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

“We meet under sad circumstances.”
    He turned toward the windows, where club chairs and glass tables were grouped into conversation pits. Behind them, snowflakes hit the glass and instantly melted. Caro hadn’t realized how tired she was until she sat down and tucked one leg beneath her hips.
    â€œWould you like wine? Have you tasted our Mavrud?” Velikov draped his overcoat on the back of his chair, then sat down. “It is a spicy red.”
    â€œI’ve sampled your national drink. Some type of fruit brandy?”
    â€œRakia.” He smiled and wrinkles fanned out from his eyes. “I think you will prefer Mavrud.”
    A waiter set napkins on the glass table and took their drink orders. After he left, Velikov set the backpack on the table. “Your uncle’s personal items,” he said.
    Caro leaned forward to examine the bag. It looked new. When had Uncle Nigel bought it? He’d hated shopping alone. Before she’d taken up tour guiding, she’d always helped him select his jackets and trousers. She placed her hand on the zipper and wondered if she had the nerve to open it. Not just yet. She folded her hands and leaned back in the chair.
    Velikov tilted his head and swallowed. “Miss Clifford, I have difficult questions.”
    He paused as the waiter set down their wineglasses. “I did not know if you wanted your uncle’s remains cremated or returned to England. If you prefer cremation, it is offered in Sofia. Otherwise, I will arrange a casket and a flight. It will take a week to do paperwork on both.”
    â€œNo cremation.” She reached for her napkin and dabbed at her eyes. “I’m so sorry.”
    â€œPlease, do not apologize for your grief,” Velikov said.
    She lifted her glass, hoping the alcohol would help her relax, and took a long swallow. Over the rim she saw a tall, gangly man step into the bar. He had thick black hair and wore a black dinner jacket over a red floral Hawaiian shirt and jeans. Wait, she’d seen him at the airport with the purse snatcher. He sat down in one of the chairs and crossed his bony legs.
    Velikov turned sideways in his chair. He glanced at the man and swiveled back to Caro. “Is he bothering you?”
    â€œI saw him today at the Sofia airport. He was with a man who tried to steal my bag.”
    Velikov’s eyes cut to her plaid duffel, but he made no comment.
    â€œNow this creep is in Kardzhali.” She leaned forward. “At the Hotel Ustra. Don’t you find that a little strange?”
    â€œYou think he followed you?” Velikov asked in a conspiratorial tone.
    Caro’s hands began to shake, and her heart sped up. She nodded. Then she remembered that in Bulgaria a nod means no and a head shake means yes. She shook her head.
    Velikov turned around to stare, but the man in the Hawaiian shirt wasn’t looking at her. Now the ministry official would think she was a kook. Uncle Nigel had sheltered her to an extreme, and she’d grown into a cautious woman—okay, paranoid. But he’d also taught her to view the world through an archaeologist’s eyes, paying attention to details.
    â€œHe does not look familiar.” Velikov’s eyes narrowed, and then he turned back to Caro. “But I know his type, and it is not good.”
    â€œI’ll say.”
    â€œHe will not harm you.” Velikov patted Caro’s hand. “I will make certain of it.”
    Caro looked past Velikov. The chair was empty. She looked around for the man. When had he left? He wasn’t at the bar, either. “Where did he go?” she asked.
    Velikov frowned. “Most odd. I will have my men check the hotel. Also, I will alert the front desk. I will tell them to screen your calls and not to reveal your room number.”
    â€œThanks.” She took another sip of wine. “I’m not normally this nervous.”
    Liar , she thought.
    â€œYour fear is