Assassin's Honor Page 2

  The next several hours passed in a blur. She wavered between hysteria and an icy numbness. It wasn't until she entered the Cairo police station that she realized how desperate her situation was. She and Charlie had been the only ones in the tomb. For the police, it was cut-and-dried. Literally. The moment she'd arrived she'd been ushered into a small room, which had a large window overlooking the station's central desk.

  The main area of the police headquarters wasn't well lit and she imagined it helped keep the room cooler. The interrogation room she sat in was the exact opposite. Already she could feel the heat from the glaring lightbulbs pushing down on her. Through the window, she watched Mike Granby arguing with a swarthy-skinned police officer. Behind her, Roberta Young, the dig's financial backer and self-declared intern, paced the floor. The tall woman's restless movements only served to shred Emma's nerves that much more.

  "Roberta, please," she rasped. "Sit down."

  The woman immediately pulled a chair out from the table and sat down next to her. With a gentle pat of Emma's arm, the woman's gaze turned toward the action in the squad room. Somewhere in the back of her mind, it registered that Roberta looked like a fashion plate for the latest in archeological field gear. The woman was a Swedish goddess, tall with flowing blond hair that she pulled back in a ponytail. She was always gorgeous. Even in the field the woman managed to look like she could go straight to a fancy dinner with just a change of clothes.

  "How are you holding up, dear?"

  "I can't believe he's dead." A tremor rushed through her. "I'd talked to him just an hour or so before I found him. He was alive. I swear it."

  "I believe you, Emma. I'm sure you'll be cleared of all charges. It's not like you and Charlie fought all the time."

  "What?" She stared at the woman in amazement.

  "A couple of interns said they heard you cussing Charlie out last week," Roberta said with a careless shrug. "I'm sure the two of them misconstrued the episode."

  "I don't understand . . . when . . . oh God, the police aren't going to believe anything I say."

  "Christ, I'm sorry I brought it up." Roberta rubbed her hand in a reassuring manner. But it didn't calm Emma's nerves.

  "Why don't they tell me whether they're going to charge me or not."

  "They aren't going to charge you. Everyone knows you couldn't have done this," Roberta said in that cultured voice of hers.

  The inflections were the result of her boarding school upbringing and immense wealth. And money was something the woman had in spades. She'd inherited the family import business when her parents were killed in some type of freak accident. Emma had never heard the details and had never asked. Roberta wasn't one to put on airs, but when the woman wanted something, she usually got it.

  Would Roberta use her wealth and power to help her out? It wasn't as if the two of them were best friends. But if the woman kept her out of jail . . . her stomach lurched at the thought of incarceration. Closing her eyes, Emma leaned forward and buried her face in her hands. She couldn't believe this was happening. The police were going to think she killed Charlie. They'd lock her up.

  "For someone who complained that he'd be a better team leader if Charlie weren't around, I'm unimpressed by Mike's leadership skills at the moment," Roberta said with disgust.

  Emma raised her head to look at the other woman, who nodded toward the window. With Charlie dead, Mike was next in line to lead the excavation team. Emma watched him gesture angrily in her direction, but the policeman's less than conciliatory expression didn't change. Frustration evident in his manner, Mike wheeled away from the officer. Seconds later, he burst through the door of the interrogation room, his tall, burly frame filling the cramped space. He squatted down next to her and grabbed her hand.

  "Emma, they're refusing to let you go."

  "Well, there's a surprise." Roberta's voice dripped with sarcasm.

  Mike ignored the woman, but Emma saw his mouth thin with anger. He tugged on her hand to make her look at him. "I need you to listen carefully, sweetheart."

  "It's okay, I understand why they don't want to let me go." She slowly nodded her head.

  "Damn it, it's not okay." Mike growled. "Look, you're in shock, but I need you to hang on for a little while longer. I'm going to the consulate to get some help, and I'll be back as soon as I can."

  She stared at him in silence. It made sense that the police wanted to close the case quickly. She was the prime suspect, no, only suspect, in Charlie's murder. Blaming her for Charlie's death simplified their job. The way her parents had been killed didn't help matters either. The reality of all of it seemed distant somehow. Almost as if she was watching it happen to someone else. Mike grabbed her shoulders and shook her.

  "Emma, listen to me. You're not to say anything until we get you a lawyer."

  "I'm not to say anything," she whispered.

  Mike's large hand squeezed hers tightly and he gave her a hug before he stood up. "Hang in there, doll. We're gonna get you out of this mess."

  "I think I'll tag along with you," Roberta drawled.

  "No, someone needs to stay with Emma." Mike glared at the Swedish blonde.

  "I have some powerful friends at the consulate, which means I'll get results."

  Mike didn't bother to hide his anger, but he didn't argue with the woman. Instead, he jerked his head in agreement. With one last pat on Emma's hand, Roberta stood up and a moment later she was alone. The moment they were gone, a shiver raced through her until goose bumps rose up on her flesh.

