Assassin's Honor

by Monica Burns

  "I see you've found your file."

  The quiet words made her jump, and she jerked her head up to see Ares watching her with a guarded expression. The T-shirt and boxer shorts from this morning were gone. In their place was an expensive-looking navy blue business suit. He looked liked he'd just stepped off a fashion runway. Infuriated that she'd even noticed how good he looked in a suit, she used all her strength to fling her dossier at him. He didn't flinch. Instead, he flicked his wrist and the folder stopped in midair before floating neatly down to the desk. Anger had conquered her fear for the moment, and her humiliation fueled her outrage.

  "Who the hell do you think you are?" she said between clenched teeth and braced her hands on the desktop in an effort to stop them from shaking so badly.

  "I know you're upset, but if you'll give me a chance, I can explain everything." Ares's voice was calm and soothing, but she didn't want to be soothed.

  "Explain what? That you like to spy on people? That you've got an obsession with an ancient group of assassins?" She nodded her head at him as surprise flashed across his face and waved her hand at the bookcases and the diploma. "Oh yeah, I saw the Sicari icon splattered all over the place. You like to break into people's houses and steal their possessions. What am I leaving out?"

  "You forgot saving your life." His tersely spoken sentence infuriated her more.

  "Don't you dare try to weasel your way out of this by playing the 'rescue the damsel in distress' card."

  "I'm not trying to weasel my way out of anything," he growled. "What I am trying to do is explain."

  "You can't possibly begin to explain spying on me."

  "It was necessary."

  "Necessary? The only time something like this"--with a sound of disgust, she pointed to the file he'd returned to the desk--"is necessary is in criminal cases. I'm not a criminal."

  "I won't apologize for protecting my people, Emma." His penetrating gaze locked with hers. "Especially not when I lose a good man like the one I did last night."

  "What's that supposed to mean?" she snapped.

  "Exactly what I said. One of my men died last night."

  The quiet words stunned her and she stared at him, not sure what to believe or even think. He made it sound as if he was the leader of a group of warriors. Her heart skipped a beat at the thought. Oh no, she was so not going there. She refused to even contemplate what something deep inside her said was coming. Ares folded his arms across his chest and drew in a deep breath.

  "How much do you know about the Sicari, Emma?"

  She eyed him with suspicion, trying to reignite the anger that had evaporated like a morning mist. "Why don't you tell me since you've been spying on me for so long?"

  "Do you know as much as your father?" he asked quietly. The question caught her off guard and she shook her head.

  "Don't you dare bring my father into this." She glared at him, all too aware she was suddenly on the verge of tears. Damn him.

  "So you don't know that much then." There was just a hint of provocation in his eyes as he met her gaze.

  "All I know are the basics. My knowledge of the Sicari is superficial compared to what my father knew. Even Charlie could run circles around me on the subject. I chose to specialize in other areas, because"--her voice broke slightly--"because I thought my parents were chasing a myth."

  "You surprise me, Emma. You make it sound like you know nothing at all about the Sicari."

  He sent her a piercing look. Even in a business suit he still had that predator air about him. And like a predator, he was toying with her. She flung her hands up in the air in a sarcastic gesture.

  "Okay. Fine. I'll play this little game of yours. The Sicari were part of Ptolemy's personal guard. Later they were part of Rome's Praetorian Guard, which served as the personal bodyguard of the Caesars. Sometime during Constantine's rule, a power struggle split the Guard in two. The result was the persecution of the Sicari and their families. The ones who escaped became assassins to survive, thus their Latin name. Satisfied?"

  The brief history lesson finished, she sent him a contemptuous look. What did he expect? She had not been lying when she said she didn't have the knowledge her father had. The only reason people considered her an expert on the Sicari was because she was David Zale's daughter.

  Despite thoughts to the contrary, she knew very little about the Sicari. It had never been her field of expertise. Not even the childhood stories she vaguely remembered her father telling her were of much help. Stories weren't the same as detailed research and study. Hell, she'd be lucky if she even could remember some of those tall tales. Although now she was beginning to wonder if they were all that tall.

  The calculating look on his face made her clench her teeth with anger. None of this had anything to do with why he'd been spying on her. It was simply a way to distract her. With a frustrated shake of her head, she blew out a harsh sigh. The sound made his eyes narrow, but she refused to be cowered and she glared at him with defiance. He frowned.

  "When did your father tell you the Sicari Order was abandoned?" His question was straightforward, but the dark note in his voice made the hair on her arms stand on end. Worse, the grim look on his features made her pulse flutter with fear. She shook her head, knowing in her heart what he was trying to tell her.

  "This is ridiculous. You spy on me, and then you try to dodge the issue

  by--"

  "Answer me. When did your father believe the Order died out?" The harsh words sent dread creeping along every nerve ending under her skin.

