Broken Honor Page 12

  Irish was driving his rental car. Her car had been impounded to check for paint traces. A useless exercise, she thought. The car used by the would-be murderers was probably stolen. And her car would need repairs before she could drive it again.

  “We’ll get your dog, pick up your things, and find another place,” her companion said, breaking the tense silence.

  “Another place?”

  “An anonymous hotel. Unless you want to return to Memphis.”

  She was silent. She had no idea what to do now. She thought she would be safe here. She wondered whether she would ever be safe again. She bit her lip. What did someone do when they had nowhere to go?

  “I thought we would go to Washington,” he said. “The Eachans are there. So are investigators for the commission.”

  “We?”

  “We,” he confirmed. “I don’t want to leave you alone.”

  She let that idea rattle around for a moment. It had a certain appeal. But that wasn’t Amy Mallory. Spontaneous. Adventurous. Running from killers with a man she barely knew. She’d spent her life trying to be safe.

  “Amy?”

  “I’m thinking,” she said.

  “You’re very appealing when you think.”

  She looked at him suspiciously. He had a lazy smile. She liked that smile. She was amazed she could even think about that, and yet she had to think about something other than the events of last night. It was the only way she could keep the terror under control.

  Act normal. Maybe things will become normal.

  Or would anything ever be normal again?

  She thought again about his proposal. “I have to be back for my tenure hearing in two weeks.”

  “I’ll get you there,” he promised.

  The hearing had once been the most important thing in her life. She had worked so hard for it. She’d taught at a community college for four years before finding the assistant professorship at the college, and she’d worked darn hard all these years to get her doctorate, then achieve this final step.

  She couldn’t give it up. But what if not giving it up meant giving up her life, instead?

  Unwilling to explore that further, she changed the subject. “How does your tracer thing work?”

  “It’s a global positioning satellite vehicle tracking device.”

  “What did the police think about that?”

  “I didn’t tell them,” he said wryly. “I thought it better if they thought you knew I was protecting you.”

  “Will the police find it?”

  “Not unless they’re looking for it, and I doubt they will be. They just wanted paint.” He hesitated, then added, “They might even find a second one.”

  “Those … people?” she said with an anger that sent a chill through the car.

  He nodded. “It’s the only way they could have found you.”

  “You didn’t know there was a second one in my car?”

  “No,” he said. “I looked it over several times, but didn’t find one. It could have been inside the trunk. Hell, it could have been anywhere.”

  She read him directions to the veterinarian’s office and huddled in the far corner of the front seat, tired and shaken and altogether bewildered. She didn’t even protest his following her. She had not done very well on her own after all, and he had saved her life. Twice now.

  What if he hadn’t followed her? She didn’t even want to guess.

  “Your leg?” she asked.

  “Nothing worth worrying about,” he said. “It took a few stitches, nothing more. The bullet barely ripped across the skin.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “Don’t be. If you hadn’t elbowed that guy, I would be dead instead of him.”

  She shook her head. “For some reason I’m responsible for all this. Jon. Claude. Now you.”

  “Don’t think that,” he said fiercely. “To be honest, I think I bear most of the responsibility.”

  “You?”

  “I made queries after the commission closed its investigation.”

  He was trying to make her feel better. She looked over at him. Despite everything that happened last night, he looked wide awake. Competent. She flinched at the blood on his shirt and jeans. Neither of them had had a chance to clean up.

  He also looked … sexy with blond stubble on his cheeks and the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to bare suntanned arms. She, on the other hand, probably looked like something the cat dragged in.

  He turned to look at her for a second, and she saw warmth in his eyes. And concern. For a moment, some of the chill left her.

  If you hadn’t elbowed that guy, I would be dead instead of him.

  At least she had done something. And someone is dead because of it, another voice interrupted. Not good, despite the fact he was one of the bad guys. Her pacifist mother had indoctrinated her better than she’d thought.

  So many conflicting feelings. So many of her values torn asunder.

  “Amy?”

  “I’m all right,” she said, then realized she was hugging herself tightly.

  He reached out and touched her gently. “I’m sorry. You’re not used to this.”

  “How do you ever get used to it?”

  He chuckled. “I suppose you don’t.”

  She remembered what he had told her about his last posting. “What was the CID doing in Kosovo?”

  “Trying to collect weapons and keep them safe,” he said. “An exercise in futility.”

  “Did you get shot?”

  “No.”

  She felt even more miserable.

  He grinned. “I did get knifed, if that makes you feel better.”

  She looked at him. The lines around his eyes seemed deeper. And yet there was humor in his eyes. “Thank you,” she said. “I don’t know if I told you that before.”

  He didn’t say anything for a moment, concentrating on the road ahead. “You did,” he assured her. “I thought you might be angry that I followed you.”

  “That would be rather stupid, wouldn’t it?”

  He gave her a quick, approving look. “You’re a gutsy lady, Amy Mallory.”

  “I don’t feel gutsy. I feel bewildered. And angry.”

  “I’ll take an angry you any time.”

