The Lost Key by Catherine Coulter

connections. We’ll keep a close watch on her.”
    â€œShe also knows who EP is. I don’t think she knows what her father meant when he said ‘The key is in the lock.’ What else does she know that she’s not telling us? The big question is why isn’t she telling us everything she can think of? Her father was murdered. I can’t tell you if Pearce was up to no good, but what I saw on the SD card—I think this is big, Mike, we’re talking government secrets, big-money secrets. We need to pull apart Pearce’s financials, and Sophie’s, too.”
    â€œAnd we need to protect her and her brother, Adam, given what Mr. Olympic threatened. Zachery called to report someone’s been hanging around Ariston’s this morning, as if he’s waiting for the store to open. We need to get up there and check it out.”
    â€œI bet Pearce has another computer at the store. I’d like a chance to see what’s on it. We should take Sophie with us, if nothing else, to keep her safe. Maybe, too, she’ll break down and tell us what else she knows about all this.”

15
    Ariston’s Antiquities and Rare Books
    Second Avenue and East 57th Street
    Noon
    They walked to Ariston’s, only minutes from Mr. Pearce’s apartment, the perfect commute for a Manhattan businessman. Mike assumed the vast majority of Pearce’s life was carried out in the few square blocks between his store and his apartment.
    Nestled between a boutique clothing store and a high-end jewelry shop, Ariston’s was in an older, handsome building, tall and narrow, the brick paled over the decades. The windows were dark, a hand-lettered CLOSED sign draped inside.
    East 57th was busy, people hurrying to lunch, to work, to their lives. Mike had her hand on Sophie’s arm, holding her back. They watched carefully for signs of anyone paying special attention to the store. They saw no one out of place.
    Mike was on her cell with the Facial Recognition guys who’d spotted the man lingering around the store. “Anything?”
    Nicholas glanced over. She shook her head and clicked off. “It’s a guy, young, that’s all they could tell us, that and he seems to have left for now. They’ll call the minute they see him again. We’re clear to go in.”
    Sophie unlocked the front door, opened it slowly, and disarmed the alarm. So this was Ariston’s. It was a comforting smell, Nicholas thought, familiar—it immediately shot him back to his family’s home in England, Old Farrow Hall, and his grandfather’s extensive library of rare books, the smell of old vellum, the warmth from the fireplace.
    Ariston’s was a bibliophile’s dream: floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, some behind glass and many under lock and key. There was row upon row of shelves, all clearly labeled according to genre, sub-labeled according to century.
    There was a small register area up front, and a larger seated space midway back, with two well-worn oversized brown leather chairs edged in nail heads. A gooseneck reading lamp hovered over each chair, and every other inch of space was filled with books.
    Nicholas realized Sophie had stopped just inside the door. He heard her swallowing. He knew this was difficult for her. He couldn’t imagine hearing that his own father was dead, hearing that someone had killed him. He prayed she’d keep it together, maybe even tell them what she knew.
    He watched her square her shoulders and turn on the lights. He heard the pain in her voice when she said, “Dad spent most of his time here in the store. It was his whole world. The entire time I was growing up, he had me in here every spare minute, dusting, curating, answering the phones. When I got old enough, I started handling the orders. We have a worldwide clientele, especially for military titles.”
    Mike ran her fingers along the spines of the shelf nearest her. “How exactly does