Rogue Angel 47: River of Nightmares Read Online Free

accounts, and got us more lookers for future deals. The next batches, we’d do better with at auction, I think.”
    “Will that be difficult to arrange?”
    The Brit looked offended. “I’ve set that up. And we’ve a bidder already on the big one, more than one, I think, especially if we start it low...say at two? If we play it right we should get twice that. How fast can we supply the smaller batches? I think I should cut some.”
    Dillon held the hot liquid in his mouth, savoring the rich flavor before finally swallowing. “Tell them three weeks. That gives us a good margin. I have the other customers to handle in the meantime.”
    “Ah, yes, those fellows in Atlanta and Dallas.”
    Dillon gave his partner a foxlike grin. “They are footing most of the bill for all of this.”
    “And reaping only a smidgen of the reward.” The Brit raised his cup in a toast. “Thank God for nasty, incurable diseases, what?”

Chapter 5
    It was almost noon when Annja reached the docks—dealing with a few of the police department’s Chasing History’s Monsters fans meant she’d stuck around much longer than she expected. It had rained while she was at headquarters, but the sun was out now and sent the temperature up into the high seventies. A haze hung low over the ground, and the riverbank smelled of earth and damp wood. All the sounds of the city were behind her, substituted for fishermen returning from an early morning catch and sightseers of all nationalities...Canadian, Israeli, American, German and French. The cloying odor of city traffic was replaced by the not-as-heavy scent of diesel fuel.
    The boat wasn’t what she’d anticipated. She gaped at it, a mix of emotions dancing through her head—surprise, pleasure and overriding that a thick layer of ire.
    Ned practically flew toward her, snatched his satchel and set her off balance. He caught her and tried to hug her. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you, dear Annja. My lenses, all my memory cards, spare camera, waterproof camera. I—”
    “—will never again set my bag down unattended in a big airport,” Annja finished, putting him at arm’s length. “Because I will not retrieve it for you a second time. You’ll have to look through it to make sure nothing’s damaged.”
    His dark blue eyes sparkled. “No, I certainly won’t leave it unattended again. Seriously, thank you.”
    She wanted to be mad at him, but his boyish grin sunk that notion. Ned Lundock peppered her with questions—how did she get the satchel back, did police arrest the thief, where had she been for the past several hours. Ned was new to her crew. He’d been picked up to shoot stills for the website. A photojournalist for a wire service, he’d spent three years in Afghanistan and Iraq embedded with the troops, and had come back to the States a month ago when Chasing History’s Monsters made him a lucrative enough offer to lure him away from hard news. The desert had bronzed his skin and lightened his hair; it was such a pale shade of blond that at a distance it looked white. On the flight here, he’d said his time with the soldiers had also bulked him up because every day had been a workout to stay in step. The muscles in his arms strained the seams of his khaki shirt.
    “This isn’t the right boat,” she said.
    “No, it’s a better one!” This came from Wallace Carper, lead cameraman. Wallace was sixty-two, twice Ned’s age. His gray hair was short, and he was bald on top, as if he had purposely adopted a tonsure; the hairless spot gleamed in the sun. He clunked across the plank to the shore and waved an arm to happily indicate their substitute ride. “Thank the heavens for sick Baptist ministers!”
    She raised an eyebrow.
    “The so-called dependable boat that we’d booked...it had some serious engine problems, so Doug approved spending a little more and getting this. Not much choice, Miss Creed, almost everything else is for tourists or is already rented. We lucked out with