Relentless Read Online Free Page A

He swears he took a bunch of images before the light went.
    “He remembers getting into the Jeep and riding back to camp. His memories after that are spotty. He recalls coming back into camp and smelling the meat burning for the evening meal. He remembers seeing everyone lying about as if they’d taken a nap where they’d fallen—only there was so much blood. Then he doesn’t remember anything else. He swears someone struck him on the head. Sometimes he remembers being pulled from his vehicle. Other times he swears someone was lurking at the dig. His injuries substantiate that he was hit, hard, but obviously not where he was at the time the attack happened.”
    “And when the authorities went to the location? Did they find the tomb?”
    Isis took a deep breath, knowing that what she said just reinforced the unbelievability of the story. Mystery killers, kidnappers, tomb espionage? It sounded like something out of a movie, even to her. She was losing Thorne, fast.
    Tears again? Nah. That was a trick that’d only work once.
    “My father and his dead team members were found at the Dafarfa Oasis, two hundred miles from where he’d told me he’d been. There isn’t a tomb there for more than a hundred miles.”
    “And did the authorities find who’d murdered all those people?”
    “No.”
    “Any leads?”
    “Not as far as I know.”
    Thorne made a condescending sound deep in his throat. “Not to put too fine a point on it, that’s a terrible track record for anyone, even to a loving daughter. Given the professor’s penchant for hyperbole, why do you believe him this time when he’s lied at least half a dozen times before?”
    “He didn’t lie.” Exactly . “He didn’t have all the information. And this time is different—because this time I have a picture to prove it.”

TWO
    F ive hours later they were airborne.
    The 747 from Seattle to New York and on to London was full, everyone crammed in like sardines. The first-class cabin was more spacious, but Thorne still felt like he’d been shoved inside a tin can. The air smelled of the steak they’d had for dinner, and a faint, underlying scent of Isis’s ginger cinnamon soap. The cabin lights were dimmed. Thorne’s light was off. Isis, sitting between himself and the window, had a halo where her light shone on her hair.
    She’d changed at Zak’s place into pale blue jeans and a long-sleeved red T-shirt, and wore dangling red and gold earrings that kept tangling in her hair. As much as it annoyed him—tempted him to untangle the glinting metal plates, touch her hair—Thorne kept his hands to himself. The urge to touch her was already ridiculous and required a good deal more discipline than he’d anticipated.
    “How will your skill work when we get to the museum?” Isis asked quietly.
    Business. That was safe. “You suspect where your father was when he was attacked, right?” She nodded.“I’ll touch the things you sent to the museum to complete his exhibit, and see if there’s a location match.”
    Her eyes widened behind her glasses. “You do remember that there are thousands of artifacts in the collection, right?”
    More than aware. “It’s a long shot, but it’s the only shot we have.” And given all that rubbish about assaults from mystery figures and murder, the quicker this was over, the better.
    Even if a small part of him did settle into the instinct of years of training. In, out, put the bad guys down.
    If there were even any bad guys.
    “You won’t have to touch everything ,” she countered, with what seemed like mild amusement in the dim light. “It’s thirty years’ worth of work. I can sort and eliminate things by obviously wrong locations and unlikely dates. That’ll cut down the time, won’t it?”
    “Sure.” From ten years to five. Finding the right matching location, while not knowing what type of artifact would hold the GPS location, was akin to searching for a thief in a prison.
    “I’m glad I can help you