Perfect Specimen: Brietta Read Online Free PDF Page A

chain saw, revealing her brain, which he cheerfully poked with bizarre instruments.
    Jolting back to consciousness, she was relieved to see that Taggert hadn’t sensed her distress. And meanwhile, the pain in her face wasn’t as blindingly sharp as before, so she decided to blame it on the altitude instead of her infection. Plus there was all this dust. And the jet lag.
    And most of all, there was Taggert.
    Who wouldn’t feel sick under such conditions?
     
    * * * *
     
    In spite of everything, Brietta’s spirits soared as she exited the SUV to assess her new surroundings. Two large tents, several smaller ones, plus a giant canopy over an area that doubled as a supply center and a makeshift dining hall. In the distance stretched a barren expanse of sandy dirt, surrounded on three sides by scrub-covered hills, mostly worn down but punctuated by occasional craggy peaks resembling obsidian sentinels.
    Tearing her gaze away from that imposing sight, she focused on a nearby patch of dirt staked off with pegs and string. A twenty-by-fifteen-foot parcel, disturbed only at one corner and roughly in the center. Tarps had been stretched over it but were being removed by the security guards at Taggert’s direction.
    And for one fleeting moment, she almost loved Sean Taggert. Not just for giving her this—the most provocative site she could imagine—but for everything else. The strong arm around her shoulders during that horrendous descent. The noble undertone when he’d talked about his best friend’s fiancée and their wedding costs. Even the way he had yelled at Vince about the medical pot. And most especially the way he had spoken of his father. He wasn’t just a dutiful son, he was truly devoted to the great man’s legacy. Reading every journal, every notation . . .
    Too bad he’s a jerk , she reminded herself sharply. He fired you before he even hired you, plus he clearly doesn’t trust you. So get over it, will you?
    Walking over to the site, she knelt at the corner where the first remains were displayed under transparent sheeting. Pulling the plastic aside, she carefully lifted—and cradled—the skull, noting the place where it had been crushed from behind.
    “That must have hurt like a sonofabitch,” she told the dead guy sympathetically. “I can relate. So? Who did this? And why?”
    She felt a throbbing in the back of her own head—a new spot for her—and chalked it up to bizarre empathy since it didn’t seem possible that she had sinuses back there, of all places.
    Setting the skull down, she moved to the center of the staked area to examine Taggert’s second find. The shattered sternum on the skeleton confirmed the diagnosis—this guy had been stabbed through the heart. And even though it had happened almost three thousand years earlier, the resultant pain was eerily imaginable.
    What wasn’t imaginable was the lack of extraneous material. Tools. Weapons. Pottery shards. Zero context. Which made no sense, considering the era in which these bodies had been entombed.
    “So?” Taggert’s form loomed above her. “What do you think?”
    “I think we’re in business,” she confirmed with a cool smile. “At least twenty bodies. Maybe twenty-four.”
    “I was thinking twenty-five.”
    She laughed lightly. “Good thing I’m in charge. Whoever these folks are, they put great stock in certain numbers. Twenty, twenty-one, twenty-five. So let’s say twenty-five for now, okay?”
    Taggert grinned. “Welcome aboard, Ryerson.”
    “Oh!” She grabbed her face, shocked by a stab of pain that actually seemed to emanate from his mention of her last name. How crazy was that ? Especially since the Ryerson name was so cool—at least to her.
    Wincing up at Taggert in apology, she explained, “Damned dust.”
    “Right.” He knelt beside her. “I checked the medical supplies, and they gave us some sort of uber-strong antibiotic called azithromycin. Maybe you should switch to it, since yours doesn’t seem to