Assassin's Honor (2010) Read online

  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."

  "I know that. I'm sorry." She forced a wry smile to that delicious mouth of hers. "The truth of the matter is, I feel like I've been drop-kicked down a rabbit hole and I'm still falling."

  "Then I'll catch you."

  The minute the words were out of his mouth, he suppressed a groan. What the hell was he saying? He drew in a deep breath and the scent of her tantalized his nostrils. It was a sweet, delicious smell that sent his pulse rate skyrocketing. He swallowed hard at the way her lips parted in a small circle of surprise. It made him want to kiss her again. Christus. There wasn't a word that could define how far gone he was at the moment. A blush crept its way up over her cheeks as she shook her head.

  "Why do I think that white knight routine of yours gets you into a lot of trouble?" The light note of teasing in her voice did little to alleviate the desire spinning through his blood. He clamped down on the emotion and shrugged.

  "Nothing I can't handle." When it came to her, that was a bald-faced lie and he knew it.

  "Well, I'm grateful you came to my rescue," Emma said as she reached out to squeeze his hand with a smile. "And I appreciated the French toast."

  "You're welcome," he forced out in a strained voice. He hadn't felt this awkward since what? A few minutes ago? He needed to get the hell away from her or he was going to wind up doing something really stupid.

  "Right," she said with a hint of embarrassment. She gestured with her hand in the direction of the exit. "I think I'll head back to my room. I want to get started on that cipher."

  As he watched her leave, it took every last bit of willpower he had not to use his ability to draw her back to him. The minute she disappeared around the corner, he turned around and gripped the counter edging the sink. He'd never been so grateful for boxer shorts in his entire life. At least they covered the beginnings of his erection. Fotte, what had he gotten himself into?

  The sound of someone clearing his throat behind him made Ares turn his head. Lysander stood at the end of the island with his arms folded, watching him. His Primus Pilus bent his head to avert his one-eyed gaze.

  "Do you want me to see to Ms. Zale's safety?"

  Lysander was right to ask the question, but Ares didn't want to discuss the matter. That thought alone said he needed to rethink his position where Emma was concerned. He immediately discarded the idea. With a shake of his head, he turned to face his friend and second-in-command.

  "No. I'll do it. She's my responsibility." As he spoke, Lysander raised his head and there was just a hint of assessment in his eye.

  "Phaedra's concerned that you might be trying to make amends for the past."

  "My sister has always worried obsessively when it comes to me."

  "Perhaps she's right this time." Lysander's voice held the slightest note of curiosity, and he arched his eyebrow.

  "Christus, this isn't about me trying to conquer my demons. Whoever I fought last night had made plans to be at Emma's long before I showed up. The bastard was a Sicari dressed in the robes of the ancient Praetorian order."

  "A monk's garment." Lysander's expression hardened. "Like the monk sightings at the murders of Russwin and Miss Zale's parents."

  "Exactly. I think someone came back to finish the job he didn't complete at Ptolemy's tomb, which means someone thinks she's a threat."

  "Then she can't go back." His friend completed his thought for him.

  Lysander was right. Emma couldn't go back, not if she wanted to live. The bastard he fought last night was certain to find her again if they didn't keep her safe. And the man was a skilled Sicari assassin. He'd trained in the Sicari way of combat. Lysander's look of concern made Ares's body grow tight with tension. When his Primus Pilus seemed worried, things were generally as bad as he thought.

  "It's unlikely he'll breach our security, but inform the others to stay on their toes. We've gotten sloppy lately, and I think you need to put everyone through some exercises."

  Lysander nodded and turned to leave then paused. His profile was a twisted mass of scarred muscle for a moment before he sent Ares a direct look.

  "Despite Phaedra's concerns or how other guild members might feel, you made the right decision last night to bring Miss Zale here. She needs protection, and it's what we do. We defend those who cannot defend themselves."

  His friend and second-in-command didn't wait for an answer. He simply turned and left the kitchen. Lysander was right. Emma needed their help, and if anyone tried to get to her, they'd have to go through him first.

  Chapter 9

  EMMA shoved a hand through her hair before resting her head on her palm. The longer she stared at her father's handwriting, the less sense it made. She released a noise of frustration. What the hell had he been thinking when he'd coded this damn cipher?

  The pencil she held tapped a repetitive rhythm against the table as she studied the encrypted hieroglyphs. She hadn't gotten any further than the original lines she'd decoded. At this rate, she might have the note deciphered by Christmas. Any other time it would be a relatively simple cipher to solve, but her father had changed the code word after the first four lines. Although the puzzle seemed like it was a complete Vigenere cipher, it wasn't. It was as if her father had nestled a new cipher inside the larger one. Tossing the pencil down in disgust, she stood up and paced the floor of her bedroom. She just wasn't able to focus.

  No. That wasn't the right word. She was focused all right, just on the wrong thing. Ares DeLuca. She couldn't get him out of her head. It had startled her to find him in her room yesterday evening, but oddly enough, his presence had made her feel safe. She didn't know why, but she trusted him in spite of his evasiveness. Last night when he'd carried her to the car, it had reminded her of fairy tales about knights in shining armor. Even though she'd enjoyed the sensation, she'd immediately discounted the shining armor analogy.

