Assassin's Honor (22 page)

           
"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."

           
"Well, I happen to like me--Emma Zale--archeologist, and I don't want to disappear off the face of the earth. So you can just forget the witness protection program. I refuse."

           
"You don't have a choice in the matter." He tightened his jaw. "You'll be in a car accident tonight, and you'll be killed. Police will identify your badly burned body from documents thrown from the car. A distant cousin will come forward to settle your estate. Everything that belongs to you will be stored until we find another home for you."

           
"You're going to kill someone to make it look like I'm dead?"

           
The horror in her voice exacerbated the guilt eating away at him. Merda, he was handling this
badly .
No, it was more than that. He hadn't done anything right where she was concerned since he first laid eyes on her. He'd interfered in Cairo when he shouldn't have, and he hadn't left her house last night the minute he realized she was in the office.
Christus.

           
"We did not kill someone to take your place." He gritted his teeth at the notion she thought him capable of killing an innocent. But then what the hell was she supposed to think? She knew what the Sicari were. What he was.
An assassin.
It didn't matter that the Sicari only served up justice for the innocent. "We found a Jane Doe in the city morgue who'll receive identification documents with your information on them. Our contacts in the police department will do the rest."

           
"You can't do this." Her voice held a note of hysteria.

           
"Would you rather I leave you to the Praetorians?" he asked in a harshly cruel tone. "You've already seen what they do to their victims."

           
She flinched at his words, but he didn't soften his expression. He needed her to understand there was no going back unless she had a death wish. Her mouth set in a stubborn line, she shook her head.

           
"There has to be another way. The next thing you'll be telling me is that I can't practice archeology." She blanched as she stared up at him. He was certain his expression was neutral, but she was processing things a lot faster than he expected. She blinked away tears. "Oh God, you're going to take that away from me, too."

           
"No one's taking anything from you, Emma." He bit the inside of his cheek at the lie. "We're giving you the chance to live."

           
"No, you're trying to fix your mistake," she said with caustic vehemence.

           
With a violent sweep of her hand, she knocked several of the files off the desk then shoved her way past him and headed toward the office door. Behind her anger, he could sense her fear, and it twisted something deep inside him he didn't want to feel. She was right. He'd made a mistake. But the truth was it had been a mistake in her favor. She'd be dead if he hadn't gone back for her. And he wasn't sorry for that. In three lengthy strides, he caught up with her. His hand pressing into her shoulder, he forced her to a halt and made her face him. Despite her furious expression, fear haunted her hazel eyes, and it chilled him as she glared at him.