Her glance up confirmed her exit would be sealed in a few more seconds. She screamed into her mouthpiece as she kicked hard, stretching for the opening and clearing the space just ahead of the collapsing avalanche of logs.
Too… damn… close.
Shay took a long, deep breath and looked down at the pile of logs. Their shifting movement had kicked up sediment from the lake bed, and her lights were having trouble penetrating the cloudy darkness. It was clear no one was getting back into that mess anytime soon without the generous use of a pile of explosives.
That’s enough diving time for now.
Shay lay flat on her back on the shore, her tanks and mask at her side. She sucked in the sweet alpine air and caressed the pouch of diamonds she’d managed to save.
“No other assholes are gonna be able to get to that treasure anytime soon, and even if they did, they won’t be able to get past the magic trap,” she murmured to herself. “Okay, no magic pin and no gold bars, but I did get some diamonds. I’ll still count that as a win.” She sat up and stretched. “I still think I’m gonna avoid any underwater jobs for a while.”
Chapter Seven
Shay took a sip of her coffee as she glanced through the latest edition of the Journal of Archaeological Research on her phone. Conventional academic archaeology sources didn’t tend to point her directly at the kind of artifacts she wanted to grab, but every piece of information she learned about archaeology and history could only help her in the future. Sometimes pieces came together that pointed Shay in the right direction that separated out were just fun facts.
“A Reevaluation of Zhuge Liang’s Fire Gambit in Light of Oriceran Influence: The Possible Use of Magical Fire Artifacts in Ancient China.” Shay chuckled. “What a mouthful.”
She had read a lot of articles like it since her decision to devote herself to tomb raiding. To her great surprise, many historians and archaeologists were happy rather than pissed after learning that much of what they’d believed for decades, if not centuries, was made-up crap. A lot of them seemed to be overjoyed they had entire new research paths for their careers, with more than a few going on and on about their obsession with finding the real truth. Shay rolled her eyes at the thought.
It wasn’t that Shay couldn’t understand their excitement, but she would have been annoyed to have spent an entire career studying something only to find out she’d been playing make believe the entire time.
Switching jobs from killing to tomb raiding didn’t require any radical changes in her thought processes or beliefs. Just no killing. Well, less killing.
Everyone likes a little job security.
Shay looked around the intimate little Munich street café. A handful of other customers, mostly men, worked on their meals or coffee, but no one paid her much heed. It filled her with a little relief. German men knew to keep their distance and not crowd a woman just because she was hot. Or maybe they were all gay. Whatever worked. She crossed one long leg in a dark leather boot over the other as she took another sip of the strong black coffee.
Shay had a few hours to kill before her flight and decided to get a bite to eat. After vanquishing her sandwich, she’d moved on to relaxing with some coffee while she caught up on her reading.
The small bell over the door chimed, and Shay glanced in that direction. A man in a dark suit with close-cropped blond hair stepped in, adjusting his tie as he surveyed the café, a tense expression on his face. A faint bulk disrupted the lines of his suit, both a fashion crime and an indication he was wearing a shoulder holster.
Shay resisted a sigh. She’d thought it’d been too easy for her to check out her newest target without meeting any resistance. Well, easy except for the whole almost getting buried in a watery tomb by logs. That was more than a little annoying.
Now you show up, asshole? It would have been nicer to show up at the lake where I had a more convenient place to ditch your body. Fuck, there’s not even a decent seedy trash can nearby. Why do the Germans have to have such clean cities? This was always easier in New York. Hell, there were even a few convenient forgotten subway tunnels there.
Shay looked away, instead focusing on watching the man’s reflection in the polished brass running behind the counter. She feigned a smile at one of the waitresses, which the woman took as a sign she wanted more coffee.
The new arrival moved to a corner table, one of the few tables where he could see the entire café and look out the window, but otherwise his back was to windowless walls.
Shay took in a deep breath and slowly let it out.
It could be nothing. Maybe the guy just likes to sit in the corner. Or maybe not.
Defensive seating. That’s what she’d always called it when she still worked as a professional killer. An obviously armed man practicing defensive seating might not be a hitman, but the chance he was a local neighborhood business jerk wasn’t all that high either. Coupled with the timing of her visit, she had to assume that Mr. Defensive Seating had come to finish Natalie Leon’s job.
How the hell did they tag me? Where did I screw up?
Shay took another sip of her coffee, keeping her expression casual. She tapped
