Chapter 8
Marit led Isabelle into the ransacked bedroom. Despite the reassuring words she’d offered Isabelle at the restaurant, unease over what lay ahead gnawed at her frayed nerves. She pointed at the twin bed next to the one she’d been using. “Go ahead and leave your bag there. I haven’t had time to clean up yet, but we’ll make some space in the closet after we’ve been to casting.”
Isabelle lowered her bag onto the bed and surveyed the room. “This is what you came back to?”
“Yeah.” Marit suppressed a shudder.
Isabelle walked to the window. She examined the casement and peered outside.
“It’s pretty unlikely that an intruder would come in through the window,” Marit said. “He’d have to be Spider-Man to have scaled that wall to the fourth floor.” She grimaced, remembering that someone had actually entered Isabelle’s fourth-floor window in Vienna that way once. “I think he somehow made it past the concierge downstairs and had access to the lift and our door key.”
“It looks that way,” Isabelle said. “The fire-escape stairs wouldn’t grant easy access. They’re on the other side of the building.”
It wasn’t the most comforting observation, but right now, Marit had other, more pressing concerns than ready access to the fire escape. She glanced at the time on her phone. “We have twenty minutes before we’re supposed to meet Esmee downstairs. If we’re going to get you backstage with any of the designers, we need to focus on what the casting agents will be looking for.”
“You know?” A sliver of hope shone in Isabelle’s worried eyes.
“In general, yes. And Lars wasn’t kidding, Isabelle, you have the look. You just need to add the right moves.” She walked into the living room. “Come here. I’ll show you.” Marit positioned herself at the front door and waited until Isabelle was standing in the center of the living room. “One of the first things the agents are going to ask you to do is to walk for them.”
“Why does that sound terrifying?”
Marit laughed. “Just forget they’re watching and focus on the way you move your body.” She straightened into a familiar pose. “Back straight, core tight, shoulders back and down.”
“Back straight, core tight, shoulders back and down,” Isabelle repeated, imitating Marit’s position.
“Great. Now your arms.” Marit began walking. “They should swing slightly, and your hands should be relaxed. Your arm movement helps keep your pace steady.”
“And I have twenty minutes to get this down?”
“Sixteen,” Marit said. “But you can totally do this. Try it from there.”
Taking a deep breath, Isabelle assumed her starting pose and started to walk.
“Good,” Marit said. “Remember to keep your shoulders relaxed, and try not to move your hips too much. They should remain straight.”
Isabelle made it as far as the bedroom before making a half turn, just as Marit had done. She groaned. “Why isn’t Cole or Lars doing this?”
“Because they aren’t women. Besides, they wouldn’t make it through the wait in line, let alone receive a call back,” Marit said, moving to stand beside her. “You’ve got this. You already look better than most of the new models out there. This time, let’s do it side by side.”
They walked across the room together two times before Marit had Isabelle walk it alone again. She adjusted the tilt of Isabelle’s chin once and the length of her stride twice. By Isabelle’s fifth time across the short distance, Marit knew her friend’s aptitude for picking up new physical skills was not limited to self-defense.
“That was fabulous!” Marit said, clapping her hands. “Seriously, Isabelle. I’m really impressed. Add one of your beautiful smiles and you’ll be on every callback list you try for.”
“It’s going to be really hard to smile while I’m trying to remember everything I’m supposed to do with my arms, chin, hips, feet...” Isabelle looked at her with an uncharacteristic hint of panic. “Women train for years to work the Paris Fashion Show. Not twenty minutes.”
“True,” Marit said. “But some women are naturals, and some will never get it no matter how hard they try. You, my friend, are a natural. I’m not exaggerating how well you’re doing. You may not feel comfortable with it yet, but no one would ever guess you’ve never modeled before.”
“It’s a lot harder than it looks. And even though you’re a great teacher, with so little practice...”
Marit shook her head. Now was not the time for Isabelle to lose her confidence. It would manifest itself in the way she moved. “You’ve got this, Isabelle. You really do.”
Isabelle still didn’t look fully convinced, but she mustered a smile. “I’ll do my best.”
It was a big ask; Marit knew that. She gave Isabelle a hug. “Thanks for being willing to try.”
“Let’s just hope your agent approves of me.”
“She will.” Marit grabbed her bag. “It’s time to go, so let’s head downstairs, and I’ll introduce you.”
Esmee and Nadia were already in the lobby when Marit and Isabelle arrived. They saw Marit exit the lift and walked over to meet them.
