Assassin's Honor

by Monica Burns

  "So what else can you cook?" she asked as she took another bite of the breakfast he'd prepared for them.

  "Nothing." Wicked laughter gleamed in his eyes as he met her surprised look. "This dish is the extent of my skill in the kitchen."

  "You can't be serious." She sniffed with disbelief. "That odd blend of Italian and Latin you speak makes you sound like you came straight from the old country. Not to mention that every Italian I've ever met, knows how to cook."

  "Except me." He sent a wicked smile her way. It made her heart skip a beat. "I even went to one of those cooking schools outside of Venice. I flunked. Lysander is our resident expert in the culinary arts. He makes a mean souffle."

  "Lysander?"

  "A good friend. Handy in a fight." Ares took a large swig of juice then set the glass back on the island's countertop. "So what do you like to cook?"

  "Me?" She waved her hand in denial. "I'm like you. I don't cook either. My mom, she was the chef in the family. She could make magic out of the limited ingredients we always had on hand at the excavation site."

  The memory of her mom working over a Coleman stove made her throat close. She took a quick sip of juice to loosen up her throat muscles. The minute she could, she swallowed the tears lodged there.

  "It hasn't been easy for you, has it?" His astute observation made her jerk her gaze toward him then look away just as quickly.

  Quiet understanding filled his words, and the empathy in his expression made her feel connected to him. They'd both lost loved ones to violence. Of all the people she knew, this stranger was the only one who really understood what she was dealing with and what she'd lost. She hadn't realized it until now, but he'd lost even more than she had. Someone had destroyed his childhood. Had one of the images she'd seen last night when she'd touched the coin in his hand been of his parents? Had they died by someone's sword? She pushed her unfinished meal away from her and looked at him.

  "How did your parents die, Ares?"

  The minute she asked the question, she regretted it. The sympathetic look on his face disappeared, replaced by an impassive expression. He didn't answer. Instead, he stood up and picked up their dirty dishes. With his back to her, he scraped off the remains of their breakfast into the garbage disposal.

  "They were murdered in a manner similar to your parents."

  He flipped the disposal switch. Fotte. Her parents had died quickly with little pain. His parents hadn't been so lucky. The memory of his mother's screams swept through him. He'd huddled there in that Priest's Closet and had done nothing. Logically he knew there wasn't anything he could have done, but the helpless feeling he'd experienced that night had never left him.

  The only reason he and Phae had survived was because the bastards had received orders to leave. The Praetorian who'd butchered his mother hadn't been happy about it because he'd known they were in the house. Their fear had been easy for him to read. If the son of a bitch hadn't been forced to obey his commander's orders, he would have found their hiding spot. Ares crammed the dark memories into a small box in the back of his head. The sooner they got off this topic, the better.

  "I didn't ask. Did you sleep well? Find everything you need?" He turned around and leaned against the sink, arms folded across his chest.

  "Yes, thank you."

  "Good."

  Merda, things had gotten stiff and stilted between them. They'd lost that comfortable camaraderie they'd had just a few minutes ago. It had felt natural--right. He wanted to feel that ease of familiarity again. He frowned. He should be putting distance between them not thinking about closing the gap. She must have sensed the strained atmosphere as well because she straightened her back and sent him a direct look.

  "Maybe we should just get everything out into the open." The straightforward comment made him narrow his gaze at her.

  "Meaning?"

  "You came to me looking for this Tyet of Isis my father mentions in the cipher he left me. It seems to be a clue to the artifact's whereabouts. I don't know what this thing is, but my guess is my parents and even Charlie died because of it. So, I'd like to find some answers."

  "Not everything is black and white, Emma," he said. "What if you don't find any answers?"

  "At this point in the game, I really don't have a choice." She gave a reluctant shrug of her shoulders. "Someone tried to kill me last night, and the Institute's sidelined me for God knows how long, which means I can't go back to the dig to try and figure out what's going on."

  Her words only strengthened his belief that she wasn't working for the Praetorians. If the Oriental Institute wasn't going to let her go back, then that meant someone was worried she might start asking more questions than they wanted to answer. And the only people who wouldn't want her to find something would be the Praetorians. Suddenly, last night made sense.

  Someone had sent an assassin to eliminate any possibility of Emma continuing her parents' and Russwin's work. Whoever it was thought she was close to unlocking secrets they either didn't want revealed or wanted to find themselves. And until he knew who was really pulling the strings at the Institute, she wasn't safe.

  They'd only been able to narrow their search down to five or six possible suspects, and four of them were too damn close to Emma. It was one of the reasons why the Order wasn't going to be happy that he'd brought her into the guild's stronghold.

  "They've actually said you can't go back?" he asked.

