Free Acquainted With the Night (9781101546000) by Piper Maitland

anything involving multiple alphabets. In his haste, he would have left simple anagrams. And vumv was the saddest clue of all: He’d written it—to her—while he lay dying.
    She carried the passport to the desk, opened a drawer, and grabbed a pen. Then she decoded A Gee Creme Mock , transposing the letters on her wrist. When she and Uncle Nigel had played word games, he’d insisted that she write the solutions on her arm or leg because a good cryptographer wouldn’t leave a trail for the enemy. “If you lose your paper,” he used to say, “then you’ve lost control of your secrets.”
    The tip of the pen dented her flesh as she wrote Rock Meg Meece . That didn’t make sense. She moved a little higher on her arm and wrote Cockermeg . But E , E , and M were left over. No, that wouldn’t work, either.
    The ceiling shook, followed by a thud, and the Russians began to shriek. A door slammed, and her concentration snapped. She leaned over the passport and struggled to find her place, but she couldn’t focus. Then she remembered that Uncle Nigel sometimes added a twist, transposing a phrase from each line. She ran her finger under A Gee Creme Mock and moved down to the next line, Ion N Tore. Her heart sped up when she exchanged Mock and Tore .
    A Gee Creme Tore.
    Yes, this felt right. She opened her hand and in tiny letters wrote Ergometer on her palm. But what to do with the leftover C , A , and two E s?
    From the hallway, she heard a rattling sound. The nighttime housekeeper, no doubt, wanting to pull back the sheets and leave a chocolate. Or maybe the Russians had stumbled downstairs, bringing their argument into the public domain.
    Caro fought the urge to look through the peephole and squinted at A Gee Creme Tore until her vision blurred. The letters seemed to dodge and push each other as they formed a coherent arrangement. Meteora, Greece.

CHAPTER 10
    Georgi Ivanov ran across the hotel parking lot, climbed into his brown Dacia, and hunched down in the seat. He’d been so close to the girl. So close he could smell her musk. But that bigwig from the Interior Ministry was guarding her. She’d recognized Georgi, too, and she had alerted the bigwig. Thanks to Teo’s misbehavior at the airport, their faces would be familiar to many.
    The hotel’s doors swung open and three policemen walked out of the lobby. Georgi scooted lower in his seat. His mobile phone buzzed and spun around on the console. He picked it up. “Yes?”
    â€œIt is me,” Teo said. “I am still in the Sofia jail. But they will release me soon. Can you pick me up?”
    â€œMe, me, me. That is your problem, Teo. You suffer from me-ness.” Georgi saw a flash of movement by the black doors. They opened again, and the ministry official stepped onto the sidewalk.
    â€œI followed your instructions, and now I am caught,” Teo said.
    â€œI will call back.”
    â€œWait, no—”
    Georgi threw down the mobile and leaned toward the windshield. The policemen climbed into a white Opel Astra. The back tires kicked up snow as they drove out of the lot. Georgi pulled a wrinkled fax from the glove compartment. Caroline Clifford’s image stared back at him. His fingernail scraped over the paper as he traced her pewter eyes, following the slight tilt at the edges. Nice.
    He grabbed his mobile and punched in the numbers for Hotel Ustra. When the clerk answered, Georgi asked her to ring Clifford’s room. The woman rudely demanded to know who was calling. Georgi slapped his mobile shut. “ Лайно ,” he said. Shit. He had time. He had more time than they knew.
    He lifted his arm and sniffed his floral shirt. The fabric reeked of its previous owner. Time for a new outfit. Something with a hood or a designer label. He was in the perfect place to shop. He watched the black doors, hoping a tall, lean man would emerge. A woman darted out and rushed down