SHE DRAGGED A DYING STRANGER OUT OF THE ICE—THEN LEARNED WHY HIS ENEMIES WANTED HER BUILDING DARK

Harper had been wrong about one thing: the men outside her apartment weren't interested in inspecting her heat. They were interested in the stranger's coat.

"Open up, ma'am," the first man called. "Emergency maintenance."

"Great. My radiator hasn't worked since Halloween. Tell me what brand it is."

A pause. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me. What brand? And why does maintenance have two people outside my door when I've been requesting one for four months?"

The man tried the handle again. Harper backed away and dialed 911. She gave her address, said an injured man needed an ambulance, and reported two strangers attempting to enter. When the dispatcher told her to stay on the line, she put the phone on speaker and moved away from the door. The second man muttered something obscene. Both sets of footsteps retreated down the stairs.

The stranger had swung his legs off the sofa. He looked gray and dangerously unsteady. "Don't stand," Harper said. "If you crack your head open, I'm billing you for the floor."

"The coat," he said.

"What about it?"

"Inside seam. Left pocket."

She hesitated. The coat lay in her bathtub, a heavy heap of wet wool. She wasn't touching a possible crime scene simply because a stranger ordered her to. "Tell the police when they get here."

"They might be with the men who shot me."

"Then you can tell an attorney. You're not the only person in this apartment who gets a say."

He looked at her with startling concentration. "What's your name?"

"Harper."

"Dante Calder."

He seemed to expect the name to change her face. It did, though not in the way he wanted. Harper had seen Calder's name on the evening news, attached to a freight company, waterfront shootings, and an investigation that kept collapsing because witnesses changed their minds. She'd also seen him photographed beside a mayor who called him a generous employer. She took a step back.

"So you're the reason my morning is becoming a felony documentary."

"I haven't asked you to do anything illegal."

"You asked me not to call for help while you were dying. That's a terrible introduction."

He acknowledged the point with a slight movement of his head. "There's a list in my coat. Six addresses. If yours is on it, you need to get everyone out."

Harper stared at the cracked ceiling. "Why?"

"Portable emergency generators. My company was hired to deliver them to buildings during the freeze. I found out the deliveries were being marked complete without the machines going anywhere near the addresses. Someone used my signature to approve the final invoices."

"You run a trucking company. Why not simply check your trucks?"

"I did. That's why I have a hole in my side."

Her phone buzzed against the counter. It was Elena Ortiz from apartment 2A. Elena worked nights cleaning offices and shared her cramped place with her nine-year-old daughter, Lucy. Harper answered, keeping the dispatcher on her other line.

"Harper, is your heat off? The building manager says not to call the fire department because a generator is coming. Lucy's wheezing again."

"Is her inhaler helping?"

"Some. But the hallway lights just went out."

Harper looked at Dante. "Our power is failing."

His eyes closed briefly. "Six buildings. They timed it for tonight."

The front buzzer sounded. A paramedic called Harper's name from the street. Minutes later, emergency responders entered with police following separately. Harper stepped into the hallway while the medics assessed Dante. She handed one officer the coat after explaining where she'd found it, then gave a clear account of the men who had come to her door. She told them about the handgun, still untouched on the counter except when she'd moved its holster overnight. The officer secured it.

Dante was furious at losing control of the situation. He was too weak to do anything but answer questions. He identified the ambush location and said he wanted a lawyer. When a paramedic explained that his condition required hospital treatment, he went quiet. Harper was relieved to see a professional take charge.

"You probably saved his life," the paramedic said as they prepared to leave. "But he needs a hospital."

Harper nodded. She wasn't interested in being congratulated for improvising badly in a medical emergency. "I know. I should have called sooner."

Dante caught her sleeve, gently enough that she could pull away. "Check the addresses."

"I intend to. Through the police."

He looked almost offended by her certainty. Then he nodded. "Good."

At the street, an ambulance pulled away beneath a sky the color of unwashed dishes. Harper thought perhaps the nightmare had finally reached its end. She was wearing a sweatshirt over yesterday's uniform, her apartment smelled of damp wool, and her emergency savings still amounted to forty-two dollars. She wanted a shower, sleep, and a life without famous criminals.

Then the lights in the building went out completely.

Somebody shouted from the third-floor landing. The ancient elevator stopped between floors with a violent metallic bang. Mrs. Han, who lived above Harper and used a walker, called for help from behind her locked door.

Harper climbed two steps at a time. "Mrs. Han? I'm here. Don't try the stairs alone."

Elena came up from the second floor holding Lucy, whose cheeks were flushed and whose mittened fingers curled around a little red plastic flashlight. "We've got no hot water," Elena said. "My phone says eighteen degrees outside."

The building manager, Russell Mott, appeared at the bottom of the stairs in a leather jacket. "Everyone needs to remain in their units. Northstar Winter Response has a generator on the way."

Harper recognized the company name Dante had spoken. "You told Elena it was already here."

Mott swallowed. "I said it was scheduled."

A tenant held up a phone showing the city's winter preparedness website. Under their building address were two reassuring green words: GENERATOR INSTALLED.

Lucy looked at the screen. Then at the freezing hallway. "If it's installed," she asked, "why can't I see it?"

Nobody answered. From somewhere beneath the building came the sound of a heavy door closing. Mott looked down toward the basement and went pale.