“And exactly
how
do we balance each other out?” she snapped, incensed by his calm, rational tone.
“You’re a valuable asset to the team. I’ve no doubt the Praetorians will discover you’re here, and I’m the most qualified to ensure you’re protected.”
His response made her mouth fall open as she stared at him with first amazement and then an anger that slowly spread through her until she was rigid with outrage. She narrowed her gaze at him and took a step down the staircase to bring her closer to him. Even when she was furious with him, her body still responded to his on a primal level. It raised her ire that much more.
“That is the most asi
nine
reason I have ever heard in my entire life,” she said with a sharp hiss. “I might be a simple healer, but I’ve kicked your ass in the gym before.”
“One time doesn’t qualify,” he drawled. It was rare to see him amused, but she could have sworn she saw a flash of humor in his green eye.
“Are you laughing at me?” she asked stiffly. The fact that he seemed to think so little of her fighting skills hurt. She was a damn good fighter.
“No.” He shook his head. “But my fighting skills are the best of anyone on the team. You’re a valuable asset to the Order, Phaedra. I can’t let anything happen to you.”
She noted he didn’t say that
he
didn’t want anything happening to her, just his concern for the Order. She wanted to hit him. She brushed past him with a harsh noise of fury and charged down the steps to the foyer. When she reached the foot of the stairs, she stood there fuming. The man needed someone to dropkick his ass back to Chicago.
Behind her, she heard the sound of Lysander slowly descending the marble stairs. The man had made her so furious she was ready to fight a group of Praetorians single-handed. She stiffened as he walked past her and picked up an expensive-looking camera off the narrow table standing against the entryway wall. He fiddled with a couple of settings then placed the digital equipment in a carrying case.
She watched in silence as he moved toward the interior door and pushed it open. Still angry, she followed him out into the sunshine. As she stood on the stoop, the solid oak door of the safe house snapped shut behind her with a loud click.
The air was warmer than she’d expected, but her sweater and jacket were lightweight
enough that she was quite comfortable. Her anger eased somewhat as the sunny day lightened her mood. Several black motorbikes were parked in front of the house, and Lysander moved to the bike farthest from the door. He stored the camera bag in the bike’s lockbox, while retrieving two helmets at the same time.
Her fingers curled around the edge of the headgear he handed her as she stared at the bike. Pressing into all that black leather and male heat would amount to little more than a torture session. Tension rippled through her as she shifted her gaze from the bike to the helmet in her hand.
“Can’t we just take a taxi?” she said in a tight voice.
“No.” Lysander didn’t look at her as he swung his leg over the bike to straddle it. “I don’t want to get caught someplace without any means of escape.”
“Well, do you even know where we’re going?”
“I believe you’re about to tell me.”
The detached note in his voice said he’d already immersed himself in his Prim
us Pilus
role. No. He was Le
gatus
for this mission. And as Le
gatus
, he was entitled to her obedience and respect. The map she’d tucked into her jean jacket pocket crackled softly as she pulled it out to look at it.
“Marco assigned us the sector adjacent to the Temple of Hadrian.” Holding the map so he could see it, she pointed to the circle the Primus
Pilus
had made on the map. “We’re to cover this section of the grid. There aren’t a lot of ancient sites in the area, so we should be able to cover everything before mid-afternoon. I suggest we start with the temple.”
“Fine.” He gave her a curt nod. “What I want you to remember is that we’re in the heart of Praetorian country. If you sense anything, even the slightest hint of danger, I want to know. Understood?”
The crisp words honed the sharp edge of her nerves as she watched him pull on his helmet. He was right, but she didn’t like admitting it. Reluctantly, she tugged her own headgear into place as Lysander kick-started the machine. The motor running, he turned his head toward her. Unlike her helmet, the one Lysander wore had a visor that hid his entire face. With his visor down, she couldn’t read his expression, but his rigid body language said he wasn’t looking forward to the ride any more than she was.
