Assassin's Honor (24 page)

           
"I'm asking you to trust me with your life, Emma. And I won't apologize for being attracted to you. We both know it's mutual." He watched as her cheeks flooded with color.

           
"And if I stay here?" The resignation in her voice said she wouldn't like his answer.

           
"For your own safety, you'll not be able to leave the building."

           
She shook her head, clearly not convinced. "I just don't think it's a good idea for me to intrude.
Particularly when I've not received the warmest of welcomes."

           
"The guild is a tight-knit group, and Julian was well liked," he said. "His slaying has everyone on edge. But I can protect you better if you're with me."

           
Tension slashed through him as she considered his words with a frown of contemplation. He could almost see her weighing the pros and cons of her decision. He'd deliberately chosen to let her make up her own mind. She had a stubborn streak, and she would have balked at any command he issued. Things would go a lot easier if he let her think the decision was hers to make, even though he had no intention of leaving her behind. It was easy to see she was on the brink of a decision, and he offered up the only other point he could think of that might convince her to go with him.

           
"The Order has a substantial archive of Sicari artifacts and other materials in the research library at the estate. I can get you access to any of it."

           
Her expression told him that upping the ante was holding considerable sway over her decision. The indecision on her face made him want to arbitrarily decide for her, but he held back. He needed to give her some breathing room given everything he'd laid at her feet in the last hour.

           
"All right.
I'll go."

           
"Good. Lysander will be here shortly. I'll have him come by your room to collect your overnight bag." He tightened his jaw in order not to display his relief.

           
With a nod, she took a few steps toward the door then stopped to turn and look at him. Hesitating, she bit down on her lip as if trying to find the words for whatever she wanted to say.

           
"I don't have a dress to wear. The one I wore to Charlie's funeral wasn't in my suitcase." She glanced down at the jeans, dark red shirt, and black sweater she was wearing. The action tugged his gaze away from her face to slide over her full figure. Lust slammed into him with the force of a sledgehammer.
Fotte.
It was like being a teenager again where this woman was concerned. All he could think about was her in his bed.
Naked and willing.
He cleared his throat and turned away from her.

           
"The Rogalis is held outside, so what you're wearing will be fine," he said without looking at her.

           
"Rogalis?"

           
"It's a Sicari funeral ritual." He shot her a glance over his shoulder.
Mistake.
His lust hadn't burned out. He swallowed the emotion and turned back to the desk. "I need to change clothes myself, but I have a call to make first."

           
She released a soft sound that tugged at him, but he didn't turn around as he heard her footsteps carry her out of the office. The moment she was gone, Ares braced himself on the edge of the desk to stare down at the files on his desk. He knew Emma wouldn't be able to resist exploring. It's what she did for a living. He'd deliberately left the information out in the open with the clear expectation that she would find it if she entered his office.

           
He shoved his shoulders upward then rolled his head in a circular motion to ease the tension holding his neck muscles taut. Then there was the obvious pain he'd caused her and his reaction to the fact. It seemed impossible to keep his distance from her both emotionally and physically. And Christus, he wanted her. Just looking at her made him hot. Hot with a need he hadn't even experienced with Clarissa.

           
The thought sobered him. He pushed the dark memories aside. He had no interest in rehashing the past. The only thing he had to do was remember his training. Anger sank its teeth into him. He had an obligation to keep Emma safe. And in the past twenty-four hours he'd forgotten every bit of training he'd acquired since Clarissa's death.

           
He was supposed to be protecting the woman, not succumbing to base desires. All he had to do was keep his hands off Emma, and when she gave him the translation of her father's cipher, he could continue his search for the Tyet of Isis. What could be simpler? He grimaced. Fighting
a half
-dozen Praetorians would be less painful. And he wasn't certain whether that analogy applied to convincing Emma to help him or staying away from her. A quiet sound behind him forced him to turn around. Lysander stood a few feet away looking stern as always.

           
"She knows she can't return?" His lieutenant's quiet question made him jerk his head in the affirmative, and Lysander nodded in return. "Are you still so certain you can trust her?"

           
"You're beginning to sound like Phae." Ares frowned in irritation at his friend.

           
"Your sister isn't your Primus Pilus," Lysander said without emotion. "I am. It's my job to play devil's advocate."

           
"I know that." Ares scowled with self-disgust as he waved a hand at his friend. "And I haven't changed my opinion. I trust her."

           
"And the cipher?"

           
"She's translating it, but I have no doubt she'll share what the message says. I'll bring the subject up tomorrow. I pushed her harder than I should have today." He winced at the memory of her struggling with the idea that someone she knew might be her parents' killer and, perhaps worst of all, being forced to give up her old life.

           
"The Prima Consul wants to meet her."

           
"Merda."
Ares sighed.

           
As the Order's commander-in-chief, a Prima Consul had directed the Sicari for two thousand years. From financial investments to the Order's policy decisions, the Prima Consul had the final word. They rarely interfered with guild business, but the current Consul had always had a fondness for archeology and the legend of the Tyet of Isis.

           
She'd been the one to order the Zales watched and their finds monitored. After the couple's murder, her interest had grown. She'd visited the scene of their death, and had given instructions that she was to receive quarterly reports on Emma.

