“How about the front door?”

“That locks when you close it. Whoever got in probably picked the lock, then went downstairs. I suppose that whatever he wanted would be more likely to be found down here than upstairs.” He walked around his desk, opened and closed some drawers, had a look at the safe. “Everything seems in about as good an order as it gets. The safe is still locked, so I guess the intruder was no yegg.”

“Yegg? Is that some sort of omelet?”

“An old-fashioned word for a safecracker. Or maybe he just didn’t have time for that before we showed up. Let me check Joan’s office.”

He had a look in there and found it in good order, then returned to his office. “We may as well go upstairs,” he said. “Nothing more to do here.”

They got into the elevator and rode up to the top floor, then went down the hall to the master suite. “Your dressing room is there,” Stone said, pointing.

Jinx had a look. “The service is pretty good around here,” she said when she came back. “Fred even put away my thongs.”

“He probably turned that duty over to Joan. I don’t think he would be so bold.”

She snaked an arm around his neck. “I hope you’re feeling bold.”

He was, and he proved it to her.

38

STONE CALLED Mike Freeman at Strategic Services the following morning. “I’m afraid I need some security cameras,” he said, then told him of the previous evening’s intruder.

“I suggested that a long time ago, but you had Bob Cantor install a system anyway. Not that Bob doesn’t do good work, but you probably got all cheap on him.”

Stone ignored that. “I want them cleverly concealed,” he said.

“Hang on.” There was a click, and Stone was in the hold void, listening to, of all things, country music.

Mike came back. “I’ll have somebody over there in an hour to do an assessment.”

“Great. Since when did you start listening to country music?”

“I don’t.”

“Well, your customers do, while on hold.”

“Are you serious? Maybe it’s your own phone system.”

“Mine is mostly Mozart, occasionally some Oscar Peterson.”

“I’ll look into it,” Mike said, then hung up.

—

AN HOUR LATER, Joan buzzed him. “Mike Freeman’s security person is here.”

“Okay, send him in.”

“Take a deep breath,” Joan said, then hung up.

There was a rap at his door, which was ajar, and a blond head appeared, followed by a tall, willowy body in a tight black business suit. “Mr. Barrington?”

Stone stood. “Stone. Please come in.”

They shook hands. “My name is Heavenly Peace,” she said. He motioned her to a chair, and she crossed her legs fetchingly.

“I’m sorry,” Stone said, “I feel as though I’ve just stepped into a Bond film.”

“That’s very good. Amazingly, I haven’t heard that one.”