Broken Honor (40 page)

“You said you had a ranch,” she said suddenly, surprising him. He'd thought she would argue about staying behind. New tack.

“Hmmmmmm,” he muttered noncommittally.

“Where is it?”

“The Cimarron Valley in the Black Mountains.”

She smiled at that. “I like the name.”

“My grandfather called it Flaherty's Folly. Somewhat less poetic. It's in central Colorado, nestled in the mountains.”

“Do I detect longing?”

“Probably,” he said, glad that the conversation had moved from the next day.

“Is it a cattle ranch?”

“That's an exaggeration,” he replied wryly. “That's why he called it Flaherty's Folly. We have a few cows. A foreman. And two thousand acres, some of it public land we lease. The taxes and maintenance take most of my pay. But it's damned good land for cows. And horses. When I leave the service, I'll probably try to raise horses or turn it into a dude ranch. That's the only way something like Flaherty's Folly can survive.”

“Will you miss the excitement of your job?”

“Most of it isn't excitement. Most of it is just plain tedious.”

“I've never been to that part of Colorado,” she said.

He wanted to show it to her. He wanted to share the grand mountains with her, the rich green valleys. He really wanted to be with her when she watched a sun glide behind a mountain, spreading a blanket of gold and orange and coral across the sky.

Irish could almost see the delight in her eyes, the sense of wonder and awe that always grabbed him.

She was silent, and he looked toward her. Her eyelashes were closing over her eyes. “Get some sleep,” he said softly.

A soft sigh escaped her lips, and she put her hand on a sleeping Bo. A drowsy smile crossed her lips. “Okay,” she said.

Something warm settled inside him. Not lust, but a deep sense of belonging. He took one hand from the wheel and briefly touched her cheek, then returned it to the wheel. In seconds her head drooped slightly.

Five hours later, he made a turn off the interstate onto another road. In a few moments, they would be in Chestertown, Maryland, about an hour from Eachan's Chesapeake Bay home.

The sun was going down, and the air was humid. Dense and hot. It was smothering, and he smelled a coming storm. He didn't know whether that would be a hindrance or a help. But then, with the weather on this coast, it might well be gone tomorrow.

C
HESTERTOWN
, M
ARYLAND

Irish drove up to the motel Sam had suggested. He was from the area and knew it well. In fact, he was a fisherman now, a far cry from the Special Forces member he once had been.

The others had gone into security work.

Irish found himself anxious to see them again. It had been years.

His gaze scoured the parking lot. Then he saw Sam perched on a chair beside a small swimming pool. He immediately rose.

“Hey, man.” Sam wore swimming trunks and looked as fit as always. His face and arms were bronze. His military crewcut, though, had been replaced by long hair tied back by a piece of rawhide. But his smile was as blinding as ever, revealing white, even teeth.

Irish raised an eyebrow, and his eyes lingered on Sam's hair.

Sam grinned. “Middle-age rebellion.”

“I seem to remember you were always a rebel.”

“I tried being respectable for a while. Didn't work.”

“Can you still shoot?”

“That's something that never goes away,” he said, sobering instantly. “Like riding a bicycle.”

“Not exactly,” Amy said.

Sam turned all his attention on Amy. “Your lady?”

Irish liked the way that sounded. “Yes,” he said. “Remember it.” Then he turned to Amy. “Amy, this is an old friend, Sam. Sam, Amy.”

Amy held out her hand, and Sam held it a fraction of a second too long. “I'm glad to meet you, Sam.”

Sam looked at Irish. “A winner, my friend.”

Irish watched as his old friend eyed Amy with appreciation. Sam was four inches shorter than Irish, and had to look up slightly to meet Amy's eyes, but that didn't seem to faze him. For a moment, Irish regretted contacting Sam. Sam always had been a ladies' man.

“How's your wife, Sam?” he asked.

Sam's green eyes twinkled. “Long gone. Thought fishing was as bad as the military. Never at home, she said.”

“Hell, and I thought you were the safe one.”

