“His crew knew we were going away,” Jack commented. “Why would any of them wait until the night we’re due back to wander in? That doesn’t make sense. But who else would?” Jack shook his head. “Of course we never had the locks changed when we bought the apartment because it didn’t matter yet. There was nothing to steal and the wall to our place hadn’t been knocked down. The construction people would be coming in and out anyway.” He sighed. “Who knows how many people who worked for Conrad and Lorraine had keys to this place? Tomorrow morning we’ve got to get a locksmith in here.”

The two of them stood in the dark, their flashlights facing the floor. “The intruder could have just run away when I was on the roof,” Regan said. “After he locked me out, he must have been looking around to make sure he didn’t forget anything he brought in with him.”

“He was probably also afraid that the lights would come back on and you’d get a look at him.”

They carefully shone their flashlights around the room. “That tile is nice with the hand-painted pictures of jugs of wine, loaves of bread, and scenes from Tuscany, but I don’t think it’s worth risking jail time for,” Regan said sardonically. “There’s nothing else back here. Conrad might have given us a good price, but he made sure this place was stripped. There wasn’t a picture hook left on the walls—” She stopped talking when her flashlight revealed a small dark object on the floor, slightly hidden by a piece of wood. It was just a few steps from the front door. Jack saw it, too. He walked over, leaned down, picked it up, and held it out in front of them.

They both were silent as they realized what they were looking at.

A lightning-rod stun gun that resembled a pen. With a built-in flashlight.

Regan swallowed. “He’s really going to be mad he lost it, now that we’re in a blackout…”

Jack didn’t laugh. “If he’d zapped you with this, you could have been badly hurt. Come on. I want to put this in a plastic bag.”

They headed to the kitchen where Regan’s purse was sitting on the counter next to their Imus mugs. Her cell phone started to ring.

“There’s a message from me on there,” Jack said as he pulled open a drawer. “I have to go back to the office but I’m not leaving you here alone.”

“Is it Bring Your Wife to Work night?” Regan asked lightly as she retrieved the phone. It was Kit.

“Regan, you’re not going to believe what happened.”

Regan smiled. “Oh, yes, I would.”

“No, really. This is a first—a woman I met at the convention left me stranded at a comedy club. I’m stuck here in Midtown and, as you know, I’m on crutches. My hotel room is on the thirty-eighth floor. It’s impossible to get a cab. Luckily I’m with this nice comedian who is looking after me. Could you come and get me and bring me to your place?”