  "I'm a liability," she said bitterly. "Ewan is going to try and reverse Stuart's decision. His position on the university's Board of Trustees is a powerful one, but I doubt it'll change the Institute's position. I think things in Cairo are tenuous when it comes to their digs, and they aren't likely to jeopardize their position for just one person. I don't suppose I blame them."

  "Your friend Ewan--have you known him long?"

  "Since I was a baby. He, Charlie, and my parents had been friends since their college days. When my parents died, he and Charlie were pretty much my only support system. Ewan has been there for me since I got off the plane from Cairo."

  "Is there a reason why he didn't go to Egypt while you were dealing with the authorities?"

  "What are you driving at?" she asked with a frown.

  "Nothing really." He shrugged. "I'm just trying to figure out who might have something to gain if you were dead."

  "Well, it wouldn't be Ewan. He's already got so many laurels he doesn't need any new ones to add to his reputation. In fact, he never did like getting down in the dirt. He prefers faculty politics and social events to field work."

  "Okay, then who else might benefit if you were suddenly out of the picture?"

  "Nobody."

  "What about your expedition's new team leader?"

  "Mike Granby?" She shook her head. "I don't know how he'd benefit if something happened to me. With Charlie gone, he's the team leader with or without me in the picture."

  "So who else is there that stands to gain if something happens to you?"

  "That's just it. There isn't anyone." She rubbed her fingers over her forehead in a weary gesture. "I've racked my brains for the past five years trying to understand why someone would kill my parents. It makes no more sense to me than last night does."

  "Let's look at it from a different angle. What was it specifically your parents, Russwin, and you were all hoping to find in your expeditions?"

  "My parents and Charlie were trying to prove the Sicari existed."

  "And you?"

  "I was there to excavate Ptolemy's tomb. I didn't really believe the Sicari existed until I stumbled onto that icon the day . . . the day Charlie was murdered."

  "Then that means one of two things. Either you have an item someone wants or you're close to discovering something someone wants left buried."

  "But I didn't bring anything back from the . . ." She suddenly glared at him. "Wait, there's the coin you took from my office."

  "I said you'll get it back, and I keep my promises." He frowned at her as she rolled h
er eyes slightly. "Is there anything else? Something your parents might have found, Russwin, anything at all that might be of value to someone?"

  "No, nothing. Maybe whoever it is thinks I have something I don't. After all, you were convinced I had the Tyet of Isis." She arched her eyebrows at him.

  "Touche," he said with a smile. "So if I think that, who else might know about the artifact?"

  "I don't know," she exclaimed with frustration. "Archeologists network like anyone else, and last night was the first I'd even heard of an artifact called the Tyet of Isis, not even as a myth. That sort of thing would be a topic for discussion. And for my dad to just pull it out of thin air and plop it into that cipher of his--well, it makes me wonder if I've been wasting my time working toward my doctorate."

  The sigh of disgust she heaved told him how much she loved her job. Regret lashed its way through him as he knew what the future held for her. He gritted his teeth against the feelings her disappointment aroused in him.

  "Would you miss it if you couldn't go back?"

  "Yes, as much as I wish otherwise, I'd miss it."

  "That sounds like you hate it as much as you love it."

  "I suppose you're right," she said with a wistful smile. "I didn't plan on being an archeologist. It just sort of happened. I tried to find a different career when I went to college, but everything kept coming right back to anthropology. And when it came time to settle on a specific track, archeology was what I knew. I didn't realize until then that it was in my blood."

  "I imagine your ability has been helpful in your work."

  "I make it a point not to use my ability in my work. I've built my reputation on my research and fieldwork." Fury blazed in her eyes as she sprang to her feet, the stool she'd been seated on clattering to the floor. "I don't deny using it, but it's a last resort method."

  "It wasn't my intent to insult you, Emma." He kept his response soft and gentle as he met her angry gaze.

  She'd been through a lot, and he had a feeling her reaction probably would have been less vehement if not for the pressure she was under. Beneath his steady gaze, he watched her struggle to rein in her anger. For a brief moment, he thought he caught a glimpse of deep pain flash across her features before she turned away to set the stool back on its feet. When she faced him again, her outrage was under control.

  "My ability is a hindrance to my career," she said quietly. "Can you imagine what a freak show I'd be if it were common knowledge I can read ancient artifacts? I'd never be taken seriously by academia. You, of all people, should understand that."

  The subtle reference to his telekinesis made him tip his head in a slight nod of agreement. Persecution had taught the Sicari to hide their talents in order to survive.

  "No one here is going to think you odd because you have a special gift."

  "Maybe not, but they're far from happy to see me."

  He winced. She was right. The Sicari wouldn't find her ability strange, but the fact that she was an aliena wasn't sitting well with most of the people who knew she was here. When others found out, it wouldn't get any better. But here in the guild his word was law. A protest against Emma was a protest against his authority. The first Sicari who stepped out of line where she was concerned would answer directly to him.

