Page 60 of When Fashion Turns Deadly

“Where are you?”

“In the bedroom.” She swallowed. “Isabelle’s gone out there.”

“Text Cole,” he said. Over the phone, she heard a door slam and the pounding of running feet. “I was waiting up for him, but he’s not back yet. I’m on my way over.”

The phone went dead. A thud sounded from the living room. Marit darted across the room, pressing herself against the wall beside the open bedroom door. The whisper of fabric moving. Was it Isabelle or someone else? Marit strained her ears, trying to determine which way the person was going.

“Marit?”

At the sound of Isabelle’s voice, Marit’s knees weakened. “I’m by the door.”

Isabelle entered the bedroom, the moonlight peeking through the chinks in the blinds and reflecting off the gun in her hand. “He’s gone.”

“Did you see him?”

“Yeah.” Frustration filled her voice. “Black clothes, black mask. By the time I reached the front door, he was halfway down the hall. He took the stairs, and I knew I wouldn’t catch him even if the elevator was waiting on our floor.”

Female voices reached them from outside the flat. With a groan, Isabelle hurried over to the chest of drawers and picked up her phone. Two seconds later, the alarm shut off, and an eerie silence descended on the flat.

“I should have done that first thing,” Isabelle said. “Then maybe it would have only woken us up instead of everyone on our floor.”

As if to prove the point, someone banged on their door. “Marit! What’s going on? Are you okay?”

“What do I tell them?” Marit asked.

“The truth.” Isabelle slipped her gun beneath her pillow. “That someone tried to break into this flat. Again. We’ll reassure them that the alarms scared off the perpetrator and apologize for waking them. That’s all they need to know at this time of night.”

Releasing a tense breath, Marit started for the door. “I don’t know what happened to the security guard downstairs, but whether Esmee likes it or not, something significant is going to have to change if we’re staying here another night.”

***

Lars tore out of the hotel. At this early hour of the morning, the traffic was light, and he barely paused to look both ways before sprinting across the road. Taking the steps that led to the entrance to Marit’s building two at a time, he reached for the door.

“Lars!”

He swung around. Running footsteps approached from his left, and seconds later, Cole materialized out of the shadows.

“Did Marit text you?” Lars asked, pushing open the door as he spoke.

“I haven’t checked.” Cole was out of breath. “I was just leaving the other place when my phone registered that the motion sensors were triggered. I’ve been running ever since. Have you talked to her?”

“Yeah. But that was at least two minutes ago.”

Neither of them needed to be told how quickly a situation like this could change. Especially if weapons were involved.

Cole withdrew his gun and entered the empty lobby beside Lars. “The front door should have been locked. And where’s the security guard?”

“I don’t know, and I’m not waiting to find out.” Lars made for the door bearing a sign showing stairs. “I’m not waiting for the lift either.”

“Good call.” Cole was right behind him. “It’s so tiny, we probably couldn’t fit both of us and my backpack in it anyway.”

With a grunt of agreement, Lars started up the stairs. “Which floor are they on again?”

“Fourth,” Cole said, glancing up the stairwell. “It looks clear, but keep your ear out for anyone coming down.”

Lars took the stairs faster than he’d ever climbed stairs before. And he was reminded of how much he hated them. “This is it,” he panted when they reached the fourth floor.

“Yeah.” With his free hand, Cole reached for the door. “Let me go first.”

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