Free Master of the Shadows by Lynn Viehl Page B

the vial and replaced the case. “I’ll call you when I get out of here.” She closed her eyes and gritted her teeth against the pain.
    “I will be waiting for your call,” he warned. “Until then, sweetheart.”
    “Good-bye, Will.” Reese ended the call and started for the door when three men brandishing tranquilizer guns came into the room. She threw the phone at them and ran, but two of them caught her before she could escape and pinned her between them.
    “She is no threat to us,” the burly one holding her left arm said in Italian. “Only another of their mortal servants.”
    The third, a tall, lean man with sad eyes, nodded. “Take her down to the tunnels and lock her in the dungeons with the others.”
     
    At the downtown gallery, Will parked the car where it would be easily accessible—long experience serving as Robin’s second had taught him to always prepare for a hasty departure—before he opened the rear door and helped the contessa out.
    “ Grazie , seneschal.” She shook out her skirt, spreading the scent of marigolds around her before she surveyed the gallery building. “Are you sure this is the place? It looks too small.”
    Will didn’t like Salvatora Borgiana or her aura of lazy contempt. So far tonight she had complained about the weather, which she considered too humid, the mortals in the city, whom she decided overcrowded it, and even the limousine ride from Robin’s building, which she felt had taken too long. She might be a refugee seeking sanctuary, but she conducted herself like a disgruntled queen among peasants.
    You were a peasant , he reminded himself. “I shall go in first and scout the premises,” he told his master.
    “That will not be necessary.” Robin took Salvatora’s arm, but he had eyes only for the gallery. “Check their security measures and then report back to me inside.”
    Will almost refused—he took his duty to keep Robin safe very seriously—but then saw the glitter of copper in his master’s eyes. “Yes, my lord.”
    A quick and quiet reconnoiter of the building revealed the federal agents strategically posted at the front and back entrances as well as the roof. He noted that the windows and doors had also been wired with sensors, doubtless connected to a monitoring station inside. The mortal authorities had fashioned the entire building into a trap, but their crude methods were no match for Robin of Locksley.
    Once he felt satisfied, Will went inside the gallery and looked for Robin. He spotted him with the contessa, but saw no sign of Chris Renshaw.
    “That scowl on your face makes me think the woman with the titian locks is your Agent Renshaw,” Salvatora was saying to him. “She was staring at you just before she scurried off to hide.”
    Will was tempted to join them, but decided to watch from a distance. Robin guided his companion away from an eager young girl who had inexplicably dyed her short, spiky hair a glowing shade of pink, and accompanied her to a pedestal case set somewhat apart from the other exhibited artworks.
    He had never seen The Maiden’s Book of Hours , but the ancient manuscript inside the glass case atop the pedestal seemed to match the description Robin had given him. It seemed the thing his master had coveted for so many centuries was finally to be his. The odd thing was, once standing before it, Robin barely spared it a single glance. His gaze, bright with hostility, kept straying toward the closed door to the manager’s office on the other side of the room.
    “Did we come here for the book, or for her?” Will muttered.
    Will moved toward an unoccupied corner, where he stood with his back to the walls and kept watch over his master and the contessa as well as the crowd of mortals surrounding them. Standing guard was, for the most part, boring work, but he usually had no difficulty keeping his mind on his duties. Nor would he have tonight, if not for the call he’d made to Reese from the car.
    He wondered why her