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....
though, she simply said, “Yes, it is,” and smiled sweetly at him, hoping her charm would get him to open the gate. What she really wanted to do was to laugh at his superstitious attitude, for the things she’d faced since acquiring her sword made the idea of roaming around in the tunnels beneath the Paris city streets seem like child’s play, but she knew that doing so would kill any chance she had of getting through the gate. Thankfully, her official pass seemed to be enough. He gave her a look
found the treasure itself, she could have both! She was so distracted by thoughts of the future that she nearly ran into a group of six monks walking behind her car as she backed out of the parking space. Thankfully, they were paying more attention than she was and were able to skip out of the way quickly enough. Embarrassed, she gave a little wave of apology, drove back to the gate and headed down the mountain. She’d been driving for about ten minutes when something started nagging at her.
several bullets whistled past close enough for her to feel the heat of their passage. No sooner had she reached the safety of the altar than she was scrambling and charging forward again, except this time she had the bulk of the altar between her and her attackers. A hail of bullets slammed into the marble while she scrambled on hands and knees over to the door she’d seen from the other side of the room. She grabbed the door’s handle and pulled it open, revealing a set of spiral steps leading
the Order will send a killer who can actually shoot straight. Tell you what, you give it your best shot. I’ll be here waiting.” The caller, whoever he was, actually chuckled. “They said you were smart, Miss Creed, but I’m having a hard time seeing that. Perhaps this will raise your IQ a few points.” There was a pause and then another voice came on the line. “Annja?” It was Bernard. Or at least she thought it was. It sounded like he was speaking through swollen lips and possibly a broken nose.
door of the ladies’ room just beyond. It bounced open, sending him sprawling to the floor. She followed him in and when he moved to get back to his feet she stuck the point of her sword against his throat and waited to see if he could take a hint. He froze in place, his hands held out in a defensive posture. “What do you want?” she demanded in a low voice, not wanting to attract undue attention by yelling, but needing to release the anger she felt building inside her. “Easy now,” he said. “No