The Lost Key by Catherine Coulter Page B

know what you’re talking about. My dad was into books, that’s it. That satellite specs on his computer? Perhaps someone who admired my father thought he’d enjoy seeing it.”
    Nicholas showed her a photograph of Mr. Olympic that he had saved on his mobile. “Have you ever met this man before?”
    She looked at it closely. It was obvious the man was dead. His eyes were slitted open, his face a dusky blue. “He’s dead, isn’t he?”
    â€œYes,” Drummond said. “Do you know him?”
    She slowly shook her head, swallowed bile. “No. I’ve never seen him before.” She watched him change the photo and quickly stepped back, her hands up. “Please don’t tell me you have a photo of my father on your phone. I don’t want to see it. I don’t want to see him like that.” Her voice ended in a yell, and Nicholas put a hand on her arm to steady her.
    She gathered herself, took a deep breath. “That dead man, he killed my father?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œAnd now he’s dead, too. Good. Thank you.”
    Mike lightly touched Sophie’s arm, her voice low and calm. “Sophie, let me ask you again. Can you tell us why your father, as he was dying, said to his murderer, ‘The key is the lock’? What does it mean, Sophie?”
    She was back in control. She shook her head. “I have no idea.”
    Mike said, “Sophie, don’t you think it’s time for you to level withus? You know your father’s murder wasn’t a random mugging. You need to tell us everything you know.”
    â€œI have told you all I know. I don’t feel well. Can we continue this conversation later? I want to go home.”
    There was a bump above, and they all froze.

16
    N icholas put a finger across his lips. “Sophie, did you lock the door when we came in?”
    Sophie nodded. She was staring upward, her eyes fixed.
    Heavy steps now, clumping on the hardwood, moving toward the back of the store.
    Both Nicholas and Mike moved in front of Sophie, their Glocks at the ready. Mike whispered, “They were supposed to call me if they saw anything. Something’s wrong.”
    Sophie now looked frightened, even paler in the odd reddish light. “There’s no cell service down here.”
    Nicholas jerked his head at Mike, then started slowly up the stairs.
    Mike whispered to Sophie, “Stay here,” she followed Nicholas.
    When they reached the top, Nicholas used the reflection of his mobile’s screen to see if anyone had come into the back office. It was empty, the door still closed. They eased their way out of the staircase.
    Nicholas held his Glock against his leg. There would be no more surprises, like this morning’s debacle.
    When they reached the door, he mouthed a
one, two,
three
to Mike, and they went into the bookstore, Nicholas high, Mike low, perfectly coordinated, as if they’d been doing this together for years.
    No one was there.
    They went silent, walked slowly through the stacks toward the front of the store, guns up, clearing each stack as they went. Nicholas saw the front door. It was closed, but the hand-lettered OPEN/CLOSED sign was twisted halfway between the two.
    Three stacks to go now, two, one, and Nicholas stepped around the last bookshelf to see a young man, a kid, maybe, no more than early twenties, blond and brown, sitting at the front reception desk, his hand literally in the till.
    Nicholas said, “FBI. Stop what you’re doing and show me your hands.”
    The kid saw the guns aimed at him and froze. He raised his hands slowly, his face a blank mask, his eyes on Nicholas, a twenty-dollar bill still clutched in his right fist.
    â€œDon’t you move an inch. Who are you?”
    The kid merely shook his head. When Mike moved to get behind him, he exploded from the chair, leapt over the counter, and headed toward the door.
    A bad move, that. Nicholas was ready for him. He