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expected, they were gone along with the lockbox she’d used to breach the security system earlier.
    Clenching her fists, she wished she could strangle Syn. Without her lockbox, she had no hope of guessing the scanner’s code. Grimson had designed his security systems too carefully and the number sequences were too intricate to ever be guessed by random choice, or remembered from her earlier success.
    There was a nine in it
. . .
    Someplace.
    Yeah, that wasn’t exactly helpful.
    Sighing, she looked around the room. She wasn’t just going to stand here waiting for him to come back and discover she was awake. There had to be a weapon somewhere in this giant mausoleum.
    She headed to the kitchen.
    Maybe you should look for him first
. . .
    No. Better to get a weapon. If he happened to be in one of the other rooms, she didn’t want him to know she was awake until she had some way to protect herself.
    Gah, my head hurts
.
    It’s what you deserve for letting him get the drop on you and you’re lucky that’s all he did.
    Very true.
    Carefully, quietly, she opened cabinets and drawers seeking a knife, but instead, all she found were empty shelves. No cutlery at all—not even a rusty spoon.
    Frowning, she opened the equally empty refrigerator. What did the man live on? Air?
    Aggravated at not finding anything, she had to force herself not to slam the cabinet shut—in case he was in the other room. She crossed her arms over her chest and glanced at the counter. Again she saw a bottle of wine resting near the sink.
    Not quite her weapon of choice, but in a pinch . . .
    A determined smile curved her lips. It should serve to at least knock him senseless for a moment or two. That should be long enough to pull a weapon off his body.
    She picked up the bottle and glanced at the blue and gold label. “Hmm, vintage.” Good year too. This bottle alone would probably make her fighter payments for six months. Such a shame to waste premium Gondarion grade on a worthless criminal.
    Oh well.
    Sliding her fingers around the cool, slick glass neck, she gripped the bottle and went hunting. With practiced, stalking strides, she inched toward the bedroom,then paused. The door to the bedroom slid upwards, which would give him ample time to pull a blaster on her and shoot her again.
    Her head pounded even more, reminding her that the last thing she needed was another sharp blast.
    There had to be something else . . .
    She smiled as she noticed the partially opened door of the bathroom . . . it might also swing open into the bedroom.
    It was her best shot.
    Changing course, she headed for it.
    She tried to calm the pounding beat of her heart that sent even more sharp pulses of pain to her head and played havoc with her eyesight. Damn him for
that
particular misery. She gripped the bottle in her icy, clammy hands and slipped inside the bathroom.
    It was empty.
    Taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, she crept toward the door on the opposite side which also had a knob. So far, everything looked good.
    As silently as she could, she pushed the door open, relieved the hinges didn’t creak.
    She took a step into his room, then froze in shocked disbelief. She didn’t know what she’d expected, but it definitely wasn’t the sight greeting her.
    On the opposite side of the room, Syn knelt on a red, embroidered prayer cloth, his head sedately bowed, his eyes reverently closed. His ebony hair, pulled back into a ponytail, hung just past his wide shoulders.
    He wore a pair of black leather pants and a loose, black silk shirt, the cuffs rolled back from his wrists. She could see the tiniest bit of white bandage on the arm where she’d cut him earlier and a bit of scrollwork from a tattoo it covered. His gloved hands rested on hisknees, turned palm-upwards, and before him lay an opened prayer book. The light glinted off two silver hoops in his left ear.
    Even while he rested she could detect his aura of restrained lethal power. See the