I walked out of the door and into one of the guards.

“What are you doing here?” he asked. What a clever question.

“That damn copy machine. It always breaks down when you need it, and the little one doesn’t collate,” I said in the best helpless female voice I could manage. He led me down to the reception area where Barbara was waiting with the second guard.

“Is something the matter?” I asked as innocently as possible.

“Break-in,” said a guard.

“No! Maybe we should call the police? You don’t suppose he’s still around,” I continued as a helpless female.

“You’re going to have to wait here,” was all one of the guards said.

“But that’s not possible,” I said. “I’m supposed to meet my boyfriend in twenty minutes in the Quarter and I’m always late. So last week we had a big fight about it and I promised, I mean, promised him I’d be on time. If I don’t show up he’ll kill me, I just know it.” My guess was that the best way out of here was the bimbo route.

“Sorry, lady,” said the guard.

“I’ve already tried,” put in Barbara. She looked nervous, but she wouldn’t fall apart.

“Can I at least call him?” Anything at this point. The two guards looked at each other. One of them shrugged.

“All right,” the other one said, “Just make it snappy.” He led me to a telephone, then stood by to listen in.

I dialed Sergeant Ranson’s number. Some bored clerk answered.

“Hello, is Jo there?” I asked.

“No.”

“Do you know when he’ll be in?” I almost said she, which would have been a bad mistake.

“He? Sergeant Joanne Ranson’s a woman.”

“I know. But it’s important that I talk to him.” Catch on, dummy.

“Sorry, she ain’t here and I got no idea when she’ll be back.”

“Well, can I leave a message?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“It’s Michele and I’ve got a problem. I’m stuck here at work and don’t know when I’ll get out. Got that?” Write down that I’ve got a problem, dimwit.

“Yeah, but Ranson’s out somewheres. I don’t know when she’ll get back.”

“Thanks anyway.”

The clerk hung up.

“All right, let’s go,” said the guard.

“But I didn’t get him. Let me try and call his mother. He usually calls her around this time of day.” The guard gave me an exasperated look, but shrugged okay. I dialed the number Ranson had given me for Alexandra Sayers.

“Hello,” she answered.

“Hi, this is Michele. I can’t get hold of Jo anywhere and I need to tell him that I’ve got a problem at work and can’t leave. I’ll meet him as soon as possible.” I hoped she caught my slight emphasis on as soon as possible as in help.

“You can’t talk, right?” Alexandra asked.

“Right,” I answered, praising pagan deities that Ranson had backed herself up with someone who was not an idiot.

“Are you in danger?”

“Yes. And I’m not the only person stuck here. Barbara Selby, the office manager, is also stuck here. I know I’m always late, but this time I want Jo to know that I’m an innocent victim.” The guard was shifting from foot to foot, like he was going to break this off any minute.

“Okay, I’ve got that,” answered Alexandra on the other end.

“If Jo calls you, ask him if he could meet me at work,” I said. The guard made a cutting motion against his throat. Time was up.

“Right,” she answered.

“I’ve got to go.”

“Okay. Stay put. We’ll get there as soon as possible.” She hung up. I put down the phone.

“Geez, if I lose this boyfriend, it’s going to be this company’s fault,” I said and did what I thought was a flounce back to the guard’s station.

As we got there, Milo and a man best described as goon got off the elevator.

“Search the floor,” Milo said. The two guards went off. I was hoping that Milo’s goon would help, but he didn’t. At this point, if it were just Milo, I would have risked jumping him. But I wasn’t a match for two men with guns. We waited in silence for the guards to finish. They came back and reported that we were the only people on this floor. Then Milo left and went into the file room. He didn’t stay there very long.

I took the notebook because I knew that once that electronic eye was tripped we wouldn’t get off the floor without being caught. It had to be linked to the guard station, and I was sure they had orders not to let anyone or anything go once that warning indicator went on. They probably shouldn’t have let me use the phone, but they didn’t figure a ditzy office temp could cause any problems. The missing notebook should buy us time until the police arrived. I hoped. If all the books were still sitting in a drawer that somebody had obviously broken into, then the only possible leak would be the people who had broken into the drawer. As long as one of them was missing, then Milo had to find out where it was. He would keep us alive until he found out. If the wheel of fate was spinning in the proper direction, the police would arrive long before that point.

“All right, let’s go,” was all he said. I didn’t think he meant we could all go home.

“I can’t,” I said, trying to waste time. “I’m supposed to meet my boyfriend here. He’ll kill me if I stand him up.”

“You’re coming with us,” Milo said.

“Forget it, I quit,” I continued. “You just can’t make me work overtime whenever you feel like it. This is America, not Russia, you know.” I would have tap-danced to “God Bless America” if I had thought it would do any good.

“Turner, explain to the young lady,” Milo said. Turner was the goon. He pulled a gun out of his shoulder holster and pointed it at me.

“Is this some kind of joke? If it is, it’s not very funny,” I continued. Come on, Ranson, where are you?

For an answer, Turner put the barrel against my temple.

“Mr. Milo doesn’t joke very often,” said Barbara. “Now, I’m sure if you cooperate and be quiet, everything will be all right.” Barbara was a tough lady. She was playing her expected role of the older, experienced manager handling the latest office bimbo. She was also trying to get that gun away from my head and buy us a little time. I nodded my head in agreement with her. It worked. Turner put his gun back in his holster.

“Let’s go,” Milo said again and he punched the elevator button. We started to follow.

“My purse,” I yelled. What’s a bimbo without her makeup, nail polish, tissues, address book, .45?

Milo motioned one of the guards to go get it. He got it, then handed it to Turner, who looked in it. It was one of those big canvas bags, with lots of pockets and stuffed full. I held my breath. The gun was in one of the deepest pockets. Fortunately, Turner was looking for a fairly large notebook. It probably never occurred to him that I might be carrying a gun. Never underestimate a bimbo.

When we got to the lobby, they led us out the service exit, not the front door. We were on a back street and I didn’t see a single person, not even a dog or pigeon. I had hoped to spot some man that could pass for “Joe.” Anything vaguely male between twelve and eighty-four would have suited me.