“Esmee and Nadia,” Marit said, “this is my good friend Isabelle Rogers. Isabelle, my agent, Esmee Scheffer, and my colleague, Nadia Muller.”
“Nice to meet you,” Isabelle said, extending her hand to Nadia and then to Esmee.
Nadia gave her a polite smile, but Esmee eyed Isabelle critically. “You were right, Marit.” She released Isabelle’s hand and circled her slowly. “Flawless skin, green eyes, thick hair, long legs, and a good figure. She certainly has potential.”
If Esmee had not been completely serious in her physical assessment of Isabelle, Marit would have broken down in a fit of giggles at the look on Isabelle’s face. As it was, Marit bit her lip to contain her laughter and offered up a silent prayer that Isabelle would not be so affronted by the blunt appraisal that she would walk away.
“I... I think so too,” Marit managed, and then, tucking her arm through Isabelle’s, she tugged her toward the door before her friend had a chance to voice a response. “I see Cole and Lars waiting for us outside, and if we don’t want to be late, we’d better head over to Henri LaRue’s casting session right now.”
***
Cole really needed to find time to spend with Isabelle that didn’t involve police, guns, and undercover work. As it was, he and Lars stood outside the design house and waited for Isabelle and Marit to disappear inside.
Isabelle cast a panicked look over her shoulder.
Cole mouthed the words, “You’ll be great.”
Marit must have picked up on Isabelle’s nerves, because she wrapped her arm around Isabelle’s shoulders and guided her forward.
“They’re going to be okay, right?” Lars asked from where he stood beside Cole on the sidewalk.
“Yeah.” They’d better be. Cole wasn’t crazy about Isabelle taking an active role in protection duty, but she was armed with his spare weapon. Plus, she was never without her wicked right hook. Cole hoped she wouldn’t need either method of defense anytime soon.
He supposed he should be grateful that Lars and Marit had accepted the idea of Isabelle sticking close to Marit for protection. Even though neither of them was aware of her employment with the CIA, they had both witnessed her skill with a pistol and her self-defense abilities.
“What now?” Lars asked.
“We find a new hotel room.” Cole had completed his checkout and was now saddled with hauling his go bag around with him, never an optimal situation. The hotel from last night had been two blocks from Marit’s flat—two blocks too far away.
Cole headed for the nearest Metro stop. “Where are you staying while you’re here?”
“I haven’t made a reservation for tonight yet.” Lars pulled out his phone and tapped on the screen before turning it toward Cole. “Here’s the info for the place where I’m supposed to stay. Hopefully, they’ll let me check in a couple of days early.”
Cole checked the address and nodded his approval. “This is perfect. It’s right next to Marit’s place.”
“That makes sense. She’s the one who recommended it.”
“We’ll try there first.”
Ten minutes and one transfer later, they arrived at the hotel. Cole studied the exterior while Lars headed for the door.
Marit’s building was directly next door. If he were lucky, Cole could get a fixed vantage point to help him choose a room facing Marit’s building. He continued past the hotel to the corner. When he looked down the crossroad, the Eiffel Tower came into view.
Lars caught up to him. “What are you doing? The hotel’s that way.”
“I just needed a little perspective. Come on.” Cole entered the lobby, where a man around Cole’s age stood behind the counter. “We need to check in.”
“Name?”
“Hendriks,” Lars said. “My reservation doesn’t start for a couple more days, but I arrived early.”
The clerk frowned slightly. “We’re very busy at the moment, but let me see what we can do for you.” The man tapped on his computer keyboard. “Ah, yes.” He nodded. “It looks like you requested a superior double room, and there is actually one available. Shall I add the extra days to your existing reservation?”
“Yes,” Lars said. “That would be great.”
“Any chance we can get a room facing away from the Eiffel Tower, preferably on an upper floor?” Cole glanced at Lars. “With two beds?”
Though surprise crossed the desk clerk’s face, he simply tapped a few more keys. “I will need a credit card and your IDs please.”
Lars and Cole handed over their passports, and Lars gave the clerk his credit card.
After the clerk went through the typical ritual of checking them in, he handed them their passports back along with their key cards. “You’re on the sixth floor. The lift is behind you to the left.”
Cole pocketed his passport and grabbed the keys. “Thank you.”
They found the elevator, one of those old-fashioned ones barely big enough for the two of them with their luggage.