“I am, old buddy.”

Irish raised a warning eyebrow.

Sam's grin immediately faded, and he nodded. He took a key out of his pocket and handed it to Irish. “Room one-twelve. I'm room one-fourteen. I checked you both in. Mr. and Mrs. David Saunders.”

“No problem with the dog?”

“I slipped the clerk an extra twenty.” Sam glanced down at Bo, who was slinking between Amy and Irish, and panting heavily. Panic attack. Well, he'd been dragged over hell and back.

Irish leaned down and picked Bo up. “This is a friend,” he said.

Sam held out his hand and let the dog smell him. Bo hesitated, then his tail started wagging slowly.

“He's a little timid,” Amy offered.

“Not a good watchdog, huh?”

She looked at Irish and smiled. “He can be. When absolutely necessary. He just doesn't like conflict.”

“Well, that's perfectly okay. I like that kind better.” With those words, Sam won Amy's heart.

Sam turned back to Irish. “The other guys are at the house. It should be ready by this evening.”

“All the sensors? The phone tapped? Rooms wired?”

Sam nodded. “Everything you requested, including the weapons.”

“I'll go over there. Directions?”

Sam held a piece of paper out to him. “I wrote them down for you. Pretty fancy digs.”

“I want you to stay here with Amy.”

Amy stiffened next to him. “At least let me stay until you make the call. Then I'll leave.”

Irish shook his head. “I don't want you anywhere around there.”

“There's two houses,” she reminded him. “Dustin Eachan's and the neighbor's.”

“Yeah, and our friends—if they're any good—will probably check out the neighboring properties.”

“But not until you call them. I'll be gone by then.”

“What about Bo?” Irish asked.

“I can take him with me.”

Seeing the plea in her eyes, Irish surrendered. It would be safe. At least for several hours. Then … she wouldn't feel as left out. Sam could make sure she didn't return. Reluctantly, he nodded.

Sam had looked from him to Amy and back again, obviously trying to ferret out the dynamics of their relationship. Then he shrugged. “Whatever. I'll change. I thought this was the most unobtrusive way of watching for you.”

“Unobtrusive?” Amy said with a grin. With his tan and build, he would attract any number of stares from admiring women.

He grinned back, then walked toward the motel.

Amy watched him with more interest than Irish would have liked. He put Bo down and took her hand. “Let's unpack,” he said. “Then we drive to the house.”

S
EDONA
, A
RIZONA

Sally tried to dissipate the awkwardness. Her mother was no more the cuddly mother she'd always wanted than she had been during Sally's childhood. Instead, she was hesitant and reserved. Watchful and wary.

Sally understood that. As she had grown older, she'd regretted not having a relationship with her mother, but she hadn't known how to change it. Particularly since part of her heart died that hour she'd heard about her father's death.

Dustin had tried to tell her that her father was not all she had believed, that there were reasons her mother left. He had been abusive when he drank, and he drank often. But Sally had never seen that part of him. Never. She had been his princess. He'd bought her her first pony and taught her to ride. He'd hadn't always been there, but when he was, it was magic time. Her mother, on the other hand, had been silent and withdrawn. She remembered screaming at her mother, “You never loved Daddy. You took him away from me.”

But now, sitting in the office behind the gallery her mother owned, she felt an odd affinity for the woman whom she'd effectively cut from her life. She looked at the paintings and realized they shared more than blood. They both had a love of art and painting. Why hadn't she realized that before? Was it because her mother hadn't taken her in her arms and hugged her as other mothers did? She looked at her mother and realized for the first time that it might not have been lack of love, but her mother's own reserved emotions.

In the first hours after arriving at Sedona, they had stopped at a specialty clothing store and bought some clothes for her, then went to her mother's house, where they had tea. Sally once more had tried to get her to leave Sedona.

Her mother had flatly refused. “This is my home. No one is going to scare me away.”

Sally had been frustrated, but grudgingly impressed. She'd looked around the house, which was filled with western paintings, and saw her mother's signature on them. “You still paint?”

