Free Library of Gold by Gayle Lynds Page A

want?”
    “It’s a big favor, and I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t vital. I need a copy of the security videos for the museum’s opening tonight. Particularly those that include the people around The Book of Spies .”
    “What?”
    “And I need them now. Right away. I’m walking toward the museum. I wouldn’t ask unless I really did need them.” With luck, they would show Charles chatting with someone she knew. Maybe he or she would have learned something useful.
    There was a long silence. Finally Peggy said, “You want me to ask Zack.” He was the head of security at the museum.
    “He’ll do anything for you. Please phone him.”
    On the other end of the line, a sigh sounded loudly. “I’ll call you back.”
    Eva thanked her, following Theobalds Road, clasping her shoulder satchel to her side. But as she walked, she had a strange feeling. She peered back. A man in a blue peacoat was striding along about thirty feet behind. His face was in shadows. The man who had saved the museum guard from toppling over the staircase had also worn a blue peacoat. She looked again, but he was gone.
    She headed north onto Southampton Row, then west onto Great Russell Street, where she found herself glancing at the cars speeding past. For a few heartbeats a bronze-colored Citroën slowed and paced her; then it rushed off. Uneasily she realized she had noticed it earlier. There was no one in the passenger seat, and she had been unable to see the driver.
    At last the museum was in sight. She turned onto Montague Street, which ran along the massive building’s east side and connected with Montague Place. The street was just a block long, one of the narrow lanes winding through Bloomsbury. There was no traffic, although parked cars lined the sidewalk. She peered back and thought she saw movement beneath the darkness of a tall tree.
    Her cell rang. It was Peggy. Swiftly she asked, “Do you have good news?”
    “Honey, Zack says he can’t have copies made for you. It’s against the rules. I’m so sorry. Come home. It’s real late.”
    Eva closed her eyes, disappointed. “Thanks for trying. I’m sorry I disturbed you. I hope you can get back to sleep quickly.” She touched the Off button.
    Trying to decide what to do next, she was heading across the street when she heard the noise of a car’s engine and felt the pavement vibrate beneath her feet. She peered left. The vehicle was rushing toward her, headlights off. Terror shot through her. She accelerated, but the car angled, keeping her targeted.
    Ahead was the towering iron fence that surrounded the museum. Dropping her umbrella, she slapped the strap of her satchel across her chest and sprinted. With a silent prayer, she leaped high in a tobi-geri jump. Her hands closed around two wet rails, and her feet found two more for a precarious foothold.
    Then she looked again. The car was a bronze-colored Citroën like the one that had paced her on Great Russell Street. But who—? She stared into the windshield. Charles? Oh dear God, it was Charles. His thick features looked frozen, his gaze vacant, but emotion showed in his hands. They were knotted around the steering wheel as if it were a noose.
    With an abrupt movement, the Citroën jumped the curb and slammed along the fence. Sparks flew. The noise of the hurtling car, of metal screeching against metal, seemed to explode inside her head. She scrambled higher. The rough iron rails shook in her hands. As she fought to hold on, the Citroën blasted past beneath, enveloping her in a stench of exhaust.
    As it careened off on the rain-slicked street, she released her hold on the fence and dropped to the ground, trying to absorb the fact that Charles had just tried to kill her. Filled with horror, she sprinted, her muscles pulsing as she pumped harder and harder, Charles’s cold face burned into her mind.

10
    By eleven o’clock the British Museum was a dark fortress, massive and seemingly impenetrable. Surrounded by a great iron