Destiny

1
Loz're, France Present Day

She was being followed.

Annja Creed knew that from experience. She'd been followed before. Stalked, actually. On two occasions-once in Venice and once outside Berlin-the experience had ended in violence.

"Wait," Annja told her young guide.

Avery Moreau, seventeen years old and French, his hair a thick black shock and his demeanor sulky, stopped. Thin and lanky, dressed in his American jeans, red pullover and gray Nike hoodie, he didn't look as if he'd be particularly helpful in a physical encounter.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"I want to look at this." Annja stood in front of the shop window and gazed with interest.

The young man glanced at the window, then back at her. "You're thinking about going fishing?"

For the first time, Annja took her attention from the reflection of the two men following her and really looked at the shop window. Pierre's Rods And Flies was written in French.

It was funnier, Annja supposed, in English. Kind of an unintentional double entendre. But it was a bad cover to stop and check out the guys following her.

"In case I stay up on the mountain," Annja said.

"You're going to stay in the mountains?"

Actually, Annja wasn't planning on that. She had a day hike in mind. But she was getting a later start than she'd have liked. Finding provisions and supplies in Loz're was proving more difficult than she had expected.

"I'm not planning to," Annja replied, "but I've learned to be ready for anything."

The two men following her were in their early twenties, no more than two or three years younger than she was. They looked like hard guys off the street, dressed in leather jackets and jeans. Attitude rolled off them in waves. An old woman carrying a bag of groceries crossed the street to avoid them.

They weren't, Annja decided, the kind of guys who normally hung out in a small tourist town like Loz're. Metropolitan arenas seemed to be their more likely hunting grounds. They looked like the kind of men a single woman in a strange place would do better to avoid.

She wasn't afraid, though. At five feet ten inches, athletic and full-figured, and in shape from running, climbing, and martial arts, she knew she could take care of herself. Her chestnut-colored hair was tied back. Wraparound sunglasses hid her amber-green eyes.

However, she was worried about the young man with her. Avery Moreau didn't look as if he'd had to fight thieves in his short lifetime.

What are you doing here? Annja wondered. Why would anyone be following me?

"What will you do with fishing gear?" Avery asked.

"If I get trapped in the mountains," Annja explained, "by a storm or by bears" She looked at him. "You did say there were bears, didn't you?"

He shook his head. "Wolves. I said there were wolves."

Annja nodded. "Right. Wolves, then."