Cradle of Solitude (Rogue Angel, Book 33)
Alex Archer, Joseph Nassise
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
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....
flashlight on the floor so that its beam filtered across the area she intended to search, she began hunting for the missing bullet. When she’d gone over the entire area in one direction, she went back again in the other, crisscrossing her initial efforts so she could be assured that she hadn’t missed a spot. When that failed to turn up what she was looking for, she moved her attention over to the wall against which Captain Parker’s remains had rested. Perhaps the shot that had killed him had
warning must have passed from the guard shack to the monastery itself, for another brown-robed monk was waiting for her on the front steps. He watched her without saying anything as she got out of the car and approached along the walk. It was only when she actually reached the top of the steps that he let a smile settle on his face and stepped forward with his hand out. “Good morning, Miss Creed. I’m Brother Samuel.” Annja shook the offered hand, a relieved smile on her face. For a minute
tools had been on hand. There was also the simple fact that the compass was pointing in the wrong direction. The sun was setting off to Annja’s right, directly in line with one arm of the compass. What was unusual was the fact that the arm in question was labeled as north, rather than west. Even more intriguing, the line was also a good two inches longer than the others. That’s got to be what we’re looking for, Annja thought, and she could see by Garin’s expression that he thought the same
in front of her. “You son of a bitch!” she cried, surging to her feet, the blood pounding in her ears as she mentally reached for her sword… …only to be struck in the face with the butt end of the assault rifle held in her guard’s hands. The blow was hard enough to knock her unconscious. As she tumbled backward, she thought she heard someone call her name and, over that, the sound of the madman in front of her cackling like a particularly vicious little child, and then the darkness had her and
bigger airport, but as it turned out, a flight leaving Savannah at 5:20 p.m. not only got her into Washington sooner, but it saved her additional driving time as she was closer to that airport. She booked the flight and then took a moment to check her email. There were several messages from Commissaire Laroche, first asking and then demanding that she get in touch. She didn’t have time to deal with him, so she simply deleted the messages, telling herself she’d get in touch when this was all said