that.
Heâd also liked the smoky gray eyes and the short, dark hair that wrapped appealingly around her face. But she was no real beauty. The description that applied was âpleasantly attractive.â He suspected, though, that when she smiled, she would be very pretty indeed.
He thought about Amy Mallory again, and wondered whether another visit would produce anything. Heâd not missed the suspicion in her eyes, the growing awareness of danger as heâd talked.
To his surprise, she had not expressed the outrage that many would after a random act of violence. Nor had she expressed surprise at what would have been a really astounding run of bad luck. She must suspect a connection.
What?
He went over everything he knew about her. There was nothing that should suddenly plunge her into danger. Could it be mere coincidence that the report on the thefts had just recently been published?
It was a far stretch.â¦
And yet deep in his bones, he knew there was a connection.
If there was, why had anyone gone after her alone? Why not him?
He wondered about the other descendants, Dustin and Sally Eachan. Had they had sudden accidents?
He had to find out.
Irish went down to the desk of his hotel and told them he would be staying at least two more nights, maybe longer.
There was never really a decision to make. He didnât like the fear in Amy Malloryâs eyes. He didnât like people who hurt women.
But to accomplish anything, he needed her trust. And he didnât blame her for not giving it readily. God only knew sheâd had a horrendous few days. Why should she trust anyone, particularly him? Heâd appeared on the scene just as everything had happened.
After arranging for the longer stay, he returned to his room. He plugged in his electronic notebook, and in minutes had the home and office numbers of Dustin Eachan and the home number of his cousin. He started dialing his cell phone.
An hour later, he was completely frustrated. He couldnât get through to either one of them. He left several messages, using his name and expressing the urgency of the matter.
He looked at his watch. He could try the Memphis police again, but he didnât want to press them. He didnât want them to contact his commanding officer. Doug Fuller was a friend, but he was also a stickler for protocol. He wouldnât approve of Irish using his badge for personal reasons.
Fishing . He was supposed to be fishing. Heâd just been looking for a different kind of catch. Information. And now.â¦
Now he was beginning to think he was looking for some bad guys.
After fifty years. It didnât make sense .
And it particularly didnât make sense that someone was going after one of the descendants of the officers involved in a theft so many years ago. She had to know something. Even if she didnât know what it was.
Or was he just taking two and two and making five?
He looked outside. It was late, and yet he was restless. Frustrated. Unable to relax. Something was going on that he didnât understand, and he didnât like that one damn bit. He thought about Amy Mallory in the hospital room. Why her? Of all of the descendants, why had there been attempts on her life? According to the police, there didnât seem to be anything else in her life that might inspire such sudden violence. No stalkers. No boyfriends. No enemies.
Unable to rest, he decided to make one more effort to talk to her. He would wear civilian clothes. The uniform, heâd sensed earlier in the room, had had the opposite effect than what heâd hoped for. Instead of assuring her, it had turned her off. But he should have guessed. Sheâd done her research on protest movements, perhaps because of her mother. It stood to reason that she didnât like the military.
He changed to a sports shirt and jeans. He would find some flowers and try to reassure her that he was one of the good guys. It was obvious that
Heâd also liked the smoky gray eyes and the short, dark hair that wrapped appealingly around her face. But she was no real beauty. The description that applied was âpleasantly attractive.â He suspected, though, that when she smiled, she would be very pretty indeed.
He thought about Amy Mallory again, and wondered whether another visit would produce anything. Heâd not missed the suspicion in her eyes, the growing awareness of danger as heâd talked.
To his surprise, she had not expressed the outrage that many would after a random act of violence. Nor had she expressed surprise at what would have been a really astounding run of bad luck. She must suspect a connection.
What?
He went over everything he knew about her. There was nothing that should suddenly plunge her into danger. Could it be mere coincidence that the report on the thefts had just recently been published?
It was a far stretch.â¦
And yet deep in his bones, he knew there was a connection.
If there was, why had anyone gone after her alone? Why not him?
He wondered about the other descendants, Dustin and Sally Eachan. Had they had sudden accidents?
He had to find out.
Irish went down to the desk of his hotel and told them he would be staying at least two more nights, maybe longer.
There was never really a decision to make. He didnât like the fear in Amy Malloryâs eyes. He didnât like people who hurt women.
But to accomplish anything, he needed her trust. And he didnât blame her for not giving it readily. God only knew sheâd had a horrendous few days. Why should she trust anyone, particularly him? Heâd appeared on the scene just as everything had happened.
After arranging for the longer stay, he returned to his room. He plugged in his electronic notebook, and in minutes had the home and office numbers of Dustin Eachan and the home number of his cousin. He started dialing his cell phone.
An hour later, he was completely frustrated. He couldnât get through to either one of them. He left several messages, using his name and expressing the urgency of the matter.
He looked at his watch. He could try the Memphis police again, but he didnât want to press them. He didnât want them to contact his commanding officer. Doug Fuller was a friend, but he was also a stickler for protocol. He wouldnât approve of Irish using his badge for personal reasons.
Fishing . He was supposed to be fishing. Heâd just been looking for a different kind of catch. Information. And now.â¦
Now he was beginning to think he was looking for some bad guys.
After fifty years. It didnât make sense .
And it particularly didnât make sense that someone was going after one of the descendants of the officers involved in a theft so many years ago. She had to know something. Even if she didnât know what it was.
Or was he just taking two and two and making five?
He looked outside. It was late, and yet he was restless. Frustrated. Unable to relax. Something was going on that he didnât understand, and he didnât like that one damn bit. He thought about Amy Mallory in the hospital room. Why her? Of all of the descendants, why had there been attempts on her life? According to the police, there didnât seem to be anything else in her life that might inspire such sudden violence. No stalkers. No boyfriends. No enemies.
Unable to rest, he decided to make one more effort to talk to her. He would wear civilian clothes. The uniform, heâd sensed earlier in the room, had had the opposite effect than what heâd hoped for. Instead of assuring her, it had turned her off. But he should have guessed. Sheâd done her research on protest movements, perhaps because of her mother. It stood to reason that she didnât like the military.
He changed to a sports shirt and jeans. He would find some flowers and try to reassure her that he was one of the good guys. It was obvious that
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