Page 39 of When Fashion Turns Deadly

Isabelle stepped into the elevator. “What party?”

“The one Lars is taking you to.”

Isabelle shook her head. “I’m sorry. Why would your boyfriend take me to a party?”

“Because Lars and I were invited, and we’re both allowed to bring a plus-one.”

“So you’re taking Cole, and Lars is taking me.”

“Exactly.” They reached the correct floor, and Marit headed down the hall to Ralph’s office. “I told Ralph that you were coming. He agreed to loan both of us dresses.”

“This reminds me of when we went to that ball in Vienna.” Isabelle had enjoyed that magical night right up until Cole had pulled out his gun to question a suspect.

Marit paused in the hall. “Do you think we can get Cole to leave his gun in his hotel room?”

Not a chance. Isabelle tempered her answer. “I’m sure he’ll be better behaved at this party than the last one.”

Marit eyed her warily. “You aren’t helping.”

“Sorry.” In fairness, it was the best Isabelle could offer her.

She and Marit entered the conference room, where a rack full of gowns stood against one wall.

Ralph was already there. He said something in Dutch to Marit before switching to English. Pulling a red gown off the rack, he held it up for Isabelle. “I think this is the one for you.”

Isabelle moved closer to inspect the floor-length dress. A slit separated the fabric on one side, rising halfway up the thigh. Perfect for mobility. And with the right handbag, she would be able to conceal her pistol.

She glanced at Marit, who held up a pale-blue gown. Maybe Isabelle would keep her thoughts about self-defense and concealing weaponry to herself.

Chapter 14

Marit took Cole’s arm, andthey started down the pavement toward the historic Conciergerie. All along the side of the road, taxis pulled up to drop off the Fashion Week party guests. Women dressed in gowns of every description were accompanied by men in elegant and extravagant tuxedos.

“For the record,” Lars said from his position beside Isabelle and behind Marit and Cole, “walking into the Conciergerie like this feels very weird.”

“You’re telling me,” Cole said. “We’re going to a fancy party in an old prison.”

Marit glanced back at Lars’s face and stifled a giggle. She knew exactly what Lars was feeling; she wished they were going in as a couple too. “I don’t think that’s what he meant, Cole,” she said.

Cole frowned. “Well, it should’ve been. We’re walking into a building with doors thicker than most walls and bars on the windows.”

“And heightened security,” Isabelle added as they walked past three armed police officers.

“Hopefully, that’s just routine procedure at these kinds of events,” Cole said. “I’m pretty sure my boss would have let me know if they were on heightened alert.”

Marit eyed him warily. Was there any particular reason why that would be an issue for Cole tonight? “Heightened alert or not, you know they’re not going to let you in if you brought a weapon, right?”

“You’d think so, wouldn’t you?”

“Cole,” Marit pressed. “We’re not redoing what happened in Vienna.”

“No, we’re not. That time, we were flushing out a bad guy; this time, we’re getting to know people.”

For some reason, Marit didn’t feel the slightest bit better. “Isabelle”—she turned her head—“he’s your boyfriend. Talk some sense into him.”

“Sorry, Marit. He’s yours for the night. But if it’s any consolation, I’ve learned it’s better not to fight it.”

Cole offered her a half smile. “Isabelle’s right.”

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