The Coil by Gayle Lynds Read Free Book Online Page B

interesting. She wondered whether the jet-setting tycoon knew he had idiots working for him. Obviously, she was going to have to enlighten him.
    She found the phone number for InterDirections’ world headquarters, which was in Los Angeles, and dialed, eventually annoying enough people that she was able to reach Inglethorpe’s secretary. Again she encountered the same impenetrable wall, although politely expressed this time: “I’m sorry, Dr. Sansborough, but Mr. Inglethorpe is in Europe and isn’t expected to return until next week. I’d be happy to take a message.”
    Liz left the message and leaned back in her chair again, this time stretching, rolling her head from side to side, trying to release the rage that was coagulating, distracting her. She needed the full use of her brain to plan her campaign to educate Inglethorpe. As she was thinking, her gaze landed on her filing cabinet. There were scratches on the built-in locks of two drawers. There had never been marks before.
    Instantly, she was on her feet. In two quick strides, she crossed to the cabinet and knelt, studying the scrapes. Someone had broken into the drawers. She tried the bottom one. It was unlocked, although it should not have been. She pulled it open. Inside was her briefcase. She searched it. Nothing missing. She opened the second drawer, also unlocked, and read the file tabs. Heart sinking, she read them again. The folders that contained ideas for the future show about Cold War assassins were missing.
    She remembered putting the files away just before she left to jog and locking the drawer. She hurried across the room and yanked open her office door. More scratches on that lock. Which would explain her uneasy sense that her office had been disturbed. She must have unconsciously registered seeing the marks.
    Now she knew. Not only had someone tried to kill her, but at the same time, someone had broken into her office and stolen files.
    She closed the door and marched back to the phone. With luck, she could catch Harry Craine at the Sheriff’s Department. She remembered the calm experience in his gaze and his gravelly voice. Maybe he had learned something about the attack. When she dialed, she asked for him and listened with relief to the news that he was in.
    â€œWhat can I do for you…Professor Sansborough, is it?” This voice was different. There was no sound of gravel or of experience. This man was young, high-energy, enthusiastic.
    She asked, “Are you Deputy Harry Craine?” When he assured her he was, she said, “I reported an assault on me today to a sheriff’s deputy. I thought it was to you. Whoever it was met me at my doctor’s office in Montecito to take my statement.”
    â€œHaven’t been to Montecito in a week. You must have the wrong name. Happens sometimes. I take it you didn’t get his business card?”
    â€œNo.” Dammit. She had forgotten to ask for one. Another mistake. She related the details of the assault. “At least two people may be involved,” she concluded. “The man who pushed me off the cliff, and a second person who broke into my office while the attack was going on. He stole some of my research folders.”
    â€œI’ll check our database,” he said instantly. “When there’s an attempt on a life, the information’s entered right away. Don’t worry. I’ll straighten this out.”
    â€œWill your database tell you who took my statement, too?”
    â€œYou bet. And who the investigating officer is, if it’s someone different.”
    As she waited on hold, she mulled the assault and break-in. It seemed to her the two events must be connected; the coincidence was too great. But what was the link?
    â€œProfessor Sansborough?”
    â€œYes?”
    Harry Craine’s voice had changed. It was edgy, distrustful. “I phoned the university, and they say you’re one of their professors all