“But—”
Before Cole could voice his objection, the security chief added, “I’ll put a man on the surveillance feed.” He called out to a man at the bank of screens and spoke in French. The man nodded and moved to a computer station at the end of the long desk.
Satisfied that his orders had been followed, the head of security turned back to Cole. “Marquis will conduct a search.”
Even though Cole wanted far more assistance than he was getting, he said, “Merci.” He eyed the bank of screens on the wall. “How many cameras do you have near the fashion shows?”
“Fourteen.”
Fourteen. Even using fast-forward, this could take a while. “Let me give you my phone number.” After the security chief handed him a piece of paper and a pen, he jotted it down. “I’m going to help my friends with the search.”
“I’ll call you if my people find anything.”
Cole nodded and left the security office. He pulled out his phone and dialed Capitaine Dupont’s number.
The man answered a moment later.
Cole identified himself and asked, “How close are you?”
“We’ll be there in five minutes.”
“Hurry. We still haven’t found Marit Jansen.”
“We’re on our way.”
Chapter 31
Lars reemerged from the makeuparea, panic pulsing through his veins. Marit wasn’t there. He’d known it after the first time he’d checked, but he’d run out of places to look for her, and desperation was making him second-guess everything. He stopped, forcing himself to think past his fears. There had to be somewhere he’d missed. He didn’t believe for one minute that she’d gone back to the flat or even to a nurse’s station within the building. If she’d really taken ill, she would have called him or told Isabelle before she’d left.
Two assistants hurried past, carrying clothes toward the changing rooms. Isabelle had gone to check that area. He trusted her to do a thorough job, and she hadn’t emerged from there yet. Moving quickly, he cut around the assistants, heading directly for the changing area. He caught movement at his left and glanced that way in time to see Isabelle slip out from between the black curtains behind the changing rooms. Veering that direction, he came up beside her.
“Anything?” he asked.
“No,” she said. “I found her clothes, so she’s wearing one of Adams’s outfits. Probably the purple jumpsuit.”
Lars didn’t care what Marit was wearing. He just wanted to find her.
“What’s behind the black curtain?”
“There’s a narrow gap between the curtain and the partition that cordons off this part of the museum.”
It was somewhere new to search, and Lars seized on it. “How far down did you go?”
“I checked the section behind the changing area.”
He was already heading toward the break in the curtain. “I’ll continue left if you’ll see how much farther it goes on the right.”
Isabelle nodded. “I’ll meet you back here afterward.”
The black curtain was heavy, and the moment Lars stepped behind it, his visibility dropped. Faint light filtered in from above the top of the partition, but it was barely enough to pick out the large extension cords running across the floor. Deciding that the risk of his phone light being seen through the curtain was less than his risk of tripping and bringing the curtain down around him, he turned the light on. The bright light illuminated a meter or two ahead of him. Three cables and the bulky base of the curtain’s metal frame lay across the floor ahead of him. He released a tense breath. It was a good thing he’d turned on the light.
Stepping over the obstacles, he continued forward, moving as quickly as he dared. Another few meters and the darkness eased a fraction. Lowering his phone, he moved closer. There appeared to be a break in the partition. He slowed his pace, approaching the gap cautiously even as he attempted to picture exactly where he was on the Louvre’s floor plan. The main entrance to the fashion show would be on the opposite side, which meant that security would be tightest over there, but this area would undoubtedly be blocked off. There may not be anything of interest to the public back here, but they’d want to prevent anyone from accessing backstage.
He peered around the partition. Sure enough, the hall beyond was completely empty. He stepped into it, glancing up and down. No sign of security. But no sign of anyone else either. A sign on the wall at his right caught his attention. Toilets. Crossing the short distance at a run, he darted into the men’s toilets. The entire place was empty. He exited and eyed the ladies’ toilets. If anyone other than Marit was inside, he’d apologize later.
“Coming in!” he yelled, bursting into the tiled room. A row of sinks faced a row of toilet stalls. “Marit!”
He was met by silence. Walking along the length of the room, he pushed open each stall door. No one. And no sign of anyone having been there for some time. These toilets probably hadn’t been used since the Fashion Week props and equipment had been installed.