The Coil by Gayle Lynds

passenger seat, she settled behind the wheel. They closed their doors quietly. She turned on the engine. “I assume you’ve made arrangements to fly to Paris.”
    â€œLangley sent a jet. It’s waiting.”
    She did a U-turn, heading the car downhill. “You broke into my house. Did you pack a suitcase for me, too?”
    â€œAs a matter of fact, I did. Got your passport as well. All you have to do is drive us to the airport. My people will dispose of the body.”
    â€œTell me what happened.”
    He described the strike. “Asher said it was over in minutes. Choreographed. The hotel had made dinner reservations at the bistro for them, so someone could’ve gotten the information, which would explain how the two men knew to wait in the alley. As for the van, it probably shadowed them.” He shook his head, worried. “Now, the big question—the question we all have—is: Where are the Carnivore’s files?”
    Her voice was grim. “I don’t think there are any.”
    â€œThen you haven’t changed your mind since Grey Mellencamp debriefed you?”
    â€œNo. I looked into it afterward, but I never found a hint my father kept any sort of record at all.” As she turned the Toyota onto Mission Canyon Drive, she stopped herself. Before this went any farther, she had to find out how willing he was to tell the truth. She said, “Is Langley behind the ‘movie’ here in Santa Barbara? Did they fund the Aylesworth chairs that brought Kirk and me here so they could keep tabs on me? Is one of your operatives code-named Themis?”
    He gazed across at her. There was surprise in his eyes and a touch of respect. “You know about Themis?”
    â€œIs he one of yours?” she repeated.
    He nodded. “How did you find out?”
    â€œThat’s beside the point. Why a movie on me?”
    â€œIf we’d heard the rumors about files, it was only a matter of time until others did, too. You’d become a natural target. Considering someone’s already sent a janitor to scrub you twice today, I guess Langley was smart to be concerned. And maybe you should be grateful.”
    She snorted in derision. “Langley was—and is—concerned about the possible existence of those files, not about my survival.”
    His voice was apologetic. “We can’t let the records fall into the wrong hands, Liz. You understand.”
    â€œWhy should I believe Langley didn’t send that janitor to kill me?”
    â€œDoesn’t make sense we would. If we want the files, you’re still our best bet. That hasn’t changed.”
    She nodded to herself. If Langley had sent the killer, they would’ve handled the fallout from the first attack much more smoothly. “You already must’ve been on your way to talk to me, or stationed close by, to get to my doctor’s office so quickly.”
    He leaned back in the seat and crossed his arms. The top half of his face was in shadow, making his dimple appear darker, deeper in the sun’s last rays. “I work out of L.A. I was heading north for an inquiry in Thousand Oaks when we heard about Flores and Walker, and then about you. Langley arranged for me to borrow the identity of Harry Craine so we could keep the locals out of it. The ID was waiting for me here.”
    â€œHave you covered it with the sheriff now?”
    â€œOf course. Anyone who calls will be told Kirk’s report has been found and the department is investigating thoroughly.”
    But already her mind had shifted. She had almost a physical feeling, a sense of being ill, of having an abrupt fever. Sick with fear for Sarah and Asher. “I can’t believe Sarah and Asher are involved.” She pressed the accelerator, speeding faster to the airport. To Paris, where they needed her.
    â€œWhat did you expect? Once you let it be known you were preparing a national TV show about Cold War