  God, she felt sick. Bowing her head, she shivered despite the room's hot temperature. Whoever killed Charlie had to have been involved in her parents' deaths. That mark mutilating his cheek had been the same one she'd seen on her parents' faces, a diagonal line with a backward C just above it. Bile rose in her throat again, but she swallowed it along with her fear.

  There was nothing she could do at the moment except wait. The minutes ticked by and she tried to occupy her thoughts by watching the activity outside the interview room. Anything to avoid thinking about the moment when she'd found Charlie's body. She glanced down at her watch.

  Had it been an hour since Mike and Roberta had left or two? She couldn't remember. The hair at the base of her neck stood on end as she suddenly sensed someone watching her. Her gaze scanned the station's front desk. Seeing nothing unusual, she shifted her gaze to the area behind the main counter.

  It took her a moment to see him because he stood in the darkest corner of the office space. The shadows concealed his face, but something about his body language told her he was studying her carefully. Arms folded across his chest, he stood with one shoulder pressed against the wall in a relaxed pose. Despite his casual stance, she was certain a police station wasn't his normal environment, yet there was nothing about his manner that marked him as an outsider either.

  Unable to take her eyes off him, she felt a light touch against her cheek. Almost as if someone had brushed the back of their hand across her face. There was something comforting about the sensation. It was a soothing touch that made her think everything would be all right.

  She closed her eyes and drew in a quiet breath. Perhaps Charlie's spirit was here trying to reassure her. Another feathery caress touched her cheek and she reached up expecting to feel a warm hand. She sighed with disappointment when she encountered nothing but her own skin.

  The door behind her opened and she turned her head. She immediately recognized the policeman entering the room. She'd seen him when she'd first entered the station. He nodded politely at her.

  "Miss Zale, I am Detective Shakir. I will be investigating Dr. Russwin's murder." The officer took a seat opposite her and laid a pad of paper on the table. "I have a few questions I'd like to ask you about your colleague."

  "I don't think I should say anything until I have an attorney present."

  "Certainly, but perhaps you could tell me if you've seen this symbol before."

  With several swift strokes of his pencil he d
rew a mark she knew well. Her palms suddenly damp with sweat, she struggled to hide her fear as she met the detective's watchful gaze. She swallowed hard at the memory of Charlie's bloody corpse.

  "Yes," she said as her breath caught in her throat. "Someone . . . it was on Charlie's face."

  "Can you tell me what it means?"

  "No. I've been trying to find out what it means for the past five years, but I can't find anything like it."

  "So you have seen this mark before."

  "Yes." She nodded as she stared down at the roughly drawn symbol. "My parents were mutilated with it, just like Charlie."

  "Ah yes, your parents were murdered in the same fashion as Dr. Russwin, correct?"

  "I . . . yes . . . I really don't want to say anything else until my friends return."

  "I quite understand, Miss Zale, but you would like to find the person who killed your friend, wouldn't you?"

  "Of course." She bit her lip as she met the man's unreadable gaze.

  "As I recall, you were the one to find your parents, correct?"

  "No, Kareem found them." A warning shot fired off in her brain, and she shook her head in protest. "If you don't mind, I'd like to wait until my lawyer gets here before we continue."

  "Certainly." He turned in his seat to look over his shoulder.

  Following the direction of his gaze, Emma saw the man in the shadows move his hand slightly. The almost indiscernible movement echoed with the air of a man accustomed to power and how to use it. Her heart ricocheted off her chest wall as she watched the silent exchange between the two men.

  Her gaze jerked back to the detective as he grunted with disgust. Irritation pulling his mouth downward, the policeman sent her a hard look. Whoever the man in the shadows was, the detective definitely didn't like taking orders from him. And that hand gesture had been a command.

  "Miss Zale, can you tell me what Dr. Russwin might have been searching for in the tomb?"

  For a moment, she just stared at the officer. What kind of question was that? They were excavating the burial site of a Pharaoh dead for more than two thousand years. What did the man think Charlie had been looking for? It would take hours for her to explain everything they were hoping to find compared to what they would actually discover.

  "I'm sorry. I don't understand what you're asking."

  "Was Dr. Russwin looking for something special? Something specific? An artifact or inscription you might not have known about?"

  "No, I don't think so." Emma frowned and shook her head. Charlie had always been open with her and the team. Although he did have the habit of keeping a new discovery to himself until he'd confirmed its authenticity.

  "What about this?" Detective Shakir tossed a small medallion onto the table.

  The metal object had a flat, hollow ring to it as it bounced against the wood surface until it spun to a halt. Dull and darkly colored, it blended in with the dark wood of the tabletop. Startled, she barely glanced at the coin before she looked up at the detective's surly expression. The officer was far from happy, and her gaze immediately swung toward the man in the shadows.

  She could almost see him narrow his eyes as he lowered his chin just a bit. He had an air of anticipation about him that she recognized. It was the same kind of excitement she always felt when she and Charlie hovered over a new find. The exhilaration that came when you shared a breakthrough with someone who would appreciate its importance. Whoever he was, this guy wasn't a member of the Cairo police department. What made it equally strange was her sudden conviction that he was trying to help her. Dragging her gaze away from the man in the shadows, she stared down at the coin on the table.

