That brought a smile. “Well, for one thing, Miss Casey, I’ve got your cell phone.”

“And for another, you’re a cop yourself. What do they call you, a plainclothesman?”

“Stupid, usually.” He looked at her. “There’s no gun in here.”

“I was lying. I told you.”

“Sure. Cell phone, compact, nail file, lipstick.” He pulled the cap off. “Hard to tell in this light. What do they call it?”

“Ultra-natural ash rose.”

“Got to watch that one. It’ll put you to sleep.” He dropped lipstick and cap back into her purse. “Billfold. Looks like about three hundred bucks. Driver’s license. Union card. Another union card—I guess the second one’s for vid. Visa, MasterCard, and Discover.” He closed her billfold, dropped it into her purse, and shut it. “Plus Kleenex and chewing gum.”

“Is that still in there?”

“Most women carry a lot more.”

“So do I. There should be a pen in there.”

“You left it someplace. Catch.” He tossed the purse to her. “Shut the door, and there’ll be no hard feelings.”

She shut it.

The black car was low and oddly angled, of a make she failed to recognize. The front door on the passenger’s side opened easily; she slid in and found the upholstery delightfully soft and luxurious.

WHEN she woke, the car was speeding along a highway. She coughed, swore, and blinked half a dozen times before she remembered how she had come to be there.

“I let you sleep,” the driver told her. “You’re not going to get a great deal of sleep tonight, and I thought it wise to let you sleep as long as you could. If you’d like coffee, we can ask for some.”

She was staring. “You’re him. You’re Gideon Chase.”

“I am.”

“You were in my apartment tonight.”

“I was.”

“You broke in.”

He nodded. “I did. And did some damage, by the way, in the process. I would think that building management would pay for the repairs, if the matter were put to them in the right way.”