Assassin's Honor

PRAISE FOR MONICA BURNS AND HER NOVELS OF "CUTTING-EDGE ROMANCE.

"This sizzling hot historical and its compelling characters will leave you panting for more! Monica Burns writes with sensitivity and panache. Don't miss this one!"

--Sabrina Jeffries, New York Times bestselling author

"[Monica Burns's] excellent love scenes and bold romance will have readers clamoring for more."

--Romantic Times

"A cinematic, compelling, and highly recommended treat!"

--Sylvia Day, national bestselling author

"The love scenes are emotion-filled and wonderfully erotic . . . Enough to make your toes curl."

--Two Lips Reviews

"Elegant prose, believable dialogue, and a suspenseful plot that will hold you spellbound."

--Emma Wildes

"Historical romance with unending passion."

--The Romance Studio

"Wow.
Just Wow."

--Fallen Angel Reviews

"A satisfying read complete with intrigue, mystery, and the kind of potent sensuality that fogs up the mirrors."

--A Romance Review

"Monica Burns is a new author I must add to my 'required reading' category . . . Everything I look for in a top-notch romance novel."

--Romance Reader at Heart

"Blazing passion."

--Romance Junkies

Berkley Sensation titles by Monica Burns

KISMET
ASSASSIN'S HONOR

THE BER
KLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
Published by the Penguin Group
Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
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Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

This book is an original publication of The Berkley Publishing Group.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

Copyright (c) 2010 by Kathi B. Searce.

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights. Purchase only authorized editions. BERKLEY
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SENSATION and the "B" design are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

PRINTING HISTORY

Berkley Sensation trade paperback edition / June 2010

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Burns, Monica.

Assassin's honor / Monica Burns.--Berkley Sensation trade paperback ed. p. cm.

eISBN :
978-1-101-18823-1

1. Women archaeologists--Fiction. 2. Psychokinesis--Fiction. I. Title.

PS3602.U76645A93 2010

813'.6--dc22

2010003365

http://us.penguingroup.com

For Greg, my personal assassin who slays the laundry dragons, keeps the troops well fed, ensures my carriage is in pristine shape, and who loves me in spite of all my faults and failings. Thank you for helping me
achieve
my dream. I love you.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

           
Thanks to the wonderful Emma Wildes for talking me over the humps, lasting gratitude to the delightful Jean Marie Ward for paranormal straight talk that opened my eyes, and a special thanks to Katie Dancy for a wicked eye that always made me strive to raise the bar with my characters and their story. A special thanks to Ida Plassay for trying to teach me Italian and Maria Rosa Contardi for her expertise in Italian and Latin.
And finally, a huge thank-you to Gabriella Edwards, my newest Italian BFF.
Brainstorming with you isn't just a laugh a minute. It's a joy.

Chapter 1

           
"OH my God, they were right," Emma gasped.

           
She shifted her body so the light behind her shone directly on the ancient tomb's wall. Her parents had always said the Sicari weren't a myth. No one had believed them. Not even her.

           
Guilt bit into her. She should have trusted their instincts, even if they hadn't always trusted her academic knowledge. With a gentle stroke of her brush, she tapped another piece of dried mud off the wall. The tangible icon was evidence the elite guild of assassins had really existed. Her father had always said the Sicari were descendants of Ptolemy's personal guard. And here was the proof her father had been looking for.

           
Awed, she stared at the partially revealed symbol on the sandstone wall. The hilt of a sword rested against the rim of a chakram while the blade interlocked with the circular handheld weapon. The simplicity of the design didn't minimize the mark's ominous appearance.

           
Excitement raced through her as she peered at the emblem more closely. Her fingertip lightly brushed across the surface of the chakram portion of the icon. The chakram, when thrown, could slice through a skull when it hit its victim before returning to its owner. She knew several warrior clans in India had used the chakrams against Alexander the Great's troops. Ptolemy had been at the conqueror's side then, and his men could have easily adapted the weapon for their own use.

           
She'd grown up listening to her dad talk about the Sicari. Labeled assassins by the Praetorian Guard under the Roman Caesars, they were ruthlessly hunted down, arrested, and executed. Her father had never found any explanation for the persecution of the Sicari, but he'd had numerous theories. The most plausible being a power struggle within the Guard itself when Constantine I had been Caesar and abandoned pagan beliefs for those of the Church. Her father had hypothesized that the few Sicari who had escaped the persecution had gone into hiding only to become what they'd been branded simply to survive. He'd even speculated that they still existed.

           
Carefully, she dusted a fleck of dirt off the wall to reveal a little more of the emblem. For once, she appreciated her unique gift as well as her clumsiness. If she hadn't tripped over her toolbox, her hand might never have touched the spot where the icon was hidden. She could have done without the unexpected static shock, but her vision of a scribe etching a symbol into the wall had been enough incentive to scrape away the top layer of plaster.

           
While her special talent was generally limited to ancient artifacts, it didn't make the initial contact any less pleasant. Just as unpleasant were the fleeting images she sometimes saw when someone handing her an artifact brushed against her fingers.

           
With another stroke of her small, delicate brush, more of the mark appeared through the dried mud. The radio attached to her belt hissed softly, and she suddenly remembered Charlie. He'd kill her for not calling him right away with the news of her find. He might be her friend, but he was boss and mentor first. Grabbing the walkie-talkie off her belt, she pressed the talk button.

           
"Charlie?"

           
Releasing the button, she waited for a response. After several seconds of nothing but a quiet hum, she tried again. "Charlie, I know you're there, so stop ignoring me. I've got something I want you to see, and it's important."

           
She might be deep inside the burial chamber of Cleopatra's ancestor, Ptolemy I, but she knew the radios worked. She'd heard from Charlie over the damn thing just an hour ago. This time after a long pause, she heard static echo out of her radio. Gritting her teeth, she waited for her teacher's easy Southern drawl to warm up the dark, musty chamber she'd been exploring. When he remained silent, she stared at the walkie-talkie and frowned. She hit the talk button one more time.

           
"Stop fooling around, Charlie. This is important," she snapped into the receiver before releasing the communication switch.

           
A gurgling noise burst out of the radio followed by a few seconds of static before the chamber grew quiet again. She growled in disgust. One of these days, he'd cry wolf once too often with her and then where would he be if something really was wrong.

           
The memory of his heart attack more than a year ago made her frown. It hadn't been severe, but the doctors had warned him to take it easy. Advice he'd ignored as usual. The thought of something serious happening to Charlie sent a wave of fear sluicing through her. If he was having a heart attack . . . spinning around, she grabbed her flashlight off the cool, stone floor and dived for the narrow opening leading out of the burial chamber.

           
The tight squeeze had her cursing her wide hips, and not for the first time. Coughing from the dust her movements stirred up, she crawled as fast as she could through the narrow tunnel toward the main chamber where Charlie had been working.

           
If he was having a heart attack, they were in trouble. There wasn't anyone except a couple of locals at the base camp. Mike and the rest of the team had gone to survey the artisans' cemetery almost a mile away. Not to mention the fact that Sayid, the dig's foreman, had taken the truck back to Abydos this morning to pick up their monthly supplies. He wouldn't be back until late in the evening at the earliest, and until then the camels were their only other form of available transport.