City of Swords (Rogue Angel, Book 39) by Alex Archer, Jean Rabe

By Alex Archer, Jean Rabe

In Charlemagne's footsteps, a guy who will be Holy Emperor…

It was once the type of net posting absolute to allure the eye of the yank cable television express Chasing History's Monsters: "Dog-headed males sighted by way of travelers in Avignon." interested in France to discover the parable of Saint Christopher and the cynocephalus, or the dog-headed, archaeologist and tv host Annja Creed unearths herself many times and inexplicably exact by way of vicious mercenaries. Her top protection is to track this brutal violence again to its resource, which she quickly discovers to be a millionaire and self-professed descendant of King Charlemagne.

Caught up in a romantic and ruthless sixth-century global, the fellow is confident that if he collects mankind's most respected and holy swords, he can satisfy his medieval ancestor's failed target to construct the town of God. And he's stealing the valuable relics one after the other to arm his modern day paladins. Now he has his eye on a truly distinctive sword—Annja's.

And he'll need to kill her to get it.

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Additional info for City of Swords (Rogue Angel, Book 39)

Example text

But if that’s true, why now? Why didn’t the dreams begin years earlier? So far it appeared she didn’t even know the girl. It was all so utterly confusing. Tired to the bone and still thinking of the dream, she tossed back the afghan and headed for the bathroom to shower and dress for the gym. She needed some physical exertion, something to clear her head. Hopefully, her climbing class would take her mind off the girl. After lunch she had a couple of private lessons and around five-thirty she was supposed to meet Terri for drinks at O’Shaunessy’s Bar and Grill, an upscale local hangout that was one of Terri’s favorite see-and-be scenes.

If this was the same girl—and Autumn was convinced it was—she was somewhere around eleven or twelve. How could that be? She tried to recall the first series of dreams, when the child was much younger. Was there something in the dream that hinted at the time frame? Nothing she could recall. Still, if the child was five or six then and eleven or twelve now, the abduction—if that’s what it had been—would have had to have happened at least six years ago. The whole thing was crazy. Certainly tonight’s dream was nothing at all like the nightmare she’d had in her teens and yet… There was no use trying to sleep.

The swift jolt of memories, the harsh stab of pain. He stood up. “My daughter Molly is dead. She was abducted from our home six years ago. ” “I know about the abduction. I read the articles in the newspaper archives. ” Ben rounded the desk, his hands balling into fists as he tried to hang on to his temper. “Gerald Meeks killed her—along with God knows how many other children before he was captured and sentenced to life in prison. ” In an effort to avoid his wrath, Autumn slipped out of her chair and took a few steps backward as he advanced.

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