Rogue Angel 49: The Devil's Chord by Alex Archer

with a man who shouldn’t exist in this century. “Awhile. Why do you ask?”
    “He seems to have been around,” Scout tossed out. “Seen a lot.”
    “You said you had met him at an auction?”
    “Yes, I introduced myself to him. Took the risk in bringing up the Lorraine cross.”
    “I’m surprised you got to know him all that well. He keeps his personal information close to the vest.”
    “That he does. Nothing about him on the internet, you know that?”
    She nodded. Roux was careful. Yet it did surprise her he was able to have no mention of himself online, what with all his traveling and antiques buying.
    “So you think we’re simply diving for a decorative cross?” Scout asked, a tone of intrigue tracing the question.
    Annja blinked. “Aren’t we?”
    The man’s laughter echoed across the patio. The people at the next table paused from their quiet conversation to peer over their shoulders at them. Annja shushed him and the couple resumed their meal.
    “Is there something more in the attaché case?” she asked.
    “No. Just a cross. Or so I expect, according—”
    “—to the police reports,” she finished.
    She really should get ahold of these police reports. Could Roux have gotten the information, but failed to pass it on to her? No, Scout had gone to Roux about this dive.
    “There’s something more? Knock my socks off,” she challenged.
    “Oh, it will knock your skeptical socks right into the canal.” Scout leaned forward, the eagerness in his eyes inexplicably drawing Annja forward, as well. “The cross isn’t just some pretty little object to hang on a wall in a dusty old museum. It’s actually—” Scout dramatically performed a curious scan of his surroundings “—a key.”
    Annja smirked and assumed a wondrous tone. “A key? Do tell.”
    Scout exhaled and sat back. “I don’t think so. You don’t have the ability to set aside your skepticism. It’s all dry history to you, isn’t it? Or in this case, wet. Find the case, discover the missing artifact, hand it back to the museum. Then it’s on to the next dig or dive, or whatever, resulting in yet another chipped pot or broken vase.”
    She laughed and poured herself a final serving of wine. “So it’s a key. To what? A safe hoarding millions in fifteenth-century gold? Stacks of Leonardo’s lost notebooks? The map to the Holy Grail? Do you know how many Holy Grail maps I’ve seen, Scout? They are a cottage industry in and of themselves.”
    “To which I have contributed my fair share.” His grin was smarmy, so much so that Annja almost checked the ground to see if a snail had crept by.
    “It’s people like you who give people like me—”
    “The upright, upstanding, stick-in-the-muds who never have any fun?”
    “Legitimate archaeologists who care about provenance and historical value,” Annja corrected. “You do realize that, once found, you have to hand the cross over to Roux, yes?”
    “He is the guy writing the check. But let me guess—you’re not going to let the old man waltz off into the sunset with his prize.”
    “Roux knows where I stand with things. It’s best you get that into your head, as well.”
    “Creed, now you’ve gone and spoiled my fun. I don’t even want to tell you about the key.” He crossed his arms high on his chest.
    “Yes, the key to a mysterious something that most certainly will possess great power. Great enough to rule the world, or at the very least, a small portion of said world.”
    And yet, she couldn’t deny she’d come across some amazing finds over the years. The Skull of Sidon had been rumored to possess all power to whomever held it, and she had witnessed—something—in the moments it had been held before the holder had been slain. Solomon’s Jar had bound the world’s demons. And many other myths and legends, some that she hadn’t been able to discount and could believe because she had witnessed the truth.
    Though a selkie losing her pelt and being enslaved by