Chapter 6
No one was in the narrow hall when Marit exited the lift on the fourth floor of the models’ flats the next morning. With a promise to be fast, she’d left Cole waiting outside the building’s front door. If she could manage it, she wanted to be back there before Esmee showed up.
Hurriedly unlocking the door to her temporary home, she turned on the light. Her breath caught. Half the kitchen cupboards were open. The sofa cushions were askew, and the pile of brochures they’d gathered for sight-seeing ideas were scattered across the coffee table and had spilled onto the floor.
The feeling of vulnerability Marit had experienced while waiting in the police interrogation room flooded back. Forced to acknowledge that her recent experience had rattled her more than she’d thought, she attempted to tamp down her instinctive panic. Perhaps she was overreacting. She had nothing to do with whatever the police were investigating, which meant there was no reason whatsoever for someone to break into her flat.
She glanced at Nadia’s bedroom door. It was closed. Was she still asleep? Did she know anything about this mess?
Marit crossed to her own bedroom. Here, too, all the drawers were open, and in the closet, her suitcase lay with the lid up, the shoes she’d left inside now scattered. She stared at the bedding heaped on the floor, a deepening sense of unease trickling down her spine.
A door clicked. Marit swung around. Nadia entered the flat, her eyes narrowing the moment she spotted Marit.
“Want to tell me what happened last night?” Nadia said, folding her arms.
Was Nadia referring to Marit’s time at the police station or the state of the flat?
“What do you mean?” Marit asked.
“The flat.” Anger flashed in Nadia’s eyes, and she unfolded her arms long enough to wave one in the general direction of the living room. “You trashed it.”
Marit stared at her. “You can’t seriously think that I did this!”
“Well, I didn’t. And there isn’t anyone else here.”
Marit moved away from the bedroom door. “Does your room look like my room?”
Giving her a puzzled look, Nadia stepped close enough to peer into the room Marit was using. “Yes,” she said warily. “But I have clothes strewn all over the floor too.”
What felt like a large-sized rock settled in Marit’s stomach. “I didn’t do it, Nadia. I give you my word.”
Nadia must have believed her because in an instant, her expression went from challenging to fearful. Her brown eyes darted to the flat’s front door. “I slept on the sofa next door last night because I was so mad at you. But you think someone else came in here? Someone who went through all our stuff?”
“It looks that way,” Marit said. “I was here for a few minutes around four o’clock, but then I left again. What time did you get in?”
“About eight,” Nadia said. “I was with a group of girls from the Garnier Agency until then.”
“And the flat looked like this when you arrived?”
“Worse,” Nadia said. “I cleaned some of it up.”
The rock had yet to leave Marit’s stomach. She had no idea what this was about, but having her flat ransacked at the same time she was being questioned by the police seemed way too coincidental for comfort. “Are you missing anything?” she asked.
A look of panic crossed Nadia’s face, and she disappeared into her room, only to reappear a few seconds later holding a gold watch. She held it up so Marit could see. “It was my grandmother’s,” she said. “As long as I still have this, I’m okay.”
“It’s beautiful,” Marit said. “But if they didn’t take that, they probably weren’t looking for valuables.” She gazed out at the untidy heap of brochures on the living room floor. “And if that’s the case, what were they looking for?”
“I don’t know,” Nadia said. “But we have to tell Esmee.”
“Yeah. And I have a friend who needs to know too.”
“Who?”
Marit glanced at the clock on the wall. “His name’s Cole, and he’s meeting us downstairs in twenty minutes. Grab your stuff. The sooner he and Esmee know about this, the better.”
***
Cole stood outside Marit’s building, his gloved hands in his pockets, his pistol concealed in the holster at the small of his back. He hoped he wouldn’t have to use it while here in Paris, but his decision to take the train so he could keep his weapons gave him a sense of security that he was grateful for right now.
Marit walked outside with another model, who had dark, curly hair. Marit started toward him but stopped when a well-dressed older woman joined them. Marit greeted the woman, who appeared to be in her early fifties, before continuing forward.
Cole met Marit halfway. “Are you ready?”
Marit nodded. “Cole, this is Nadia, and this is our agent, Esmee.”
“Good to meet you both.” Cole shook hands with each of them before speaking to Marit once more. “Where are we off to?”
“I’m sorry, but outsiders aren’t allowed at the fittings,” Esmee said.
“It might be best if we let Cole come along,” Marit said.
