“He’s dead.”

She choked on the beer, watching him wide-eyed as she pounded on her chest. “Dead? You didn’t…”

“Kill him?” This time Mikhail smiled. Another thing he enjoyed about Keely was her innate flare for the dramatic. “No, but I considered killing the new Hayward—his granddaughter.”

“The new landlord’s a woman? What’s she like?”

“Very beautiful, very cold.” He was frowning as he skimmed his fingertips over the wood grain. “She has red hair and white skin. Blue eyes like frost on a lake. When she speaks, icicles form.”

Keely grimaced and sipped. “Rich people,” she said, “can afford to be cold.”

“I told her she has two days before I go to the building commissioner.”

This time Keely smiled. As much as she admired Mikhail, she felt he was naive in a lot of ways. “Good luck. Maybe we should take Mrs. Bayford’s idea about a rent strike. Of course, then we risk eviction, but…hey.” She leaned out the open window. “You should see this car. It’s like a Lincoln or something—with a driver. There’s a woman getting out of the back.” More fascinated than envious, she let out a long, appreciative breath. “Harper’s Bazaar’s version of the executive woman.” Grinning, she shot a glance over her shoulder. “I think your ice princess has come slumming.”

Outside, Sydney studied the building. It was really quite lovely, she thought. Like an old woman who had maintained her dignity and a shadow of her youthful beauty. The red brick had faded to a soft pink, smudged here and there by soot and exhaust. The trimming paint was peeling and cracked, but that could be easily remedied. Taking out a legal pad, she began to take notes.

She was aware that the men sitting out on the stoop were watching her, but she ignored them. It was a noisy place, she noted. Most of the windows were open and there was a variety of sound—televisions, radios, babies crying, someone singing “The Desert Song” in a warbling soprano. There were useless little balconies crowded with potted flowers, bicycles, clothes drying in the still, hot air.

Shading her eyes, she let her gaze travel up. Most of the railings were badly rusted and many had spokes missing. She frowned, then spotted Mikhail, leaning out of a window on the top floor, nearly cheek to cheek with a stunning blonde. Since he was bare chested and the blonde was wearing the tiniest excuse for a tank top, Sydney imagined she’d interrupted them. She acknowledged him with a frigid nod, then went back to her notes.