Cradle of Solitude (Rogue Angel, Book 33)
Alex Archer, Joseph Nassise
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One mystery could change the fate of a nation...
The skeletal remains of a confederate soldier, hidden deep within the Paris Catacombs. The legend of a long-lost Confederate treasure. An aged scrap of paper that reads simply, Berceau de solitude--Cradle of Solitude.
It was sheer dumb luck, really. Archaeologist Annja Creed happened to be in Paris when the bones of the soldier were discovered. But this was no ordinary soldier--this man was the keeper of a treasure that could have affected the outcome of the American Revolution. Somewhere, the treasure waits to be claimed.
Now Annja is unraveling a 150-year-old mystery and a trail of clues that will lead her across the ocean and deep into the heart of the Old South. But she isn't the only seeker of this treasure. Someone else wants it--bad enough to kill anyone who stands in their way....
Shortly.” “Good. And her relationship with Reinhardt?” “I’ll have that for you shortly, as well.” “Next time, call me when you actually know something.” Ending the call, Michaels slipped the phone back in his pocket and continued down the street to where a black Mercedes waited for him at the curb. As the driver started to get out to open the door for him, Michaels waved him off, climbed in the backseat on his own and then instructed the other man to take him back to the office. Without a.
Presence as her hand closed around its hilt. One glance was all it took to know that the man in front of her was dead. The bullet hole in his forehead stood out starkly against his pale flesh, but did little to hide his features and it was easy for her to recognize him as Brother Samuel. Someone was going to pay for this, she vowed. She slipped inside the door and stood in the hallway Samuel had led her through a short time earlier. The office doors on either side of the hall were standing.
Didn’t find one. His eyes were open, staring at the sky above, and so she brushed her hand over them, and then got back to her feet. Her car was still in the parking area, but the driver’s window had been smashed and the line of bullet holes stitched across the hood let her know that she wouldn’t be taking it anywhere in the near future. Since it wasn’t her car, she didn’t feel all that torn up about the damage; it wasn’t the first vehicle wrecked by those she’d been forced to confront since.
Midflight, became visible on the black fuselage. Annja knew that logo. It belonged to Dragontech Security Services, one of the many companies owned by her sometime-ally, sometime-nemesis Garin Braden. “All-the-time pain-in-the-ass Garin Braden is more like it,” she said. The helicopter landed on the grass beside the parking area. The door opened almost immediately and a squad of armed gunmen disembarked, moving with the kind of crisp efficiency that marked them as former military personnel.
Understand how or why the monastery fit into the situation. Things had continued their downward slide when his team ran into that damned Creed woman at the monastery a few hours later. What was supposed to be a simple smash and grab like the one at the museum had turned into a bloodbath. She’d actually attacked several of his men with a sword of all things! His men had managed to corner her on the rooftop, but she’d gotten away by jumping off the edge into the river below. He’d thought that was.