Chase Baker and the Seventh Seal (A Chase Baker Thriller Book 9) Read Online Free

wrist of which supports maybe a half dozen silver bracelets.
    “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Jones-Bond-Baker,” she says.
    “Magda is actually a big time doc,” Cross explains. “Doctor Magda Azzahra, NYU Professor of Biblical History specializing in the New Testament. She’s super cool and helps me out with the shop from time to time.”
    When she takes her hand back, I can see that she’s wearing a tight-fitting blue button-down, the sleeves casually rolled up the forearm, the tails of which hang loosely over faded Levis. For footwear, she’s wearing black boots with high heels.
    “Let’s do this, yo,” an excited Cross says. “I wanna check out my prize.”
    “The world’s prize,” I say, patting the leather bag. “You promised, remember?”
    Cross smiles.
    “How could I forget,” he says, nodding emphatically. “Like I promised, in time, the lost Hemingway books will be offered up to the New York Public Library.”
    Unless somebody comes along with a better offer . . .
    Then, turning his attention to his new employee. “You see, Magda. Chase is not only an explorer, he is also a very good writer. A man who loves books, new and old. But mostly, he is very good at finding things. Difficult if not impossible to find things. He’s got a real talent for it.”
    “Just like Indy,” she repeats.
    “More like your average construction laborer,” I say. “I was trained as a sandhog. A digger. My dad and I worked on a whole bunch of archaeological sites back in my younger days, and I was able to pick up a few tricks of the trade.”
    “Where does the writing come in?” she asks.
    “I graduated with an MFA in Writing from Vermont College. There was a time I wanted to be Hemingway.”
    “Speaking of which,” Cross says. “Let’s get this show on the road, yo.” He begins making his way across the carpeted floor. “Magda, please lock the front door, and meet us in my office. I want you to bear witness to something pretty freakin’ special.”
    Magda slips past me, locks the deadbolt on the door, turns the old, string-supported, wood placard around so that the word “Open” is facing us, the word “Closed” facing Johnny and Janie Q. Public. When she turns back toward me, she places her hand on my shoulder. The touch sends a quick, but pleasant, electric jolt throughout my body. I like touchy girls. Especially super attractive ones like Magda.
    Her hand still pressing against my shoulder, she says, “I’ll tell you a little secret, Mr. Baker. Cross just thinks the world of you. He sees you as so adventurous and worldly and talented. Like the Most Interesting Man in the World on those Mexican beer commercials. A real Renaissance man if there ever was one. Everything he would like to be.”
    She slips her hand off while I look her in the eye.
    “Let’s hope that what I’ve brought him is the real thing.”
    “I’m sure it is,” she says. Then, winking before leaning in toward me, so close I can smell her lavender scent. “I happen to fancy the adventurous type myself,” she whispers. Pulling slowly back, she moves on past me toward the back office.
    Half a day ago, I was fighting for my life inside a train car speeding through the Austrian Alps. Now, I’m being touted as the next best thing since Guttenberg press. I guess I can chalk it all up to a day’s work for Chase Baker — Renaissance man and lover.
     
    Cross’ back office also doubles as a secondary bookshop, stuffed with volumes too rare and, in some cases, too priceless to be housed on the general floor. The room is rectangular with windows at the far end protected from intruders by vertical iron bars. A mahogany desk that surely cost more than my apartment is set in front of the window. To my right is a fireplace that looks like it still works. Two leather chairs have been placed in front of it. To my left, the wall is covered in floor-to-ceiling bookcases. Hung in the center of the bookcases is an old oil painting of a