Eternal Journey (Rogue Angel, Book 17)
Alex Archer, Jean Rabe
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After shooting an episode of "Chasing History's Monsters "at a dig in Australia, Annja Creed is left feeling mildly unimpressed. The artifacts being uncovered are considered fringe by experts who doubt their authenticity. Annja is disappointed by the general lack of mystery involved. But her boredom is quickly replaced with fear when all that's left of her cameraman is a drop of blood on his hotel-room carpet.As she looks for her friend, Annja narrowly escapes an attack by gunmen. She realizes her cameraman must have captured the image of something so valuable that someone would kill them for just having dared look at it. When it becomes clear that everyone on the dig is at risk, Annja begins to think they're in danger not because of what they saw, but "who...."
Monsters here in this desolate stretch in a forest preserve northwest of Sydney, but she knew her producer would fabricate one. He’d come up with some beast that supposedly either lured the ancient Egyptians to Australia or prevented them from leaving—some creature that had enough myths and legends swirling around it to attract good viewing numbers. The features of the midden drew Annja’s thoughts back. Discolorations spoke of the human impact here, such as spots where posts had been set for.
Tailpipe. “It’s pretty new. And pretty expensive. A rental, I’d reckon. See the sticker?” She joined him and squinted. The words were lost in the darkness, but she recognized the shape of the logo. Annja doubted one of the crew would have rented an expensive SUV to drive out here. “Not good,” she whispered. “A bad feeling, eh?” Dari was looking into the trees. “Which way from here to this dig? Like I said, it’s been some months since I was out here—and it was daylight then.” Annja wasn’t.
Joined her, watching as four more officers, these state police, joined the two from the van. After a few moments, Jennifer led them to the injured killer and gestured at the two bodies. The bald biker’s face looked much worse than Annja had realized. Close to the fire the flames revealed every cut. The gargoyle tattoo was obscured by a smear of blood, and the fleshy ridge above his right eye was torn where one of the men had ripped out his silver hoop. The diamond stud had likewise been ripped.
Cars were out on the streets now than when Annja had first come into the city. People were no doubt heading out to early-morning jobs. She saw a station wagon full of kids and suitcases, a family leaving on a vacation. “Good that they’re getting out of Sydney,” Annja mused. “This place isn’t safe right now.” The dashboard clock read 4:44 when she pulled up to the industrial park. The sky was starting to lighten, and from the looks of the few thin clouds overhead it would be a bright day. The.
Him—yet—but nothing would prevent her. There was the matter of avenging Oliver, Josie and Matthew, and of seeing this mystery through. Annja felt a need to tie up loose ends. “Why did Hamam want so many people to die?” she asked. The question was aimed at herself, not the policeman. “Pardon me? I didn’t quite catch that.” The bulbous-nosed cop leaned in close. “I said thank-you for getting my bags.” He’d told her earlier that her things had been gathered from the hotel, including her passport.