“I take it everyone has introduced themselves, and Marco has brought you up to speed on what the Order expects of us on this mission?” he asked.
Keeping his eyes on the file in front of him, he trailed his finger down the page he was looking at. Quiet acknowledgments drifted through the air from everyone seated at the table. Phaedra’s voice was a soft caress against his senses despite the cool note in her voice. It was clear she didn’t want to be here. The silence in the air didn’t bother him, but he knew everyone was uncomfortable. Nothing more than he’d expected. Half of the team hadn’t ever met until today.
“So no one has any questions.” He slowly lifted his head, and his gaze slid across one face after another.
“Damn it, Lysander, of course we’ve got questions.” Cleo’s voice held a note of belligerent irritation.
Brassy and tough as nails, she spoke her mind and as always went straight to the heart of the matter without a care for what anyone thought. It was why he’d picked her for the team. She’d serve as his conscience. That and she’d hound him about Phaedra every chance she got. He suppressed a grimace.
“Then the first thing to understand is that anyone can ask a question or express a different opinion. In here we speak freely and honestly with each other.” With his one-eyed gaze, he studied the faces around the table as he paused briefly. “I’ll listen to anything you have to say, and I encourage you to speak up. The only thing to remember is that when I make a decision—it’s final.”
“
Il mio signore.
” Angelo Atellus nodded his head in his direction. “Maria and I have reviewed the clues Emma DeLuca provided us, and we’ve a theory we’d like to suggest.”
With a nod at the man, Lysander sat down in his chair. Arms folded across his chest, he leaned back in his chair and waited for the Sicari fighter to continue. Uncertainty flashed across the man’s face before he shrugged in a fashion that many natives of Italy exhibited routinely.
“We think it’s quite possible we’re dealing with a map of bread crumbs.”
“Bread crumbs?” Cleo asked with a curious note in her voice.
“Yes. A map where our clues are like bread crumbs scattered around Rome. We just have to find a starting point.” Angelo tapped the keyboard of his laptop. The computer’s wireless connection allowed him to use the wall screen as his monitor. In seconds, a large map of Rome flashed onto the wall. The mouse pointer drew a yellow line along a wide, blue stripe representing the Tiber River that swung west at the north end of the city.
“If we start with our first clue, we’re looking someplace along the river, about here.” Angelo used his cursor to point to a spot near one of the river’s bridges. “The second clue mentions Antoninus Pius’s father, Hadrian. That suggests we’re looking for a monument of Hadrian’s. One that points toward the city wall. An educated guess says we’re talking about the Aurelian walls, which were built around two-seventy A.D.”
Cleo pointed toward the map. “Do you have an overlay of the ancient city that shows the walls and other monuments?”
With a grin, Angelo nodded his head. “As a matter of fact, I do. I researched some things last night, and I plotted out sites that are still accessible and not buried beneath presentday Rome.”
“And if what we’re looking for is under the city?” Cleo arched her eyebrows at the man.
“Let’s hope that’s not the case, because it will make our task a lot more difficult.”
“Difficult? I think the word is we’re fucked.” Cleo snorted with amusement. Lysander frowned at her. He didn’t want the team to be discouraged from the outset. She shrugged. “Okay, difficult.”
“What about the monuments connected to Hadrian? How many are there?” Marco Campanella asked quietly. His Primus
Pilus
was asking the same questions Lysander would have asked as Ares’s second-in-command. He’d made a good choice in selecting Marco as his lieutenant.
“There are at least three that I can think of off the top of my head, but I’d have to research it more to give you an accurate answer, as he also rebuilt certain monuments,” Angelo said. “I think we’ll need to include those as possibilities, too.”
“Does anyone else think we’re probably wasting our time here?” Luciano Pasquale growled. “We have a stretch of river to walk along and a couple of ancient monuments to visit. Not an auspicious beginning.”
“Actually, that’s not true. Angelo has given us a specific area to search.” Maria Atellus shook her head as she defended her husband.
“Search for what?” Violetta Molinaro spoke up, her expression dubious.
