Page 30 of When Fashion Turns Deadly

They stood quietly for a couple of minutes, taking in the iconic scene even as droves of tourists passed by. Work had brought her here, and she was grateful. She loved her career and the opportunities it provided, but she loved the man standing beside her even more. It wasn’t the view that made the evening so special; it was sharing this moment with Lars. Truth be told, she wanted to share every moment with Lars.

“Do you want to take a photo?” Marit asked.

“I probably should, huh?”

She smiled as he released her to lift the camera hanging around his neck to his eye. He would take more than one, but it made her happy that he’d seemed as reluctant as she was to end their enchanted moment together.

“And then we can head over to the bridge and catch up with Cole and Isabelle,” he added.

Marit looked left, where the pavement joined the Pont Alexandre III bridge. Lamps shone above the decorative stone balusters that ran the full length of the structure, illuminating the crowds of people gathered there. Voices and laughter filled the air. Men standing above cheaply made trinkets and souvenirs called to passersby, urging them to buy an illuminated plastic Eiffel Tower or a glow stick.

“Do you know where they are?” Marit asked. The two couples had arrived together, but it was proving hard to keep track of each other among so many people.

“Yeah.” Lars lowered his camera and took Marit’s hand. “They stopped a couple of meters onto the bridge. I saw Isabelle pointing out something to Cole through my camera lens.”

“Great.” Repositioning the straps of her oversized purse on her shoulder, Marit stepped away from the low retaining wall. “It shouldn’t take us long to meet up again.”

Weaving through the milling tourists, they crossed the short distance to the bridge, but by the time they reached the spot where Lars had seen Cole and Isabelle, the couple had moved closer to its center.

“I understand why they stopped here,” Lars said. “That’s a great view.” The beams of light emanating from the top of the Eiffel Tower swung in a slow circle, piercing the dark night sky above and the iridescent water below. He glanced at her. “Can I have you in this photo?”

With a laugh, she released his hand and stepped up to the balustrade. “Only for you.”

Lars grinned and raised his camera.

He’d taken three or four shots when a man rushed by, knocking Lars’s elbow and jostling the camera as he passed.

“Hey!” Lars exclaimed.

Ignoring him, the stranger in dark clothes and a dark knit hat lunged for Marit’s bag, yanking it off her shoulder. Pain shot down her arm as he tugged it free, and almost before Marit knew what had happened, he was running away with her purse under his arm.

“Cole!” Lars yelled, whipping his camera strap off from around his head and thrusting the camera at Marit before taking up the chase.

Up ahead, Cole and Isabelle swung around. The man darted into a crowd of teenagers, but he wasn’t fast enough. Cole had spotted him. Lars had already shortened the distance between him and the purse snatcher, but Cole and Isabelle were closer. They took off in unison, racing around the teenagers as Lars sprinted along the path the thief had taken.

Forcing herself to push past her shock, Marit chased after them. The man broke through the other side of the group, and Cole didn’t hesitate. Launching himself at the thief, Cole barreled into the purse snatcher’s right side. The man stumbled, giving Isabelle time to reach him.

“Not this time, mister!” She grabbed Marit’s bag and pulled it out from under his elbow as he was still trying to catch his footing.

Righting himself first, Cole dove for the thief’s arm just as Lars appeared beside him. Cole’s fingers connected with the thief’s sleeve, but it wasn’t enough. The man twisted, and Cole lost his grip. An authoritative shout was followed by the pounding of feet on the bridge. The crowds parted, and without a backward glance, the thief bolted.

Lars started after him, and a new fear struck Marit. To take on a purse snatcher among tourists was one thing. To follow him into the dark alleys of Paris was something else entirely. “Stop, Lars,” she called.

He spun around. His face registered his surprise, and he crossed the short distance between them in six long strides. “Marit! I thought you were still where I left you.”

“Don’t go after him.” She wrapped her arms around him. “He knows these streets much better than we do, and he might not be working alone. Isabelle has my purse, and that’s the most important thing.”

“As much as I hate to admit it,” Cole said as he and Isabelle joined them, “she’s right.” He gave the thief’s escape route one last frustrated look before settling his attention on the two uniformed men who’d just arrived at the center of the bridge. “It looks like the police were alerted to what was going on. Are you up for answering their questions?”

A nearby couple was talking to the officers. They pointed to Marit, Lars, Isabelle, and Cole. The officers turned toward them, and Marit’s heart sank.

Pulling away from Lars, she braced herself for another difficult conversation. “The local police are going to have my contact information on speed dial by the time I leave Paris.”

Isabelle gave her a sympathetic look and handed back her purse. “I’m sorry, Marit. But at least this time, you won’t have to face them alone.”

It was true. And the thought was remarkably reassuring. “Thanks, Isabelle,” she managed a weak smile. “Over the next couple of days, maybe we can mix some self-defense lessons in with our modeling lessons. I think it’s time I worked on those skills.”

Isabelle gave her hand a supportive squeeze. “Absolutely.”

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