She drew in a deep breath and swung her leg over the bike. The minute she settled into the bike seat, a demon inside her made her wrap her arms around him and press herself into his back. He grew hard as stone, and she smiled with satisfaction. Served him right for refusing to take a taxi. Nonetheless, it was an exquisite torment to have her arms wrapped around him again. Beneath her left arm, she felt the leather scabbard under his jacket that held his short sword. It was a silent reminder that a Sicari was rarely able to
relax their guard.
Lysander shifted into gear, and with barely a glance in either direction, he roared out onto the street. The way he moved in and out of traffic made her think he was deliberately trying to unnerve her. He was doing a good job. She tightened her hold on his waist and tried to catch a glimpse of the city as he raced by it.
The one thing she wanted to do was see some of the city. The Sicari had left Rome hundreds of years ago, but it had once been home to her ancestors. She wanted to visit at least one or two historical sites while she was here. Rome might be the global headquarters for the Praetorians, but she’d be safe enough during the daylight, provided she stayed in crowded places.
There was also the stiletto she had sheathed in the side of her boot. Unlike Lysander, it was difficult for her to carry a sword during the daytime, but the blade she carried would enhance her skills in hand-to-hand combat. Horns blared in her ears as Lysander zipped past two cars to get out in front. He sailed through a stoplight that turned red just as they entered the middle of the intersection. The result was the sound of more car horns filling the air.
“
Il Christi omnipotentia
, you’re going to get us killed,” she shouted in the vicinity of his ear, doubting he could even hear her through his helmet, not to mention the noise of the morning traffic.
If he had heard her, he didn’t give any indication, but it did seem like he’d slowed down. They moved through the city streets quickly, and she could only hope Lysander knew where they were headed. Following the car in front of them, they made a sharp right turn, and she sucked in her breath as the car came to an abrupt halt in the middle of the road without any warning. With the ease of someone who’d been riding motorcycles a long time, Lysander’s quick reflexes enabled him to skillfully wheel the bike around the other vehicle. Their close call shot her blood pressure up, and she was ready to tear the other driver apart for such a stupid stunt. As they sped by the other car, she had to settle for an evil glare at the man.
Several long minutes later, they came to a stop on a narrow street. She could tell Lysander was waiting on her to get off the bike, and she quickly put several feet between her and the motorcycle. Tugging her helmet off her head, she set it down on the bike seat. Without speaking, he pulled the digital camera from the lock box at the back of the motorcycle then shoved the black nylon camera bag in with the helmets. The minute he’d secured the bike, Lysander nodded toward a bright square several hundred yards away.
“The Temple of Hadrian.”
With a sweep of his hand, he gestured her to lead the way. Still annoyed with him, she walked toward the
piazza
in silence. Not that she expected her silence to annoy him, but making a scene would draw unwanted attention to them, and she knew better. As she
turned the corner, a chill of excitement slid through her at the sight of the temple.
Massive columns rose upward to meet the ceiling they supported. At one time, Romans would have walked through the columns to reach the inner sanctum of the temple. Now, a modern building occupied the temple’s interior with the outer stone columns serving as a facade for a financial institution.
People filled the
piazza
, and she immediately opened herself up to the emotions swirling in the air around her. After more than a minute, she released a sigh of relief. The only thing she sensed were the emotions of people worried about ordinary things. Lysander stood quietly beside her, and she could feel him watching her. She turned her head to look up at him in hopes of seeing some emotion on his face she could decipher. The expression on his face grew shuttered in an instant, and the emotion she glimpsed was gone too quickly to define. The silent look he sent her demanded a report, and she bit back the urge to reach out and probe his emotions.
“Well?”
“Nothing unusual,” she said. “People worried about jobs, families, lovers …”
He didn’t even flinch as she allowed her sentence to trail off. Disgusted with herself for thinking she could get a reaction from him, she stretched out her hand.
“Let me have the camera. I’ll shoot some pictures, and you can play bodyguard.”
