Library of Gold by Gayle Lynds

elevator, he stepped inside and punched the button for the eighth floor. The elevator rose with maddening slowness. As soon as the doors opened he ran along the hall, jammed his electronic key into the lock, and marched into the deluxe room. The window drapes were closed against prying eyes, and a hot pot of coffee was waiting on the low table in front of two upholstered chairs. There was no sign of Preston.
    “Hello, darling.” Sitting on the end of the king-size bed, Robin Miller clicked off the television. “I’m glad you’re back. Are you okay?”
    A moment of happiness flowed through him. “I’m fine.” He peeled off his wet raincoat.
    “Is she dead?”
    Thick ash-blond hair wreathed Robin’s face and draped in thick bangs down to her green eyes. Her mouth was lush and round, and her skin glowed with a ruddy tan. She was thirty-five years old. On the director’s orders, all staff members had plastic surgery before they could go to work at the library. He had seen photographs of Robin from those days, and she was even more beautiful now.
    “There were complications.” He shook his head with disgust. “Eva got away.”
    She stared worriedly. “Are you going to tell the director she recognized you?”
    He fell into a reading chair and poured a cup of steaming coffee. “It’s safer for me to take care of the problem myself.” He added sugar, then cream until the color turned to that of café au lait. He wished he had some good Irish whiskey to add.
    “But what will you do?”
    “I have to kill her.” He heard the determination in his voice. He had come this far, and he had no choice. From the moment he had accepted the job of chief librarian at the Library of Gold, his lot was cast. He remembered the sense of destiny fulfilled. He had faced reality, banished any regrets, and thrown himself into his exciting new life.
    “Maybe you should ask Preston for help.”
    He gave an abrupt shake of his head. “He’ll tell the director.”
    They were silent, acknowledging the threat of it. He saw her hands were turning white from gripping the edge of the bed. He went to her and pulled her close. She laid her head on his shoulder. Her warmth flowed into him.
    “I’m frightened,” she whispered.
    Robin was a strong woman. Until now she had not admitted being afraid. Because she had not told the director instantly, she could be in as much trouble as he.
    “This is all Eva’s fault,” he assured her. “We wouldn’t be in this mess if she hadn’t recognized me. I love you. Remember that. I love you.”
    “I love you, too, darling.” She wrapped her arms around him. “But you’re not a killer. You don’t know how to do such things. As long as Eva’s alive, she’s dangerous to the library—and to us. You need to tell Preston so he can take care of her. If you don’t want to, I’ll do it.”
    Four taps sounded on the door.
    “Preston’s here.” She pulled away. “Give me a minute.”
    “Hurry.”
    She nodded and stood up, smoothing her hair and straightening her white cashmere sweater and brown trousers.
    He crossed to the door, reaching it as another four taps began. He peered through the peephole. A distorted Doug Preston loomed in the hallway, a bulging backpack in his left hand. His right hand was hidden inside his black leather jacket, where he kept his pistol holstered. Everything about him, from his slightly bent knees to the sharp vigilance with which he was checking the corridor, seemed to radiate menace.
    Charles took a deep breath and opened the door, and Preston strode into the room. Uneasily Charles watched as he scanned the interior. When he paused to peer at Robin, she nodded in greeting, her eyes wary. Charles focused on the backpack. He could postpone deciding whether to tell Preston about Eva because its contents were of immediate concern.
    “You have The Book of Spies ?” he demanded.
    “I do.” Preston set the pack on a chair and started to unzip it.
    “I’ll take over