Cole led the way inside and hit the button for the sixth floor. “Let me know how much the room is, and I’ll split it with you.”
“My work is paying for the days that I had to be here anyway. We can just split the extra days,” Lars said. “What’s the plan once we drop off our bags?”
“I need to shake some intel loose,” Cole said. “I want to know what the police have on the victim and the crime scene.”
The doors slid open on the sixth floor, and they made their way to their room.
Lars unlocked the door and stepped inside. Two twin beds were pushed into the center of the room, only a foot of space between them. A table for two was nestled beneath the tall window on the far side of the room, with barely enough room to pull out the chairs.
“This is cozy.” Lars slid his duffel and his equipment case to the side of the bed nearest the bathroom.
“It’ll do.” Cole closed the door behind him and pulled out his cell phone. He dialed his boss’s number.
Jasmine answered on the third ring, her Southern accent carrying in her words. “I was wondering when I was going to hear from you. Is everything okay with Marit?”
The fact that Jasmine knew Marit’s name was a reminder that his personal and professional lives had crossed far too often when Lars and Marit were around. “I’m not sure. The man she ID’d at the site of the theft turned up dead today. Think you can shake loose the police report for me?”
“Name?”
“Brinton James,” Cole said. “While you’re at it, maybe you can get the report from the theft too. I’d like to know if this guy was involved or if he was a witness.”
“Let’s hope it’s the first scenario.”
The one where Marit wasn’t next on a kill list. “Oh, I am.”
“I’ll put the request in, but you know how the locals can get when we try to interfere,” Jasmine said. “Marit isn’t a US citizen, so we don’t have any real reason to be involved.”
“I know. That’s why I’m hoping you can also run the guy’s last known address for me.”
“That’s easy enough. I’ll pull it up and text it to you.”
“Thanks, Jazz.”
“You can thank me by staying out of trouble.”
“I can do that.”
“I’ll pretend like I believe you.” Jasmine laughed. “Any idea how long you’ll need to stay in Paris?”
“Worst case, through the end of Fashion Week,” Cole said. “Marit has Isabelle going on some casting calls with her. Looks like she may get roped into working some shows.”
“Isabelle modeling?” Jasmine asked with a little too much enthusiasm. “Oh, you have to take pictures.”
“I’ll pass that job off to Lars. It’s his thing.”
“Good idea,” Jasmine agreed easily. “I’ll forward those police reports as soon as I get them.”
“Thanks again.” Cole ended the call. He dropped his go bag on his bed. He’d barely set it down when his phone rang. Jasmine. “Don’t tell me you couldn’t find the guy’s address.”
“Oh, I found it, but I doubt you’re going to find many clues about his murder at his apartment in Amsterdam.”
“I guess it makes sense that he’s just here for Fashion Week since he was working for a Dutch designer.”
“I’ll text you the address of the hotel where he was staying. You can use your FBI credentials to gain access. I’ll clear your name through the local FBI legal attaché.”
“What good will that do?” Cole asked. “Like you said, Marit isn’t a US citizen.”
“No, but Brinton James is.”
“You’re kidding.”
“No. Based on his residency permit application, he moved to Amsterdam nine months ago to apprentice under Ralph Molenaar. Before that, he was a student at The Fashion Institute of Technology in New York.”
“Thanks, Jazz. That intel will open a lot of doors.”
“Use those open doors wisely,” Jasmine cautioned.
“I will.” Cole ended the call.
“What did she say?” Lars asked. “I mean, the part you can tell me about without having to kill me afterward.”
“James is a US citizen who was living in Amsterdam.”
“I didn’t expect him to be an American.”
“Me neither.” Cole headed for the door. “I’m going to check out where this particular American was staying here in Paris. Maybe there will be a clue about why he was killed.”
“Want me to come with you?” Lars asked.
“You’d better stay here.” Cole didn’t need his cousin present while he broke into a potential crime scene.
“What am I supposed to do while you’re gone?”
“How about putting that fancy camera equipment of yours to work?” Cole pointed to the window. “Pretty sure we should have a perfect view of the entrance to Marit’s building.”
Lars crossed the room and stared through the glass. He turned, awareness evident on his face. “This is the reason you didn’t want a view of the Eiffel Tower.”
“Yep.”
“I’ll set up my tripod.”
“Call me if you see anything unusual.”
“I will.” Lars set his camera case on his bed and unzipped it. “And, Cole?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks again for coming.”
Cole nodded. “No problem.” He hoped.