Broken Honor (39 page)

Sally saw the love and concern in her mother's eyes, and she shrank from what she had done during those years. She'd always thought she blamed her mother for her father's death, but in a second of blinding clarity, she knew she'd felt his death had been
her
fault. She had not loved her father enough. If only she had been there … had known what he was thinking hours before, when she had talked to him. She had been punishing herself all these years.

Her mother waited patiently. Her face was creased, aged by the sun as much as by years, and yet Sally sensed that the lines around her eyes came from humor rather than worry. There was an ease about her, despite immediate apprehension about confronting a daughter she'd not seen in many years.

“It's a long story,” Sally said, letting go of her mother's hand, which had lingered in her own. “I'll tell you on the way.”

Chloe looked at her purse. “Luggage?”

She shook her head. “I'll have to buy a few things.”

Her mother raised an eyebrow but said nothing, just led the way in quick steps to a cavernous covered parking lot. Chloe unlocked the doors of a Jeep, and they got in.

She remembered Phoenix. She had hated the city when they first arrived. She'd loved the green, green hills of Maryland, the large house the Eachans had owned, and the stable of horses. They had lived with her grandparents as her father had tried his hand at several businesses. She had been popular in high school, and in love with Dustin even then. She'd felt torn away from everything she knew and loved. She hadn't, she knew, made anything easy for her mother. She had complained endlessly. Phoenix was gray, dry, lifeless.

And now the woman beside her was someone she really didn't know, and that had been her fault.

They exchanged small talk as they maneuvered through Phoenix to the interstate leading to Sedona. Yes, the flight was nice. The weather was hot. Dustin was fine.

They had been on the road for half an hour before her mother turned to her. “You said there was a long story.”

Sally hesitated. But she knew it had to be told. Her mother could be in danger. She doubted if anyone knew about her, but she couldn't be sure.

“Did you see Grandfather's name in a news story about a month ago?”

“No,” her mother said. “I don't see anything but the local paper.”

“He was named in a special commission report on missing items from a Nazi treasure train in Europe at the war's end. He was one of three high-ranking officers when the train was captured.”

Her mother was silent, listening. Sally knew how much she'd disliked the general. She'd blamed him for everything wrong with Sally's father.

“When the report was made public,” Sally said, “things started to happen.”

“Things?”

“Accidents.”

“To whom?”

“To the granddaughter of one of the other officers named. Her house burned, then someone tried to kill her. I think someone tried to search my apartment, and.…”

“And …,” Chloe prompted in a controlled voice.

“I think someone tried to drug my drink. I'm not sure what they were after.…”

“And Dustin …?”

Sally hesitated. She couldn't tell her mother what Dustin planned. It was too dangerous. “Nothing has happened to him.”

“Why did you come here?”

“Dustin.…”

Sally saw disappointment flash over her mother's face at her answer. “I'm afraid you might be in danger, too,” she continued.

“It might be difficult for someone to find me,” her mother said. “I cut all ties from the family.”

“I really doubt whether they know about you. I used a different name to book the flight. But if they looked hard enough, they might locate you. I just wanted you to be … aware. Dustin … and I think you should go somewhere.”

“I can't leave my gallery.”

“Who is looking after it now?”

“A friend, but it's not fair.…”

“It's not fair if anything happens to you, either,” Sally said. “This other woman, along with the grandson of a third man, have been attacked several times now. They were almost caught in a house explosion. These people … are very determined.”

“Why would they bother with me? I haven't had anything to do with the Eachans for twenty years.”

“They seem to think one of us might have some … information. I don't know if it concerns someone who might be hurt by revelations or whether they think one of us has some of the items that were missing.”

“I don't have anything,” Chloe said.

“I do,” Sally said quietly.

Chloe turned toward her for a fraction of a second.

“That painting Daddy gave me when I was sixteen. The wild sea. It … had been on the train.”

The car nearly went off the road. It hit the shoulder, and gravel sprayed against the Jeep. Chloe straightened the wheel and went back on the road. Then she said hesitantly, “It wasn't your father's to give to you.”

“What do you mean?”

“It had been stored in the attic. Your father found it. He … took it without your grandfather's knowledge. That was the last straw for your grandfather. He disinherited your father. He allowed you to keep it, though. He hadn't the heart to take it from you. You loved it so.”

They were both silent the rest of the way.

W
ASHINGTON
, D.C.

Dustin resisted the urge to call. There could be no link to Chloe. He didn't think anyone knew about her. She had cut all her ties to the Eachans two decades ago, had even dropped the name.

Dustin liked her. He'd always liked her. He hadn't always agreed with her, though. She shouldn't have kept her husband's violence a secret from her daughter. But she'd realized that she was a reserved, internal person who could never express affection as her husband had done. Except her husband had used affection like a weapon.

Dustin would have told Sally about her father years earlier, had he not promised Chloe. Chloe had been willing to give up her daughter to preserve her faith in her father. He had not thought that necessary, that Sally was a lot stronger than Chloe thought she was. He often wondered whether Chloe wasn't hiding something else.

He also realized he should call Patsy. She had called several times, and he'd not returned her calls. But he didn't know what to tell her. He knew she'd expected a proposal for the past month.

He'd been prepared to make it, too. But that was weeks ago. Now something had happened. He found he wasn't willing to settle for a marriage that would be little more than a pleasant convenience. How long, in fact, could that kind of marriage really last?

The damnable fact was that he couldn't get Sally out of his mind. When he tried to think about Patsy, he saw Sally instead, her long hair swinging as she walked, her green eyes sparkling. She was a natural rebel, in contrast to his conformity.