  "He thought they were still in existence," she snapped fiercely. "And don't you dare try to tell me the Order still exists and how you're some kind of immortal."

  "I'm not immortal." There was just a glimmer of wry amusement in his deep blue gaze.

  "But you are saying you're a Sicari." She glared at him. The bastard. He really thought she was going to believe him. Didn't she? She ignored the whisper in the back of her head as she met his gaze.

  "Yes."

  The simplicity of his quiet response did more to rattle her than anything else he could have said. A shudder ripped through her and she clutched the edge of the desk in an effort to steady herself. She didn't know whether to feel elated or terrified.

  The Sicari earned their living by assassination, and Ares clearly had a great deal of money. What did one get for offing somebody these days? She swallowed hard as she struggled to grasp the magnitude of what he was really saying with that simple yes of his. The files, his Italian patrician looks, the swords, the hybrid mix of Latin and Italian speech, his extraordinary powers.

  All of it added up and yet she didn't want to believe it. It tossed her normal, sedate world topsy-turvy. Oh God, had he been responsible for her parents' death? Charlie's? She shuddered. The coin hadn't shown her anything about her parents. But that didn't mean he wasn't involved.

  "I can't do this." With a shake of her head, she waved her hand at the files and the room. "I don't want to do this. I just want to go home."

  "Don't be a fool," he snapped. "You'd be dead in less than a week if you go home."

  "You don't know that." She slammed her fist against the desktop.

  Anger replaced his calm demeanor until his mouth thinned to a harsh, unforgiving line. Trepidation made her stiffen the instant he walked toward the desk, a restrained fury hardening his features. With a vicious gesture, he pulled a file out of the in-box on the corner of the desk. An instant later, he tossed a black-and-white photo down in front of her.

  "I do know what I'm talking about, Emma. If I let you go home, you'll most likely end up like this poor bastard. Praetorians don't discriminate based on gender."

  Her eyes left his face as she looked down at the picture he'd thrown onto the desk. At first she wasn't sure what she was looking at. It looked like one of those medical figures with the skin missing to reveal nothing but the muscle beneath. Then the reality of it sank in, and she sucked in a sharp breath of horror.

  "Oh
my God."

  "God had nothing to do with it," Ares said with a hard bitterness that sent an icy chill skittering over her skin. "Praetorians did. They skinned him alive."

  The thought of such barbaric cruelty sent bile rising up in her throat. Her fingers pressed against her mouth, she turned away from the horrible picture. Closing her eyes, she struggled to push the image from her head. It was impossible to imagine the pain that man must have suffered. She shuddered.

  Ares made a soft sound she couldn't decipher and she looked at him. Indecision flickered in his dark eyes, just as it had last night. The dark scowl reflected on his rugged features amplified his distaste for the emotion. Without saying anything, he moved toward the window and pulled the sheer curtains aside to stare out at the view. His entire posture reminded her of a taut wire ready to snap, and she knew she was the reason for his tension.

  "The surveillance was, and still is, necessary." He sent her a quick look over his shoulder then turned his attention back to the lakefront. "There's a Praetorian working inside the Oriental Institute, but we've not been able to figure out who it is."

  "And if you knew?" The moment she asked the question, she regretted doing so. He flashed her a frown of disbelief, and she rushed to clarify her question. "Surely the police could help you. We do have a justice system in this country."

  "The Praetorians aren't without their own special gift. They can read thoughts and sense emotions. Their ability to avoid detection is as good as ours, if not better." He arched his eyebrow at her. "So what would you do?"

  She looked away from him. It wasn't a question she could answer, because if she were ever to find her parents' killer, she knew what she'd want to do. The same thing Ares wanted. Remembering her friends, she tried to make a case for their innocence.

  "Well, you're watching the wrong people. My friends and colleagues aren't connected with the barbarians who . . . who killed your friend."

  "Are you so sure?" The sheer curtains fell back into place as he turned to look at her.

  "Yes," she said firmly.

  He gave her a slight nod as if to say he planned on testing her conviction. When he passed her, she caught the familiar scent of spice wafting off him. It immediately set her senses on fire, and she fought to douse it quickly. She watched him reach for Mike's dossier, the crisp white cuff of his shirt emphasizing his strong hand and long fingers. As he laid the file on the desk and opened it up, she was grateful to see that the terrible photo had disappeared. Stepping back, he pointed toward the open file.

  "Tell me what you see."

  "What am I looking at?" she asked with confusion.

  "I can give you the information, but I prefer you come to your own conclusions."

