Page 85 of When Fashion Turns Deadly

“Someone will come looking for me,” Marit said.

“Not when I tell them that you became suddenly and violently ill.”

“What about the jumpsuit?” She was grasping at straws, but that was about all she had right now. “I’m still wearing it.”

“I have more clothing items than I need for tonight’s show,” he said. “It won’t be missed any more than you will be.” They rounded the curtain. On the other side, there was a break in the temporary partitions. “That way.” He pushed her toward the gap.

Marit walked through. The hall beyond was empty. No doubt, this part of the venue had been cordoned off. If there were any security guards in the vicinity, they were well hidden. Dragging her roughly across the hall, Adams pushed her face against a door.

“Take off the sash,” he demanded.

With trembling fingers, Marit untied the bow around her waist and pulled the fabric free of the jumpsuit.

“Now open the door.”

Grasping the knob, Marit turned it and pulled. The door swung open, releasing the overpowering smell of pine and lemon. It was a janitor’s cupboard.

“Inside,” he barked.

A door opened, releasing the rumble of distant voices. Adams gave her a push. Marit stumbled over a vacuum, but before she could fully regain her balance, he shoved her into the corner. Her impact against the wall was lessened by the presence of a mop head.

The potent aroma of pine-scented detergent burned her nose and made her eyes sting. She blinked several times before realizing that the gun was no longer at her back. She shifted.

“Don’t move another inch.” Adams was right behind her, and in one swift movement, he grabbed an extension cord from a hook on the wall. “Put your arms behind you.”

Unwilling to comply, Marit swung her elbows back, attempting to connect with Adams’s ribs. He must have sensed the movement because he grabbed her wrists, and almost before she knew what he was doing, he’d wrapped the extension cord around them.

She pivoted, swinging her leg upward. Her heel caught his knee. He swore, and his hand came down, hitting her across the face. Marit reeled back, pain exploding along her jaw as he wrapped the sash around her face. He pulled it firmly over her mouth. Panic enveloped her. Tossing her head, she staggered sideways, trying to prevent him from cinching the sash. It only made him pull the fabric tighter.

“No!” she cried, but the word was nothing more than a muffled moan.

Breathing heavily through her nose, she tried to kick out again only to be shoved hard against the wall in the corner.

“Enough,” he growled.

Adams yanked her to the floor. She closed her eyes, desperately trying to draw sufficient air in through her nose to breathe through the throbbing in her cheek. And then she felt the tug at her ankles and the bite of a cord cutting into her skin. She opened her eyes in time to see Adams step out of the closet and shut the door behind him. The lock clicked, and she was left in complete darkness.

Chapter 28

Isabelle rubbed her lips together,the final touches of her makeup now complete. Adrenaline surged through her, the time remaining until she would walk in yet another fashion show quickly pressing in upon her. Unlike the other shows she had been in so far, this time, her schedule had been compressed to uncomfortable levels. Whoever had let the previous show run so late should be fired. Now, here she was with only minutes until she was supposed to walk and she wasn’t even dressed yet.

“Fini,” the makeup artist said as she made the final touches to Isabelle’s hair.

“Merci.” Isabelle stood.

Marit’s assistant approached. “Have you seen Marit?”

“Not for a while.” Isabelle turned in a circle, searching. “I don’t see her anywhere.”

Felicia pointed across the backstage area. “Last time I saw her, she was standing over by Chloe.”

“I’ll keep looking. Thanks.” Brookelyn scurried off the way she’d come.

“Who is Chloe?” Isabelle asked. She didn’t recall any models or assistants by that name.

“Chloe Brown. She’s one of the girls who arrived from New York yesterday.”

Isabelle pondered the logic behind bringing in a new model at such a late date. The woman’s name wasn’t familiar, but Isabelle supposed it was possible that she was in high enough demand that she hadn’t been required to go through the fittings and rehearsals. But from what Felicia had said, it sounded like Chloe was one of several.

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