Page 58 of When Fashion Turns Deadly

Chapter 20

Cole tightened the straps ofhis backpack and checked the back of the building yet again. A stray cat at the edge of a garbage can eyed Cole warily, the hair on its back sticking straight up as it debated whether Cole was a big enough threat to cause it to leave the scraps it had been eating when Cole first arrived.

With no other hint of movement, Cole climbed on top of the dumpster nearest the fire-escape ladder, bringing him to within three feet of the bottom rung.

Bending his knees, he jumped straight upward and grabbed the bottom rung with both hands.

His weight pulled the ladder downward with a grinding squeak. The cat scurried away, and Cole winced. He hadn’t meant to make that much noise.

The ladder jolted to a stop when it was mere inches above the dumpster. He glanced around again for any sign of life before starting his upward climb. He stepped onto the first-floor landing, careful to balance his weight to avoid making more noise. He then continued up the stairs to the rooftop, six stories up. Looming above him from only a couple of kilometers away, the Eiffel Tower shone brightly. Too brightly.

Ducking to keep from being seen by anyone who might bother to look up, he continued to the edge of the building. Who was he kidding? It was two in the morning. Only crazy people were up at this hour.

Voices carried from below, and Cole peeked over the edge of the roof. A man and a woman leaned on each other as they swaggered down the street. Whether they were intoxicated or exhausted, Cole couldn’t tell, nor did he care.

He climbed onto the edge of the rooftop, deliberately focusing on the four-foot gap between him and the next building instead of the six stories of empty space below him. Just like the standing long jump at field day in junior high, except for the lack of soft sand in his landing zone.

He bent his knees and swung his arms back. Then he took a deep breath and launched himself onto the next roof. He cleared the opposite ledge but stumbled as he fought to regain his footing. One hand pressed against the rooftop before he righted himself and continued to the spot above where Peter Wade’s office was located on the fifth floor.

Cole evaluated the surrounding rooftop before attaching his rappelling gear to a window-washer anchor. It was a stroke of luck that he’d needed this particular equipment on his last assignment. He set his secondary line on the second window-washer anchor, along with the motor that would allow him to use a remote to pull him back up to the roof rather than forcing him to climb back up manually.

Once satisfied that his rigging was secure, he did another check of the street below. The couple had disappeared, but the hum of a nearby engine kept him in place until a car drove by and the street was once again quiet.

Planting his feet on the edge of the rooftop, he tightened his line and climbed downward. He reached the fifth floor and counted off the windows to make sure he entered the correct one. Thankfully, no light shone from within.

Cole stood on the railing of the balcony and retrieved a thin, narrow metal strip from the zippered pocket on the front of his backpack strap. Twenty seconds later, the window latch clicked open.

Cole pushed the window open and slipped inside. He remained stationary for a moment while he evaluated the space before him. A large designer’s table in the corner, two stools beside it. A small, wooden desk in front of the window. A long couch pushed against the far wall.

Confident that he was alone, he pulled the end of the rope into the room and unhooked his harness. A quick scan revealed that the office was clear of surveillance cameras and motion detectors. That would simplify things.

He searched the office, beginning with the desk, which had only a single center drawer. It wasn’t even locked. He slid it open to find nothing beyond basic office supplies.

The artist’s table was devoid of everything except a pencil holder filled with various colored pencils and pens.

He moved to the nearest piece of artwork, a print of the Eiffel Tower. He pulled it away from the wall enough to ensure that nothing was hidden behind it. He repeated the process with two more framed prints without success.

Continuing forward, he reached the far side of the room and discovered a small niche tucked into the corner. Inside it was a four-drawer filing cabinet.

Cole picked the lock and started at the bottom drawer. Bingo. A small safe with a combination dial had been fitted inside. What was it with everyone hiding their safes in drawers?

He studied the top, unable to identify the manufacturer. That was going to complicate things. Unless...

Cole dialed Isabelle’s number.

Isabelle answered on the third ring. “What kind of safe is it?”

“How did you know I was calling about a safe?” Cole whispered.

“Because it’s...” She trailed off, and he could hear her sheets rustle. “Two fifteen in the morning.”

“Okay, so it’s about a safe, but I can’t tell what kind.” Cole described it.

“It’s probably a Forrester,” Isabelle said. “Zero first, then a four-digit com­bination.”

“Thanks.”

“Just don’t get arrested.”

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