Nadia nodded in agreement.
Esmee looked from Nadia to Marit. “What’s going on?”
“Maybe we should talk about this on our way.” Marit lifted her arm in the air and flicked her wrist. A moment later, a cab pulled to the curb.
Cole opened the door and waited for the women to slide in.
Esmee looked up at him from the center seat. “We won’t all fit.”
“We can squeeze,” Marit insisted. She climbed in and scooted over to make room for Cole.
Cole sat beside her, barely able to close the door.
Esmee offered a disgruntled shake of her head before giving the driver their destination. “Why must he come with us?” she then asked.
“Because Nadia and I think someone broke into our room yesterday evening,” Marit said.
“What?” Esmee and Cole asked in unison.
“Our stuff was everywhere,” Nadia said. “Whoever came in went through everything.”
“Was anything taken?” Cole asked.
Nadia shook her head. “Not that we could tell.”
“Have you reported the break-in to the police?” he asked.
“No,” Marit said. “We only realized there was a problem a few minutes ago.”
“We need to do that now.” Cole motioned toward the building entrance. “The building supervisor needs to know about it too.”
Esmee looked at her watch. “We don’t have time. If Nadia and Marit miss this fitting, they’ll lose the opportunity to walk in one of the biggest shows of Fashion Week.”
Cole sighed. Models. “Tell me everything you know, and I’ll call the police after I drop you off.”
With a surprisingly calm voice, Marit said, “It happened after the police arrived at four and before Nadia got back at eight.”
“The police?” Esmee shifted her body so she could see Marit more clearly. “What were the police doing at your flat?”
“They had some questions about a recent crime,” Marit said. “They thought I might have seen something.”
“What crime?” Esmee grasped Marit’s hand. “What happened?”
“I’m not really supposed to talk about what the police told me, but Cole came to help me get everything sorted out.”
“You should have called me right away,” Esmee said, clearly affronted.
“I wasn’t sure the police would give me more than one phone call,” Marit said, obviously trying to smooth her agent’s ruffled feathers. “And Cole was the only person I knew who could sort everything out.”
Esmee turned to Cole. “Do you work in law enforcement?”
“I’m with the American Embassy,” Cole said. There was no need to specify exactly where the embassy was located. “Marit may not be an American citizen, but she’s a close friend, and I have some experience working with the local police.”
Esmee’s features instantly transformed from irritation to gratitude. “It was very good of you to help.”
“No problem,” Cole said. “In the meantime, I do think we should consider finding Marit and Nadia somewhere else to stay.”
“You don’t think the intruder will come back, do you?” Nadia asked, panic in her voice.
“It’s better to be safe than sorry.”
“Fashion Week starts next week.” Esmee shook her head. “All the hotels in this part of the city will already be booked out for it.”
Cole bit back his frustration. “This is their safety we’re talking about.”
“I’ll talk to the building supervisor. I’m sure we can arrange to have an extra guard posted.”
“Tell him you need the lock changed as well,” Cole insisted.
Esmee nodded. “I’ll take care of it.”
Though not thrilled that Marit would be staying where an intruder had been so recently, Cole forced himself to accept Esmee’s solution. No need to mention that he would be looking for other ways to enhance safety measures when he got back to her flat later today.
They arrived at the design house, and Esmee paid the driver while everyone piled out onto the sidewalk. As soon as they entered, Cole ran into another obstacle, this time in the form of a six-foot-two, broad-shouldered security guard. “Sorry. No one goes in unless you’re on the list.”
Marit shot Cole a look of apology. “I’m sure we’ll be safe here.”
“She’s right,” Esmee said. “And I’ll stay close to both of them.”
Cole debated his options. He could use his Interpol ID to circumvent security, he could sit around in the lobby for the next hour and a half, or he could search for answers. He leaned close to Marit and whispered in her ear. “Where is Ralph Molenaar’s office?”
“It’s only a block from here,” she said.
“Can you text me the address?”
She nodded. “We should get upstairs.”
“Text me when you’ve finished here. I’m supposed to meet Isabelle at my hotel room so she can drop off her bag, but I can come pick you up first if you want.”
“Isabelle is coming?” Marit asked, surprise and delight lighting her eyes.
“She lands at nine fifteen.”
Esmee stepped forward and put her hand on Marit’s arm. “I’ll make sure Marit gets to where she needs to go.”
“Thanks. I appreciate that.” Cole took a step toward the door. “I’ll see you at the restaurant.”
