Rogue Angel 47: River of Nightmares Read Online Free Page B

it the look of a Mississippi riverboat, and the roof served as a viewing area, complete with safety rail and padded benches.
    “We each have our own cabin,” Wallace said, beaming. Annja remembered him grumbling about the shared sleeping quarters in the dining room of their original charter. “Air conditioned, private bathrooms with showers. And there’s a big dining room, and off of it a library.”
    “A library?” Annja did the math. The boat had at least six private cabins for guests, because counting herself, there was six in the film crew. Wallace; Ned; a second videographer—Marsha Carr; logistics—Ken McCullough; and sound—Amanda Hill.
    “Six cabins,” she said.
    “Yeah, six exactly. Worked out perfect. The captain, well, I’ll intro—”
    They were outside Annja’s cabin. “I suppose there’s a laundry, too.”
    “A small one. Well, one of those stacking washer-dryers. It’s next to the dining room. I doubt your ‘dependable’ boat had a laundry.”
    “I’d never inquired.” Annja was adept at doing her laundry in a bathroom sink, or at the edge of a river.
    “Well, um—” Wallace seemed as if he wanted to say something else, but stopped and screwed his face into an expression that looked comical.
    “I’m going to change.” And take a shower, Annja thought. The race through the downtown to retrieve Ned’s satchel had made her sweaty; she didn’t like the smell of herself. “How about we meet in the dining room in about an hour? Can you arrange for something? There’s grub on board, right?”
    “Actually, there’s a cook. A late lunch and go over our schedule? Sure.” Wallace nodded. “I’ll tell the captain we’re good to go. We can shove off? Ask the cook to fix us something.”
    “Fine.” Annja closed the door, stripped and discovered the shower didn’t have a lot of water pressure, but the heat felt good running over her back. She’d managed to squeeze a half-dozen changes of “camera suitable” clothes, hiking boots, tennis shoes, a rain poncho, insect repellent and an overlarge sleep shirt in her duffel—along with her laptop and a spare battery. She’d been warned regarding the “dependable boat” that internet reception would be spotty at best, but she suspected that Orellana’s Prize had some sort of Wi-Fi. She sat the laptop on the nightstand and hung up the clothes, figuring the dampness from the river would take any wrinkles out of them. She hadn’t counted on the luxury of a closet. She selected a pair of jeans and a long-sleeve shirt and decided a washer-dryer on board was probably a good thing so she wouldn’t be washing things out by hand. A little luxury would be helpful after all.
    Her satellite phone rang; she figured Doug wanted to make sure they were underway.
    “Roux?” Two calls in one day. “What’s going on?”
    There was a pause on the other end.
    “Roux—”
    “I was thinking of you.”
    “Yeah, that’s what you said when you called this morning.”
    “And everything is still fine?”
    “Sure.” Annja talked while she dressed, shifting the phone from one hand to the other as she wriggled into the jeans. “Other than this boat being a little too lavish, and me being too accepting. My jog through the downtown resulted in my getting a private bath with a shower and a closet. I wasn’t here to pick a different boat.”
    “A different boat?”
    “Never mind. You don’t know what I’m talking about. What’s this about, Roux? What’s going on?”
    “Probably nothing.”
    “Probably?” She stopped dead. “Still in Rouen?”
    “Still France,” he said.
    “That’s where this boat was made.”
    “Pardon?”
    “The boat I’m on, named for a drowned man, Orellana’s Prize. Made in France about a hundred and forty years ago. It even has a washer and dryer.”
    Annja paused, waiting for him to continue talking. The back of her neck tingled, something was amiss. She slipped on the shirt and buttoned the sleeves at her