his cup. “You said your grandfather was gruff and … apparently not very good with people. Mine was the opposite. He was warm and amusing, and never met a stranger. After the war, he stayed with the Army for a few years. He ended up teaching at West Point, then bought a ranch in Colorado. I think he knew every person in the county.”

“And your father?”

“He died in the early days of Vietnam. I barely knew him.”

She was silent for a moment. “Then you grew up without a father, too.”

“Not exactly. My mother married my father's best friend, an Army helicopter pilot. He died in a helicopter crash six years later.”

She felt her chest tighten. “It must have been terrible for her.”

He was silent.

“How did she feel about you joining the Army?”

“She hated it,” he said quietly. “She hated the Army. She hated everything about it. I don't think she ever forgave me for going to West Point.” He was silent for a moment, then added, “She felt it was a betrayal. I felt it would be a betrayal to my father if I didn't.”

“Where is she now?”

“She died three years ago of cancer,” he said. “She'd married a dentist, but I don't think she was ever happy.” She heard the sadness in his voice. And regret.

She was reminded again of the tragedies that had struck both their families. She wondered about the Eachan family as well.

It was not unnatural that all three grandfathers were dead. They would have been near the century mark in years. But nearly all the members of the second generation were gone, too. And only four of the third generation remained. What were the odds of that?

She cleaned up the dishes while he called Washington on his cell phone. After three calls, he hung up in disgust. “Dustin Eachan's office said he was out of town for two days on family business. I get only the answering machine at their homes.”

“Two days?”

He nodded. “We'll stay here today, then drive up to Washington.”

She raised an eyebrow.

His mouth twisted in that appealing smile of his. “If you agree,” he said.

She'd made her point. She was not arrogant enough not to recognize his expertise in an area totally unfamiliar to her. But neither was she a blind follower.

“I should make sure I have everything ready for my tenure hearing,” she said. “Do you think it's safe to call Sherry and assure her I'm all right?”

“Use my cell phone,” he said.

“They can't track that?”

“Technically, yes, but it would require very sophisticated equipment.”

“But it could be done?”

“Only a general location,” he replied. “If they
can
trace it, then we're in real trouble. They will have more resources than I thought.”

She considered that, then took his phone. Sherry should be home now that the semester was over. She looked at the clock. Eight
A
.
M
. here. It would be seven in Memphis. But Sherry was always an early riser. She usually ran for an hour before it got too hot. She dialed.

Sherry answered on the second ring.

“Sherry?”

A sigh on the other end, then, “Thank God. I've been worried about you.”

“I'm fine.”

“I heard about Jekyll Island. Everyone has. Some Georgia cops called, trying to find you. Where are you?”

Amy wanted to tell her. Sherry was her best friend. But now she was paranoid. “I can't tell you.”

Silence. “There are questions now.…”

Amy's stomach churned. She had worked so hard for her tenure. There weren't that many history positions available. She had one of the best, and only tenure would keep it for her. Jon had been her greatest advocate.
Jon. How could she even think of herself when Jon was dead? No matter what he'd
.…

No. She wasn't going to believe it of him. She was so tired of doubting everyone. Of questioning every value she had.

She had to go back. She had to defend what was hers.

“Tell them I'll be back in time for the hearing. Until then, I'm resting with friends. Everything is fine. I'll be able to explain everything.” She glanced up, saw Flaherty shake his head. She ignored it.

A pause on the other end of the line. “Are you sure, Amy?”

Amy hesitated. Was she? Safety was important. But so were other things. She'd worked for ten years for tenure. She wasn't ready to sacrifice it. “Yes,” she said.

A silence on the phone. “I'll tell them you are still recuperating from the wound inflicted in their building. The doctor says you need plenty of rest,” she added in a self-satisfied tone. “I'll also tell them that the attack in Jekyll Island was probably a result of the one in
their
hall. That should alarm them enough to give you a few more days. Keep safe.”

Keep safe
. They used to be words said in passing. A pleasantry. Now they sounded ominous.

“I will,” she said and hung up before she said anything else.

W
ASHINGTON
, D.C.

The voice on the telephone was excited. “We've located them. They used his cell phone.”

“Where are they?”

“Myrtle Beach, South Carolina.”

“Have you seen them?”

“No. We just know the general area. We're searching the motels now.”

“They won't register in a motel. Flaherty's smarter than that.”

“Then where …?”

“They're not using credit cards. We know that. So they must have a lot of cash. Try the rent-by-the-hour motels. No one asks for identification there. Then try the real estate companies. See if anyone is renting to someone using cash.”

“Should we use the badges?”

“If necessary. I want them. I want them before they cause any more trouble.”

“I'll need a few more men.”

“Call the office. Get as many as you need.”

A pause. “Should we bring them to you?”

“Hell, no. I want them dead. And make it look like an accident.”

“With all the other … incidents, won't there be suspicions?”

“Mistakes, you mean,” he broke in. “But there's nothing to lead them back to us. If accomplished properly, an accident will be accepted by authorities.
If
accomplished properly. Do you understand, Marcus?”

“Yes, sir.”

“No more mistakes.”

“No, sir.”

“And I want no papers left.”

“I understand.”

“I want you to report back to me as soon as you eliminate the problem.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Don't take too long, Marcus.”

seventeen

M
YRTLE
B
EACH
, S
OUTH
C
AROLINA

Irish wondered whether it would be possible for Amy to return to Memphis even in another week. But he took one look at her determined face and knew it would do no good to argue.

He could only present alternatives. He could not bully her into taking one or the other. He wanted some time. And she needed at least one day away from fear, from running. Either to or from something.

“I'll get you back in time,” he offered, “but let's take today and relax. We can't do anything until I can reach Eachan.”

She looked at him suspiciously.

“A drive up the coast until we find a relatively deserted beach,” he offered. “Bread and cheese and a bottle of wine.”

“Bo goes with us?”

“Of course.”

She looked tempted. Hungry, in fact, for a few moments of normalcy. And perhaps he could change her mind about returning to Memphis before it was safe.

If she didn't, he would have to revise his own plans. He wanted to reach Washington—and Eachan. But if Amy was determined to return to Memphis, then he would return with her. He would stay with her as long as necessary, even if he had to resign his commission to do so.

She had told Shelly she would return for the hearing, seven—no, six—days away.

But perhaps he could give her at least one carefree day, the kind she'd wanted so much when she'd driven to the coast.

“I would like that,” she said finally.

“Good. I'll get everything together.”

She disappeared into the bedroom. He would stop at a grocery to get the wine and cheese. He looked at the damned boxes that seemed to be the key to everything, even if he hadn't found anything in them but more questions. He couldn't leave them here. Someone wanted them too badly. He took them out to the car, then examined the house and made certain adjustments. Shades exactly halfway up. A piece of tape at the bottom of the outside of the back door. He would put another on the front door and each of the windows.

Irish was finished by the time she emerged from her bedroom. She was wearing jeans over a black bathing suit. A big, unbuttoned shirt covered her shoulders.

She looked appealing with her great gray eyes, short hair that swirled in curls around her cheeks, and just enough lipstick to put color in her face. A dusting of freckles over her nose gave her a girl-next-door look. Her skin was smooth and sweet-smelling. But most attractive of all was the shining brightness in her eyes.