Destiny

Avery grew afraid for the woman. He knew the kind of men who followed her. Lesauvage maintained two kinds of businesses. The two men on the woman's trail were of the dangerous kind.

Squeezing his eyes shut, willing himself not to cry, Avery thought of his father. Surely his father was cold in his grave now. The funeral had been two – no, three – weeks ago. He'd lost all sense of time. It was June now.

Pressing tight against the wall, Avery waited. He concentrated on the fact that what he was doing would help him get revenge for his father's murder. The policeman who had killed Gerard Moreau would not bask in his glory much longer. He would freeze in a grave during winter. Avery had sworn that.

A cell phone chirped down the alley. It was her phone. He breathed a sigh of relief to know she was still there. He'd been worried she'd figured out he'd led the men to her. More than anything, he couldn't fail Lesauvage.

Then a gunshot shattered the quiet locked in the narrow alley.

Okay, A

The two men whirled to look up at her. Both of them held pistols and looked ready to use them.

With the tent pole in both hands, A

One of the men fired, and the bullet tore through the space she would have occupied if she'd thrown herself directly at them. The steel-jacketed round fragmented against the stone wall and left a white scar.

A

"No shooting!" one of the men bellowed.

With her feet spread apart, knees bent to remain low, A

Moving quickly to her left, using the stumbling man as a barrier to prevent his companion from aiming at her, A

She wasn't by nature a violent person, but she immediately resented anyone who tried to take advantage of or intimidate her. That was one of the reasons she'd taken every martial-arts class she could in New Orleans as she'd grown up.

Plus, Sister Mary A

A

Her phone rang again, sounding inordinately loud in the alley even after the thunderous peal of the gunshot. She wondered if anyone had called the police.

She stepped forward, her mind working rapidly as it always did. She wasn't scared. During her experiences as an archaeologist working in countries far from home, she'd encountered a number of potentially threatening situations caused by weather, ancient traps, geology and men.

Being scared wouldn't help anything.

Striding forward, her left hand over the top of the stick and her right hand under it, A

The stick slammed against the man's forearm. Something cracked. He released his pistol and screamed. A

Whirling, knowing the first man she'd attacked was regaining his balance, A

Unbelievably, he brought his pistol up and squeezed the trigger. Two shots ricocheted from the wall behind A

Dodging again to the left, A

Staying on the attack, A

Even then, doubtless blossoming with pain, he tried to face her. A

The other man reached for his dropped pistol.

A

Over the past few years, she'd learned how to use pistols, but she didn't want to touch either of theirs. There was no telling how many crimes were attached to them, and she didn't want to confuse the issue with her fingerprints in case they were all taken into custody.

Before the man could get up again, A

The man grabbed the stick in both hands and wrenched it away. She kicked him in the face with her hiking boot. The black La Sportiva with Gore-Tex lining had plenty of tread. For hiking slippery slopes and kicking butt, A

The tread ripped at the man's face, opening a cut over his right eye. A

"Do that again," A

The man held his hands up beside his head in surrender. Blood trickled into his eye, forcing him to squint.

Holding the stick in place, A

"Who are you?" A

The man growled a curse at her.

A

"Bad mistake," she said.

A siren wailed in the distance, growing closer.

A

She tapped the man hard on the back of the head with the pole. "Don't let me see you again."

The man cursed at her again, but he remained on the ground.

A

This wasn't supposed to happen. She was in Lozère hunting an old monster story. According to plan, she'd be in and out with a few details that would satisfy the young crowd who watched Chasing History's Monsters, and a paycheck would soon – she hoped – follow.

Was this a mugging? She wondered. Maybe the two men had heard about her or simply were intrigued enough about the backpack to come after her.

But she got the feeling something more was going on. She just didn't know what.

Get out of town, she told herself. Get to the mountains and see if you can find enough to do the story. Once you finish, you can get back to Brooklyn and edit it, get paid and maybe get to North Africa for Poulson's dig.

Poulson's dig site was interesting to her. The team was looking for one of Ha