The Prof Croft Series: Books 0-4 (Prof Croft Box Sets Book 1) Brad Magnarella (ink book reader txt) 📖

I didn’t realize I had been bracing my ribs on the right side until her hand slid under my sweat-damp shirt and over the ache. For someone who behaved with such dispassion in the face of danger, her palm blazed with heat. My body stiffened, then molded against her touch.

“I work for collectors,” she said with a sigh. “A group with an interest in ancient texts and artifacts.”

“Like a museum?” I asked, struggling to hold her face in focus. God, she felt good.

“No, they are private collectors.” Her palm shifted to another sore spot. “They read the same article as you, James, and Bertrand. They hired me to see if the texts were here and to keep anyone from taking them.”

I fought for a little analytical distance. Her secrecy, her military-grade rifle, her composure—and, yes, her terminal good looks. They all seemed consistent with someone who contracted out her services to the highest bidders. Which explained why she had been so concerned about Bertrand arriving here first.

“Were you supposed to take the texts?” I asked pointedly.

“I was only to keep them safe until the group could negotiate with the Romanian government for their purchase.”

“Purchase?” Given their rarity, the texts would have cost a fortune. “Who is this group?”

“I am paid to do a job, not ask questions.” She pressed closer. “Are you happy now?”

“Almost.” I leaned toward her lips, a man anticipating his first taste of water after a six-month drought. I half expected a recoil and a sharp slap, but Flor’s eyelids softened. Her chin tilted upward.

“I daresay, the wolves will have a devil of a time getting through that.”

Flor and I jerked apart. A moment later, James appeared along the walkway, a pickaxe slung over one shoulder. Awesome timing, mate. He arrived beside us and looked the barricade up and down, nodding his approval. But when he turned to face us, his eyes were absent their usual joviality.

“Everything all right?” I asked.

He seemed to will his mouth into a smile. “Couldn’t be better, mate.” He clapped my shoulder with a little too much enthusiasm. “Hard work breaking up those gargoyles, but it’s done.”

Great. He had seen our near kiss, and now he was jealous. As if there wasn’t already enough tension among the four of us.

“Where is Bertrand?” Flor asked.

We all peered around. A moment later, the Frenchman appeared at the far end of the courtyard. He had done away with his crutches and was limp-hopping toward us, a sweaty sweep of hair dangling over his eyes.

“Where are they?” he demanded. “Where are the texts?”

“We told you,” James said. “The library and vault were empty when we arrived.”

“That is a lie!” He stopped in front of us, the muscles around his eyes trembling with anger. “You took them!” He pointed at Flor but swept his arm back and forth to implicate all of us.

I stepped forward. “You need to calm down, bud. No one took anything.”

“But they are here,” he said. “I can feel them.”

Flor waved a dismissive hand. “You are crazy.”

His eyes jerked around until they locked on our packs, which we’d set beside a pillar. He hopped over and began tugging at the zippers of Flor’s pack. “We will see who is crazy.”

James seized the scruff of his jacket. “It’s not polite to root through other people’s belongings, mate.”

Bertrand flailed his arms around, catching James in the mouth. James recoiled, the back of a hand to his lower lip, then held out both fists in a classic boxer’s stance. Before I could intervene, Flor was behind Bertrand, a black pistol jammed against the back of his head.

“Let go of my pack.”

I rushed up, palms showing. “Hey, hey, hey. Let’s all just take a few deep breaths here. Bertrand, put her pack down.” From his stooped-over position, Bertrand grunted and released the pack. “Okay. Now Flor. Let’s put the gun away, hm?” Her lip curled, but she stepped away, clicking on the safety and holstering the pistol in the back of her pants.

I lowered my hands carefully, as though any sudden movement could shatter the fragile peace.

“I am not sharing my food with him,” Flor declared.

“Neither am I.” James glared down at Bertrand. “The mad bastard bloodied my lip.”

“I do not want the food of rogues,” Bertrand spat back. “It will probably be poisoned.”

“Guys, look,” I said. “Like it or not, we’re stuck with one another until we make it back to the village. We’re going to have to figure out a way to get along. I mean, it would be a shame to have survived the wolves and gargoyles only to end up killing each other.” I chuckled at my own joke, but no one else joined in.

“But I know you have the texts,” Bertrand said to us through clenched teeth.

“Here,” Flor snapped. She unzipped her pack and, its mouth open for all to see, shoveled her hand around the contents: wads of clothes, a gas stove, metallic packets of food. “There, do you see? No texts, you crazy man.”

Bertrand’s lips pressed together.

To further dispel the tension, I opened my pack, too. While doing my own digging, my fingers encountered something cold and metallic. I withdrew a cone-shaped bullet, one that must have punctured my pack when Flor was shooting downstairs. I held it up in front of my face. Was that silver?

Flor’s hand closed around it. “I am sorry about that.”

“What about his pack?” Bertrand asked, cutting his eyes to James.

“Sorry, mate, but you don’t get anything from me by throwing tantrums.”

Flor sighed at the absurdity of what Bertrand was asking. “Do you think I would have let James take anything? Besides, I already checked.”

James stared at her. “You did what?”

Bertrand pulled at his chin, no doubt recalling the sensation of a pistol against the back of his head. At last, he gave a single nod. “Fine.” He straightened and tugged his jacket down. “But that does not change the fact that the texts are here. We