Page 35 of When Fashion Turns Deadly

“After dessert.”

“Right.”

Cole chuckled and grabbed his room key, cell phone, and jacket. When he reached the lobby, he called Isabelle.

“Everything okay?” she asked.

“Yeah.” Except for the three little words that were now burning on his tongue. He swallowed them. He couldn’t tell Isabelle he was in love with her. No way was he going to risk scaring her off. No, he’d have to wait for her to say “I love you” first. He walked outside and made sure no one was nearby before he continued. “Is there any chance you can pull the bank records for Brinton James? They weren’t included in the police report.”

“What are you looking for?” Isabelle asked.

“A payoff. I think he may have been hired by someone to steal Ralph’s designs.”

“I’ll take a look.”

“I’m heading down the street to grab some dessert. Do you or Marit want anything?”

Isabelle repeated the question to Marit before answering. “Marit said no thanks.” Regret carried in her voice when she added, “I’d better skip, too, if I’m going to try this modeling thing this week.”

“You’re naturally gorgeous. A piece of cheesecake isn’t going to change that.”

“That’s sweet of you to say,” Isabelle said. “But if I were to indulge, I’d go for a berry tart.”

“Good to know.” Cole headed toward the pâtisserie down the street. “Call me if you find anything.”

“I will.”

Cole pocketed his phone and strode down the sidewalk. He reached the pâtisserie only minutes before closing time and scanned his options, the selections limited because of the late hour. He smiled when he spotted one berry tart left in the display case.

He pointed at the tart and held up one finger. With no cheesecake in sight, he used his limited French and hand signals to order an assortment of pastries, from custard tarts to chocolateéclairs to some fancy pastries he couldn’t pronounce. With far more food than he and Lars could likely eat over the next twelve hours, he headed back down the street to his hotel.

He was approaching the door when his phone chimed.

Careful to keep the pastry box level, he pulled his phone from his pocket and read the text from Isabelle.Meet me outside my building.

Cole looked up at the same time the door opened, and Isabelle emerged. Cole moved toward her, and she met him halfway.

“You were right to suspect a payoff,” Isabelle said. “There was a ten-thousand-euro deposit made into his account two weeks ago.”

“Can you trace the source?”

“I’m afraid not.” She shook her head. “The deposit was made in cash.”

“Ten thousand isn’t that much.”

“I agree. It was likely intended to be a down payment on the theft,” Isabelle said.

A couple approached them, and Cole fell silent until the passersby moved out of earshot. “We have to find out who hired him.”

“It has to be someone from one of the other design houses,” Isabelle said. “Maybe you should put in a request to headquarters. If you can pull any of the designers’ financials, I can look over them to see if anything looks off.”

“That’s not a bad idea.” Cole held up the pastry box and opened it. He pulled out the berry tart. “Here. This is for you.”

Isabelle shook her head. “I shouldn’t eat this.”

“But you’re going to.”

“You’re right.” Isabelle took the offered pastry from him.

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