Sacred Ground. Alex Archer

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      “What is that?”

      Far ahead of them, Annja thought she could make out something dark. It looked like it was growing.

      Godwin pressed on the gas pedal. His eyes narrowed and he gripped the wheel tighter. “Our turnoff should be coming soon.”

      “Not soon enough,” Annja said. “It’s going to be close.”

      “What is?” Derek asked. “What is that thing ahead of us? What’s going on?”

      Annja looked at him. “Can’t you hear it?”

      Derek stopped and sat back in his seat. He closed his eyes and then Annja saw his body stiffen appreciably. His eyes popped open. “Tell me that’s not what I think it is.”

      Annja nodded. “It is.”

      Godwin pointed up ahead of them. “It’s growing.”

      Annja looked and saw it was true. Shooting down the ice road toward them was a giant fissure of blackness.

      The ice road was cracking all around them.

      Sacred Ground

      Rogue Angel™

      Alex Archer

       www.mirabooks.co.uk

      THE LEGEND

      …THE ENGLISH COMMANDER TOOK JOAN’S SWORD AND RAISED IT HIGH.

      The broadsword, plain and unadorned, gleamed in the firelight. He put the tip against the ground and his foot at the center of the blade. The broadsword shattered, fragments falling into the mud. The crowd surged forward, peasant and soldier, and snatched the shards from the trampled mud. The commander tossed

       the hilt deep into the crowd.

      Smoke almost obscured Joan, but she continued praying till the end, until finally the flames climbed her body and she sagged against the restraints.

      Joan of Arc died that fateful day in France,

       but her legend and sword are reborn….

      Contents

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 7

      Chapter 8

      Chapter 9

      Chapter 10

      Chapter 11

      Chapter 12

      Chapter 13

      Chapter 14

      Chapter 15

      Chapter 16

      Chapter 17

      Chapter 18

      Chapter 19

      Chapter 20

      Chapter 21

      Chapter 22

      Chapter 23

      Chapter 24

      Chapter 25

      Chapter 26

      Chapter 27

      Chapter 28

      Chapter 29

      Chapter 30

      Chapter 31

      Chapter 32

      Chapter 33

      Chapter 34

      Chapter 35

      Chapter 36

      Chapter 37

      Chapter 38

      Chapter 39

      1

      Yellowknife, Northwest Territories, Canada

      “It’s been my experience,” Annja Creed said, “that the motives of private industry and those of the public don’t usually make for good bedfellows.” She reclined a bit farther back into the deep chocolate leather of her armchair and waited for the man sitting across from her to respond.

      “That’s a pretty narrow way to look at things.” Derek Wainman took a sip from a steaming mug of coffee before setting it on the frosted-glass table. “After all, it’s in our best interests to work with the public to make sure they don’t feel slighted. These are, after all, potential customers.”

      Annja considered the map in front of her. This time of year, most of the Northwest Territories of Canada was frozen. The arctic tundra was a mass of brittle green amid the snows and winds. She shivered just thinking about how cold it was out there.

      But it couldn’t be worse than Antarctica, could it? She smiled at the memories of that adventure and then noticed Derek watching.

      “You okay?”

      “The cold weather makes me reminisce about the other times I’ve been in the thick of it,” she said.

      Derek took another sip of his coffee. “That’s been quite often, hasn’t it?”

      Annja looked at him. He smirked and waved his hand.

      “Don’t be so concerned. We take great pains to find out all we can about people we might be interested in working with. And there’s never been anything that the right amount of money can’t purchase. Information especially.”

      Annja smiled. She was one hundred percent positive there was at least one small nugget of intelligence that their money hadn’t been able to procure—the presence of the sword that she always carried with her.

      “That’s a curious grin,” Derek said.

      Annja made her face expressionless. This guy didn’t miss a thing. She’d have to remember that.

      “How successful has the mining operation been at Ekati?”

      “By all accounts, incredibly so,” Derek said. “It’s expected to yield five hundred million Canadian dollars a year for the next twenty-five years. Who would have thought that the earth could have such a repository of untapped wealth?”

      “I might have,” Annja said. “But then, I dig for a living. That kind of knowledge is my thing.”

      “You like getting dirty,” Derek said.

      Annja watched his face for any signs that he was already tossing innuendo around. But to his credit, he kept his expression firm and unyielding. No sign of mirth tinged it.

      “Getting dirty comes with the territory,” she said. “It can’t be helped. And it’s only when you’re truly down in the thick of it that you find the most precious treasures. So yes, I like getting dirty.”

      “Where were you before this?”

      Annja raised an eyebrow at him. “Now, why would you ask me such a question? After all, I thought you had a complete workup on my recent activities?”

      “We do.”

      “So, what, you want to see if I lie about my whereabouts?”

      Derek held up his hand. “Calm down. It was just a friendly question.”

      Annja looked at the map again. Frozen lakes, frozen rivers, frozen everything. It would be a damned cold jaunt; she knew that.

      “Why now?” she asked.

      “Excuse me?”