Gabriel's Horn. Alex Archer

is sucking the life out of the world. Kind of sounds vampirish to me.”

      “No,” Annja repeated.

      “I like it,” Doug said. “I want this story.”

      “King Wenceslas wasn’t a vampire.”

      “Maybe you just haven’t dug deeply enough. Maybe his whole vampire nature is there waiting for you to discover it.”

      “It’s not.”

      “I mean, can you imagine this?” Doug asked.

      “No,” Annja said. “I can’t. Doug, Wenceslas was not a vampire.”

      “He could be.”

      “He is a saint.”

      “Cool,” Doug exclaimed. “A vampire that’s been sainted. You know what’ll really sell this piece, though?”

      Annja was afraid to ask.

      “Picture this,” Doug went on. “We show Wenceslas as a warrior knight. A big sword or ax. Horned helmet like the Vikings wore.”

      “The Vikings didn’t wear horned helmets,” Annja said. “That’s just a perception created by Hollywood. It’s wrong.” But she knew Doug wasn’t listening. He was lost in his own world.

      “So we see this big knight with this gnarly weapon.” Excitement thrummed in Doug’s voice. “Big burly guy. Muscles out to here. And let’s make the armor red. With a hood. So the Santa Claus connection comes through.”

      Annja didn’t even try to interrupt. She’d been through sessions like this with Doug before. It was already too late.

      “A red hood,” Doug said. “Get it? Then the camera pans in and Wenceslas grins at us. Only instead of regular teeth…he’s got fangs!”

      Annja hung up. There were times when talking to Doug, though she counted him as a friend, were exhausting. She could always claim a dead battery later. She laid the phone beside her notebook computer.

      While she was looking at the mug shots, she was also searching the archaeological sites for information about the green-scimitar tattoo. She felt certain there was something significant about the design.

      So far there weren’t any responses on the boards.

      THE PHONE RANG a few minutes later. At first Annja was just going to let it go to voice mail. Then she noticed that the number was local to Prague. She scooped up the phone and answered.

      “You’re not at your hotel,” a strong male voice accused.

      The voice belonged to Garin Braden. Just like that, all the trepidation Annja had about the upcoming date slammed into her.

      She took a deep breath in through her nose and let it out her mouth. This is a mistake, she told herself.

      “I’m not,” she said in a calm voice. Still, she felt her pulse beating faster than normal. She didn’t like it. Garin was a dangerous man. If she’d had her preference, she’d have kept him as an enemy the way he’d been when they’d first met. He’d tried to kill her then.

      “I thought this would be something special.” Garin didn’t sound disappointed; he sounded irritated. “I’ve gone to considerable lengths to make tonight happen.”

      Unable to sit in the chair any longer, Annja got up and paced the room. She rubbed the back of her neck and tried to relax. Her shoulders felt knotted and sore.

      “Things didn’t go exactly as planned at the movie set today,” Annja said.

      “You’re only there as an adviser,” Garin said in a pleasant baritone. At least, if he didn’t sound as if he was ready to chew nails his voice would be pleasant, Annja thought.

      “Leave the movie set and go to your hotel. I’ve got reservations,” Garin said.

      Was that a command? It definitely sounded like a command. And Annja didn’t intend to be commanded. She had reservations herself, and they weren’t at a restaurant.

      5

      “This isn’t working out,” Annja said.

      “Prague was your idea,” Garin countered, as if the location was the problem. “I would have preferred meeting in the Greek islands.”

      Annja knew that. Garin had even offered to send his private jet—one of his private jets—to pick her up from Brooklyn. But she’d refused. If she had to meet Garin for dinner, she wanted to do it under her own power.

      Doing that meant she could also leave whenever she wanted. You could really run out of places to go on an island if you wanted to get away from someone.

      “If you’re trying to weasel out of our agreement,” Garin said, “then that’s fine. I’ve got other things to do.”

      The man’s arrogance was monumental. In that instant Annja saw that she could break the date if she chose. She also realized that Garin sounded as if he had misgivings, as well.

      That possibility irritated her. She knew she was good company, bright, articulate and attractive. She’d been told that by enough men to accept there must be some truth to it. So where was Garin getting off telling her he had other things to do?

      “I’m at the police station,” Annja said.

      Garin growled a curse. “What did you do now?”

      “I,” Annja said, taking affront at once, “didn’t do anything. Some men attacked the movie set today. They planted explosives that nearly killed several people and sent five stunt crewmen and women to the hospital. Maybe you heard about that.”

      “No.”

      “It was in the news.” In fact, now that she thought about it, Annja wondered if she should have been upset that Garin hadn’t called immediately to check on her.

      “I wasn’t watching the news.”

      Annja wondered what Garin had been doing.

      “Were you injured?” Garin asked.

      “No. Otherwise I’d be at the hospital.”

      “What are you doing at the police station?”

      “Looking at photographs of potential bombers.”

      “Ah. You’re giving a statement?”

      “One of the local detectives invited me to come down and identify the men who planted the explosives.” Annja stopped pacing and placed a hip on the edge of the table. “He hasn’t been too amenable about letting me go. Of course, I haven’t told him that I was meeting you for dinner. I’m quite positive,” she said as sarcastically as possible, “that if I mentioned that he’d let me go immediately.”

      “Don’t be crass.” Garin didn’t sound angry now, only grumpy.

      “I tend to get that way when someone calls me and starts dumping blame on me.”

      “You have a phone,” Garin argued. “You could have called me.”

      “Why? Dinner’s still hours away. I can make it easily.”

      “I want you attired properly for the night,” Garin said.

      “I didn’t know there was a dress code.” Annja started to get angry all over again.

      “This isn’t an evening at McDonald’s. I don’t know how your other men treat you—”

      “Kindly,” Annja replied. “And with due consideration for the fact that I have a career and obligations. They even acknowledge that I know how to properly dress myself.”

      “Trust me. I’ve moved more on my schedule than you did to make tonight happen.”

      Annja was torn between