“For anything that matches up with the clues,” Phaedra answered. “Angelo, have you done any triangulations using the river as the base and one or two of the monuments attributed to Hadrian?”
Clearly in his element, the Sicari fighter nodded his head and grinned. “Absolutely. Based on my calculations, we’ve got a search area that’s about two square miles of real estate.”
“Again, what are we looking for specifically?” Violetta groused.
“I imagine we should be looking for the Sicari icon,” Cleo mused quietly. “Whoever hid the Tyet
of Isis
probably used our symbol in the same way the followers of the Carpenter used the fish to recognize one another or designate a safe house.”
As usual, Cleo’s logic was sound. The Sicari symbol dated back before the Roman Empire to Ptolemy’s time when the Guard had still been united. It made sense that the hiding place of the Tyet
of Isis
would be marked with the Order’s familiar icon, a sword interlocked with a chakram. Lysander nodded at his friend.
“I think you’re right, Cleo. I also believe the mark will be relatively small.” He looked around at the frowns on everyone’s faces. “Whoever hid the artifact wouldn’t want to draw attention to the monument as a potential hiding spot, so it’s doubtful it’s going to be prominent.”
“
Merda
, this won’t be a needle in a haystack. We’re hunting for microbes,” Luciano said in a resigned tone.
“Not necessarily.” Phaedra shook her head and frowned. “We need a cover story to avoid raising any more suspicion than necessary. Playing tourist does that while letting us photograph as much of the city as we want. We can upload the photos and let the computer search the digital images for any sign of the icon.”
Admiration crossed Pasquale’s face as he leaned forward, his arms resting on the table. “Smart
and
beautiful. Where have you been all my life, c
ara?”
Raw fury flowed through Lysander’s veins at the other man’s flirtatious manner. It didn’t help matters when Phaedra laughed at the man’s teasing tone. Tamping down his anger, he closed his file on the table with a sharp movement.
“Phaedra’s idea seems the best one we have, unless anyone else has a better suggestion.” He paused for a moment, and when no one spoke, he nodded sharply. “It seems we have a plan then. We’ll cover the area Angelo’s narrowed down for us in cross sections. We’ll need camera equipment. Cleo, since photography is a hobby of yours, you’re the lead on the shopping expedition this afternoon. Marco, have you informed everyone as to who is working with who?”
“I was about to cover that when you arrived, il
mio signore
.”
“Fine,” he said with a gesture for Marco to continue.
The Prim
us Pilus
nodded as he picked up a small notebook and quickly read off the assignments and the sectors to cover. Beside him, Phaedra grew as still as a statue the minute her name was linked to his. Her tension was palpable, edging along his senses like the laser that had peeled his skin off one small piece at a time. He swallowed hard at the memory. In an abrupt gesture, he stood up and turned toward her. There wasn’t a trace of emotion on her face, but her eyes blazed with anger. She was furious, and he knew better than to give her a chance to speak.
“I’ve paperwork to deal with this afternoon, so get our grid sections from Marco and
study them. I’ll meet you in the foyer tomorrow morning at eight thirty.”
He grabbed his folder off the table and strode out of the conference room, preventing her from voicing any protests. When he reached the sanctuary of the hall, he ran his hand through his short hair in a gesture of frustration. Somehow, he was certain he’d just made a huge mistake taking Phaedra on as his partner. A mistake that might cost him more than just his sanity.
Chapter 8
THROUGH the spindles at the top of the staircase, Phaedra saw Lysander standing in the entryway waiting for her. The air vibrated with tension, and she wasn’t sure which one of them was creating the uneasy sensation. Nibbling on her lip, she debated whether to try reading his emotional state.
It had never been easy to read Lysander, but since his encounter with the Praetorians, just being able to read his basic emotions had been challenging. It was as if he’d erected a brick wall, preventing her or anyone else from probing too deep. But today was different. He seemed distracted, and she had a sense of the raw emotions running deep inside him.
As she opened herself up to his feelings, the intensity of them overwhelmed her. The sheer force of it was a physical sensation and threatened to drop her to her knees. Fingers curled tightly around the banister railing, she fought to remain on her feet. An instant later, a shiver went through her at the hint of darkness emanating from him. Whatever was creating the malevolence, she knew he was worried it might consume him.
