Free Blood Cursed (Rogue Angel) by Alex Archer Page B

could only be interpreted as gobsmacked. That victory had been too easy.
    * * *
     
    A FTER A MEAL of pork anddumplings swimming in thick, savory gravy, Annja and Luke made their way back to Luke’s hotel room. There he had a nifty setup of microscope, digital voice recorder and an iPad loaded with apps suitable to an archaeologist’s needs that made Annja jealous.
    “I’ve stopped using pencil and paper,” he said when she asked about the technology. “Ever see a crew chief lugging around ten pounds of ring binder, paper and notes?” He lifted the iPad. “Mine weighs less than a pound and I can fit more material on it, and access my research back in London.”
    “Yes, but you have to recharge, whereas paper is always charged.”
    He dug out a small black box from his backpack. “Solar charger.”
    “Touché. And you have the geek badge. I can’t compete.”
    He tapped the plastic pocket protector. “You want some coffee before we get down to business?” he asked.
    “I’m good for now. But don’t let me stop you.”
    Luke filled up the coffeemaker, then unpacked the skull, while Annja opened her laptop and checked on her email. An instant video message popped up in Skype and, seeing it was from her producer, she settled at the head of the bed, legs stretched before her, and answered the call.
    “Hey, Doug, what’s up? Must be early in the morning there in New York.”
    “I’m in Spain actually, finishing up a segment for the show.”
    The man’s mop of brown hair hung in his eyes. His smile was always eager and a little goofy. In his twenties, he liked to wear geek-shirts―as Annja referred to the T-shirts emblazoned with pop culture logos—and today was nothing new. His brown shirt featured a bat-shaped design formed by white silhouettes of what appeared to be horror movie vampires including Bela Lugosi, Elvira and Count Chocula.
    “Spain? You don’t normally travel for the show, Doug. At least, you’re always complaining that the budget won’t allow it. What’s up?”
    “Call it a working vacation.” He skimmed his fingers through his hair and flipped it out of his eyes. “And I wanted to take in a few bullfights after hearing about your adventures in Cádiz. It’s warm here!”
    “That it is.”
    “And the women are gorgeous. Dark hair and eyes and the skirts that swirl when they dance.”
    “I never would have pegged you for a fan of flamenco, Doug.”
    “Is that what you call it?”
    Annja smirked. Of course, the man only had eyes for the women in their swirling skirts. He always saved the technical details for the small research staff the show employed.
    His face moved awkwardly close to the screen as if he were trying to peer through the monitor glass. Not a flattering view of his nostrils, at all. “Where in the world are you, Annja?”
    “Why? I don’t have an assignment for Chasing History’s Monsters I’ve forgotten, do I?”
    “No. Can’t a guy call and check in on his favorite TV host now and then?”
    “Sure, Doug. I hear your other favorite TV host is in the Bahamas filming about Lusca, the half shark, half octopus.”
    “A tiny bikini opportunity, if there ever was one. Why can I never talk you into a bikini for a segment?”
    “That’s Kristie’s job. I’m sure it’s even in her contract. I, on the other hand, prefer to leave something to be desired.”
    She caught Luke’s quirked eyebrow from over the unwrapped skull, and shrugged.
    “But seriously.” Doug’s face filled the screen again, and she never realized how bushy his eyebrows were until now. “What are you up to? On a dig?”
    “Yep. Just toted a skull with a brick in its mouth back to the hotel and I’m going to have a look over it.”
    “A skull. With a brick?” Doug’s eyes widened and his jaw worked furiously at what Annja guessed was a piece of gum. “You mean you dug up one of the chewing dead?” His triumphant fist pump filled the screen. “Yes!”
    “What the—how do you—? Oh,