Broken Honor (38 page)

It was partly her need, partly his urge to comfort, but it so quickly turned into something else. Today had been a journey back into her past, a reminder of losses. She felt them stronger today than she had since the day of the general's funeral, the terrible emptiness and loneliness she had then. To be completely alone in the world had been terrifying at first. She had never really gotten over that hollow feeling, and yet something in her had feared relationships. Because she'd wanted too much? And feared disappointment? She'd seen that disappointment too often in her mother.

But now she grabbed for a piece of another person. It was in the way their lips met and searched and finally plundered in an almost desperate quest. The way their bodies arched toward each other as if they belonged together, as if it was destined to be. She felt passion and power and strength in his deliberate, gentle touches and in the rigidity of his body. She felt safe and.…

This isn't forever
, she warned herself as the kiss intensified.

The ground rumbled. The air sparked with electricity. Her every sense spiraled out of control.

His lips left hers and he went over to close the door, then locked it. When he returned, his arms went around her, bringing her body as close into his as could. “Ah, Amy. You have one hell of an effect on me.”

Instead of answering, she lifted her hand, her fingers tracing the angles and planes of his face, stopping to touch the crook of his lips that was so attractive to her. She memorized it by touch and by feel. Seized by an emotion so strong she nearly cried out with its impact, she stepped back. Her gaze met his, and she trembled with the knowledge that this man evoked feelings the size of an earthquake that hit eight on the Richter Scale.

His hand captured hers, and its warmth drifted down to her insides, causing small tremors and explosions.

Irish leaned down. His lips were smooth and hard and gentle. And what they sought, they found.

Amy had never made love anyplace but a bed.

She discovered she had really, really missed something.

W
ASHINGTON
, D.C.

Dustin wasn't going to take any chances with Sally now. He still cared about his career. After all, he had worked toward one goal most of his life. But now her safety was of paramount concern.

He drove from Virginia directly to Ronald Reagan Airport.

“Where are we going?”

“You're going to Sedona,” he said.

“No,” she said.

“I talked to your mother when we stopped to eat,” he said. “And I got you a flight out today.”

“Then I put her in danger.”

“She knows everything. At least, she knows what I know,” he said. “She has friends. She believes you will be safe there.”

“My name will be on an airline manifest,” she countered.

“Someone is meeting me with an identification for Mary Jones. It's not uncommon for couriers.”

She winced at that. “Couldn't you have been more imaginative?”

“Then you
will
go?”

“No.”

He saw a rest stop and pulled in. He cut the motor and turned to her. “Please, Sally. For me.” He used the one dirty trick he had. “This is the first time I've ever asked you to do something. Just for a week. No more.” He handed her a cell phone. “I know you don't like cell phones, but keep it with you. For me.”

She was silent for a moment. Then another.

When she looked up, her eyes were full of pain. “Don't do this to me, Dusty.”

“I can't do what needs to be done if I'm worrying about you,” he said flatly. “It will make it far more dangerous for all of us.”

“And you think I'm useless,” she said, hating the trembling of her lips.

“No. I think you have been extraordinarily strong. It's me. I can't concentrate if I feel you're in danger, and I can't keep you with me every moment.”

“Is this going to hurt you?”

“My career, you mean?”

“Yes.”

He shrugged. “It probably would, one way or another now. It's gone too far not to become public. People have died. My career isn't worth more lives, and if it's hurt by this, then so be it.”

He felt her hand move onto his leg. She scooted over and laid her head on his shoulder. For the first time in his life, he really felt proud.

And free.

twenty-five

M
ARYLAND

Amy stretched in the bed, watching through the bathroom door as Irish shaved. There was something extraordinarily sexy about that act, or maybe it was the warm shudders she still felt from the morning's lovemaking. Bo, who had jumped up on the bed as soon as Irish left her side, snuggled next to her.

It was just after dawn. About six. Her body reacted again even as she remembered each of the night's explorations in exquisite detail. Her newly awakened sensuality had responded in any number of imaginative ways since the afternoon in the storage room.

This morning had been especially wonderful. She'd awakened to the sight of Irish leaning on an elbow, watching her. Instinctively she'd reached out to him and touched his rough cheek.

A minute later, he came into her hard and demanding, and she'd found herself moving with him, against him, in a primitive rhythmic dance that exploded in a fireball of glory. Great satisfying sensations cascaded through her, and she had a wonderful feeling of well-being.

She told herself it was a false security. Tomorrow should end everything once and for all, and it would be dangerous.

But for now.…

For now she gloried in the intimacy of the morning.

Irish came into the room, a towel around his waist. He was incredibly beautiful to her. That was the only word she could use. Even the scars, including the still angry recent ones, emphasized the sculpted strength of his body.

He leaned over and kissed her, slowly. If she hadn't known the schedule for the morning, she would have pulled him down again.

She should be satiated. She wondered whether she ever could be.

Did anyone ever get tired of such an adventure?

Or did danger heighten the pleasure?

And what about the knowledge that it could not last, that their time together was running out?

“Your turn for the shower,” he said in the voice that had become just a little more husky after their lovemaking.

Reluctantly she left the comfort of the bed. It was another of the pay-by-the-hour motels where credit cards weren't a necessity. They had checked into it last night after driving several hours from Pikesville. They would be in a different one tonight, one near Maryland's eastern shore, then tomorrow they would go to the cottage owned by Dustin Eachan.

She had been as surprised as Irish when Eachan offered its use along with the home next door. His neighbors were in Europe, and he had the keys to both houses. They'd needed a place they could stay and control for several days. They'd needed a place where they could be found.

