Page 9 of When Fashion Turns Deadly

Cole returned the hug. “It’s okay.” He looked around the waiting area to ensure she didn’t have a police escort waiting to snatch her away. A smattering of people occupied the dingy chairs, but none of them were in uniform, and none were armed. But the man sitting in the corner, holding a camera, could be dangerous for different reasons. Probably some beat reporter looking for a story for tomorrow’s paper. Cole doubted that he or Marit would be of interest since neither of them had committed a crime. And at the moment, the man’s camera was in his lap, not pointed in their direction.

“Are you good to leave?” Cole asked.

“I’m just waiting for them to bring me my purse and phone.” She eased out of his embrace.

It was a good reminder. Cole should call Isabelle and give her an update, but that would have to wait until he had more answers and he and Marit didn’t have an audience. “How long have you been waiting?”

“I don’t know. Fifteen minutes. Maybe more.”

“Let’s see if we can speed them up a bit.” Cole turned to the reception officer again and mentally prepared to deal with their language barrier as a result of his own limited French. Marit stepped beside him, and he opted for a better solution. “Tell him we want to know how much longer it will be before your belongings are returned to you.”

Marit nodded and spoke to the man in French.

“Je ne sais pas.”

Cole didn’t need a translation for the I-don’t-know response. “Ask him to check for us. Tell him I’m your attorney, and I’m here to take you home.”

Marit translated again.

The officer gave Cole an appraising look before he lifted the phone and dialed. Then, as though Cole had caused him the greatest inconvenience of all time, he spoke in rapid French to whoever was on the other end of his call. He paused, spoke again into the phone, and ended with “Merci.” He gave Cole a pointed look before speaking to Marit.“Vos possessions seront retournées dans un instant.”

“Merci.” Marit took Cole’s arm and tugged him away from the counter.

“What did he say?” Cole asked.

“He said my belongings will be returned in a moment.”

Sure enough, less than two minutes passed before an officer approached the desk. “Marit Jansen?”

“Yes.” Marit lifted her hand and approached the counter, where the new arrival now stood.

He said something else in French and passed a clipboard and pen to her.

Marit signed her name and traded the clipboard for her purse and cell phone.

Cole motioned her toward the door. “Come on. Let’s get out of here, and you can fill me in on what happened.”

Cole approached the taxi he had left waiting for him and pulled open the back door. He waited until Marit slid in and he’d taken his place beside her before he asked, “Have you eaten?”

“No.”

“Then, let’s take care of that before we go back to your flat.”

“Dinner would be wonderful, but I should probably call Lars first and let him know what’s going on.”

Cole gave the driver an address and put his hand on hers before she could dial. “I know you want to talk to Lars, but I need details if I’m going to help you, and the quickest way to lose your perspective is to talk to someone who will feed into your emotions.”

“He’ll be worried that he hasn’t heard from me yet.”

“Text him, then. Let him know you’ll call him later.” That would give Cole the chance to get the details firsthand without stressing Lars out about his girlfriend not calling back.

Marit debated for a moment before she let out a sigh and heeded his advice.

Cole followed her lead and sent a quick text of his own to Isabelle.I’m with Marit. I’ll call later.

Marit looked up from her phone. “Where are we going?”

“A little restaurant around the corner from where you’re staying. I didn’t want to have to grab another cab tonight, and I’d rather not take you on the Metro after what you’ve been through.”

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