           
He'd never questioned his orders, but he'd be a liar if it hadn't made him curious. It was unusual behavior for a Prima Consul, but then Atia had always been unpredictable. It was why she was good at what she did. Challengers found it difficult to know when to speak up or when to remain silent.

           
"You sound surprised. The Prima Consul's interest in the Tyet of Isis and Miss Zale's connection to the artifact makes the request a logical one." Lysander shrugged. "She specifically asked that Miss Zale be brought to her quarters after Julian's Rogalis."

           
"I'm not surprised." Ares drew in a deep breath, and with a slight roll of his head, he looked at the tall man opposite him. "I simply wanted a little more time to help Emma adjust to everything. And I'll be damned if Atia is going to interfere with the way I run this guild. Emma is my responsibility, Prima Consul be damned."

           
Lysander's mouth tipped upward in a slight smile that emphasized the grotesque scarring on one half of his face. The scarred tissue overlaying his facial muscles made his smile half-angelic and half-demonic.

           
"Clearly, you have no aspirations when it comes to advancement within the Order."

           
"I'm content to do what I'm good at, and that's leading this guild," Ares snapped. "I need to change clothes. Take Emma and her bag to the car. I'll meet you there."

           
He didn't wait for a response before he brushed past his friend and stalked out of the office. The idea that, as Prima Consul, Atia might use Emma for her psychometric ability angered him. He winced as he recalled what had happened to her when he'd handed the Sicari coin back to her last night. The memory of her curled up on the floor of that office triggered something inside him. He ignored it.

           
His thoughts flashed back to Cairo and Emma's hesitation in picking up the Sicari coin Shakir had shown her. At the time he'd thought the same thing the Cairo policeman had thought. She didn't want to leave a fingerprint. He now realized it was because she'd known there was a possibility of seeing Russwin's death.

           
But her
reaction then compared to how she was affected last night were
completely different. Had he been a conductor of some sort? It didn't matter. She needed time to adjust, and he wasn't about to throw her to the wolves in the Order, including the Prima Consul. He released a low growl of self-disgust. He was hiding behind a facade as well. At least Atia would be up front about what she wanted.

           
Bribing Emma with the chance to see Sicari artifacts hadn't been one of his better moments. He could try and convince himself that he'd done it to get her to come to White Cloud willingly, but deep inside he knew the real reason. He'd instinctively known the possibility of seeing the ancient relics would intrigue Emma. And if she touched one of them, she might see something that would bring him closer to finding the Tyet of Isis.

           
"Fotte," he uttered the expletive beneath his breath.

           
She'd said this whole mess was his mistake. It was an accurate statement. The problem was, every time he tried to fix his mistake, he only made matters worse. Maybe he just needed to leave Emma to the care of the Order. His gut clawed at him like a wild animal.

           
Like hell he would.

Chapter 11

           
EMMA stood in the immense library of the Sicari Order's estate. The massive room had a ceiling that was easily sixteen feet high, a large fireplace, and furniture that reminded her of a stately and very exclusive country club. The bookshelves lining the walls ran from floor to ceiling and were filled with books that reminded her of ancient texts. There were at least a hundred people in the room, and yet the room could have held twice that number.

           
It had taken them almost four hours to travel from Chicago to the estate in Michigan. During that time, she'd worked on trying to decode her father's cipher. She could tell Ares was eager to know what it said, but he'd patiently allowed her to work uninterrupted.

           
Like everything she'd experienced in the past twenty-four hours, the Sicari estate was surreal. In the dwindling twilight of their arrival, she'd seen black fencing complete with spiked prongs jutting outward to prevent anyone from scaling the barrier. They'd gone through one manned gate, and then another gate that seemed to magically roll back when their car drew up in front of it.

           
The mansion itself was something out of a gothic novel. Dark and mysterious, the limestone building reminded her of an ancient cathedral complete with gargoyles. Even the interior of the building had a medieval appearance with its high ceilings and arched beams. The entire mansion looked like it had found its way to the wilds of Michigan from Europe stone by stone.

           
The moment she'd crossed the library's threshold, everyone's attention had swung in her direction. She'd faltered slightly, but the light touch of Ares's hand on her elbow gave her the confidence to move forward as if she actually had the right to be here. They'd halted in front of one of the bookcases, where Ares and the man who'd driven them to the secluded property flanked her like her own private guard.

           
A few moments after arriving, Ares had left her side to pay his respects to the grieving family, leaving the scarred man accompanying them at her side. When Lysander had appeared at her door to escort her to the garage, it had taken every bit of her willpower not to recoil at his shocking appearance. The manner of his disfigurement was so similar to the picture Ares had shown her that she was certain the Praetorians had tortured the man sometime in the past.

           
The scars gave the warrior a dark, menacing appearance, but Lysander's treatment of her had quickly erased that image. Polite, even sympathetic, he'd joined Ares in standing watch over her. And it couldn't be called anything else. Every time Ares left her side, the disfigured man remained to stand guard. It had been that way since their arrival at the secluded estate on the edge of the Manistee National Forest. The two men provided a buffer from the stares and the occasional hostility she'd seen on the faces of some.