Morning’s pale light radiates through the cracks in the storehouse where I sleep, and I lean into the comforting warmth. The air is silent and still. Heavy with expectation. My stomach pinches in hunger and I tuck my legs to my chin, whimpering. Wait for the pain to pass.
Pain. One.
Detective Bixby kneels next to the broken glass. He lifts a tear-shaped shard in his callused fingers. Is it the shape of a tear or half of a broken heart? Either way, it reminds him of the woman he loves. The woman he lost… or, more accurately, never had. With a mournful sigh
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The red transport helicopter chased Rohan down the snowy peak. Staccato gunfire roared from the chopper, each bullet ripping snow in his wake.
Rohan’s skis shredded the slope with sharp maneuvers, zipping side to side, risking speeds faster than he ever had on the most advanced black diamond runs. The helicopter swerved
Raiders shoved Dr. Byron Stoneburner into the wooden crate. Hands bound, mouth gagged, the professor squirmed while the sliding lid clicked into place—trapping him within a world of darkness as thudding hammers nailed his coffin shut.
“What do we do with grave robbers?” a muffled voice crooned from outside the box.
The sunken cathedral walls swallow me as I lower myself through the depths, past the missing roof, one hand gripping my tether, the other cradling my flashlight.
“Jamaica?” Rasheed’s voice crackles through my headset. “You got eyes on the rubies yet?”
Before I answer, I swing my flashlight across the cathedral walls.
“For heaven’s sakes, Afrin, you’re the worst archeologist I’ve ever laid eyes on!”
“I’m a detective, Abraham,” I said, fingering my brimmed hat.
He folded his arms, his eyes on the vista around us. “Four months we’ve been hiking in the Andes—and for what?”
“The Egg of Creation,” Pedro said.
If I walked away from this mission having learned only one thing, it would be that millennia of shifting sand dunes were no match for a stubbornly brilliant paranormal archivist. Unfortunately, the odds of me actually walking away were decreasing every second.
“Hey, Miriam, I could use some help over here!” I shouted as I deflected an obsidian sickle.
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