This time she did get a reaction from him. The glare he sent her made her smile up at him sweetly as she took the camera from his hand. He didn’t like the way she’d demoted him. With a frown, she tried to reacquaint herself with the basics of the camera. The class Cleo had given yesterday had been short, and this camera wasn’t like the ones her friend had bought for everyone.
This one had a well-worn look to it. She didn’t remember Lysander ever taking pictures. At that moment, he released a snort of irritation and leaned forward to press into her back so he could look over her shoulder. His chest brushed against her body as he pointed toward a silver button on top of the camera. His touch sent a streak of fire zipping across her skin.
“Press the silver button to take the picture. It has an automatic focus, so all you have to do is press this button to zoom in or out.” He pointed to a black button near the camera’s built-in handgrip.
She swallowed the knot in her throat and nodded as she placed her eye against the viewfinder and took a picture. With a quick turn of a dial, she was looking at the shot she’d just taken of the upper level of the temple. Flipping the camera’s settings so she could take pictures again, she walked forward and shot several pictures of the temple’s facade from different angles. Aware of Lysander always close behind her, she lowered
the camera and turned her head to look at him.
“Go stand at the railing over there,” she said as she bobbed her head in the direction of the fencing that kept the people from falling into a stone escarpment. “I’ll take your picture. Make it look like we really are the tourists we’re supposed to be playing.”
Together they crossed the
piazza
, where she took several pictures of Lysander standing against the railing before she joined him and proceeded to quickly shoot one section of the stone facade after another. While she moved along the side of the building taking pictures, she noticed Lysander had stopped to study the columns. As she reached the end of the temple’s sidewall, she turned the corner to continue photographing the building.
No sooner did she lose sight of Lysander than he was there again. Close at hand, ready to protect her if the occasion demanded it of him. Even if he didn’t have a personal interest in her safety, she still liked knowing he was there. It wasn’t that she was afraid to walk around Rome during the day, but being near him under any circumstances was better than not seeing him at all. And it gave her the opportunity—she slammed the door shut on the thought, bracing against the idea’s persistent attempt to break through.
Determined not to listen to the voice in her head, she turned the camera lens toward the stone foundation of the structure and zoomed in on the exterior stones supporting the temple. The shutter release whirred softly as she systematically plotted a visual path along the stones. She tried to get as close as she could, while ensuring that the picture encompassed the largest amount of stone possible.
Yesterday when Cleo had handed out camera equipment, her friend had given everyone a photography lesson. Brief and basic, the instructions had confirmed her own observations in the team briefing earlier that morning. While they needed to zoom in when taking pictures, they had to be systematic enough to allow the computer to form a complete picture of the building.
As quickly as possible, she continued to photograph each section of the stone facade. It was one thing for a tourist to take lots of pictures, but entirely something else for someone to photograph a building inch by inch. She always shielded herself from the constant bombardment of others’ emotions, and while she didn’t sense anything unusual, she had no desire to arouse anyone’s curiosity.
She zoomed in on another section of stone, her eye pressed to the viewfinder. The sight of a faint mark on a stone that bordered the section she was photographing made her frown. It was a shadowy indentation that didn’t look like it belonged. Resisting the urge to shift the camera lens in the direction of the mark, she finished photographing the remaining sector.
Eager to get a closer look at the mark, she shifted her position along the iron fence surrounding the building until she was standing directly over the stone. The trench surrounding the structure made it difficult to get a good view of the stone. Since the mark
was on one of the structure’s foundation stones, the angle didn’t allow for a level examination of the granite block. Even worse, the face of the stone was eroded.
Like a large portion of the temple’s stonework, weather and time had damaged the large block of granite. But it still looked like someone had deliberately etched a mark into the rock. She zoomed in on the spot with the lens and clicked the shutter release button. Despite the sunlight, the shadows in the ditch prevented her from seeing the mark clearly. She turned her head toward Lysander, whose stance was one of rigid wariness.