  Jonathan's betrayal had ensured the death of that dream. Once upon a time, she'd viewed her ex-fiance in such an idealistic manner, but his armor had tarnished slowly over time. Funny how the first time she'd met Jonathan, he'd been carrying a sword, too. As the Institute's new golden-haired boy, he'd been tasked with developing an exhibit of ancient Egyptian swords. Ewan had never liked him. Probably because Jonathan's thesis on the religious rituals of the Middle Kingdom's Thirteenth Dynasty had contradicted Ewan's theories. But even Charlie had been less than enthused about her relationship with Jonathan. While sympathetic at the breakup, her mentor had emphatically stated that he'd put up with the man only because of her.

  She stopped in front of the fruit tray a woman had delivered a few hours ago. A cluster of grapes was all that was left. The red fruit broke easily off the stem and she popped two of them into her mouth and resumed her pacing.

  Focus. She needed to focus. Thinking about her ex wasn't helping her get the damn cipher translated. Then again, maybe the memory of Jonathan was a warning. A reminder that Ares probably had tarnished armor himself.

  Jonathan had seduced her to get what he wanted. Why should Ares be any different? The man hadn't hidden his attraction to her. Point of fact, he'd kissed her twice in less than a few hours. And each time the temperature between them continued to rise. That's how things had started out with Jonathan. The biggest difference was that Ares was up front about what he wanted from her. He wanted the cipher translated.

  She wasn't totally without blame herself. She'd certainly not been able to hide her own attraction for the man. In all likelihood, Ares was playing off that fact. Although she'd never been one for having sex simply for the physical gratification, the man did make the possibility enormously attractive. The train of thought made her puff out a harsh breath of disgust as she halted her pacing.

  All she was doing now was spinning her wheels. Primarily because she was preoccupied with the attractions of h
er host. She heaved a sigh of disgust. What she needed was air. That is, if she could convince Ares to let her go outside. But she needed to find him first. Something she was reluctant to do. The prospect of being alone in the apartment with Ares was alarming for all the wrong reasons.

  Particularly when the only people she'd seen this morning were the woman who'd brought the tray, and a younger man who'd delivered her purse and a suitcase filled with a selection of her clothes. Neither of her visitors had said more than a few words to her.

  But the expressions on their faces had indicated they were just as unhappy with her presence as Phae and the doctor had been last night. It was another reason why she hadn't ventured out of her room since breakfast with Ares. Icebergs had warmer welcoming committees, but she was more worried about the thawing effect Ares would have on her.

  If she hadn't been such a pushover last night, she would have insisted on going to a hotel. She frowned. The truth was, she hadn't put up too much of a fight where Ares was concerned from the moment he'd appeared in her study doorway. And as much as it pained her to admit it, that whole caveman thing had been a turn-on. Okay, maybe the caveman label was overkill, but he'd certainly been the one in charge. And she had enjoyed it. The realization didn't sit well with her.

  But it was difficult to forget the way he'd scooped her up into his arms like a knight of old. It had been sexy and romantic. Her skin grew hot at the memory. Lord, she was in trouble. Since six o'clock yesterday evening, she'd landed in a world where fantasy and reality collided. The whole thing was so surreal. She hadn't even called the police about her attack. Maybe she should.

  Of course, she wasn't sure how to describe her intruder. A guy wearing a hooded cloak off a Halloween costume rack and carrying a sword. Yeah, that would go over really well with a hardened Chicago street cop. They'd have her bound, gagged, and on her way to Jack-son Park's psych ward in a heartbeat. Even her next-door-neighbor's kid would have a tough time believing her story. And Shannon had a really vivid imagination. If she didn't think it possible to convince Shannon, she wouldn't stand a chance in hell when it came to Chicago's checkered hats.

  The real problem was going to come two days from now. When Ewan said he'd talk to her on Monday, that meant he'd be trying to track her down shortly after his morning meeting with Dean Stuart. Ewan would call the cops the minute she didn't answer the door. Or would he?

  She grimaced. Not once had she ever questioned Ewan's friendship or loyalty. But her conversation with Ares this morning had been enough to make her doubt a man who'd been one of her parents' closest friends. She just couldn't believe that Ewan was in any way responsible for what happened to her parents, Charlie, or the attack on her last night.

  Even Mike hadn't escaped Ares's probing questions. She'd known the man for at least eight years. He'd interned with her parents before their deaths. It wasn't possible he could be involved, could he? He had been present when both murders had happened, and at the time she hadn't thought about it, but why had he been at camp the day Charlie was murdered?

  He and the others were supposed to have been at the artisans' cemetery. Roberta had said they came back for some equipment Mike had forgotten. It was a reasonable explanation, but timing wise, it didn't look good. Then there was Roberta Young. If there were anyone she had reason to be suspicious of, it was Roberta. She hardly knew the woman, and she'd just shown up at the Institute one day and the next thing she knew she was on the team Charlie had assembled for the Ptolemy dig.

