I'm not that child anymore, Garin reminded himself. I'm my own man. A very dangerous man. If my father were to know me now, he would fear me.

But that hadn't been the case when he was a child. He'd been the son of a serving wench. Unacknowledged by his father. An object of scorn for his father's wife. An embarrassment to his blood mother. And a target for villainies perpetrated by his half brothers and half sisters.

Roux had taken Garin away from all that. But the old man had not done him a kindness by dragging him out across the harsh lands they traveled. He had used him as a vassal, to wait on him hand and foot.

Taking another breath, Garin calmed himself. Then he walked to the adjoining restaurant. Roux would see that he had changed. Even if Garin had to kill the old man to prove it.

Chapter 14

SEATED IN A booth by the window overlooking the restaurant parking lot and the Mercedes, Annja glanced up at Garin's approach. She took in the man's dark mood at once and felt a little threatened.

"Something wrong?" she asked.

"No," he lied, then sat in the booth across from her.

"Oh," Annja said in a way that let him know she was fully aware that he was lying. She'd learned that from the nuns at the orphanage. The soft vocal carried a deadly punch of guilt that usually demolished the weaker kids. Annja had always continued stoically until she knew for certain she'd been caught. She'd been punished quite often for exploring New Orleans after lights-out.

"I've got a long history with the man we're going to see," Garin said.

Maybe he'd been raised on guilt, too, Annja thought. "What kind of history?" Annja asked.

"We don't exactly get on."

"I'm not surprised. He comes across as very arrogant and selfish."

"Those," Garin said with a grin, "are his redeeming qualities."

Annja decided she liked him a little then. Not enough to trust him, but enough to explore working together. Saving her life – or at least saving her from capture – back at the coffee shop in Lozère had been a mercenary action. She just didn't know what the price tag was yet.

"You called him?" Annja asked.

To his credit, Garin hesitated only a moment. "Yes. To let him know we're coming."

"He's okay with that?"

"Yes."

Annja leaned back in the booth and thought about Roux. "Going to his house doesn't exactly make me feel all warm and fuzzy."

Garin bared his white teeth in a predator's smile. "It's not exactly a trip to grandma's house. But you don't have a lot of choices, either."

"I think I do."

"Really?" Garin leaned back as well. "Do you know who is trying to kill you?"

"A man named Corvin Lesauvage and the monks of the Brotherhood of the Silent Rain."

Garin's eyes flicked to the book on the table. "You've been reading about them."

"You," Annja said distinctly, "can read Latin."

Garin shrugged. "One of several languages."

"You share that with Roux."

"I should. He taught me."

"What kind of work do you do, Mr. Braden?"

"Me?" Garin held a hand to his chest and smiled brilliantly. "Why, I am a criminal."

Somehow, Annja wasn't terribly surprised. From the way he'd moved back at the coffee shop, she might have guessed that he was in the military. She nodded.

"You knew that?" Garin asked in the silence that followed his declaration.

"I'd thought you were a soldier – "

"I've been a soldier many times," Garin said. "The tools change, but the practice and methodology remain much the same."

"But I realized a soldier would have stayed in Lozère and straightened things out with the law-enforcement people."

"The police and I, we're of a different… persuasion." Garin waved at a passing server. "Staying in Lozère was not an option. I could not protect you there."

"Or take me to Roux."

"Exactly."

The server took their order. Garin ordered for them both, which Annja found somewhat old-fashioned and pleasant. He was, she admitted upon reflection, an oddity. He had undoubtedly killed men only a short time ago and evidently gave no further thought to it.

Then she frowned at her own line of thinking. She'd more or less done the same thing herself yesterday. Or at least tried to. She didn't know if she'd actually killed anyone. Roux certainly had.

For a moment she felt stung by the guilt the sisters at the orphanage had worked so hard to foster in her. Then she pushed it out of her mind. If she'd learned one thing in those gray walls filled with rules and recriminations, it was to take care of herself. She'd learned the hard way that no one else would.

"Do the monks work for Lesauvage?" Garin asked when he'd finished speaking to the server.

"No." From Lesauvage's reaction to the situation, Annja was firmly convinced of that.

"Then they're working independently." Garin picked up a package of crackers, tore them open and started eating. "Who is Lesauvage?"

"A criminal."

"I've never heard of him. What does he want?"

"The charm your friend Roux stole from me."

Garin frowned. "Roux is not my friend." He shifted. "Why does Lesauvage want the charm?"

"I don't know. Does Roux?"

"If he does, he hasn't told me. What about the monks? What do they want?"

"During their attempt to abduct me, they didn't say."

Garin pointed at the book on the table. "Did that offer any clue?"

"No. According to the authors, who were monks, the brotherhood was a peaceful group. Big on vineyards and cheeses."

"Must have been very profitable being a monk back in those days. Or at least a good time."

The server returned with two glasses of wine and placed them on the table.

Garin hoisted his glass and offered a toast. "Salut."

"Salut,"Annja said, meeting his glass with hers. "Why does Roux want the charm?"

Garin hesitated.

"If you start holding out on me, I'll have to reconsider my options," Annja said.

A look of seriousness darkened Garin's face. "Have you studied Joan of Arc?"

"Roux asked me that, too," Annja said.

"What did he say about her?"

"Nothing really. He moved the conversation on to the charm."

"Did he? Interesting. Obviously he didn't want you to know what he's working on."

"What are you talking about?" Annja asked.

"Roux believes the charm was part of Joan of Arc's sword."

Annja was stunned. She remembered the histories and the stories. The young woman had been burned at the stake, labeled a heretic by the church. Some tales claimed that her sword had magic powers, some that it had been shattered the day she was burned at the stake.

"Does Roux have other pieces of the sword?" she asked.

"With the acquisition of the piece you found, Roux thinks he has them all. That's why we're going to his house. That's why I'm risking my life taking you there and trusting that he will at least set aside our differences."

"Why?" Annja asked.

"Because I am convinced you have something to do with the sword."

"But I've never even had any real interest in Joan of Arc." The story was one Annja had read as a girl in the orphanage. She'd been fascinated by Joan's heroism and bravery, of course, but the whole "called by God" thing had left her skeptical.