Page 84 of When Fashion Turns Deadly

Her heart racing, she touched the screen. She was down to thirteen minutes before the show began. With all the noise outside, Lars may not hear the phone, and she didn’t have time to make a second call. Pulling up Cole’s number, she pushed Call and put the phone to her ear. She glanced around the room. Where could she go that wasn’t so far away that she’d never make it to the curtain in time but that gave her a modicum of privacy in this chaotic space?

The corner. One wall was a curtain, but she could turn her back to the crowd.

After the second ring, Cole’s voice came on. “Are you okay?”

“Yes.” She lowered her voice. “It’s Kyle Adams. Ralph’s designs are hanging on the racks, and Adams brought in American models. He plans to pass the clothes off as his tonight.”

“I’m on my way over there.”

“Hurry. I don’t know when the first one hits the runway.”

“You know I will. And, Marit, I need you and Isabelle to act like you don’t know anything. It’s the only way to keep you safe until the authorities get there.”

“I have to go. Will you call them?”

“Already on it.” He disconnected the call.

“I don’t allow my models to use their phones during a show, Miss Jansen.”

Marit spun around. Adams stood in front of her, his dark eyes flashing.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know that,” she managed. “It was an emergency.”

He eyed her grimly. “So I gather.”

Marit’s stomach clenched. How much had he heard?Pretend you don’t know anything.Cole’s words echoed in her head.

“I’ll put my phone away right now.” When he made no move, she gestured toward the curtain. “I’m up in ten minutes, so I’d better get in line.”

“Who were you talking to?”

“A friend.”

His jaw clenched. “You were discussing my designs with someone else before they’ve debuted. I think that gives me the right to know his or her name.”

The knot in Marit’s stomach tightened. He’d heard everything.

“Marit Jansen.” The woman at the head of the line called her name.

“If you’ll excuse me, I’m needed at the front.” With her heart pounding so hard she was sure he could hear it, Marit attempted to pass on Adams’s left.

He reached out, grabbing her arm in a vicelike grip. “Give me your phone.”

“I can leave it up front.”

“The time for playing games is over, Miss Jansen.” He moved to stand behind her, and she felt the barrel of a gun press between her shoulder blades. “Give me your phone.”

All the self-defense lessons Isabelle and Cole had given her flashed before her eyes. If Adams had been standing in front of her, she might have had a chance of disarming him. But she had no idea how to overcome a gun at her back.

Her mind raced. If Adams was behind James’s death, she couldn’t risk calling out. He was already a murderer. There was no telling how many more he would injure or kill in this confined space full of people. Cole was on his way. He’d called the police. She just had to stay calm. Surely, someone would arrive in time to help her.

Slowly, she raised her phone. Keeping the gun firmly against her, he snatched it from her hand.

“Now we’re going to go around the curtain,” he said. “It might interest you to know that while it blocks you from view, it allows you to hear everything.”

It was a not-so-subtle jab. Marit had been foolish. She’d also had very few options and even less time.

“Marit Jansen.” It was the woman at the front of the line again.

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