“For pleasure,” her mother said. “I'm not good enough to do it commercially.”

But she was. Sally knew that from looking at the paintings, and instantly she knew they had something else in common. If they couldn't be the best, they opted not to compete. She studied each painting. If there was a problem, it was control. They were technically wonderful, but there was no sense of freedom in them.

“You see it, don't you?” her mother said.

“They're very good.”

“Not good enough.”

After tea, they went into the gallery. It featured western paintings, both originals and prints. There were also sculptures, including one Remington. Sally fondled the sculpture with wondering hands.

She was aware that her mother was watching her, and she turned, offering a tentative smile. “You have beautiful things.”

“You used to draw, too,” Chloe said. “Do you still?”

“Not for a long time. But Dusty brought me some supplies, and I played with it a little.”

“I'm glad. You were good. You had talent I didn't have.”

Stunned at the admission, Sally turned to her. “I always thought you were wonderful.”

Her mother shook her head. “I can draw what I see. I can't go beyond that.” She hesitated. “That's what your grandfather told me, and he was right.”

Sally was beginning to see an uncomfortable picture. She knew her grandfather was a connoisseur of fine art. She also knew how hard he was on people, particularly people who disappointed him. What had he done to her mother?

“I'm glad Dustin got you started again.” Her mother nervously played with a pen. “I remember you used to call him Dusty. No one else could get away with that.”

“He's been a friend.” She realized she was biting her lip, something she used to do as a child.

But something in her voice must have alerted her mother. She sat up, and her eyes narrowed. “Nothing more?”

“He's my cousin,” Sally said simply.

“Cousins have … married before.”

“Not in our family. Grandfather pounded it into us that it was a sin.”

“Do you love him?”

“Of course I do. He's my cousin.”

“And if he wasn't?”

“And if pigs fly,” Sally answered.

“Maybe pigs can fly under certain conditions.”

Sally stared at her mother. “What are you trying to say?”

“Dustin isn't your cousin.”

W
ASHINGTON
, D.C.

“You don't know where they are?” The voice was laced with ridicule.

“They left no tracks,” came the defensive voice over the telephone line. He was calling from a cellular phone to what he knew was a safe line. It bounced off any number of satellites.

“Strange,” said the caller. “
I
know where they are. That should have been your job, not mine.”

Silence. “Where is he?”

“Flaherty called Eachan. There's a connection between all three now. Exactly what should not have happened if you'd done your job.”

“If you tell me where.…”

“Then you would probably mess it up again. Destroying that house was sloppy. There were questions.”

“There shouldn't have been.”

“Two strangers without names? You didn't think there would be questions?”

A little desperation came into the voice. “Tell me where they are. I'll take care of it My men.…”

“Are as sloppy as you. How many chances have you had now? Three? Four? You said you were the best.”

“I am. My men are.”

“I think they could be headed toward Eachan's second home on the Chesapeake. I'm not positive, but we intercepted a phone call between the two. Since Flaherty maintained silence until now, it's possible he knows we're listening. However, he might also believe that Eachan is untouchable because of his position. His house would be swept frequently for bugs.”

Silence on the other end.

“Find out what it is,” said the caller. “A trap? Or has our Colonel Flaherty made a mistake?”

“How do I do that?”

“Do I really have to tell you your job? I thought I hired the best security people in the business. I would hate to discover I made a mistake. I want Flaherty and the woman dead, and I want it to look like an accident. Once they're gone, I can handle Eachan. He's a very ambitious man, and he has another weakness. So find his cousin as well.”

He slammed down the telephone.

C
HESAPEAKE
B
AY
, M
ARYLAND

Eachan's house was everything Amy had dreamed about. Traditional and roomy and comfortable. A second-story balcony overlooked the bay. A sailboat was anchored just off a dock and boathouse. The house itself was more comfortable than imposing, and that surprised Amy. After meeting Dustin Eachan, she'd expected
Architectural Digest
.