Broken Honor by Patricia; Potter Page A

Amy,” she said. “I thought he had a right to be here.”
    â€œHe wanted you to think that,” she said flatly. “He lied.”
    â€œHe never actually said.…”
    â€œSame thing as,” Amy said. “Do me a favor. Don’t tell him anything. Anything at all.”
    Looking abashed, Sherry nodded. “I swear.”
    Amy remembered what the colonel said, that the police would be back soon. But he’d made sure he asked his questions first.
    A simple burglary gone wrong . If that was what the police thought, then they probably hadn’t collected her boxes. She tried to move toward the phone, but her body objected and she fell back. “Sherry,” she said, “call the campus security office. See if they retrieved the box the man dropped. Ask them to check to see if there are any other boxes with my name on them. If so, ask them to lock them up.”
    Sherry looked started. “Do you think that’s what the … burglar was after?”
    â€œI don’t know, but I want to go through them, and I won’t be able to do that if the police take them.”
    Sherry stood.
    Amy reached out her hand. “Thank you, Sherry.”
    Sherry’s hand squeezed hers. “I’ll make the calls outside. You need some rest.”
    Amy was grateful. Her head was swimming with emotions. She needed time to think, to cope with all the questions and fear and grief. Claude. Jon. Why ?
    Was someone also after her?
    Or did she just have a dark cloud floating over her head? Coincidence. A burglary she interrupted. A burglary that had nothing to do with her? She wished that with all her heart.
    But her analytical mind told her that was foolish. Too many coincidences meant none at all. Everything that had happened was tied together in some evil way.
    And what did Colonel Flaherty have to do with it all?

six
    M EMPHIS
    Professional courtesy. One investigator to another. It usually opened a lot of doors.
    But not at Braemore, not on this campus. And not with its small security force. Irish thought about trying a little intimidation, then discarded the idea. One of theirs was down. One of their charges was wounded. Another was dead, but that was still deemed a hit and run.
    The security officers had said they had been instructed by the Memphis police not to say anything and, still stunned by what happened, they obeyed. He’d also called on the Memphis detectives working the case. They were friendly enough—he was a colleague—but they had little information. About all he learned was that it was being worked as a burglary of a professor’s office, one that went awry. Miss Mallory was just unfortunate to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. No, they couldn’t share any more information. No, he couldn’t go into Jon Foster’s office.
    Another door slammed in his face.
    Flashing his military credentials, he had talked to others in the Sammons Building at the college and discovered a great deal about Amy Mallory. She apparently was one of those people who was interested in everyone, and showed it. From the janitorial staff on up, everyone seemed to like her, though few claimed a really close relationship. They raised disbelieving eyebrows when he asked whether they knew of any enemies she might have.
    And his own impressions agreed with that assessment. She’d been undaunted this morning, despite being nearly killed, and appeared more concerned about the security guard, her friend Jon Foster, and her dog, than herself. He’d also been intrigued by the mild hostility when she’d seen his uniform. Not rabid, merely wary.
    Because of her grandfather? Her mother? He already knew from his research that the woman had been unorthodox, a flower child who had never quite conformed to society.
    Amy Mallory had used what must have been a chaotic childhood to succeed in a particularly demanding career, one that required discipline. He admired