Page 19

Isabelle leaned back against the headboard of Cole’s bed, a napkin and a boxed salad on her lap, or rather a plastic container filled with lettuce and cucumber. It could hardly be considered a salad when it didn’t include any toppings or salad dressing. Lars and Marit had once again opted to sit at the little table beside her, and Cole currently paced at the far end of the room, his open laptop in one hand. He was in work mode at the moment, his focus unbreakable. Why she should find him so attractive when he got like this, she couldn’t say, but at the moment, she was having a hard time keeping her eyes off him.

“Cole, it will be a lot easier to look at your screen if you stop pacing,” she said.

Cole simply made another turn at the edge of the room, the laptop still balanced on his hand.

Isabelle took a bite of salad. “When all this is over, I say we go out for a nice Italian dinner with lots of pasta and creamy sauces.”

Marit held up her fork, which currently had a wedge of tomato attached to the end of it. “That sounds so wonderful.”

“As hard as you two have been working, you deserve a little spoiling,” Lars said.

Cole’s focus remained on his laptop screen as he strode to the door and then back to the foot of the bed again. “From what Ralph said, we can eliminate half a dozen designers from suspicion, including Li Du and Kyle Adams. Neither of them has any sort of production abilities here in Europe, not even on a small scale.”

“And if we’re right about Camille Allard, she would be too grateful to Ralph for helping her out previously to ever try to sabotage him,” Marit said.

“Ralph indicated the same thing to me.”

“That leaves Henri LaRue and Peter Wade as our top suspects.” Isabelle slid off her shoes and let them fall to the floor before pointing her toes in an effort to work out the stiffness in her arches.

Cole set the laptop down and sat at the edge of the bed, just beyond Isabelle’s bare feet. “Peter’s name has come up twice now as possibly being involved in thefts before.” Cole nudged the laptop toward the center of the bed and took her foot in his hands. He pressed his thumb against the bottom of her foot, right in the spot where it ached the most.

Isabelle dropped her plastic fork into her salad box and sighed. “Oh, that feels good.”

“It’s supposed to.” He continued massaging her foot. “Maybe it’s time we take a closer look at Peter Wade’s operation.”

“What did you have in mind?” Lars asked.

Isabelle suspected she knew exactly what he had in mind. “Does Wade have offices here in Paris?”

“Yes.” Marit pushed the remains of her salad back onto the table. “Including a small production studio.”

Cole’s gaze lifted to meet Isabelle’s. He cocked both eyebrows as though asking her opinion of him breaking in without a government order behind him.

“If you do this, you’d better not get caught,” she said.

“Do what?” Lars asked.

“I just want to poke around his office a bit,” Cole said innocently. He really did have that look down.

“Peter Wade is not going to invite you into his office,” Marit said. “And he certainly won’t leave you alone to let you search for whatever might show his guilt.”

“I wasn’t planning to ask for an invitation.” Cole released Isabelle’s left foot and moved on to massage her right.

Lars’s eyes widened. “You’re going to break in?”

“I’m just going to take a look around.”

Lars shook his head. “Please don’t tell me I’ll need to bail you out again.”

“You didn’t have to bail me out last time,” Cole said. “You just gave me a ride home from the police station.”

“Same thing.” Lars took another bite of his sandwich, melted cheese oozing from the size of it.

Cole pressed on a particularly tight spot on the ball of Isabelle’s foot, and she flexed her foot to give him better access. He was definitely winning serious brownie points right now. Despite that, Isabelle couldn’t disagree with Lars. “Lars may be right on this one,” she said gently. “None of us can afford to have you end up in jail right now.”

Cole released her foot and stood. He moved to her side and leaned down to kiss her. His lips only touched hers for a moment, but it was enough to send the familiar warmth and love rushing through her. He leaned back and smiled. “I’m not going to get caught.”

***

Lars set down the remains of his meal and glanced at Marit. She smiled at him, but there was no mistaking the tiredness in her eyes and the slight droop to her shoulders that spoke of the pressure she’d been under this week. He reached for her hand, anger at the person responsible for sending men to assault her rippling through him. Fashion Week was taxing enough for a model of Marit’s caliber without adding an additional fear factor. Along with that, he and Marit were together in Paris, and instead of strolling hand in hand through a quaint outdoor market or spending a romantic evening at an elegant restaurant, they were holed up in a tiny hotel room, eating boxed salads. It was time to do something about it.

“Want to go somewhere new?” he asked softly.

She gave him a startled look. “Do you think we can? I’m not sure that I’m ready to test my self-defense skills on anyone but Cole.”

“We can,” he said firmly. “And you’re going to be completely safe.” He pulled her to her feet. “Put on your coat and give me one second to grab mine.”

That caught Cole’s attention. “Are you two going out?”

“Yes and no,” Lars said, taking his coat out of the tiny closet.

“Try that again,” Cole said with a frown.

“Yes, we’re going outside,” Lars said. “No, we’re not going to be on the dark streets, where the bad guys hang out.”

“Until we know who’s behind the attacks on Marit, it’s probably unwise to go anywhere farther than our building,” Isabelle said.