Marit nodded. “Thanks, Cole.”
Cole waited until the three women passed through security and disappeared into a nearby elevator before he exited. He then pulled out his phone and called the police station where Marit had been questioned last night. Thankfully, the officer who answered spoke English and agreed to take the report of the incident over the phone.
After giving him the timeline Marit had provided and passing along his contact information as well as Marit’s phone number, Cole headed for the door. With any luck, the police would be able to meet with the building supervisor before Marit returned to her flat this afternoon.
A text chimed on his phone. The address for Ralph Molenaar’s offices.
Cole plugged it into the GPS on his phone. Less than five minutes later, he stepped out of the chilly morning air and into the warmth of an expansive lobby. He approached the sleek reception desk. Suspecting the designer wouldn’t see him without an appointment, he reached into his pocket and retrieved the Interpol ID the CIA had been kind enough to fabricate for him for situations just like this one. Okay, so maybe the CIA didn’t want him to use his fake ID for personal reasons, but Marit was practically family, and it was possible Interpol would end up involved if the theft crossed international borders.
“I need to see Ralph Molenaar.”
“Is he expecting you?”
“No, but it’s quite important.” Cole slid his badge across the counter as though it were just any other ID. No need to draw attention to himself or his reason for coming.
The security guard nodded. “His office is on the sixth floor. I’ll let him know you’re on your way up.”
“Thank you.”
Cole crossed to the elevator. When he stepped out on the correct floor, a man stood waiting.
“I’m Ralph Molenaar.” Hope shone in the man’s eyes. “Do you have news?”
“Not yet,” Cole said. “Is there somewhere we can meet privately?”
“My office is this way.” Ralph led him down the hall and into his office.
Cole surveyed the room, right down to the cipher lock on the closet door. “Is this where the theft took place?”
“Yes.” Ralph motioned for Cole to sit before circling behind his desk. “I don’t know how anyone could have gotten the combination.”
An electronic code breaker, a magnetic lock pick, or the old-fashioned look-over-someone’s-shoulder method. Any of those could have worked.
“Marit Jansen was questioned by the police last night,” Cole began. “She mentioned seeing a man in your office when she came back to retrieve a lost glove. Brown hair in need of a trim, young, early twenties.”
“That sounds like Brinton James.” Ralph’s expression clouded. “He didn’t report for work this morning.”
“Then, it’s possible he’s your thief.”
“I never thought Marit could have been guilty,” Ralph said. “She’s a sweet girl.”
“I agree.” Cole waved in the direction of the safe. “What exactly was taken?”
Now Ralph’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t know?”
“The police report was incomplete when it crossed my desk last night.”
Suspicion crept into Ralph’s expression. “Are you really working with the police?”
“The local authorities are never happy when outside law enforcement gets involved.” Cole drew out a business card that aligned with his cover with Interpol. “Here’s my card. If you search the internet, you’ll see that the phone number there is one that belongs to the local Interpol office.”
Ralph pulled out his phone, first conducting an online search and then making a call to confirm Cole’s identity. Once he was satisfied, Ralph said, “Sorry. You can’t be too careful these days.”
“I agree,” Cole said before repeating his question. “What was stolen last night?”
Ralph drew a deep breath, as though trying to gather his courage. “It was the designs for this year’s entire line.”
“What format were these designs in?” Cole asked.
“Muslin patterns, and the computer designs on a jump drive.” Ralph’s expression darkened. “Whoever it was also wiped out my hard drive. I have no way to prove the designs were mine.”
“Any idea who would benefit from this theft?”
“It has to be another designer.” Ralph raked his fingers through his hair. “My show is on the second-to-last day of Fashion Week. Any designer who goes before me could feature my designs, and I wouldn’t be able to do anything about it. I’d be ruined.”
Cole didn’t understand much about fashion, but corporate espionage was devastating regardless of the industry. “Wouldn’t your models be able to say that they’ve already been wearing your designs if someone else tried to showcase them?”
“They could try.” Ralph shook his head. “But with nothing left to prove I created them, to the world, I would appear to be the thief.”
“I’m going to do everything I can to find those designs and get them back to you,” Cole said. “In the meantime, I need you to take me through everything that happened last night, and I’ll need your authorization to release any security feed from the time in question.”
A faint glimmer of hope sparked in Ralph’s expression. “I’ll help you in any way I can.”
“Good. That’s what I was hoping you would say.”