Warriors of Poseidon 06 - Atlantis Betrayed

didn’t feel like the latter. He didn’t feel rested enough for that.
    “Enough delaying, already,” he whispered into the dark, just so he could hear the sound of a voice. Even his own. The technique had helped in the past. Not that he needed any help now. Dark was just dark. A trunk was merely a storage space, not a prison.
    There were almost certainly no exorcists in the immediate area.
    The thought snapped him out of his memories, and taking a deep breath, he pulled the release lever.
    The trunk popped open smoothly, with not a hint of squeak, and he immediately sat up and scanned the area, his dagger held at the ready. Ceiling lights set to low provided illumination enough for him to see that the garage—for it was clearly that—was empty, however. He climbed out of the car and whirled around to face the other half of the room, searching its dimly lit corners for any dangers.
    Nothing. Tools, workbench, a second car, and two very hot motorcycles filled the clean and tidy space, which smelled of gasoline, oil, and polish and, underneath it all, the faintest hint of jasmine. Of her.
    Somebody took very good care of this garage, which didn’t feel at all like a hideout for desperate criminals. It felt like a garage attached to somebody’s home.
    Her home?
    Only one way to find out. He closed the trunk and headed for the door in the back corner. Time to find out who the Scarlet Ninja was when she was at home.
    Atlantis Betrayed – Warriors of Poseidon 06
    Page 31 of 188

Chapter 8
    Fiona held up her hands to stop both Declan’s flow of words and Hopkins’s silent but potent urgings to get on with it and dish, already. Not that Hopkins would ever say or even think “dish.” Exhaustion swamped her, the aftershock of adrenaline and, to be honest if only with herself, sexual attraction, pumping through her body. The dull thud of an impending headache pounded at the edges of her skull and she wanted nothing more than to curl up in bed with a cup of that chocolate she’d run out on earlier.
    Instead, she was going to face an interrogation. She scanned the room as if looking for answers in its familiar warm blue and cream furnishings, and then nearly fell into an overstuffed chair as a hideous thought occurred.
    “Declan? Did you, um, see anything during those fifteen minutes?” Like your big sis kissing a total stranger, perhaps?
    He rolled his lovely chocolate-brown eyes, identical to their father’s. So unfair that he’d won the long, lush eyelash lottery of the two of them. She tried never to go without mascara to compensate for her mother’s English rose genes: blue eyes, pale blond hair and lashes. And how tired was she, to be thinking of eyelashes at a time like this?
    “Fee, I’ve told you a thousand times, when I’m looping the cameras on a high-tech system like that, I can’t see you, either. I see what I’ve got them seeing, unless we start fitting you out with a buttonhole camera. I only caught a glimpse of the room where they stopped the loop.” He flashed a guilty glance at Hopkins. “You’d stepped out, and I didn’t want to worry you. But, Fee, you have to understand, it’s the—”
    “Stop. Okay. I get it. Please, for the love of Saint George, no more technical discussions of wavelengths or pixels or whatever. My brain can’t take it.” Her gaze automatically went to the priceless oil-on-wood painting of Saint George slaying the dragon, in its place of honor across from her desk. Every time she glanced up from her work, the visual reminder that she, too, could slay dragons, reinforced her mission.
    Or vampires, as the case may be. The curators in the Louvre might even still believe they had the original, although last she’d checked, the website had listed Raphael’s Saint George and the Dragon as “not on display.”
    Not exactly true. It was on display, of course, just not in the museum. It’s not like a self-respecting ninja master thief could hang a reproduction in her home. The painting represented her entire life’s work, after all.
    She leaned her head back on the chair and closed her eyes, sighing. So good to be home. So awful to have to share her news.
    The scent of rich chocolate wafted under her nose and her eyes snapped open. Hopkins stood next to the chair, still stern and frowning, but holding a cup of freshly poured aromatic heaven out to her.
    “Drink it, and then tell us everything, if you please,” he said.
    Atlantis Betrayed – Warriors of