  Accepting the unbiased nature of his rationale, she studied the page detailing Mike's activities over the past six years. The first thing she noticed was the number of times he'd gone back and forth between Chicago and Cairo. That in itself wasn't such an unusual thing for a team leader, but the dates were what caught her eye. It was the familiarity of the dates themselves. She frowned. Just before Charlie and her parents' murders, Mike had traveled to the States for a two-day stay before returning to the dig. When people went back to the States, it was for weeks at a time, not days. She looked up at Ares with some of her old anger.

  "What are you implying? That Mike killed my parents and Charlie?"

  "I'm not implying anything, but I don't believe in coincidences. Look at the dates, Emma. The man came back to the Institute for a couple of days before each murder. Now if he's not involved, then he probably knows who is."

  "No." She shook her head in denial. "Not Mike. I know him. He got me out of Cairo."

  "Did he?" Ares folded his arms and studied her intently. He looked like he belonged in a boardroom discussing financial mergers.

  "What's that supposed to mean?"

  "I'm the one who got Shakir to drop the charges. Granby didn't do anything except put on a show with the police and the consulate."

  "I don't believe you," she exclaimed. "Mike was the one who got them to release me into his custody."

  "No," he said sharply, his expression grim. "Shakir is on my payroll. I made him set you free. I'm the one who convinced him the locals were telling the truth. Even Roberta Young did more than Granby. She tried to buy your freedom, but Shakir is my man and he can't be bought. My price is always going to be higher."

  His last statement sent a shiver down her spine. She was certain she didn't want to know what that price would be. Her heart crashed into her ribs.

  "But Mike--"

  "Trust me, Granby did nothing except make a lot of noise."

  "Trust you? I've known you for less than twenty-four hours and I've known Mike for almost eight years. I remember when he first joined my parents' dig outside Luxor."

  "If you don't want to trust me, then trust your eyes."

  The quiet command directed her to look at the file again, and she stared at the dates. It didn't matter whether Mike was guilty or innocent. Ares had sown the seed of doubt as to her friend's innocence. She closed her eyes. What if it was true? Then it meant she'd spent the past five years working and laughing with the man who'd murdered her parents. Murdered Charlie. Oh God. It couldn't be true.

  "He can't be guilty. He just can't," she whispered with horror. "I'd know. I'd know if I was working with the person who killed my parents."

  "Christus. Don't do this, Emma. No one could know something like that. No one." He stretched out his hand to her, but she brushed it aside.

  "I'm all right."

  She forced herself to straighten upright. Ever since Charlie's death, she'd been walking a tightrope. With each passing hour, there was some new revelation that enveloped her. Some of which threatened her sense of reality. Reality? What was reality when you could read the past of any artifact people unearthed?

  "I shouldn't have pushed you so hard." The regret in his voice touched her and she turned to look at him. "My librarians are more concerned about others in the Institute, but I don't like Granby. Circumstantial evidence or not, the man didn't do you any favors in Cairo, and I don't trust him."

  There was a deep concern in his voice, and for some strange reason it made her willing to forgive him for having her watched. She probably would have done the same thing if she'd been in his shoes. She forced a smile.

  "It's okay. The more facts I have, the better. I just hope your facts are wrong."

  "And if they're not." He folded his arms across his chest.

  "Then he's someone to avoid until the police pick him up."

  "So you understand why you can't go home."

  "Well, I can't just up and disappear. Ewan will cause a riot when he finds I'm missing."

  "Emma, the life you had up until yesterday evening is over."

  "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Perplexed, she sent him a questioning look. "I can't just walk away from everything."

  "I'm afraid you'll have to," Ares said grimly. "You can't ever go back. Emma Zale died last night."

  Chapter 10

  ARES'S insides twisted with guilt as he watched Emma's face. Disbelief, horror, and anger flashed across her lovely features in rapid succession. Merda. He had all the tact of a bear stumbling around a bee hive. He'd known from the start that if he brought Emma home with him, she'd have to have a new identity and her past life would have to be wiped out of existence. It was the only way to keep her out of Praetorian hands. Even then she'd still be at risk until she had training to make it difficult for her thoughts to be read.

  He'd just thought he'd have more time to get her acclimated to the idea. He didn't even have the heart to tell her the worst of it. Her days on archeological digs were over unless she chose to work with the Order. Even then, her access would be limited to avoid running into someone she knew. The archeology field was a small one.

  "Let me get this straight," she said in a fierce tone. "You're trying to tell me that you're not going to let me go home." />
  "It's too dangerous." He folded his arms and pressed into the wound across his chest. The action lit up his nerve endings like a wildfire blazing across his skin. The pain was part of his penance for what he was doing to her. "You'd never be safe. We'll give you a new identity and everything that goes with it."

  "Oh, is that right." Her voice sarcastic, she arched her eyebrows. "What are you guys, the CIA?"

  "No, but the Order has been hiding and protecting people for the last two thousand years. It's how we've survived."