“Agreed.” Lars reached for Marit’s hand again. “We won’t leave the hotel.”

Cole folded his arms. “But you’re going out?”

Lars released a sigh. Given their current situation, it had been a forlorn hope that he could have any significant time alone with Marit, but he was not giving up on claiming a moment or two.

“We’re going onto the hotel roof,” he said. “When I was acting as your lookout at Bianchi’s hotel, I noticed a sign advertising a rooftop bar, so when we got back here, I asked at the front desk to see if they have anything similar.” He shrugged. “They don’t. But they do have roof access, and when I told the clerk that I was a photographer and wanted to get shots of the Parisian skyline, she gave me the code to the outside door. I checked it out earlier. By daylight, it’s half a dozen outdoor chairs and a small, rickety table sitting on a large patch of gray roofing material. I’m hoping that by night, it’s a quiet getaway with a view of the city all lit up.”

“Sounds great,” Cole said, reaching for his and Isabelle’s coats.

“Actually, you weren’t invited.”

Cole grinned. “I know. But for security’s sake, I should check it out. And I’m not leaving Isabelle here on her own.”

Lars gave him a long-suffering look. “I’ll give you the key code on two conditions.” He held up one finger. “First, the roof is to be a no-talk-of-work-or-pending-danger zone.” He held up another finger. “And second, you and Isabelle must hang out far enough from me and Marit that I can pretend I’m alone with my girlfriend.”

Humor shone in Cole’s eyes. “On the assumption that my security sweep finds the rooftop clear, you’ve got yourself a deal.”

It took Cole less than a minute to scour the hotel rooftop and declare it safe. “It’s a bit breezy up here,” he said, “but Lars was right: the views are amazing.”

Taking Isabelle’s hand, he led her to the far side of the building, allowing Lars and Marit to claim the corner that looked out over the Seine. Lars tucked his arm around Marit’s small waist, and they moved to stand beside the wrought-iron railing that ran around the perimeter of the roof.

The wind tugged at Marit’s hair, sending wisps streaming across her face. She laughed, capturing the wayward strands in one hand and tucking them into her coat. Her joy at such a small thing was the best thing Lars had witnessed all day.

“I’ve missed this.” He drew her closer. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too.” Relaxing against him, she laid her head on his shoulder. “Thank you for finding this place and for bringing me here. It’s perfect.”

Her definition of perfect needed a little work, but Lars wasn’t going to argue with her. He didn’t care how dilapidated the chairs behind them appeared, or how sooty the chimney stacks were that lined the rooftop. All that mattered was that they were together and that she was happy.

“Look,” she said, pointing at something far below them. “Do you see the little tour boats all lit up?”

Lars smiled. “I do.”

“And the glass pyramid at the Louvre.”

“Uh-huh.”

She turned her head and caught him watching her. “You’re not even looking at how pretty it is,” she accused.

“Yes, I am.” An errant strand of hair escaped her coat again, and with gentle fingers, he brushed it off her face. “And if you were to ask me, I’d say my view is stunningly beautiful.”

Her expression softened. “You must like the windswept look.”

He turned to face her, sliding his other arm around her waist. “I love the windswept look,” he said. “And the fancy-party look, and the first-thing-in-the-morning look, and the I-just-took-down-Cole look...”

She laughed softly. “That was the stunned look.”

“Whatever it was, it suited you.” He sobered. “I’m sorry for all the terrible things you’ve had to endure this week. You’ve been so brave and so uncom-plaining.”

“You didn’t see me shaking like a leaf after the last mugging attempt.”

Regret coursed through him. “I wish I’d been with you.”

“I would have just had you hold me.” She threaded her arms around his neck. “And maybe kiss me.”

He brushed his lips gently across hers. “Like this?”

“Kind of.” Her fingers found his hair, and his heart began to thump.

“‘Kind of’ isn’t good enough. Can I try again?”

Her lips were tantalizingly close, and they curved upward.

“I think maybe you’d better.”

This time, when their lips met, Lars let his emotions free. Days’ worth of fear and anxiety over Marit’s well-being mingled with the thrill of holding her in his arms. Her fingers wove through his hair, and he tightened his hold on her as the rooftop seemed to tilt beneath his feet. The wind swirled around them, his kiss silently expressing his ever-deepening love even as he accepted hers.

From somewhere far below, a siren wailed, the sound increasing in volume as the police car drew nearer. Marit shifted slightly. Slowly, reluctantly, Lars raised his head to rest his forehead against hers. This woman was everything to him, and he couldn’t imagine—didn’t want to imagine—a future without her in it. He moved one hand in a slow circle across her back. It was time. As soon as he returned to Amsterdam, he was going to talk to Coster’s head jewelry designer about a ring.

“Was that more like it?” he asked.

She nodded faintly. “Uh-huh.”

“Pretty sure I’ll remember how from now on.”

“That’s good,” she whispered. “But if you need to practice again, that’s okay too.”

Lars smiled into the darkness. “More practice sounds like a great idea.”