The Florentine Cypher: Kate Benedict Paranormal Mystery #3 (The Kate Benedict Series) Read Online Free PDF Page A

without mentioning the aura? If I tried to explain, he’d probably hustle me out of his office and tear up the missing person report. Most normal people reacted that way, and I couldn’t blame them.
    “Do you have Dr. Hamilton’s phone number?”
    “Of course.” I gave it to him, and he jotted it down. Then he handed me a business card.
    “If you hear from him, please ring this number— it’s my direct phone line.”
    “But…” I stopped, realizing there was no point in arguing.
    Lake tapped his pen on the desk, his lips pursed. Finally, he lined up his pen parallel to the writing pad in front of him.
    “I appreciate your concern, Miss Benedict. It’s clear that you are genuinely worried. Be assured I will file the report. But I think you’ll find that Dr. Hamilton will turn up very soon. And he’ll probably be embarrassed that he missed your dinner date.”
    He stood up, making it clear that it was time for me to leave, and stuck out his hand to shake mine. “Try not to worry,” he said. “Call me on that number.”
    “But you’ll check out his apartment? Make sure the landlady is all right?”
    “Yes.”
    I put the book back in my bag and buttoned my coat before heading to the exit, where I paused on the steps before stepping outside. The wind had picked up, driving rain horizontally along the street. Although I was wearing boots with heels and clothes more suited to sitting in an office than hiking the streets of London, I trudged to the nearest Tube station with the determination of Scott tackling the Antarctic. Scraps of paper blew along the street, one piece wrapping itself around my leg. I peeled it away and kept moving. I was wet and cold and couldn’t wait to get home. My phone was dead, but I held it in my hand, tucked deep into my coat pocket, its silence mirrored by the empty streets. It was as though the apocalypse had struck and I was the only human left alive.
    The bright lights of the Tube station in the distance shone like a beacon, drawing me in. I rushed inside, glad of the respite from the rain. Although the escalators down to the platforms seemed longer and slower than usual, a train pulled in just as I reached the platform, and I took a seat in the overheated carriage as the doors hissed closed.
    The adrenaline wave that had carried me through the last couple of hours began to fade and suddenly I felt exhausted. I peeked at the book inside my bag, reaching in to touch the leather cover. Although I knew it was the motion of the train, I was sure I felt the tome trembling under my fingers.

CHAPTER FOUR
    The strange book and Ethan’s bizarre behavior made me jumpy and tense for the rest of the journey. I was happy to unlock the front door of my building and step into the small entry hall, reassured to hear the sound of a television floating from my neighbor’s ground floor apartment. I almost ran up the three flights of stairs, anxious to reach the refuge of home. Inside, I went around turning on every light and lamp, gradually calming down in the familiar warmth of my own space. I loved my flat, with its olive green walls and cream sofas, its sleek, modern kitchen and long views over slate roofs.
    After turning on the kettle, I took a mug from the cabinet. In times of crisis, we Brits turn to the nation’s favorite beverage; a nice cup of tea is the universal antidote to whatever it is that ails us. But now I changed my mind. I needed wine, not tea. I poured myself a glass of Pinot Grigio and took a gulp before plugging my phone into its charger.
    As soon as that was done, I carefully pulled the book from my shoulder bag and set it down on the counter. Under the glow of the kitchen’s halogen lights, the cover of the book shone like burnished metal. I sat down and ran my fingers over the smooth, brown hide. The spine was two inches thick and decorated with four raised bands. On the front, the title,
Della Pittura,
was embossed in gold leaf, which had flaked off in places, leaving