Tear of the Gods (Rogue Angel, Book 31)

Tear of the Gods (Rogue Angel, Book 31)

Alex Archer, Joseph Nassise

Language: English

Pages: 181

ISBN: 2:00307152

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub

It started as a dream—a redheaded warrior king fought and died for his men centuries ago. The dream would lead archaeologist Annja Creed to the king's undisturbed corpse…and one of England's greatest mythical artifacts. Deep in an archaeological dig in England's Midlands, Annja locates a braided necklace around a mummified king's neck. Made of an unusual material—not quite obsidian, but gleaming with multihued color—the torc is an astonishing find. But someone knows exactly what the torc means. And he will do anything to get his hands on the Tear of the Gods. When the dig is compromised and innocent archaeologists are slain, even Annja herself is left for dead. Now she is fleeing for her life, not knowing the terrifying truth about the relic she risks everything to protect—or the devastating consequences should it fall into the wrong hands….

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a hard white substance, perhaps bone or even ivory, and it looked as if the beaks once fit together in a certain way to form a clasp that kept the torc secured around the wearer’s neck. Annja marveled at the design; it was quite ingenious. They broke reluctantly for lunch and were back at it again within the hour. More artifacts were turning up as Craig and Paolo continued the slow but steady process of freeing Big Red’s earthly remains from the peat that surrounded them. A beaded necklace was

Late in the day they heard several shouts coming from the center of camp. The occasional raised voice was common in camp—friends shouting after friends, that kind of thing—but this went on for several minutes, which was unusual and caught their attention. Craig frowned, then got up from his stool, setting the tools he’d been working with down on the table in front of him. “What’s the heck’s going on out there?” he said, though it was clear he wasn’t expecting an answer from either Paolo or

As Annja was falling into bed in a London hotel room, Detective Inspector Ian Beresford was arriving at the dig site outside Arkholme. The local authorities had just completed the difficult task of freeing the bodies of the deceased from the waters of the bog and transporting them back to the main camp for examination. The mess tent had been commandeered for the task; large tarps had been laid out across the dirt floor and the bodies carefully placed on the tarps in neat, orderly rows. Standing

top of the fifth flight of steps, her thoughts on the warm shower that awaited her above, she heard the floor of the hallway above her creak as someone shifted their weight. It was a small, furtive sound, and that was what caught her attention. People, ordinary people, don’t try to avoid making noise when they walk down a hallway, Annja knew. They trundle along like a herd of elephants, completely unaware of how much noise they generate in their passing. What she’d heard was someone doing

might have been muffled, but eventually someone was going to use that stairwell and they’d find what was left of her first assailant. She couldn’t be there when that happened. But first she had to know. She reached forward and tore open the man’s shirt enough that she could pull it down over his right shoulder. The tattoo of a red hand stared back at her. 25 A quick check didn’t turn up any ID, but it did produce a thick wad of bills held together by a gold clip. Knowing how limited

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