Page 5 of When Fashion Turns Deadly

Knowing his cousin, the man was probably desperately trying to get to Paris to find some answers of his own.

Cole pulled up the address for the place where Marit was staying and searched for the police department closest to her. He copied the address into the notes app on his phone. With any luck, he would be there within two hours. If she was a suspect in a crime, it was highly possible he would arrive before they tried to interrogate her. If she was simply a witness, he could make sure she was safe before he returned to Vienna.

He reached the correct platform and passed the crowd of passengers already gathered there until he reached the far end, where he could make a phone call with some level of privacy.

He dialed Isabelle’s number.

“Hey there. Are you back?” she asked in lieu of a greeting.

“No.” Cole switched from English to German in case the French couple nearby cared about his conversation. The likelihood of them speaking German was marginally lower than their being fluent in English. “Marit left me a message. She was taken in by the police for questioning.”

Concern filled Isabelle’s voice when she responded, also speaking in German. “For what?”

“I don’t know. I’m not sure she knows either.” He pushed aside his regret that he wouldn’t be able to see Isabelle as soon as he’d planned. “I’m taking the train to Paris to find out what’s going on.”

“Let me know if you want me to meet you there. I can always take a long weekend.”

“Thanks.” A long weekend in Paris with Isabelle. The prospect had definite possibilities, assuming his boss would let him have the time off. “I’ll give you a call as soon as I know anything.”

“One more thing,” Isabelle said.

“Yeah?”

“Does Jasmine know you’re diverting?” she asked, referring to the CIA station chief in Vienna.

“Not yet.” Cole glanced at the other passengers wandering toward him. “Any chance you want to let her know what’s going on?”

“Not a lot of privacy at the train station, huh?”

Appreciating her perception, he nodded even though she couldn’t see him. “Exactly.”

“I’ll call Jasmine, and I’ll see if she has any contacts with the Paris police who can help us find out why Marit was taken in.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it.”

“No problem. Travel safe.”

“I will. I miss you.” The words rolled off his tongue with such ease, he could barely believe they’d been seriously dating for only four months.

“I miss you too.”

His mood lighter after talking to Isabelle, Cole ended the call. What a difference a few months could make. When they had first started dating, he had completely let things slide between them when he’d gone out on missions. Now she was the first person he thought of when his itinerary changed. This was getting weird, but he had to admit, he rather liked knowing she was waiting for his call.

The train pulled up to the platform, and Cole boarded. He found his assigned seat, stored his duffel in the overhead compartment, and pulled his secure laptop out of his backpack. Time to do some research on recent crimes in Paris.

***

Marit had no idea how long she’d been sitting alone in the interrogation room. The police officer behind the desk at the station had taken possession of her phone and bag when she’d first arrived. Without a clock on the wall, it was impossible to know for sure. But if the gnawing of her stomach and the ache in her back from sitting on a hard chair for too long was any indication, a significant amount of time had passed.

At first, she’d sat quietly, desperately trying to think of anything she might have seen that would place her on the police’s radar. She’d come up empty. Pacing the room while reflecting on the happenings at every place she’d visited since arriving in Paris had delivered no better results. Until someone told her why she was being held for questioning, she was completely in the dark. And she was rapidly discovering that she did not like that state at all.

Smoothing her shaking hands across her knees, she kept her eyes on the door. At her right, a wall of mirrors looked down on her. She had no way of knowing how many officers were watching her from the other side, but like a chill gradually creeping up her spine, she felt their cool appraisal. The remaining walls were white, the floor a gray linoleum. The only furniture was the black plastic chair she was using, the small table before her, and the orange plastic chair on the other side of the table.

She released an unsteady breath. It shouldn’t bother her that the chairs didn’t match. It was a trivial thing. But it was easier to focus on the lack of aesthetics in the room than on the lack of another person. And orange chairs were, by definition, unpleasant. Almost as unpleasant as being forced to wait for her interrogation to begin.

Her thoughts shifted to Lars. Had he wondered why she hadn’t called him back yet? Had he tried to call her? And Cole? She had no way of knowing if he’d listened to her voice message or what he could do to help her now that she no longer had her phone. But she drew some comfort from believing that he would dosomething—even if it was only to let Lars know what had happened. It went against Cole’s basic nature to do nothing.

She closed her eyes, trying to imagine herself anywhere else. And then she heard the door handle move. Opening her eyes, she watched in silence as the door swung wide and Capitaine Dupont entered.

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