Thankfully, Garin was thinking more quickly than she was. “It was just a truck backfiring. Coincidence, that’s all.” He flashed a smile, which helped ease Sue’s anxiety and took her attention off the issue long enough for Annja to recover.

“Thanks again for your help,” Annja told her, and then headed off toward their car as if nothing had happened.

Inside, however, she was seething. That was the second time someone had tried to kill her since she’d agreed to help with the case. Three, if you counted the incident in the catacombs, which only an idiot would ignore at this point.

It only made her more determined than ever to be certain that whoever was after her never got their hands on the treasure.

The adrenaline dump had left her feeling worn out and tired, so Garin slid behind the wheel and let her take the passenger seat.

He started the car, paused and then said, “Thank you,” in a tone far more reserved than usual.

Annja knew what the admission had cost him—he hated to be dependent on anyone for anything—so she simply nodded and let it go. She knew he’d have done the same if their positions had been reversed, so she didn’t see what she’d done as extraordinary in any way, just necessary.

One thing was certain, that buckshot would have ripped him to shreds.

24

They decided it was prudent to get out of town as quickly as possible. If someone stumbled on the shell casing from the shotgun or noticed the pattern of holes in the hood of that car, they’d have a lot of explaining to do. As always, Annja didn’t want to waste time answering questions at the police station.

They hadn’t been on the road for more than ten minutes before Annja’s cell phone rang. A glance at the caller ID showed an unknown number.

“Hello?”

“Miss Creed?”

“Yes,” she answered. She didn’t recognize the voice.

“You’re intruding in something that’s not your business, Miss Creed. I suggest you take recent events as a warning and stop while you’re ahead.”

“Who is this?”

Garin was looking at her curiously, so she mouthed “the Order” at him and put the phone on speaker.

“What you are searching for belongs to me. If you continue to interfere, I’ll be forced to take more radical measures.”

Like trying to kill us isn’t radical enough? she thought.

Annja decided she didn’t have anything to gain by playing dumb so she went on the offensive instead.

“Yeah? Perhaps next time 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.

“Do what they say, Annja. It isn’t worth—”

The sound of something heavy hitting flesh interrupted whatever it was Bernard was trying to say. It came again, and again, and then there was silence. “Bernard? Bernard!”

The other voice came back on the line. “I’m sorry, Miss Creed, but Professor Reinhardt isn’t able to come to the phone at the moment.”

Clenching her free hand into a fist, Annja fought to keep from screaming into the phone. “If you’ve hurt him, so help me I’m going to—”

“I don’t think so, Miss Creed. You’re not the one calling the shots here, I am. I’ll say it one more time. Stay out of my business or both you and Professor Reinhardt are going to regret it.”

The line went dead.

Into the silence, Annja said, “That is a dead man.”

Garin, who had been quiet until now, finally spoke up. “I take it that means you have no intention of turning back now?”

“Hell, no!” she exclaimed. “It’s more important than ever that we get possession of the treasure, and quickly, or we’ll be too late to help Bernard.”

“Just checking.”

Annja opened her mouth to answer him when the phone in her hand rang again. Without thinking she stabbed the connect button and said, “You listen to me, you son of a—”

“Annja?”

It was Doug Morrell.

She blew the air out of her lungs in one hard push, trying to get her temper under control, and then said into the phone, “Sorry, Doug. I thought you were someone else.”

“Glad I’m not him, that’s all I can say. I’ve got what you need.”

“Already?”

She was surprised; it hadn’t taken him long at all.

“Turns out the archaeology department at the University of Atlanta was all too happy to help out the infamous Annja Creed. Especially when I told them you’d be happy to show up for the Chasing History’s Monstersmarathon weekend they’re planning next month.”

“You did what? No, never mind. Whatever they want, I’ll do it. Tell me about the equipment.”

Doug walked her through the entire list, confirming that he’d gotten it all, from the towed magnetometer to the scuba gear. “All I need to know is where to deliver it,” he said.

Annja told him she’d call him back with that information once they’d had a chance to talk with their riverboat captain and then hung up.

They drove in silence for a while, until Garin said, “You’re not really intending to give him the treasure, are you?”

“Not if I can help it,” she replied.

And she’d do everything in her power to keep from having to. Provided she could keep Bernard safe in the process.

The trouble was, she was starting to doubt that she could.

Garin, however, seemed satisfied with her answer and let the matter drop.

Twenty-five minutes later they found themselves pulling into the driveway of a beat-up-looking house on the far side of a small town. A tall chain-link fence enclosed the entire property and the front yard was filled with various bits of equipment that partially obscured the single-level ranch behind it all.

A large dog, a rottweiler by the looks of it, barked at them from behind the fence.

As they got out of the car, Garin said, “It will be a miracle if the guy’s boat actually floats.”

“Quiet,” Annja told him as the front door opened and a man dressed in grease-stained coveralls stepped out onto the porch. He was an inch or two shorter than Annja, but what he missed in height he made up for in the width of his brawny shoulders.

He seemed friendly enough.

“You folks lost?” he asked.

Annja smiled. “Depends. Are you Jimmy Mitchell?”

“Depends,” came the quick reply, gently mocking her at the same time. “You with the IRS or the Salvation Army?”

The Salvation Army? She wondered why he would say that.

“Nope. Neither. We’re looking to hire us a riverboat captain.”

“Preferably one with an actual boat,” Garin added.

Mitchell squinted at him, then turned to look at Annja. “Does he think he’s funny?” he asked, indicating Garin with a wave of his thumb.

“He does. We all have our crosses to bear.”

Mitchell laughed. “Ain’t that the truth, missy, ain’t that the truth.”

He came down off the porch and approached the fence, shooing the dog as he did. He unlatched the gate and invited them in.

“Jimmy Mitchell,” he said, extending his hand to Annja.

“Annja Creed,” she replied. “And the funny guy behind me is Garin Braden.”

“What do you need the boat for?” he asked as he led them across the yard and up to the porch, where he indicated with a wave of his hand that they should grab one of several folding chairs stacked there and have a seat.

“We’re trying to locate the wreck of a ship.”

Mitchell squinted at them and Annja had the sense that he was trying to figure out if the city folk were pulling his leg.