And Patsy might not want anything to do with him after this weekend. If everything exploded as he thought it could, then his career was over. Oh, he had skills. He would probably remain with the State Department. But he would go no higher and would be damnably lucky not to be demoted.

As he thought of Sally, he realized that a lot worse things could happen.

He looked at his watch. Eight in the evening. He wasn't the last person in the building, but his office had pretty well cleared out. He wondered how things were going at his Chesapeake Bay home.

He wanted to call, but he couldn't. He couldn't have anything to do with this other than loaning his Maryland cottage to an old friend of the family. He hoped he wouldn't regret mentioning the vacant house next door to his.

He wondered how Sally was doing with her mother. Getting them together was something he'd tried to accomplish for the last decade at least.

He hoped she was doing better than he was.

What in the hell was happening at his house?

twenty-six

E
N
R
OUTE TO
M
ARYLAND

Irish and Amy headed back to Washington and Chesapeake Bay. It seemed they had spent a lifetime beside each other in a car. The small space wrapped a deceptive web of intimacy around them.

They had stopped at a pistol range on their way. Irish wanted her to take another lesson, make sure she remembered everything.

She did. Though she handled the gun awkwardly, she held it safely, loaded it safely, and hit at least part of the target that was fifteen feet away. If she had to aim a greater distance, they would both be in deep trouble.

She placed the gun back in her purse, and he put his in the holster at the back of his belt, again wearing a sports shirt over it. They'd also stopped at an outlet store and bought a few shirts, and some dog food.

Irish knew that she intended to go with him, no matter what he said. But he had his own plan. He had no intention of letting her anywhere close to Eachan's house. He had asked one of his friends to stay with her, to make sure she was safe. It was the best he could do for her. And Bojangles. Hell, he'd fallen for the damn mutt, too.

Dropping her off was going to be the hardest thing he'd ever done. And the most necessary.

They were setting a trap for a man or an organization with nearly unlimited assets. The only advantage on their side was that the bad guys needed to make things look like an accident. They could not spray bullets all over the place. He suspected they would send a team of three or four.

He and his friends could take care of that. Unless, of course, a woman and a dog stood in the middle of gunfire.

There was also the question of Dustin Eachan. They hadn't shared the information they found in the desk. Irish still didn't trust Eachan completely. His rise in the State Department had been a little too fast. He had friends. But he'd also seen the man's concern for his cousin. His feelings obviously went a lot deeper than cousinly affection. Irish just wasn't sure how far that went. Or, indeed, whether it was any of his business.

For a moment, he wondered whether he knew that because of his own feelings. Amy Mallory—practical, pragmatic—had insinuated herself so deeply into his life that he wasn't sure he could ever let her go. He'd never felt … committed before. He'd certainly never felt that he couldn't live without a woman.

He felt that way now. He couldn't imagine returning to his solitary life. And that scared the hell out of him. Her profession and his just didn't go together. She was about to get her fondest dream: tenure at a very good college. And he … well, he was used to traveling with only a toothbrush and a spare shirt in his duffel.

There
was
the ranch. He'd been thinking about that steadily now. But that wouldn't solve her problem. There were no colleges and universities within commuting distance to his ranch. And if he retired now, he would have barely enough money to live on, much less make the ranch a self-sustaining proposition. Nor would she be happy as an officer's wife. He shuddered every time he thought of her at a military wives' club, explaining that her entire life had been antimilitary.

She would wither. He couldn't do it to her.

Nor could he move to Memphis and give up both his career and the ranch. That would eventually destroy
him
.

That was, if he still had a career after this. He had not directly disobeyed an order, but his conduct had certainly been questionable. At least to the military. He'd probably ended any chance at promotion, and he knew that meant he could well be forced out eventually. You either went up or went out.

Regardless, their lives—his and Amy's—did not mesh. So he treasured every moment he was with her, the feeling of companionship as well as unbridled lust. No one had ever ignited every sense as she had. No one had brought out the tenderness he hadn't realized survived twenty years of his occupation. No one had ever given him a sense of home and belonging before.

But it would come to an end this week. It had to. Today was Tuesday, tomorrow was Wednesday. He had to have her back in Memphis by Friday, or she might lose everything she'd worked for.

Still, it was going to be hard leaving her. She would feel abandoned. Hurt. Angry. She might never forgive him.

Nothing else to do
.

She didn't have a car. And she had the dog. She wouldn't be able to come after him.

But he knew that while he was plotting to leave her somewhere safe, she was plotting just as hard to find a way to stay with him. In the intense days they had been together, it was the first time their needs and emotions and desires veered in different directions. He didn't like the distance it placed between them, the fences they both were building so that one wouldn't know the other's thoughts.

When they stopped for lunch—again fast food takeout—they ate in silence. There was little to say. The almost mystical bond of knowing what the other was thinking had faded. Bo watched them both carefully, and Irish realized the dog felt the tension. But he didn't know how to cut it, how to bring back the camaraderie, the connection. He felt, in fact, that he was betraying her even while trying to protect her.

She didn't want protection that way. She'd made that clear. She wanted to be a part of whatever was planned. After Jekyll Island, she felt prepared to cope with anything, but she still didn't understand the impact of violence. Of causing another's death, or risking your own. Then it had been thrust upon her, and had happened so fast, she hadn't had time to think. This would be planned. Carefully plotted.

He knew he could—and probably should—bring in the police, but he feared Hawke could smell it out and then cover his tracks, only to strike later. He couldn't take that risk, not without more evidence.

So they continued their journey. Five more hours and they would reach Chestertown. One of his former team would meet them there. Sam Reynolds would stay with her at a motel. Mike and Tag would go with him to the house.