She knew the exact date and time of every full moon. There was no available earth on which to make her monthly offering, however. Not way up on the fifty-second floor. She doubted she'd be allowed to go outside to conduct her monthly ritual.

Not since there were men after her, wanting to kill her.

Mira shuddered as that realization finally registered. She backed away from the window and tried not to think about it. Tried not to think about her parents. Tried not to think about Jack's kiss. Tried not to think about her new status as a witch.

Instead she explored Jack's apartment, tracing her fingers over the smooth mahogany tables, the expensive fabric of the sofa and chairs, over the objets d'art. Expensive Frederic Remington sculptures seemed to be a favorite. There wasn't a speck of dust anywhere, which led her to believe he must employ cleaning people.

Eventually, she reached the spiral staircase and climbed it. At the top on her left was a door. She tried it, and a blast of cold air hit her face, making her gasp in surprise. The roof. So Jack had the penthouse.

It was freezing, but she poked her head out long enough to get a glimpse of the Minneapolis skyline and a medium-sized greenhouse. Greenery showed through the panes of glass. That meant Jack kept it heated and grew plants within it.

Well, he was full of surprises.

She shivered and closed the door. Perhaps she'd found a solution to her full moon problem. It wasn't ideal, but she could find some earth in the greenhouse at least.

Behind her was an open area that looked down on the living room. The nook had a couple more bookshelves and a comfy looking overstuffed chair and ottoman in the corner. Two doors led off this little reading room.

The first room proved to be an office, complete with state-of-the-art computer, printers, and various other electronics.

The other door was locked.

Hmmm.

The man had a locked room in his apartment. This was his personal residence, and the voice of politeness whispering in her head demanded she respect that. On the other hand, she was looking for answers.

They could be behind that door.

She tried the knob again and then knelt to examine the lock. It was just a chintzy one, nothing too complicated. She was no master locksmith or accomplished thief, but she'd jimmied a lock like this one on Annie's back door several times in the past when her flighty, distracted godmother had misplaced her house keys. She wouldn't break it. Jack wouldn't even know she'd been in there.

What Jack didn't know wouldn't hurt him, but what she didn't know could kill her. She needed answers, period.