“So I think I should get the first batch,” Mikhail said as he sniffed the roses. “The chocolate chip.”

“Please.” Keely pressed a hand to her stomach. “I’m dieting. I’m getting murdered next week, and I have to look my best.” She noted Sydney’s stunned expression and grinned. “Death Stalk,” she explained. “My first TV movie. I’m the third victim of the maniacal psychopath. I get strangled in this really terrific negligee.”

“You shouldn’t have left your windows unlocked,” Mrs. Wolburg told her, and Keely grinned again.

“Well, that’s show biz.”

Sydney waited until a break in the conversation, then made her excuses. Mikhail gave her a ten-second lead before he slipped a yellow rose out of a vase. “See you later, beautiful.” He kissed Mrs. Wolburg on the cheek and left her chuckling.

In a few long strides, he caught up with Sydney at the elevators. “Hey. You look like you could use this.” He offered the flower.

“It couldn’t hurt.” After sniffing the bloom, she worked up a smile. “Thanks.”

“You want to tell me why you’re upset?”

“I’m not upset.” She jabbed the down button again.

“Never argue with an artist about your feelings.” Insistently he tipped back her chin with one finger. “I see fatigue and distress, worry and annoyance.”

The ding of the elevator relieved her, though she knew he would step inside the crowded car with her. She frowned a little when she found herself pressed between Mikhail and a large woman carrying a suitcase-sized purse. Someone on the elevator had used an excess of expensive perfume. Fleetingly Sydney wondered if that shouldn’t be as illegal as smoking in a closed car.

“Any Gypsies in your family?” she asked Mikhail on impulse.

“Naturally.”

“I’d rather you use a crystal ball to figure out the future than analyze my feelings at the moment.”

“We’ll see what we can do.”

The car stopped on each floor. People shuffled off or squeezed in. By the time they reached the lobby, Sydney was hard up against Mikhail’s side, with his arm casually around her waist. He didn’t bother to remove it after they’d stepped off. She didn’t bother to mention it.

“The work’s going well,” he told her.

“Good.” She didn’t care to think how much longer she’d be directly involved with the project.

“The electrical inspection is done. Plumbing will perhaps take another week.” He studied her abstracted expression. “And we have decided to make the new roof out of blue cheese.”

“Hmm.” She stepped outside, stopped and looked back at him. With a quick laugh, she shook her head. “That might look very distinctive—but risky with this heat.”

“You were listening.”

“Almost.” Absently she pressed fingers to her throbbing temple as her driver pulled up to the curb. “I’m sorry. I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

“Tell me.”