Acquainted With the Night (9781101546000) by Piper Maitland Page B

a plaque, roughly the size of a hardback book, but the top portion was curved. A buzzing filled his ears. His heart vaulted inside his chest, leaping painfully against tissue and bones. This was a Greek Orthodox icon—his icon. He’d thought it was lost forever and yet here it was, hanging on an idiot girl’s wall, exposed to environmental insults.
    Moose stood, and the air cast squeaked. “Am I fired or not?”
    â€œI haven’t decided.” Wilkerson looked away. “Come back in a few days and we’ll talk.”
    â€œNo tricks?” Moose’s forehead wrinkled. “No Zubas?”
    â€œI thought you weren’t afraid.”
    â€œI’m not, but I don’t want trouble.” Moose slung the bag over his shoulder.
    The door opened, and Yok-Seng charged into the room. He lunged toward Moose, but Wilkerson pushed between them. “Moose was just leaving.”
    The Cambodian gave a short nod and stepped against the wall.
    â€œHe’s a man of few words, isn’t he?” Moose laughed.
    â€œYok-Seng doesn’t need a vocabulary.” Wilkerson paused. “Mind if I keep these snaps?”
    It wasn’t really a question, but Moose pursed his lips, as if giving the matter deep thought. Then he shrugged. “Sure, why the hell not?”
    After he left, Wilkerson rummaged in his desk drawer for a magnifying glass and held it over the small photograph. A red-robed figure materialized, a woman holding an ostrich egg in one hand, a book with gilt pages in the other. Wilkerson reached across his desk and buzzed his secretary.
    â€œGet Mr. Underwood,” he said.

CHAPTER 14
    HOTEL USTRA
KARDZHALI, BULGARIA
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    Caro stepped out of the bathroom, pressing a damp cloth to her face. She’d lost her lunch and didn’t think she’d ever eat again. Two murders in two days and both victims had bled to death; yet the deaths had occurred in separate parts of the world. They couldn’t be related. Or could they?
    The night she’d been informed of her uncle’s death, a prankster had kept calling the Bow Street flat. Maybe he’d been outside watching. And waiting. Jude had been on Bow Street that night. He knew her telephone number because her uncle had given it to him. How much time had elapsed between the time he’d approached her on the sidewalk and when he’d shown up at the airport? An hour maybe? Was that long enough to kill Phoebe and dash off to Heathrow?
    Yes. No. His clothes would have been disheveled and bloody, right? But they were clean. She set down the washrag. Think, Clifford. Concentrate. The murders had to be related.
    Maybe Phoebe’s killer had killed the wrong girl.
    Adrenaline spiked through Caro’s veins. She felt an urgent need to leave the hotel and make her way to the embassy in Sofia. Her hands shook as she scooped up her clothes, her uncle’s pens, the rabbit’s-foot keychain, and the tiny flashlight. She stuffed everything into her bag and ran to the lobby.
    The clerk with the hoop earrings stood behind the desk, but Caro didn’t take the time to settle her bill, just hurried outside and looked for a taxi. Clouds swabbed over the hills, blending into the scrubwater sky. Everything was damp and gray, reminding her of London, the winter days and nights forming a drab continuum.
    Two men in red jogging suits walked toward her, ones she’d seen in the hotel. They wore wraparound sunglasses that reflected trees and buildings. Chalky, white cream covered their faces. Why were they wearing Kabuki makeup?
    The tall man lifted one hand. “Miss Clee-ford!”
    She’d seen him last night, in the bar. And the stumpy fellow had tried to steal her bag in Sofia. Her heart slammed against her ribs, and her mouth went dry. Run, run, run. She sucked in a mouthful of cold air, then sprinted in the opposite direction. She stopped at the first taxi she saw and climbed into the backseat, dragging