Assassin's Honor (8 page)

           
Fotte.
He should have made Sandro and Octavia double-check their information on Emma before he barged into her home. Russwin's notes had made it sound like she had the Tyet of Isis, and he'd been more than willing to believe it. He'd gotten his hopes up thinking he was finally going to learn where the Tyet of Isis was. He didn't like making mistakes like this. Just one fleeting thought stirring in her head about him, the Tyet of Isis--any of it--could mean her death. Clearly the Zales hadn't shared what they knew with Emma.
Unless, of course, she was already working with the Praetorians . . .

           
Tension made his muscles grow taut. He hadn't considered that possibility. In the next breath, he dismissed the notion. Her confusion tonight had been genuine. The Order had placed her under surveillance some time ago. If she'd been involved with the Praetorians, there would have been a note in her file. Her parents had been under surveillance for almost five years prior to their deaths, and extensive background checks had turned up nothing on the couple. It had been the same in Emma's case. There hadn't been even the slightest connection to the sworn enemy of the Sicari. And despite what some in the Order believed, working for the Institute didn't make her guilty.

           
Scowling, he released a harsh breath through his clenched teeth. It had been a mistake to come here tonight.
Merda.
He should have been more patient.
More careful.
The Tyet of Isis had been missing for more than two thousand years. A few more weeks of surveillance on Emma would have been prudent. But he hadn't chosen that path. Instead he'd put her in danger by plowing into her life like a bulldozer.

           
Once Emma got rid of her visitor, he'd convince her to come with him. He grimaced. More likely he'd have to kidnap her. The Sicari complex on Wacker Drive would have to suffice until he could figure out a way to protect her. He snorted with disgust. Protect her? He was delusional if he really believed Emma would ever be able to live by herself again. The Praetorians would stop at nothing to destroy the Sicari, even if it meant murdering innocent bystanders. He'd dragged her into this centuries-old conflict and he refused to let her become a victim of it.

           
The light in her study blinked on, and he retreated deeper into the wet shadows. He could see her clearly through the window he'd made his exit from as she looked toward the wall and then the desk where the letter opener lay. When she slammed her fists against the desktop, he released a low growl of self-disgust. Had he expected her to be happy he'd taken the coin?

           
An older man entered the study a few minutes later.
Her visitor.
He ignored the twinge of satisfaction the man's age gave him. Turning away from the brightly lit window, he moved with quiet stealth toward the street. He could keep an eye on the house from the car just as easily as he could
standing
here in the rain.

           
Early evening had vanished into the darkness of night as he kept to the deeper shadows lining the residential neighborhood's sidewalk. Slick with rain, the street was devoid of traffic as he quickly retraced his steps back to where he'd parked his Durango. Unlike most cars, there were no annoying chimes or interior lights blinking on when he opened the car door. A mechanic he knew had taken care of that problem within an hour of the vehicle's cash purchase. The small precaution helped keep him from being an easy target. With a well-practiced move, he removed his sword from its scabbard and stored the blade in the special holder under his seat.

           
With a quiet thud, the door closed out the wet weather. He'd parked only a few houses down from Emma's place, and from where he sat, he had an excellent view of her front door. The angry rustle of his sister shifting her position in the seat beside him made him suppress a sigh of pained tolerance.

           
He rubbed the dampness off the back of his neck, all too aware of his sister's censorious gaze. She'd given him hell for going into Emma's without her. A quick glance in Phaedra's direction revealed her mutinous expression. He returned his attention to the nearby house.

           
"I don't understand why you insisted on me staying in the car," she snapped.

           
"And I don't know why you insist on questioning my orders."

           
His harsh reply silenced any further comments. Sometimes his sister forgot who led their guild, but he had no one but himself to blame. His indulgence of her had started when the Praetorians had left them orphans almost twenty years ago. He frowned.

           
The Praetorians were responsible for a lot more deaths than just his parents. Their persecution of the Sicari had been happening for almost two millennia.
Once his people had held the same social status and power as their enemy.
But as the Roman Empire slowly crumbled into dust, things had changed. The Praetorians had donned the cloak of Christianity to do more than oppress the Sicari. They'd sought their genocide. There was no clear rationale for why the Praetorians had set out to destroy his people. Some stories said it involved a
woman,
other tales attributed the persecution to jealousy and a craving for power. Most Sicari believed it was the Tyet of Isis that had started it all. The only problem was
,
no one knew what or where the artifact was. It didn't really matter what had started it all. It was a lot easier to start a war than to stop one.

           
The sound of Phae's fingers drumming relentlessly against the black leather of her jacket pulled him out of his contemplation. The look of frustration on her face made him bite back a small smile. Patience had never been one of Phae's virtues. His sister sent him a sideways glance.

           
"Did you get it?"

           
"She doesn't have it."

           
"Is that what she told you?" Phae snorted with disbelief.

           
"You doubt me?" He heard the steel in his voice, and out of the corner of his eye he saw her stiffen as she suddenly recognized the error she'd made.

           
"Forgive me, il mio signore," she said with sincere remorse.

