Free Acquainted With the Night (9781101546000) by Piper Maitland Page A

the sidewalk, her bleached blond hair spilling down the front of her white jacket. Very nice. But she wasn’t the Clifford girl.
    Georgi licked his lips as the woman moved down the sidewalk. From the rear, she looked even better, her tight black pants showing the flexion of her perky buttocks and slender thighs.
    He got out of the car and vaulted over the slick pavement, landing on a rock-lined path. He lifted a large, jagged stone and slipped it into his pocket. His long legs cut through the air like scissors as he ran over to the woman.
    â€œDobar wecher,” he said, drawing his lips into a grin. “Do you speak Bulgarian?”
    â€œA little,” she replied. “I’m from Moscow.”
    â€œYou need taxi?” He gestured in the Dacia’s direction.
    â€œI need time alone.” She flashed him a discourteous look and headed down the sidewalk. Georgi glanced around. No one was out. It was too cold. But not too cold for him. He pulled the rock from his pocket and slammed it against her head. Her knees buckled, but he caught her before she fell. He slipped his hand around her waist, pulling her firmly against his chest. She moaned, and her head lolled against his shoulder.
    He stepped off the sidewalk, holding her upright, and started toward the lot. Her long legs stretched behind her and her boots dug two trenches through the snow. When he saw the Dacia, he slipped his free hand into his pocket and clicked the remote trunk release. The lid creaked open, dislodging a chunk of snow to the ground. He swung around to the rear and dumped the girl in the trunk. Her jacket gaped open, and her breasts spilled out of a leopard-print blouse. She stirred a little, flinging a hand over her face.
    â€œSoon,” he told her, and slammed the trunk. Her muffled screams rose up as he drove off. On his way out of town, he saw shapes following the car. The wild dogs had caught the scent of blood and death. But they would not feast tonight. He pressed his foot a little harder against the gas pedal, and then he turned up the radio and hummed along with the children’s choir as they sang “I Want to Go to Heaven.”

CHAPTER 11
    Caro sat cross-legged in the wooden chair and flipped pages in Uncle Nigel’s passport. She couldn’t assume he’d been lucid while he’d written these anagrams. What did Meteora, Greece mean? Was he directing her somewhere or warning her to stay away? Why name a specific place? Why hadn’t he named his murderer?
    She stopped on page sixteen and examined a faint red mark. It was an immigration stamp. She flipped another page. No blood. No more anagrams.
    Caro squinted at the second phrase, Ion N Tore , and transposed the words into Ion N Mock , just as Uncle Nigel had taught her. Nick Moon? Coin Monk? Monk Icon?
    Definitely the last one. Monk Icon. The clifftop monasteries were in Meteora, Greece. The churches were filled with Byzantine relics, including icons. When she was a tiny girl, she’d visited the area with Uncle Nigel, but she couldn’t remember anything except red-tiled buildings that sat atop huge boulders. Now, he was sending her back to look for a monk and an icon. He’d known she would bring hers, so this wasn’t a wild quest. He’d left directions. She was to travel to Meteora, Greece, locate a monk, and show him her icon. But her uncle hadn’t indicated which monastery she should visit, nor had he named the monk.
    She pressed her tongue against her upper lip and started to decode the next set of clues, but her doorknob rattled.
    â€œMiss Clifford?” a British voice called. “It’s Jude.”
    â€œJust a moment.” She shoved the passport and pen into the desk drawer. Then she hurried to the bed, scooped up her uncle’s belongings, and fitted them into the backpack. On her way to the door, she darted into the bathroom and scrubbed the ink off her arm.
    â€œComing!” she called and leaned