Assassin's Honor by Monica Burns Page A

classroom."
                She smiled at the umbrage in her friend's voice as she opened the front door for him. The two men had despised each other for years. "Thank you, Ewan--for everything. It means a lot."
                "With your parents gone, and now Charles, I feel the need to mother you a bit." He pressed a light kiss to her brow. "I'll call you Monday after I've talked with Stuart. I'm actually looking forward to verbally castrating the man."
                "Why do I have the feeling you're taking Stuart on just because you want to humiliate the man as opposed to keeping me out of the classroom?"
                His shoulders rolled in a gesture of scholarly refinement as he settled his trim Fedora on his head. "I confess to a certain amount of perverse anticipation at the thought of eviscerating the man with words. Not even that pretentious Roberta Young would provide me with as much entertainment."
                "What is it with you and that woman? Charlie didn't care for her either."
                "She's an amateur." Ewan's exaggerated shudder made her bite back a smile as he puffed out a breath of disgust. "Little more than a hobbyist playing at archeology."
                "I think you underestimate her, Ewan. She's got a knack for digging. Charlie refused to admit it and Mike is the same way."
                "It's the fact that she's not qualified that I object to. No matter how good she might be at digging, there are others far more qualified to be on that excavation site. She's there because she bought herself a position on that dig with her obscene wealth, not because she knows what she's doing."
                "I still think you're wrong."
                "Perhaps, but nothing changes the fact that my tryst with Stuart will be much more cathartic than dealing with Roberta Young. Dueling verbally with Stuart will be like picking the wings off a fly."
                "God help Stuart." She chuckled at her friend's acerbic wit.
                "Precisely, my dear," he said with a wily grin. "I'll talk to you on Monday."
                With one last smile at her, Ewan strode out of the house and down the sidewalk to where he'd parked his car on the street. Her gaze swept over the front lawn then up and down the block as far as she could see. Everything looked normal, and yet she didn't feel normal at all. Every one of her senses seemed wound tight and poised to startle her.
                With a nonchalance she didn't really possess, she waved good night to Ewan once more before retreating inside. The front door closed, and she threw the dead bolt into its chamber with a nagging sense of foreboding. Maybe she should consider buying a gun. She shivered as she remembered the sensation of death that had enveloped her when she'd touched the coin in the stranger's hand. No. She didn't want a gun. What she wanted was another good swig of whiskey.
                She marched back into the living room and poured herself a strong shot of the liquor. It burned on the way down, but she didn't care. Ewan was right--she needed to get good and drunk. But she needed music to do it by. Drink in hand, she headed toward the CD tower beside the stereo system. In less than a minute, the sultry voice of LeAnn Rimes filled the room. Emma drank the remaining alcohol in her glass then closed her eyes and allowed the music to wash over her like a gentle wave.
                As the words of the song floated around her, an image of her dark, mysterious visitor took hold in her head. No, that description didn't exactly match--not with that short, dark blond hair of his. The style gave him that bad boy look. On second thought, his eyes did that. The color of the lake during a bad storm, they'd glinted with a variety of emotions. But it had been the occasional wicked amusement dancing in his eyes that