Page 59 of When Fashion Turns Deadly

“I’ll text you when I’m on my way back.”

“Thanks.” Isabelle hung up, and Cole pulled out his specialized listening device.

At least this time he didn’t have as tight of a time constraint as he’d had for his break-in last week. He simply needed to open the safe, find any evidence that would prove Wade was involved with the theft, and get out before he showed up in the morning—and before anyone noticed Cole’s rope hanging off the side of the building.

Working steadily, Cole dialed through the combination, restarting twice when the second number gave him some trouble. Forty-two minutes later, he pulled the handle and lifted the safe door to reveal the contents inside. A bunch of beige fabric.

Could these be what had been stolen from Ralph’s safe? Or had Wade created them?

Cole lifted the fabric from the safe and laid out the pieces on the couch, photographing each one in turn. When he reached the last one, he looked in the safe for anything else hidden within, but only a small stash of cash remained.

Cole returned the fabric to the safe and secured it before pulling open the next drawer to the filing cabinet. He flipped through the files, all of which appeared to be old tax records.

He closed that drawer and opened the next one. This time, the files were labeled with names rather than years. Cole took photos of each label, pausing when he reached Giuseppe Bianchi’s name. Cole pulled the file out and opened it. Inside were several legal documents, including an opinion from Wade’s attorney on whether to sue for defamation. Cole photographed the documents, carefully keeping them in order in the file.

He replaced it and only had to look to the one right behind it before he came to another familiar name: Dominic Vitale.

This file was much thicker and included a police report that outlined Wade’s claim that Dominic Vitale had paid one of Wade’s employees to steal one of his designs.

Not willing to take the time to read the entire file, Cole snapped photos of the documents and replaced them.

He finished his search of the filing cabinet without any other significant finds.

The chime of an elevator rang out. Whether it was a guard or an occupant didn’t matter. Cole was out of time.

He hurried across the room as footsteps approached. The telltale jangle of keys followed.

Cole quickly clipped his harness to his primary and secondary lines and stepped out onto the railing.

The lock in Wade’s door turned as Cole pulled the windows shut. Without hesitation, he hit the button to start the motor, his body lifting into the air, and he zipped upward to the roof.

The moment he reached the top of the building, he climbed over the ledge and pulled his line upward.

“That was close.” He shook his head. Why would Peter Wade be in his office at three thirty in the morning?

It didn’t matter. It was time to get back to his room and get some sleep.

Cole packed his gear into his backpack and headed back the way he’d come. He had just landed on the roof of the building next door when his phone buzzed with an incoming text.

He thought he had silenced it.

Based on the late hour, it had to be either his grandfather or a friend who was Stateside. Continuing steadily forward, he pulled his phone free of his pocket. He glanced down at the screen. Not a text message. An alarm.

Chapter 21

A strident beeping jolted Maritawake, and she shot up in bed, her heart racing. “Isabelle!”

A door clicked. Someone coming in or going out?

Isabelle’s pale shadow flitted across the bedroom, headed toward the living room. “It’s one of the motion detectors,” she whispered. “I’m on it. Don’t move.”

Don’t move? While Isabelle went out there alone? Marit might be shaken, but she wasn’t going to simply sit in bed and wait for her friend to be attacked.

Sliding out from under the sheets, she reached for her phone on the bedside table: 3:55 a.m. If Cole had followed through on his plan to visit Peter Wade’s office, he probably wasn’t even in bed, let alone asleep. He also wasn’t going to answer her phone call. She pulled up Lars’s number and pushed Call. It rang once before Lars picked up.

“Marit? What’s wrong?”

“Someone tripped the motion sensor,” she whispered, the ongoing clamorous noise filling every corner of the flat. And probably beyond.

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