Amy took a shower and washed her hair. She wanted to blow it dry, but she didn't have a dryer. Nor the time. The call had to be made at seven. She applied just a touch of lipstick and regarded herself quizzically. She looked different. Happier. More contented. How strange when she was running for her life.

She dressed in a T-shirt and a pair of jeans, then went out to the room.

“Ready?” he said.

She nodded.

Irish picked up the phone, took out a credit card, and punched in some numbers.

“Eachan,” he said after someone answered the phone, “this is Lucien Mallory.”

She couldn't hear the other end of the conversation, but she knew its content. They had written the script the night before last. They were betting on Dustin's home being monitored.

“I have something I have to talk to you about,” he said. “Evidence involving your grandfather, something about his connection with Jordan Industries. We found it in General Mallory's desk.” Just enough truth to make it believable. She couldn't hear Eachan's reply, but Irish said, “When can I meet you?”

Another pause on Irish's part. Then, “Tomorrow night?”

Silence again as he listened. “All right. I'll call you tomorrow for a location.”

He hung up without any more words.

“That should concern the bad guys.” She'd started adopting his own words.

“Particularly now that they know we're in touch with Eachan.”

“Isn't he in danger now?”

He shook his head. “He's too important. Besides, they will probably want to know what we have. If anything happens to Eachan, they know we'll go to the authorities, and this time they'll listen to us. They will want the three of us together.”

“So we have a day and a half.”

“My guys should be there today,” he said.

“When do we call Brian Jordan?” she asked.

“In the morning. From Eachan's Chesapeake Bay house.
After
I know that all the equipment is in place.”

“What if you can't reach him?”

“Oh, I think he'll make himself accessible.” He took her hand. “I don't want you there.”

“You can't leave me out now.”

“I can,” he replied grimly. “I'll find you someplace else to stay.”

Amy knew from his tone she would have no success arguing with him now. But she had been with him every step of the way, and she didn't intend to wait alone in a motel or some other nondescript place to hear whether or not he was alive.

She clamped her lips together and turned away.

“Amy?”

“We had better leave,” she said.

“This is not open for discussion.” His voice was controlled.

She felt a sudden chill as the recent heat began to seep from the room. He was all business now, and she saw a hardness in his face. It was as if it had turned to ice. She supposed she was seeing what others had seen, perhaps even the essence of the man. No hint of gentleness now. Only a steely determination that brooked no opposition.

Bo huddled next to her, and she knew he felt it, too. But then he was extraordinarily sensitive to moods. She leaned down and rubbed his ears, reassuring him that all was well.

Irish took advantage of it. “And Bojangles,” he said. “What would you do with him? We certainly don't want him barking or wandering about.”

She didn't say anything. She didn't consent.

She didn't dissent.

He looked at her suspiciously.

“I think it's time to go,” she said.

S
EDONA
, A
RIZONA

Sally was surprised to see her mother waiting for her in the Phoenix airport. Sally had not called her. Dusty must have. He must have thought that if someone wasn't there, she might turn around and take a flight back.

She could have cheerfully murdered him, she thought, then reconsidered. It was amazing that a comment easily uttered in past days now took on a sinister overtone. Still, she resented the interference. She hadn't planned to get on the next plane back, although the prospect was enticing. She'd planned to drive up to Sedona. She'd even rented a car. She'd wanted time to prepare herself. In truth, she'd put off thinking about her mother on the flight from Washington.

She'd found herself thinking about Dusty instead. She'd wondered what would have happened if they weren't cousins. He probably wouldn't have given her a second look. Patsy was the kind of woman he'd always gravitated toward. Sophisticated, well put together, well educated. Classy.

Certainly not a woman who chose to work in a bar, or who escorted dignitaries because her cousin had wrangled the job. She knew good manners, of course. She knew the walk and the talk, which was why she could do her job at the State Department. But she'd also mocked all those graces, and had often thought so many people had all the right credentials and wrong values.

And yet she had run to the Eachans, who embodied that particular dichotomy, when her father died. Away from her mother.

She hadn't seen her mother in years. Chloe Matthews—she had taken back her maiden name after her divorce—looked older, and her hair, once dark and sleek, was touched with gray and worn in a long braid. Her colorful dress was cinched by a silver belt, and her jewelry consisted of long, dangling earrings and a silver necklace with a large chunk of turquoise. Except for the anxious expression on her face, she looked tanned and healthy.

Sally recalled her mother as she had been in Maryland. Before she'd taken Sally and left the Eachans for a museum post in Phoenix. Her hair had been coiffed and she'd worn fashionable clothes, but there had been tenseness in her face, even in her movements. Even when they moved to Phoenix, there had been something like fear. Sally recognized now what she couldn't recognize then. Perhaps because of her own current fear. She'd never known before what it was like to be terrified.

Had her mother been terrified of her father? The thought curdled her blood. Had she been wrong all her life? She had blamed her mother for leaving her father, for taking her away, for the night her father had taken a gun, put it in his mouth, and pulled the trigger.

Now an insidious little voice inside wondered about her father's choice. Whether there wasn't selfishness behind it. Had he ever wondered how she would feel? Had he cared?

She could feel her mother's nervousness now. She had a forced smile as Sally approached her. “Dustin called,” she said.

“I wanted to surprise you,” Sally said.

Her mother's right hand was curved into a tight ball, and Sally sensed it was to keep from reaching out to her. She had been rebuffed before.

Spontaneously, Sally reached out her own hand and her mother grabbed it, holding onto it like a lifeline.

“Did Dustin tell you why I came?”

Chloe shook her head, but her eyes were wary. Twenty years had passed since Sally had run away from home. In those years, Sally had rebuffed every attempt to reconcile.