Despair scraped across her senses like sharp glass, and she cried out from the mental anguish it sent slicing through her.
Care Deus
, was this what he felt like every day? Like someone turning off a faucet, his emotions no longer flowed through her. Lysander was halfway up the staircase before she realized it, and she quickly gathered her wits. Deliberately rubbing the suede material covering her ankle, she opted to fake a twisted ankle to account for her wounded cry. The minute she saw him round the staircase’s small landing, she stopped nursing her ankle and waved her hand.
“I’m fine, I just twisted my ankle,” she lied as he stopped two steps down from her.
His penetrating green gaze slowly skimmed its way over her and down to her feet. Did he realize she was lying? Tension danced between them, and she caught a whisper of emotion before he tamped it down until it didn’t exist. She suppressed a sigh. He was on guard again, and the opportunity to continue breaking through the wall he’d built around his emotions was gone. And at the moment, she wasn’t sure she had the strength to deal with what he kept deep inside him.
“I’m surprised you didn’t bre
ak
your ankle with the spike on those boots,” he snapped. “We’re not going to a fashion show in Milan.”
“No, but we’re supposed to be acting like tourists.” Irritated, she frowned. “A fact I kept in mind when I dressed. What about you? In that black leather people are going to think you’re a Soprano.”
What she didn’t tell him was that he looked sexy as hell the way he was dressed. Deus,
even with his horrible disfigurement, he was still splendid. Raw power emanated from him, drawing her in like a magnet. He wore a black leather jacket over a black turtleneck shirt, while soft black leather pants hugged his muscular legs. Her fingertips tingled as she remembered what it had been like to run her hands over his sinewy body. The air in her lungs disappeared as she breathed in his delicious scent.
It was the smell of soap mixed with something dark and sensual. It wrapped its way round her senses, tying her into knots. He looked every inch the seasoned warrior, and his black eye patch only heightened the sense of danger about him. He was an open invitation to be bad. And with him, she wanted to be as wicked as she could. Anything to make him respond to her.
Deus
, she was insane. Subconsciously, she’d actually listened to Cleo’s outrageous suggestion. It was the only explanation for the boots and the rest of her outfit. Her outfit wasn’t overly provocative, but it wasn’t sedate, either. The hair on the back of her neck rose and her stomach lurched at the hunger that suddenly flashed in his green gaze. The look was enough for her to know she didn’t need to read his emotions to know what he was feeling. She knew desire when she saw it.
His one-eyed gaze drifted slowly upward over her blue jeans tucked into her Dal Co’ originals to the jean jacket she wore over a red sweater. She suddenly realized the sweater clung just a little too snugly to her breasts because his gaze lingered there.
Care Deus,
had he just used his mental ability to caress her or were her nipples stiff just because she wanted him so badly?
She swallowed hard at the memory of the last time he’d made love to her. Their bodies had melded together perfectly as he’d stroked her with every inch of his body. Heat pooled between her legs at the thought. She wished they were in a secluded spot. She wanted the chance to seduce him. She wanted to make him see that no matter what had happened in the past, they were good together.
Their gazes locked, and the desire on his face made the scarred muscles of his cheek taut with tension. She instinctively stepped toward him, and he stiffened. Another wall rose between them, and frustration whipped through her. Damn it, the man would drive her crazy if this was the way things were going to be between them while they worked together. She drew in a sharp breath then blew it out just as harshly.
“Is this the way it’s going to be then?” She glared at him. “Because if it is, I want a new partner.”
“What are you talking about?” His tension was still present, but he skillfully covered it with a nonchalant demeanor.
“You know ex
actly
what I mean.” Her sharp words made him narrow his eye at her. “I think we need to work with other people. Ex-lovers
never
make great partners.”
The Praetorians had peeled off the side of his face in jagged strips, but they’d left his beautiful mouth intact and it was now a thin line of determination.
“As I said in the conference room yesterday, I’m willing to listen to ideas, but I have the final say. I paired everyone up based on their strengths and weaknesses.”
