The Templar's Code

Queen’s College. Although he rarely spoke of the long-ago incident, he resented the dons at Oxford who’d trashed his unorthodox dissertation, bitter waters running very deep. So, no surprise that he wanted to uncover a new twist on the Templar tale. If he succeeded, it’d be the ultimate “Up yours!” And, as his paid research assistant, she did have a vested interest. Particularly since her other career prospects weren’t exactly paying the bills.

Edie glanced at the matted and framed photographs of Ethiopian women that she’d placed around the room. Some were candid shots, others were posed. All were photographs of women. No doubt, her degree in women’s studies had something to do with the content. The collection was her first foray into the realm of social documentary photography. She’d shown the photos to a couple of local dealers, managing to snag a weeklong show at a Dupont gallery that specialized in African art. Several of her photos had also been purchased by the Ethiopian embassy and would be displayed in their main reception hall. It was a small start. A baby step, really.

“I agree that the lost Templar colony will make an exciting chapter in your next book.” Caedmon would get no disagreement from her on that score. “But Jason Lovett was killed today because of something he found in Rhode Island. We have no idea what we’re going up against. And, according to the now dead Jason Lovett, the Catholic Church mounted a sneak attack on the Templars’ New World colony, slaughtering the inhabitants outright. We are treading on very dangerous ground.”

“First of all, the slaughter occurred nearly five hundred years ago. The church has long since abandoned its search for hidden Templar treasures. As for Jason Lovett’s tragic murder, we have nothing to fear; the killer doesn’t know that we’re privy to the digital recording.” Caedmon’s clipped tone made him sound like the calm voice of British reason.

Edie took a moment to digest the rebuttal; he’d punched big holes in her case. Persuasive as always.

“The phrase aqua sanctus might possibly lead to Dr. Lovett’s hidden research notes,” Caedmon continued. “I won’t know until I get there.”

“You’re gonna need a research assistant. I’ll go upstairs and pack a bag,” she announced, her mind made up.

“After what happened today at the House of the Temple, I’m concerned that—”

“Don’t say it.” She threw up a hand, forestalling his objection. “I know that you’re concerned for my safety, but as you just pointed out, Jason Lovett’s killer doesn’t know that we have the recording. Besides, you pay me to do a job — although I prefer to think of myself as your partner in crime and not just a business deduction on your taxes.”

Caedmon smiled at the jest. “In that case, be sure to include a pair of sturdy boots.”

“And I’ll toss in a bottle of sunscreen and a — Whoa!” she exclaimed in midstream, startled when all of the lights in the house suddenly went off. “I think we just blew a circuit.”

“On the floor! Now!”

“What!?”

CHAPTER 18

Edie heard rather than saw Caedmon dive off the couch in her direction. An instant later, his chest plowed into her shoulder, shoving her to the floor. Stunned, she opened her mouth, sucking in a gasp of air.

“Wh-what’s going on?” Then, a split second later, the realization dawned: “Oh God… it’s him, isn’t it?” Him being Jason’s Lovett’s killer.

Caedmon pressed his mouth to her ear. “Where’s your mobile phone?”

“Um… kitchen… charger… on the counter,” she rasped, unable to speak in full sentences.

“Right.”

Crouching over top of her, Caedmon grabbed her by the hand and pulled her off the floor, dragging her to the staircase in the foyer.

“Now what?”

“I want you to go upstairs and lock yourself in the bathroom. Do not, under any circumstances, come back downstairs.”

Shock having mushroomed into full-blown terror, Edie obeyed, taking the steps two at a time. Stumbling near the top, she made a wild grab for the banister. But not before painfully banging a knee against one of the stair treads. Her kneecap throbbing with pain, she hobbled down the hall.

Moments later, door securely locked behind her, she scanned the porcelain-and-tile confines of the bathroom.

She needed a weapon!

Lurching toward the cabinet above the sink, she yanked it open and took a quick inventory: medicine bottles, ear swabs, cosmetic bag, hairbrush, Band-Aids. Nothing even remotely dangerous. Panic swelling, she wiped a clammy hand against her skirt. Somewhere, in the shadows of her house, a killer lurked, intent on—

Plunger! The thick rubber cap was attached to a sturdy wood handle. If need be, she could use the shaft like a billy club.

With that thought in mind, she rushed over to the toilet bowl and snatched the plunger from its hidey-hole behind the porcelain tank. Tucking the plunger under her armpit, she went to the window. Palms pressed against the lower sash, she shoved upward.

The window refused to budge.

“Come on!” She balled her fist and pounded on the sash.

Teeth clenched, she tried again. Success! Opening the window to half mast, she scanned the alley. The fluorescent streetlamp on the corner buzzed and flickered, casting a surreal tangerine glow onto the row of parked cars and trash receptacles that lined the rutted lane. Several streets over, a dog repeatedly barked. Directly opposite, on the other side of the deserted alley, a light shone in the window.

Edie cupped a hand to her mouth. “Hey, you! Over there! Open the window!”

No one answered the summons.

The jackhammer insider her chest thumped faster. What if Caedmon can’t get to my cell phone to call the police? Rico Suave could kill them just like he killed Jason Lovett.

To hell with that! Grasping the plunger between her hands, Edie took aim and hurled it across the alley at her neighbor’s window.

The rubber end hit the screen window before bouncing off and landing in the alley below. Edie held her breath, hoping someone inside the house would investigate the commotion.

Nearly twenty seconds passed before a small Latino boy tentatively pulled aside the curtain and peered out the window.

“I need you to call the cops!” Edie hollered.

The child shook his head, uncomprehending.

She put her right thumb to her ear and her pinky to her mouth. The international sign for “phone call.” “Policia! Urgente!”

The little boy’s eyes opened wide. A few seconds later, he ran from the window. Edie had the sickening feeling that her plan just backfired, that rather than eliciting his help, she scared the bejesus out of the kid.

Her stomach painfully cramped, she stumbled over to the locked door and put her ear to the small crack between the jamb and the door. Caedmon was downstairs, in the dark, defenseless.

“Please, please, please,” she whimpered to the powers that be.

Because, in that terrified instant, it suddenly dawned on her: She no longer had a weapon.

CHAPTER 19

Hearing a floorboard groan under a heavy weight, Caedmon froze.

The killer is inside the house.