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professor he knew, so I gotta get into some files. But I don’t think they’ll let me in.”
    “Family history, breaking and entering, weird secrets locked up in a Ivy League fortress,” Neville said. “Sounds like my kinda mayhem. You got a plan?”
    Sierra shook her head. “That’s why I brought you along. That and the Cadillac, of course.”
    “Of course.”

     
    It was hard to believe that the wide-open, ultramanicured campus of Columbia University was in the same city as Bed-Stuy. Sierra actually gasped when they walked in through the front gates and stood surrounded by all those pillared temples of knowledge and lush lawns. Summer-term students milled around in small clumps, chatting excitedly.
    “So we’re on a college visit,” Neville said.
    “In June?”
    “In June.”
    “Alright,” Sierra said.
    Neville steepled his fingers. “And you are a bookworm.”
    “I like books.”
    “You love books, so you wanna see the library. Got it?”
    “Got it.”
    “Now, get into character, pick yourself a Ivy Leaguer, and ask directions.” Sierra took a step toward a cluster of chatting students. “Make it a boy, Sierra,” Neville said under his breath. “And smile.”
    She forced a cheeseball grin across her face and walked up to an Asian kid in a baseball cap. “Hi, I’m a visiting student and I love books. Can you tell me where the library is?”
    Behind her, Neville put a hand over his eyes and cringed.
    “Um … it’s that huge building across the lawn,” the kid said, eyeing her.
    “That was a disaster,” Neville said when she walked back over.
    “Look, we found out what we needed to know. I never said I was a good liar. That’s your department.”
    “Fair enough. Lead the way.”

     
    “Where’s your ID?” the security guard at the library entrance demanded. They were standing in an imposing marble foyer, and Sierra felt tiny, a crumb in a giant, pristine oven.
    “I left it at home,” she said.
    “Then go get it.” The guard was about thirty, with greasy black hair slicked sharply against his skull and a shadow of stubble around his chin. He looked as if he had this conversation at least fifteen times a day.
    “I can’t,” Sierra said.
    “Why not?”
    “I’m locked out my room.”
    “Then call the main office. They’ll send one of our guys to let you back in.”
    “I can’t,” Sierra said again. And then her mind went completely blank. “I gotta … go.” She gritted her teeth and walked outside to where her godfather waited by a low stone wall.
    “Didn’t think so,” Neville said.
    “I tried.”
    “Okay, my turn.” He strutted off toward a grassy area where students were gabbing in small groups.
    “Where you going?” Sierra called.
    “Watch and learn, child.” Neville was getting more than a few suspicious glares from the mostly white students. His towering frame, slick suit, and dark skin put him in stark contrast to everyone else around. He carried an old-fashioned leather briefcase in one hand and a smoke in the other. Sierra felt her ears get hot as a wave of whispering and snickers erupted in his wake. She lost track of him for a second, and then caught sight of his bouncing Stetson hat making its way back to her through the crowd.
    “What was that all about?” Sierra said. “And where’s your briefcase?”
    Neville, now empty-handed, walked past her without stopping. “Stay here,” he said quietly. “Wait for the right moment. Imma be in the car.”
    Sierra wanted to go with him. The whole situation was making her more and more edgy, but there was no turning back now. Neville had gone and done whatever it was he’d done, and that was that. Besides, finding Wick was her best clue for figuring out the rest of Lázaro’s riddle. She plopped miserably on a bench and waited.
    Less than five minutes later, a commotion erupted from the picnic tables. Students scattered hurriedly away and campus police emerged from all directions, faces and bodies tensed