Assassin's Honor (2 page)

           
Reaching the main chamber of the tomb, she slid out onto the dusty, stone floor. All the lights were out, except for the dim glow of a bulb at the chamber's main entrance more than half a football field away. What the hell had happened to all the lights they'd strung up two months ago?

           
Sayid.
He'd promised her that damn generator wouldn't break down again. If it weren't for the Magna flashlight she carried, she'd be virtually blind. As it was, she could barely see anything. How many ways could she grill the man's ass? She stumbled a few steps toward the center of the huge stone room while thinking about it.

           
"Charlie?"

           
Silence.
Sweeping the light across the floor of the massive chamber, she pushed aside her fear. But she had a hard time ignoring the deja vu slithering its way into her head. The whisper of a sound reached her ears and she spun around trying to determine its origin. She saw nothing except muraled walls and several sarcophagi yet to be opened. The quiet seemed even heavier than the ancient pillars looked. She shuddered.

           
"Goddamn it, Charlie. Answer me."

           
The cold silence pushed the hairs on her skin upward. No, she wouldn't go there. Everything was fine. People couldn't respond when they were unconscious. That's the only reason why he didn't answer her. The beam of the flashlight swept its way across the wall to the last burial tunnel. It illuminated the elderly man slumped over at the tunnel entrance. Emma leaped forward and raced to his side.

           
Flashlight clattering to the ground, she gently eased Charlie back until he was lying flat on the floor. Kneeling beside him in the near darkness, her fingers pressed into the meaty flesh at the side of his neck. The wet and sticky feel of his skin beneath her fingertips made her swallow hard.

           
God, he was sweating so profusely. Not a good sign. When she didn't feel a pulse, Emma reached for his wrist, praying for a miracle. Even a fluttering heartbeat beneath his leathery skin would ease her fear.
Nothing.
Panic latched on to her as she grabbed her radio and screamed into it. Mike knew CPR. He could--no. Mike was at the cemetery with the rest of the team.

           
The blaring silence from the two walkie-talkies only emphasized how far away help was.

           
A clattering of falling rock echoed off in the distance. Fear coiled in her belly as her fingers brushed across the gritty floor and she grabbed the flashlight. The sturdy metal tool cooled her hand as she pointed it in the direction of the noise. Not even a rat staring back at her. She shivered and tried to ignore how the mural on the ancient tomb's wall looked almost menacing in the stark beam. She dragged in a deep breath. This wasn't five years ago. She sagged deeper onto her haunches, her Magna slipping out of her hand to hit the floor with a soft metallic thud. Charlie's heart hadn't been any good. She knew that. But she hated how helpless and lost she felt at the moment. A tear slid down her cheek.

           
One drop became two until a steady stream of tears soaked her face. She didn't think, she simply reacted as a wave of fury swept over her and she pounded Charlie's chest with her fists.

           
"Wake up, goddamn you! Wake up."

           
With every sob, she hit him harder, but he still didn't move. As her crying subsided, her anger gave way to a cold numbness. There were things she needed to do, but she didn't know what. She couldn't even think straight right now. She dragged the back of her hand across her eyes in an attempt to wipe away the remaining tears. The sudden, pungent scent of copper made her wrinkle her nose.

           
There was something familiar about it. Her stomach started to churn. Oh God. That smell had been on her hands the day her parents were murdered. Their blood had stained her hands when she'd held them, and she'd never forgotten the way the musky metal scent had permeated her skin. Teeth chattering from the icy fear sliding through her, she reached for her light.

           
For the first time she realized the metal had a sticky feel to it, and she wanted to throw up. Blood was sticky. The beam of her flashlight hit her friend's face, and she screamed. The mark carved into his cheek was the same one they'd found on her parents' faces.

           
Worse still was the slit across his throat and the blood trailing down his neck. Blood she'd mistaken for perspiration. The flashlight clattered against the stone floor as she frantically rubbed her hands against her khaki dungarees. Even without a light shining directly on it she knew some of Charlie's blood had already dried on her hand. She could feel the flakes of it between her fingers and it terrified her. Instinct made her recoil from his body, and she scurried backward like a crab racing for safety.

           
Murder.

           
Someone had murdered Charlie. Killed and marked him the same way they had her parents. She froze. Whoever had killed Charlie might still be in the tomb.
Hiding in the dark.
Waiting.
Waiting for her.
Self-preservation took over, and she scrambled back toward her Mag. Clutching the heavy-duty light in a death grip, she lurched to her feet and raced toward the light at the end of the vast chamber.

           
Her boots hammered against the stone floor as she ran, the sound filling her ears with a thunderous roar. By the time she reached the foot of the steep slope leading up to the tomb's entrance, she was gasping for air. Slipping and sliding, she made her way up the dirt-covered incline into the brilliant sunlight.

           
Blinded, she tripped over the two steps leading down the hill to the base camp. Tumbling head over foot, she careened down the hill-side with a loud cry of pain and fear. Shouts answered her scream, and when she staggered to her feet, she saw Mike and several other team members running toward her.

           
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.