Janklow’s face had turned so red that Caleb had been certain the old man was going to keel over from a coronary. That was the first and only time that Caleb could ever remember having to separate two patrons of the Rare Books reading room, both of them well into their seventies. It really very nearly had come to blows, and Caleb had snatched up the rare books each had at their tables to prevent them from being used as weapons. He’d admonished them both about proper library etiquette and even threatened to suspend their reading room privileges if they didn’t back the hell off. Janklow looked like he wanted to take a swing at Caleb, but he’d held firm. He could’ve taken the old shriveled man, easy.

Caleb kept looking up from his work to ensure that nothing like that altercation happened again. But Janklow was happily going through his book, his big pencil strolling lazily over the notepaper, only stopping on occasion while he cleaned his thick glasses with a wipe. For her part Jewell English’s face was glued to her book. She looked up, saw him eyeing her, closed her book and motioned him over.

As he sat down next to her, she whispered, “That Beadle I was telling you about?”

“Yes, the number one?”

“I got it. I got it.” She clapped her hands silently.

“Congratulations, that’s wonderful. So it was in good condition?”

“Oh, yes, otherwise I would’ve called you in. I mean, you are an expert.”

“Well,” Caleb said modestly. She took hold of his hand in her gnarled one. The strength of her grip was surprising.

“Would you like to come and see it sometime?”

He tried to delicately extricate himself from her clawlike hand, but she wouldn’t budge. “Oh, um, I’ll have to check my calendar. I tell you what, next time you’re in, give me some dates and I’ll see what I have available.”

She said coquettishly, “Oh, Caleb, I’m always available.” She actually batted her false lashes at him.

“Isn’t that nice?” He again tried to wrench his hand free, but the elderly woman held firm.

“So let’s pick a date right now,” she said sweetly.

In desperation Caleb glanced over at Janklow, who was eyeing them suspiciously. He and Jewell typically fought over Caleb’s time like two wolves over a side of beef. He would have to spend a few minutes with Janklow before he left, to balance things out, or the man would complain about it for weeks. And yet as Caleb stared at the old gentleman, he had a sudden thought.

“Jewell, I bet if you asked him to, Norman would love to see your new Beadle. I’m sure he regrets his previous outburst terribly.”

She immediately released his hand. “I don’t talk shop with Neanderthals,” she said testily. She opened her bag for him to inspect and then stalked out of the room.

A smiling Caleb rubbed his hand and spent some time with Janklow, silently thanking the man for giving him the ability to ditch English. Then he returned to his work.

Yet his mind continued to jump from the mysterious Psalm Book to the dead Jonathan DeHaven to the equally dead Speaker of the House, Bob Bradley, and finally to Cornelius Behan, a rich, adulterous defense contractor who’d apparently murdered his neighbor.

And to think he became a librarian partly because he hated pressure. Maybe he should apply for a job at the CIA, just to catch a little downtime.

Chapter 41

Annabelle had a room service dinner, showered, wrapped herself in a towel and started combing out her hair. As she sat in front of the vanity mirror, she started mulling things over. The fourth day had arrived, and Jerry Bagger was now aware that he was $40 million poorer. She should’ve been at least six thousand miles away from the man, but in fact was barely a short plane hop south. She had never failed to follow the exit plan before, but then again, she’d never had an ex–husband murdered before either.

She was intrigued by Oliver and Milton, though Caleb was a little “special” and Reuben was more than a little amusing with his puppy–dog crush. And Annabelle had to admit she kind of liked hanging around with the odd bunch. Despite having a loner personality, Annabelle had always been part of a team, and a side of her still needed that. It had started with her parents and had continued into adulthood when she began running her own crews. Oliver and the others were filling this need in her life, albeit in a different way. But she still shouldn’t be here.

She stopped combing her hair, slipped off the towel and pulled a long T–shirt on. She crossed to the window and looked out at the busy street below. In the swirl of traffic and fast–walking pedestrians, she mentally retraced what she’d done so far: Impersonated a magazine editor, knowingly aided Oliver in breaking into the Library of Congress, committed a felony by impersonating an FBI agent, and she was now supposed to come up with a way for Caleb to look at the security tapes to try and figure out what had happened to Jonathan. And if Oliver was right, some people who might be even more dangerous than Jerry Bagger could be aligned against them.

She turned back from the window, sat on the bed and started putting lotion on her legs. “This is crazy, Annabelle,” she told herself. “Bagger will move the ends of the earth to kill you, and here you are, not even out of the damn country.” And yet she had promised the others to help them. Actually, she reminded herself, she’d insisted on being part of it. “Should I stick it out and take a chance that Jerry’s radar doesn’t hit D.C.?” she said out loud. Someone had killed Jonathan. And she wanted revenge if for no other reason than she was furious that someone had made the decision to end his life long before it should have been over.

She had a sudden thought and checked her watch. She had no idea what time zone he was in, but she needed to know. She ran to the desk against one corner and snatched up her cell phone. She punched in the numbers and waited impatiently while it rang. She’d given him this number and an international phone so they could keep in contact for a while after the con. If one heard anything about Jerry, he or she was supposed to call the other.

Leo finally answered. “Hey.”

“Hey yourself. I didn’t think you were going to pick up.”

“I was in the pool.”

“In the pool, nice. Where in the pool?”

“The deep end.”

“No, I meant where in the world?”

“No can answer. What if Bagger’s standing right there?”

“I see your point. Heard from anybody else?”

“Not a peep.”

“How about Bagger?”

“No, I took old Jerry off my Rolodex,” he said dryly.

“I meant, have you heard any of the fallout?”

“Just some scuttlebutt. Didn’t want to get too close, you know. You can bet the dude’s homicidal.”

“You know he’ll never stop looking for us as long as he’s breathing.”

“Then let’s pray for a massive heart attack. I don’t want the guy to suffer.” Leo paused and said, “Something I should’ve told you before, Annabelle. Now, don’t get pissed.”

She sat up straighter. “What did you do?”

“I sort of let it slip to Freddy a little about your history.”

She stood. “How much of my history?”

“Your last name, your stuff with Paddy.”

She screamed into the phone, “Are you out of your damn mind?”

“I know, I know, it was stupid. It just came up. I just wanted him to know that you weren’t like your old man. But I didn’t tell Tony. I’m not that dumb.”

“Thanks, Leo, thanks a hell of a lot.”

She clicked off and stood in the middle of the room. Freddy knew her last name and also that her father was Paddy Conroy, Jerry Bagger’s mortal enemy. If Jerry got to him, he’d make Freddy talk. And then the man would come for her, and she could predict her fate with reasonable accuracy. Jerry would feed her into a wood chipper body part by body part.