The Lady Has a Past (Burning Cove #5) - Amanda Quick Page 0,6

would ever think to search for them here?” Simon gestured to indicate the large collection of books. “Any serious thief would look for a hidden safe before he thought about these shelves. After all, it would take days to go through every volume in this room.”

“And yet you found my records after a single walk-through of my collection?”

Simon smiled. “While you accompanied me. It’s the prints you left behind, you see.”

“That makes no sense. Every book in here has my prints on it. I handled all of them at one time or another.”

“I’m talking about a different kind of prints—like those on the Bugatti,” Simon said. “The kind you leave when you get very excited. Nervous. Enraged. Prints like that are very, very hot.”

“Stop lying. Someone talked. Who was it?”

“I doubt if you would believe me if I tried to explain. People rarely do. Now, I would appreciate it if you would get out of the way. It’s late, and as I said, I’ve got a long drive ahead of me in the morning. I’d like to get some sleep.”

“Don’t move.”

Simon raised the large briefcase and cradled it in front of his chest. At the same time he leaned one shoulder against a big bookcase, putting his body weight into it.

The heavy bookcase rocked a little. Simon leaned harder.

“Stop,” Lennox shouted. “What are you doing?”

He took a hasty step back, trying to get out of the aisle. He raised his pistol and fired.

Simon was braced for the impact; nevertheless, the bullet struck the steel-lined briefcase with enough force to spin him backward and sideways. He came up hard against the rocking bookshelf. His glasses flew off.

The long bookshelf shuddered and slowly toppled into the neighboring aisle. Rows of heavy volumes were jarred loose and tumbled to the floor.

Startled, confused, and distracted, Lennox hastily retreated a couple of steps.

“You should be dead,” he shouted.

“Not yet.”

Simon charged forward down the aisle, using the briefcase as a shield.

Lennox got off another shot but was scrambling backward so quickly he lost his balance. This time the bullet thudded into a bookcase.

In the next instant Simon slammed into him with the briefcase. Both men went down, but Lennox was on the bottom. He lay still, mouth opening and closing, the breath knocked out of him.

Meanwhile the rows of bookcases fell in a cascading wave. There was a dull rumble. Volumes flew off the shelves.

Simon leaped to his feet, thought briefly about trying to retrieve his glasses, and immediately concluded it was a lost cause.

He kicked Lennox’s pistol under the desk and headed for the door of the library. Behind him the roar of the toppling bookcases ceased.

The special agents from the Bureau pounded down the hall.

“Sounded like gunshots and an explosion,” one of the agents said. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” Simon said. Automatically he started to adjust his glasses and then realized he was no longer wearing them. “The bookcases weren’t anchored to the floor. You’d think Lennox would have known better. This is earthquake country, after all.”

“He’s from back East.” The agent shrugged. “Probably never considered earthquakes when he furnished this place. Is he alive in there?”

“Yes. I left him on the floor. Pistol is under the desk.”

“We’ll take it from here.” The agent waved the other agents toward the library. “What about the fraud evidence?”

Simon set the briefcase on the floor and reached down to unlatch it. He took out the book and handed it to the agent. “It’s all in there. The details of every fraudulent transaction. Lennox was very, very thorough when it came to keeping two sets of books. This one has all the evidence you’ll need to get a conviction.”

The agent examined the cover of the book, mystified. And then he chuckled. “Dale Carnegie’s How to Win Friends and Influence People. Well, what do you know? My wife gave me a copy of this book a couple of months ago. She said it would help me advance in the Bureau. Never got around to reading it.”

“Trust me, the details inside that particular copy will guarantee you a promotion,” Simon said.

He went on down the hall and out into the night. The custom-built Cord was parked in the drive. He got behind the wheel and opened the glove box to take out his spare pair of eyeglasses. His vision was excellent, but he had learned early on that people expected antiquarian book dealers to wear spectacles.

He tucked the glasses into the pocket of his jacket. The scars on the back of