  Amy let that sink in. It gave her a warm feeling. No one had ever said she was gutsy before. Smart. Determined. Even nicely aggressive. But no man had ever looked at her with so much admiration.

  For killing someone. The bubble burst.

  “Is this going to go on forever?” she asked, trying to keep the trembling out of her voice.

  “I sure as hell hope not.”

  “Do you have any idea—”

  The beep of a phone stopped her. He looked beside him, where his cell phone sat, then picked it up and looked at the display. “My commanding officer.…”

  It continued to beep. He made no move to answer.

  She waited.

  The beeping stopped.

  “You’re not going to answer it?”

  “No,” he said curtly, as if to cut off the conversation.

  Was he being recalled? The thought of being abandoned by him was excruciating. He was the only island of safety in a sea of terror. Regardless of his motives, he’d risked his life twice for hers. She would take that in a New York minute.

  “You’re risking your career?”

  He didn’t reply. Instead, he turned a corner and they drove into the veterinarian’s office.…

  Bojangles was groggy, but he wagged his tail when he saw Amy, and she thought the scrawny appendage the most beautiful thing in the world.

  The vet, Dr. Douglas, looked at her sympathetically. “He’ll be fine,” she said. “His ribs were bruised, and he will be hurting a little.” She handed Amy a plastic container full of pills. “This is for pain. Even if he doesn’t seem to need it, give it to him. Dogs often don’t show their distress.”

  Amy cupped her hands gently around his head. “Brave boy,” she said.
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  Bo’s tail wagged with a little more enthusiasm, and he licked her hand.

  She paid the bill with the credit card. After all, it didn’t seem to matter now. Everyone seemed to know where she was: good guys and bad guys alike.

  Amy gently picked Bo up and took him out. Irish opened the door for her, then the car door, and helped her settle the dog in her lap. Bo whimpered, and she could imagine how he felt. Her own side still ached occasionally from her wound.

  She was suddenly aware of tears pooling in her eyes. She’d been so frightened for Bo. The colonel might represent escape, but Bo with all his neediness was the one being that relied on her.

  She was silent as they drove back to the motel. As they pulled up in the parking lot, she noticed the yellow tape around her unit. “What do we do now?” she asked.

  “They want us to stay in the area,” he said. “But I don’t think the management here is thrilled with the idea.”

  He opened the door to his own unit, and she went inside. She found a bowl in the kitchenette and filled it with water for Bo, who drank thirstily, then went over and lay down at Irish’s feet.

  Did Bo know the colonel had saved her life? And probably his? He had ignored the man before. Now he was lying in front of a man who was a stranger to him. He’d never done anything like that before.

  Irish leaned down and scratched Bo’s ears, then straightened.

  “Colonel.…” Amy felt awkward. They had been through two shootings together. He had taken her home from the hospital. She’d had more intense moments with this man than anyone, and she still struggled with how to address him.

  “Irish,” he said.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “It’s Irish.”

  Why did he always seem to know what she was thinking? He had asked her to call him that before but she’d resisted. It was too familiar. But Irish did fit him, despite the fact that his light brown hair and blue eyes said there was Scandinavian blood as well as dark Irish. Perhaps it was the charm that came so easily.

  “My classmates at the Point said I was full of blarney,” he added after a moment went by.

  “Are you?”

  “I used to be,” he admitted. “It was always my defense.”

  It was an oddly personal comment. “Defense?”

  He shrugged, then went to the door overlooking the ocean.

  She followed. “It’s so peaceful. It’s hard to believe.…” Then, to her humiliation, she started shaking. She reached out to steady herself against the sliding glass door, but her legs were turning to rubber.

  His arms went around her. She found herself leaning against him. She heard his heart beat, and that steadied her own. Life. She was alive. Bo was alive. She would never take life for granted again.

  She was aware of his scent. A lingering smell of aftershave. And blood.

  Amy looked at the colonel. No, Irish. His eyes were so blue, so intense. He bent his head, and his lips met hers.

  Exploration. But a fevered one. She found herself responding in a way she never had with a man before. Her hands went around his neck, and her body fit into his. The kiss became frantic. An affirmation of life.

  She had really thought she would die last night. Then he’d burst in like an avenging angel. But he was no angel. Not with those cobalt blue eyes that were suddenly burning like the hottest part of a flame.

  She trembled. She didn’t know whether it was because of the aftermath of fear or the new sensations taking over her body. Those were dangerous, too, she knew as the kiss deepened, taking on a wild, fierce quality, given and reciprocated, that made everything else fade into nothingness.

  You really know nothing about him. You don’t even know whether he is married, though all indications are that he isn’t. But the fact is, you don’t know what he is or who he really is.

  But a blaze had been ignited inside her, and it was growing with every second, with every touch.

  Life. She felt so very alive. Every nerve was tingling, every pulse throbbing. Passion ripped through her the way lightning rips through the sky. Sudden. Burning. Dazzling.

  His mouth opened, and his tongue met hers in a movement so natural, so instinctive that it seemed destined and oh so right. Hot longing filled her as her body moved even closer to his, nearly melding into it. She felt his arousal, and the need inside her responded to him.