  "I know Phae and the Doc were less than cordial last night, but you need to understand that we rarely bring in strangers to our home."

  "Then maybe I should leave. Go to the police."

  "Now that's crazy, and you know it. Exactly what would you tell them? That someone with a sword chased you out of your house and tried to kill you?" Tension ricocheted through him at the possibility she might try to leave. He shook his head and took a step toward her. "You're smarter than that, Emma. You saw how they reacted to your story in Cairo. Do you really think it will be any different here?"

  She sent him a look of frustration as she shook her head. The relief barreling through him was like an electric shock. Merda, this woman was getting under his skin far too easily. He dismissed the notion. All he wanted was to ensure she stayed alive. His inner voice laughed.

  "You're safe here, Emma. I promise I won't let anything happen to you."

  "God, you make it all sound so simple."

  "It is simple, Emma."

  "No. It's insane. I don't even know you."

  "What have I done that makes you think you can't trust me?"

  "Nothing, and that's the irony of it. For some bizarre reason I do trust you, even though you play with swords and can move objects just by thinking about it."

  "I don't play with swords," he said as he offered her a half smile.

  "No, you don't, and that's what scares me," she said as she met his gaze with a wide-eyed look.

  There was a hint of disbelief and horror in her eyes. Clearly whatever she'd seen in her vision last night hadn't helped his cause any. His jaw tightened as he considered the possible images she might have seen. Events that in all likelihood would be difficult to explain without telling her everything. And he wasn't prepared to do that right now. It had to be done in stages. She was jumpy enough already.

  "Are you afraid of me because of what you saw last night when I gave you the coin back?" His question made her flinch.

  "I never know what to expect when I touch an artifact, and last night . . . well, I'd already touched that coin before." She frowned and bit down on her lip. "So I was pretty surprised to see anything at all."

  "So once you read an object, it doesn't show you anything else?"

  "Not usually; sometimes I get additional information, but not like last night."

  "It seemed to hit you pretty hard." His comment made her close her eyes for a second as a pained expression flitted across her face.

  "Touching an artifact is emotionally draining because the images are pretty graphic. Last night was brutal even on my gruesome scale." She glanced away from him. "You've killed more than once, and I know you're not a cop and you're not in the military, which doesn't leave much of anything else except the criminal element."

  Her observation made him go rigid. Whatever she'd seen had been enough to make her think twice about trusting him. But he wasn't one of the bad guys. All he did was protect the innocent when the justice system failed to defend the people it served. If that meant ridding society of vicious killers, drug lords who killed at the drop of a hat, sexual predators, or any other kind of scum the justice system refused to convict then his conscience was clear. When the Praetorians had made them outlaws, they'd taken money for their assassin skills. It had been good money, and throughout the centuries it had also been invested well. Just as the Church had accumulated immense wealth so had the Sicari.

  "Now you're the one doing the insulting," he said grimly. "Whatever you saw me do was done for one reason and one reason only. Protecting the innocent."

  "In other words, you're a vigilante." There it was again, that dark note of condemnation in her voice. It rankled.

  "No." He shook his head with a grunt of anger. "A vigilante takes justice into their own hands. I only step in when a hard-core felon manipulates and beats the system designed to keep them in check. Sometimes I get paid for what I do, but most of the time I do it because I'm all that stands between the monsters and their next victims. Monsters like the ones who killed your parents and mine."

  She flinched and paled beneath his hard stare. The breath of air he drew in between clenched teeth was a sharp hiss. Fotte. He hadn't meant it to sound so harsh, but the idea of her thinking he was some renegade outlaw bothered him more than he cared to admit.

  He didn't enjoy his job, but he knew it made a difference in the lives of innocent people he didn't know. And for that, he wouldn't apologize. It was a burden he carried even if it meant saving only a few people from the worst of mankind. With a growl of disgust, he moved to clean up the breakfast dishes.

  The dishwasher door bounced as he flung it open and yanked out the bottom rack. He didn't know if he was more furious with her or hims
elf. She wasn't a Sicari. Things worked differently in her world. The mixing bowl he'd used earlier came into his line of sight, and he looked up to see Emma offering it to him.

  Regret tilted her sweet mouth downward as she met his gaze. The way she was looking at him made him want to hold her close and tell her everything was going to be all right. He took the ceramic dish from her, set it inside the dishwasher, then closed the door.

  "You asked me if I was afraid of you," she said softly. "I'm not. And that's what really scares the hell out of me, because what I saw makes me think I should be."

  The confusion in her eyes made him heave a sigh. "I know I keep saying that there's a lot for you to take in, but it's the truth. I don't know what you saw, but I'm sure it's not the whole picture."