Read Online Maria Hudgins - Lacy Glass 02 - The Man on the Istanbul Train by Maria Hudgins - Free Book Online Page A

And how did she know if they were all students? Workers sounded like “hired hands,” which didn’t exactly fit, either. Oh well, she’d ask Paul later.
    “Lacy’s right.” Paul slipped his hand from beneath Sierra’s and picked up his canned drink. “We’ve told them nothing but we need to. Bob? You or me? Time for a meeting?”
    “I’ll do it.” Mueller got up and headed toward the clearing at the edge of the excavated area.
    “I don’t know what we were thinking,” Paul said. “All wrapped up in our own thoughts, I guess.”
    “And not thinking too clearly, either,” Sierra glanced at Paul’s hand, still wrapped around his Coke can. Her gaze flicked quickly to Lacy, then away. “After all, neither of us got much sleep last night.”
    Oh, God. The remark caught Lacy by surprise. Her heart felt as if it might pop up through her throat. Sierra’s message: Back off. He’s mine. Lacy felt a flush rise to her cheeks but she ventured a look at Paul anyway. His face looked like her own felt. She decided one thing then and there. Paul may be with Sierra or not. He may have the interest in me that I thought he had, or he may not. But one thing’s for damn sure. He’s not going to have both of us. If he’s with Sierra, I’ll look at his pottery and then I’m out of here!
    * * *
    The picnic tables emptied and all the dig participants followed their leaders back to the work area, some sitting on the edges of excavated spots, some on the grass. Bob Mueller raised one arm for their attention and relayed the news Henry had brought back from the hospital. They had questions. “What about our funding?” “Did he have a family?” “Did it look like there’d been a struggle?” “If our funding is cut off, when do we leave?” “Will we still get our twelve hours’ credit?”
    A deep voice said, “What about our pay? We’re not all volunteers, you know.” This question came from a thick-chested man with a large camera around his neck and a ball cap that read, “NBC News.”
    Paul joined Lacy, standing at the back of the group. He leaned over and whispered, “That’s Todd, our photographer.” His breath on her neck felt like a caress.

Chapter Six
    Lacy took in the whole scene standing a few yards back from the excavation, which was again busy with well-fed workers.  What a change. Less than twenty-four hours ago she’d been in Istanbul, and the day before that her plan had been to wrap up her summer’s work and fly back to Virginia. Back to Wythe University and her apartment and into the groove she had worn in the pavement between the two. Every day. Drive to work, unlock office, organize notes, deliver lectures, collect papers, drive home, microwave frozen dinner, read papers, read papers, read papers. The prospect of this summer in Turkey had kept her sane through the monotony of the school year never dreaming she’d wind up on an archaeological dig with Paul Hannah. Or that she’d see a man killed on a train. Or that she’d be standing here now, trying to calm the troubled waters of her mind and deal sensibly with the fact that two men named Max Sebring had died in central Turkey at virtually the same time. Correction: One man she’d been told was Max Sebring and another with a trench coat bearing his name.
    She looked at Paul, his wide-brim canvas hat shading his face, standing in a trench on the north side of the excavation where, he’d told her, the Neolithic level was laid bare. Sierra was nowhere in sight, for the moment at least. The photographer stood at the top of the hill Mueller and Lacy had climbed earlier. He appeared to be shooting a video of the river valley to the south. Lacy wondered why video was necessary given the fact that nothing in camera range would be moving. It seemed to her as if a simple photo or two would better serve to record the scene. The man flipped his camcorder screen closed and started down the hill, then turned and looked back again, as though expecting