  It took her a full minute or so to grasp the magnitude of what she was looking at. When her chest became tight from lack of air, she sucked in a deep breath. A Sicari coin. She jerked her head up to look in the stranger's direction. The anticipation she'd sensed in him had evolved into satisfaction. Almost as if it pleased him immensely that she'd recognized the artifact.

  "I take it you've seen this before." Detective Shakir's words made her start and she saw the hard look of accusation in his dark eyes.

  "No, I've never seen the coin before." She stared at the artifact in the center of the table for a little longer before lifting her gaze to meet the policeman's dour expression. "But the symbol represents an ancient order of assassins called the Sicari."

  "Would the doctor have recognized the coin?"

  "Absolutely," she said with a sharp nod. "He and my parents wanted to prove the Sicari Order wasn't a myth. Charlie would have been ecstatic if he'd found something like this."

  Without really thinking about it, she stretched out her hand toward the artifact then stopped. She hated that first moment when she touched any type of antiquity. She never knew what to expect.

  "It's quite all right to look at it more closely," the detective said.

  Still she hesitated, but when his eyes hardened with suspicion, she had no choice but to pick up the ancient currency. The instant she touched the coin, the familiar flash that always accompanied her visions occurred.

  It was like watching a badly edited movie on fast-forward. Scenes from the distant past flowed through her head like a raging river. First, she saw the coin's creation and the Roman centurion who carried it as a good luck charm. The surreal vision grew more confusing as it exploded in a bloody composite of crucifixions, persecutions, and assassinations.

  Then in a brilliant flash, the vision threw her forward to the last few seconds of Charlie's life. The emotions her friend experienced at the moment of his death barreled through her and she dropped the coin with a gasp. Christ, Charlie had been carrying this artifact when he died.

  Trembling, her gaze was inexplicably drawn to the man hidden in the shadows. He was connected to the coin, but she didn't understand how. She saw him stiffen, and in the next moment, the door of the interrogation room flew open and slammed against the wall. Startled, she cried out in fear then found herself enveloped in Mike's bear hug of an embrace. Exhausted and overwhelmed with emotion, she sank into a dark well of silence.

  Chapter 2

  EMMA came upright in bed with a small scream. Her heartbeat pounded loudly in her ears as her gaze darted from one corner of the dimly lit room to the next. Where the hell was she? She sagged as she remembered--Chicago.

  Was it morning? She turned her head to look at the clock. Almost six in the evening. Her heart sank with dismay. Just another nightmare. There'd be more of the same later tonight. Pushing a shaky hand through her tousled hair, she scrambled off the bed.

  She bit back tears. God, she felt old. Not much past thirty, she was beginning to feel twice that age. A single teardrop slid down her cheek. With a swipe of her hand, she wiped it away. If Charlie were here, he'd ream her good. Don't go gettin' that hangdog look, Emma Zale he used to say. Life is a gift, enjoy it while you can. No, he wouldn't want her to grieve for him. But it was hard not to. Even harder not to deal with the resurrected sorrow for her parents that she'd buried deep inside her.

  With the force of a machine gun, rain pelted her bedroom window. She winced at the sound and pushed her feet into a pair of sneakers. It had been raining just as hard at the cemetery earlier today. She shivered in the October chill. Grabbing her sweater off the rocking chair, she shrugged into it as she made her way downstairs.

  Quiet filled the house, and it unnerved her. She kept waiting for the sound of shovels scraping against sand or Charlie's gruff voice chastising Sayid over a small indiscretion. Some sound to tell her it had all been a horrible nightmare and she really hadn't left Egypt after all.

  Thunder rumbled overhead as she entered the study. Another flash of lightning lit up the sky followed by an ominous thunderclap. After so much time spent in the desert, Emma couldn't remember the last time she'd seen so much rain. She crossed the room to stand at the window overlooking the small garden at the back of the house where she'd grown up. One hand pressed against a cool glass pane, Emma stared o
ut at the water-soaked grounds barely visible in the fading gray light.

  The memorial service today had been a messy affair. Charlie had to have been laughing his ass off at everyone huddled beneath umbrellas outside the mausoleum. He had despised Western funeral traditions. The bastard had probably made it rain as payback for his siblings refusing to spread his ashes across the Ptolemy dig.

  The gloomy weather matched her depression and, deep inside, her fear. The nonstop rain since her return just a few days ago reinforced how tired she was of the foul weather. It had taken almost a month for Mike to settle matters with the authorities and arrange transport of Charlie's remains back to the Windy City. More like an eternity.

  If not for two of the locals and their testimony about the stranger dressed in a monk's robe leaving Ptolemy's tomb, she'd probably still be sitting in a grimy jail cell at this very moment. Throughout the three-week investigation, Mike and Roberta had been her saviors. Somehow, Mike had convinced the police to release her into his custody, and between him and Roberta, they'd bullied the Cairo authorities into moving more quickly with their investigation.