  It had been so long since she’d been with a man. So very long. And she’d never once felt like this. Every sense was humming—no, electrified. His lips moved from her mouth, moved downward to her throat, then hesitated as his breath sent new tremors through her body. He nuzzled her as his hands caressed the back of her neck, then his lips went to her ear, nibbling the most sensitive part of the lobe.

  Hot longing welled in her as her hands left his neck and explored the sides of his body. Hard. Sexy. Enticing. He trembled slightly as her hands kneaded his skin as he was kneading hers.

  When his lips touched hers again, there was an explosion, their bodies locking together in mutual need and hunger. No more exhaustion. No more fear. Only irresistible desire. Heat rampaged through her body, seeking companion heat.

  His hand went to her shirt and unbuttoned it, then unhooked her bra. His hand hesitated at the bandage on her side.

  “It’s all right,” she said. “Practically well.”

  Not really. It still hurt occasionally when she made a sudden move. But she didn’t care now, and he was being very careful. His mouth went down, and his lips touched her left nipple, then played with it until she didn’t think she could bear the exquisite pain. She felt like a volcano bubbling silently within, ready to break free.

  “Amy,” he whispered as his lips moved to her other breast, his fingers stroking the curves of her body. Her body arched with all the sensations. The air radiated with hunger, her body becoming a heated mass of desires.

  His face rubbed against her skin. It was bristly, and somehow that was erotic. In fact, everything about him was erotic.

  She’d never been a fan of eroticism. Now she understood why some were. She knew a sensuality she’d not known existed. Sex previously had been pleasurable. Not essential. Not overwhelming. Not all-consuming.

  But there was more than sexuality. Something deeper. She felt a bond she’d never felt before. An attraction that was more than physical.

  He moved his mouth back to hers, but he didn’t stop there. His hand went to her face, and his fingers caressed her face. She’d never felt anything so gentle, yet so compelling.

  She found herself unbuttoning his shirt, her hands running over muscles and planes. Hair. Coarse and springy.

  His lips returned to hers. The volcano boiled over.

  “Your leg?”

  “Something else is far more painful,” he said with a smile.

  They moved in tandem to the bed, and he separated from her only long enough to guide her onto the bed. He followed, one hand in hers, the other undoing his jeans. Then her own jeans were off. He reached into a pocket, taking out his wallet and a small packet. He turned away for a second, then balanced himself above her.

  “Amy?”

  She held out her arms, and he lowered himself. He came into her very slowly, very carefully. Very gently.

  New waves of heat curled inside her as he probed deeper, then moved in a rhythm that grew more and more frantic, a whirlwind of power and need.

  The volcano erupted with magnificent splendor. Thunderous waves of pleasure rolled through her, and she felt as if she were shattering into millions of brilliant pieces as he drove into her one last time.…

  twelve

  JEKYLL ISLAND

  Amy woke up to daylight, feeling sleepy and warm and contented.

  Then she reached out for Irish. She was alone. And naked.

  Panic enveloped her.

  Clutching the sheet around her like a mammoth towel, she rose from the bed. No Flaherty in sight. Nor could she find Bo.

  Bo! Guilt shoved aside the panic.


  She went to the windows on the beach side front of the room and saw the colonel out with Bo. She watched as he slowly matched his footsteps to those of the obviously stiff terrier. The colonel had a slight limp of his own.

  He was wearing jeans, and a long-sleeve blue shirt, the sleeves rolled up past the elbow. He looked solid and real and irresistibly attractive. Particularly next to Bo.

  She moved into the bathroom and looked at herself. It must be twelve or thirteen hours since two men forced their way into her room. She hadn’t had time to wash, or even brush her hair. It was going in all sorts of directions, and her eyes had shadows under them.

  She wasn’t very appealing.

  Amy knew she never should have let last night happen. It had been fear, relief, gratitude. Certainly nothing more. There couldn’t be anything more. She barely knew the man.

  She wasn’t prepared for this. For its impact on her. She had never believed in this … kind of feeling.

  Because of her mother, perhaps, she had been wary of relationships. She had not wanted a series of one-night stands, nor even one-month stands. She’d had enough “uncles” come and go to doubt constancy of any kind.

  She didn’t want that kind of life, but neither did she believe in true love. At least, not where she was concerned. She wasn’t the kind of woman who evoked poems and pretty words or attracted the kind of man that she suspected Irish Flaherty was.

  Amy had lost her virginity at twenty-two with a fellow student in postgraduate studies. She hadn’t moved in with him, although that’s what he had wanted. She’d still believed in a ring before cohabitation; he hadn’t believed in marriage. And when she was offered a position that he wanted, he became emotionally abusive.

  She’d left the relationship. She hadn’t hung around for it to evolve into something else. Her mother had done that. Not her.

  Instead, she’d settled into her work. She’d been elated when she’d received an offer from Braemoor.

  She’d had one more relationship, but it had not lasted. She hadn’t looked again because she didn’t think many of them really worked. None of those of her friends did. Jon was a perfect example. His wife of twenty years had been talking about seeking a divorce and threatening to take everything they had built together.