Rogue Angel 49: The Devil's Chord Read Online Free PDF Page A

belonged to Joan of Arc, and to a love-hate friendship with a man who had seen and done so much?
    At times Roux was harsh and insistent, in it for himself and yet always on mark and aware. He may look old, but the man was agile and swift and could expertly handle any weapon he got his hands on. After she’d claimed the sword, he had mentored her and taught her how to handle the blade correctly and efficiently. At times, he felt very much like a father to her.
    But Annja always cautioned herself against letting her guard down completely around the man. At times, Roux allied with Garin Braden. He’d been tied to Roux since Joan’s burning back in the fifteenth century. Braden was another man who possessed the same in-it-for-himself attitude as the older man. And he was not beyond lying to her to get what he wanted.
    So that left Scout Roberts as a possible ally in this new adventure. A ghost working for a person of questionable integrity.
    Annja shook her head as she perused the sketchy details she held.
    She’d worked with strangers before. The nature of her work—traveling to foreign countries, traveling to the middle of nowhere to dig in the dry, dusty dirt—led to interactions with all sorts. Unwilling to pre-judge someone she had never met, she looked forward to meeting Scout and delving into the mystery of how he’d gotten involved with Roux.
    Setting aside the dossier, she settled into the cozy first-class nest and pulled up the blanket to her forehead. She wanted to be in top form when she arrived in Venice.
    * * *
    U PON DISEMBARKING AT Marco Polo Airport, Annja felt refreshed. It was 6:00 a.m. and the day was bright. Ian was also chipper. He’d had extra bags of peanuts and a couple of free drinks and was currently balancing his equipment on one shoulder, his backpack across both shoulders.
    “We’ll eat after checking into a hotel. Deal?” Annja asked.
    “Deal.”
    Annja strode directly to the cabstand and was greeted by a tall, solemn man in black trousers and black turtleneck who held a placard with her name neatly written in block letters.
    “Miss Creed. I am Paulo. Your driver here in Venice.” He spoke English well. “I’ve picked up the diving gear, as was requested by Monsieur Roux. Two sets. I’ve had them delivered directly to the boat docked in the canal.” He nodded to Ian. “Welcome to Venice.”
    The men shook hands.
    “You’re punctual,” Annja said. “I appreciate that. On to Venice?”
    “I’ve a car waiting. There’s a bit of a traffic bind, I’m afraid. Accident as I was coming toward the airport. We may have a wait. And then we’ll travel on a water shuttle to the island. I live in the city, so I’ll be at your service. I do have a car and a boat.”
    “Thank you. We’d like to head straight to the hotel. If you could recommend a good place to eat nearby, that would be great.”
    “I’ll bring you there myself.”
    Three hours later—indeed, the traffic had been backed up for kilometers while a crane worked to clear away lumber from an overturned truck—Annja and Ian dropped their things in their respective rooms at the hotel. Then they accompanied Paulo to a quiet restaurant that seemed lacking in tourists yet had immense personality. The cook sang from the back room, and the waitresses giggled as they delivered plates to the tables. Though they’d both skipped breakfast, Annja cautioned Ian against the full plate of pasta if they planned to dive anytime soon, and he reluctantly ordered the smaller size.
    After they’d eaten and Paulo had given them directions, Annja and Ian strolled down the streets in the Cannaregio, where they were to meet Scout Roberts dockside.
    “They say the city is sinking nearly a tenth of an inch a year,” she remarked as they passed a wet tiled courtyard sandwiched between two buildings.
    “Point zero eight, to be precise,” Ian replied. She gave him a look that said she was impressed. “Two years ago I spent a summer here