Page 62 of When Fashion Turns Deadly

Isabelle opened the door again. The sound of the lift grinding its way upward filled the hall. Cole glanced that way and then took off toward the staircase in the opposite direction.

Locking the door behind him, Isabelle released an exasperated sigh. “Do we call the police, or do we assume someone else already has?”

“Is that really necessary?” Marit asked. “Other than our alarm waking everyone in the building, nothing happened.”

Lars understood her reluctance. He’d lost track of how many times she’d spoken with a police officer since she’d arrived in Paris.

“It’s the waking-everyone-in-the-building part that I’m worried about,” Isabelle said. “It’ll be a miracle if no one called in a complaint.”

A knock sounded at the door.

“If Cole’s back already, that’s probably not a good thing,” Lars murmured. “If it’s the police or an irate neighbor, that isn’t much better.”

“Marit!” A woman’s voice called through the door. “Isabelle! Are you in there?”

“It’s Esmee,” Marit whispered.

Esmee pounded again.

“I don’t think she’s going to go away.” Isabelle reached for the doorknob and gave Lars a pointed look. “You’d better brace yourself for a dressing down.”

“Let her in,” Lars said grimly. “I have a few things she probably needs to hear too.”

Isabelle opened the door. “Hi, Esmee.”

Marit’s agent entered, a pink silk dressing gown covering her matching pajamas. “What’s going on up here?” she demanded. “Alarms. Models running around the halls in the middle of the night.” She turned to look at Marit, and catching sight of Lars for the first time, she placed her hands on her hips. “And now a man in the building?”

Lars met her glare without flinching. “You forgot to mention the thug who got past the supposedly vigilant security guard and just broke into Marit and Isabelle’s flat. Again.”

Esmee turned shocked eyes on Isabelle. “Is this true?”

“Yes,” Isabelle said. “After the first break-in, Cole insisted that we put a motion sensor at the door, and it’s a good thing we did. The alarm went off when someone entered our flat. Thankfully, that was enough to scare him away.”

“I called Lars, and he came right over,” Marit said.

“You should have called the police,” Esmee said even as the faint wail of a siren entered the flat.

“It sounds like someone else did that,” Lars said.

Esmee clutched the lapels of her nightgown. “This is terrible.”

“Yeah, it is,” Lars said. “And so, from tonight on, either you find Marit and Isabelle somewhere else to stay, where Cole and I can keep them safe, or you break your no-men-allowed rule, and let us camp out in this living room.”

“It would be impossible to find alternative accommodations in this part of the city with Fashion Week’s opening in two days,” Esmee said.

“Then we go with the other option,” Lars said. “Cole and I are well used to sleeping on sofas.”

“I cannot allow—”

“You don’t understand,” Lars interrupted her. “We already tried your solution, and it failed. Who knows where the security guard was just now. And whatever new locks the locksmith put on didn’t do the job either. If that guy tries to get to Marit and Isabelle again, he’s going to have to go through me and Cole.”

For the first time, Esmee’s expression showed a hint of indecision. “But the other models. What do I tell them?”

“That they’re safer with Cole and Lars staying in the building than they would be if the men weren’t here,” Marit said.

“And if they request that their boyfriends come too?”

“Tell them you are making an exception only because Cole and Lars have experience with security matters,” Isabelle said.

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