           
Not responding, he kept his attention focused on Emma's house and yard. He understood his sister's frustration. When he'd received Russwin's personal diary from Shakir in Cairo, he'd been certain they'd find the Tyet of Isis soon. The dead professor's diary had made everyone think the man had either given Emma the artifact or at least told her where it was. But he didn't think Russwin had given her anything, because he was certain she'd never heard of the artifact until tonight. No matter how much she knew, Russwin's murder put Emma at the head of the class as the archeological authority on the Sicari outside of the Order itself.

           
It had been a gamble in Cairo to have Shakir show Emma the coin the police had found next to Russwin's body. But it had been important to try and gauge what she really knew about the Order. She'd definitely recognized the artifact, but the answers she'd given to Shakir had indicated only a general knowledge of the Sicari, nothing more. If she knew more than she'd said, he couldn't blame her for holding back. He would have done the same in her position.

           
Although if he were a betting man, he'd wager she'd seen something when she first touched the coin. With that ability of hers, she probably witnessed Russwin's last few moments, maybe even the face of his murderer. Whatever she'd seen, Emma hadn't shared it with Shakir or anyone else. She was smart enough to know her talent would most likely generate more skepticism than serve as a defense.

           
What puzzled him was the way Emma's parents, and now her mentor, had been murdered. The Praetorians generally tortured their victims before killing them. Instead, the Zales and Russwin had died quickly. The killer's method had been clean, efficient, and merciful. More like a Sicari execution than the usual Praetorian slaughter. But Sicari never mutilated the dead.

           
If anything, the brand was more in line with Praetorian practices. But the mark on their cheeks was unlike anything he'd ever seen before. It had taken more than an incredibly sharp blade to carve out the symbol. Great skill and precision had been involved in the creation of the disfiguring brand.

           
"Are we waiting for something?" Phae's voice held a distinct edge to it, although she managed to inject just the right amount of respect. He nodded toward Emma's house.

           
"When her visitor leaves, I'm going back for her."

           
"What do you mean you're going back for her?" she exclaimed. "You're taking her back to the complex?"

           
"I don't have much of a choice."

           
"Yes, you do." Phae reached out and grabbed his arm. "This woman isn't Clarissa--"

           
The moment his sister spoke the name, rage whipped through him. He ignored her gasp of surprise as he visualized her hand being yanked off him. Slowly he turned his head to see her arm held motionless in front of her by an unseen force.

           
"I love you, Phaedra. But I'm Legatus first, your brother second." He ground out the words between clenched teeth as he released his mental hold on her. "Don't forget it again."

           
"Il mio signore."
Dark emotion tightened her voice. "You're not responsible--"

           
"The Legatus is responsible for everyone in their guild and for those we endanger. Emma Zale didn't know anything about the Tyet of Isis until tonight. That makes her my responsibility."

           
The tense silence between them almost tangible, he rested his elbow against the car window and rubbed his chin with his hand. Clarissa. He closed his eyes against the images flashing in his head. Focus. He needed to focus on his task. Emma Zale needed his protection. Failure wasn't an option.

           
Down the street he heard a dog barking wildly. Immediately he straightened in his seat then turned the ignition key a notch to clear the windshield with one sweep of the wipers. With his field of vision clear, he saw a figure moving along the sidewalk toward Emma's house. Eyes narrowing, he studied the person heading in their direction.

           
The sight of a large dog emerging from the shadows on a leash made him relax into his seat. It was a miserable night to walk a dog. Beside him, Phae cleared her throat softly.

           
"I suppose you're going to have Sandro and Octavia's heads for not being more thorough in their investigation of the Zale woman."

           
He grunted. "They got sloppy. It tells me we're overdue for some training exercises."

           
"That will give Lysander something to smile about." A tight note of sarcasm filled her words.

           
A quick glance at Phae's profile showed she was glowering with irritation. His Primus Pilus had always set his sister on edge. She made it her mission to provoke the man at every turn. If Lysander found her insults irritating, he never said a word, which simply made Phae all the more determined to find new ways to annoy him. He wouldn't blame his second-in-command for putting Phae through the ringer when it came time to run exercises.

           
"Worried he might make things difficult for you?"

           
"He can try," she said with a snort of derision.

           
The red flash of the cell phone attached to the dash interrupted their conversation. Leaning forward, he pressed the talk button.

           
"DeLuca."

           
"We've got a problem." Lysander's voice echoed out of the car's stereo speakers.

           
"What is it?" He kept his eyes trained on Emma's front door as he waited for his lieutenant to respond.

           
"Julian's missing." Lysander rarely displayed emotion, but concern ran under the clipped statement. That alone put Ares on edge. He frowned as he gave the conversation his full attention.

           
"When did he check in last?"

           
"Right around five thirty. I sent him to the Gary Airport to pick up a shipment of surveillance equipment."

           
"Did you get a signal from the truck's GPS?"

           
"Yes." Lysander hesitated. "It's parked in a warehouse district near the airport."

           
The terse response knotted his muscles taut with tension as he flicked a brief glare at the phone. Something in Lysander's voice told him his lieutenant hadn't shared everything with him.

           
"There's more?"

           
Again, Lysander hesitated. "It's parked only a block away from the Oriental Institute's warehouse."