  The more she thought about it, there was no one she knew who wasn't above suspicion. The only person she did trust was Ares. And if there was anything more insane than that, she couldn't imagine what it might be. Frustration made her release a sigh of disgust. God, she needed to get out of here. She wanted to go someplace where she could get not only fresh air, but a good dose of reality as well.

  At least her reality. Maybe a hot dog down at the pier, the wind blowing hard off Lake Michigan, car horns blowing, people talking, anything to help ground her. The sooner she cleared her head, the better. She crossed the floor to her suitcase and pulled out a heavy sweater. October wasn't always chilly, but down near the water, it could be quite brisk. Especially when she was accustomed to Egypt's hot weather. She pulled the soft knit cardigan over her shoulders and left her room.

  She didn't hear any voices or meet anyone as she moved down the hall toward the living room. Just as she would on a dig, she studied the open space with a critical eye. Studying Ares's environment would give her more insight into him and this surreal world he lived in. Last night, drapes had hidden the floor-to-ceiling windows that ran the length of the living room and the adjacent dining area.

  Now, the curtains were pulled back to let sunlight stream into the large space. The windows looked out over the lakefront part of the city. In the near distance, she saw part of Lake Shore Drive, the pier, and beyond that, Lake Michigan stretched out to the horizon.

  As she moved deeper into the living room, she saw a staircase in the far corner leading to a second level. Curiosity getting the better of her, she climbed the stairwell to the balcony that wrapped itself around the living area below. The first door she came to was partially open, and she gently pushed against the wood barrier.

  Ares's office. Even from the doorway, she could tell it was his domain. It wasn't just the dark cherry paneling or the large desk situated near the window that shouted male dominion. It was the scent of him. His spicy cologne clung to the air declaring this was his sanctuary. The windows from the living room continued their run along the wall, but while the drapes were open downstairs, here panels of sheer curtains blocked some of the brightness.

  She stepped deeper into the room, eager to learn more about this enigmatic man who intimidated and enthralled her in one breath. Bookcases lined two walls of the room, their crown molding marked with detailed scrollwork. The pattern struck her as familiar, but she gave it only a brief glance before gliding her fingers over the spines of the shelved books. Texts on the Roman Empire, Egypt, and Greece filled the shelves, along with classics by Dickens, Twain, and others. Several books looked old enough to be first editions.

  In between the two bookcases, a filler panel held a sword mounted on a wood plaque with a faint circular pattern etched into the polished wood. Opposite the bookshelves she saw an end table loaded with a stack of books next to a large recliner. He liked to read with his feet up. She bit back a smile. Somehow it was difficult to picture Ares as a man lounging in a recliner.

  The framed photographs on the credenza prompted her to venture behind the desk. They were the type of pictures most people liked to display. She picked up a photo of a young boy with his family. From the blond hair and the mischievous grin on the boy's face, she was certain it was Ares with his sister and parents. Another picture with him and Phae was more recent. The last photo was of Ares with an older man in martial arts apparel.

  Setting the photographs back in place, she glanced over at the wall and a large diploma. She moved closer to read the document and her eyes widened. Newcastle University. Great Britain's premier school for Roman and Byzantine archeology studies. No wonder he recognized the Sicari icon last night. That was odd. With a frown, she leaned forward and ran her fingertip over the raised pattern carved into the diploma's wood frame. For a moment, she wasn't really sure what she was looking at.

  A second later, she sucked in a sharp breath--a sword intertwined with a chakram. Her stomach lurched. With a jerk, she turned her head toward the sword on the wall. A chakram. The circular impression behind the sword was a chakram. Her gaze flew up to the crown molding on the bookcases. The Sicari icon lay on its side in a repetitive pattern along the decorative wood facing.

  Telekinesis. Swords. Sicari icons.

  What the hell was going on here? She stumbled backward away from the diploma and hit her leg on the desk. A grunt of pain escaped her lips as the pointed corner of the furniture dug into her flesh. Her attempt to regain her balance caused her
to knock over a stack of files, which she quickly put to rights. She was about to turn away when a file in the middle of the desk blotter caught her eye. Tilting her head slightly, she read the name on the file tab again.

  Puzzled, she picked up the brown tabbed folder labeled MICHAEL GRANBY. The first page was a listing of her friend's general bio and work history. She flipped the page to study the next sheet of information. A chill swept across her skin as she scanned the document. It was a detailed summary of Mike's activities over the past year. The sheet listed a number of names and places she recognized, including Ewan's name, hers, and even Roberta's.

  What the hell was Ares doing with a file on Mike? Dropping the folder back onto the desk, she saw Ewan's name on a folder. She quickly picked up the file folder and flipped through it. The information inside was dated back more than five years before her parents' death. The icy sensation covering her skin made her shiver as she sifted through the files beneath Mike and Ewan's. She recognized names of other Institute staff on most of the files. Her hands shaking, she reached for the largest file on the desk.

  She opened her own folder, her heart pounding frantically in her chest. The thick stack of detailed pages in the file horrified her. It documented whom she'd interacted with, where she'd gone, dates, times--the last six or seven years of her life spread out over forty or more pages. Even minor observations about her relationship with Jonathan.