He looked up. “Some men are looking for more than a pair of long legs, Maddie.”
I wasn’t certain, but I could have sworn his eyes flickered to my own short pair currently half encased in a foam Smurf boot.
“So why sleep with her first if you knew you were going to dump her? That’s low even for you.”
He shook his head. “I didn’t sleep with her.”
“Angelica heard you. She was in the room right next door.”
Again that frown settled between his brows. “I didn’t sleep with her, Maddie.”
I let it go, focusing on the more important part. “So, you fought, then what?”
“Then I left her.”
“Alive?”
Felix took a step closer.
I backed up again and bit my lip. When had his dimples and rumpled khakis suddenly become so menacing?
He cocked his head to the side, an odd look coming over his features. “No, don’t tell me.”
“Tell you what?” I asked, my hands starting to sweat at my sides.
“Don’t tell me that you of all people think…?”
I threw my hands up in the air. “Well, what am I supposed to think? The necklace belongs to you, you were dating the dead woman. Hell, the story about the stiletto in the jugular was printed in your paper. That’s a lot of coincidence, don’t you think?”
“Ironic. You talking about coincidence.”
I squared my shoulders. “Tell me the truth. Did you kill her, Felix?”
He clenched his jaw, his eyes going dark as he took a step forward. “If I was a cold blooded killer,” he said, his voice suddenly growing a hard edge, “do you really think I’d confess it to you?”
I gulped, my heart rate increasing tenfold.
He shook his head, a slight movement, his eyes saturated with some unreadable emotion. “I can’t believe you’d doubt me. Not after all we’ve been through together.” His voice went low, almost a whisper. “After you kissed me.”
So he hadn’t forgotten.
“That was an accident,” I said, wiping my sweaty hands on my dress.
Felix raised an eyebrow at me. “An accident?”
I nodded, taking another step backward.
Felix took two forward. “Is that what you think?”
I nodded again. “Look, you don’t think I meant to kiss you? I mean, I’m with Ramirez.”
“Actually…” He took two more steps forward. “…it looks like you’re here. With me.”
I gulped, my back coming up against the massive stone fireplace.
“Kinda,” I squeaked out.
Felix took one more step forward, until he was standing directly in front of me, his body inches from mine. I could feel the heat coming off his skin, the scent of coffee on his breath.
“W-what are you doing?” I asked, silently checking his person for anything that looked like a weapon. Specifically a stiletto heel.
None that I could see. Or feel. His white rumpled shirt lay carelessly over a frame that felt a lot more solid than I’d ever imagined.
“Being deliberate,” he said, his voice deep and barely louder than a whisper.
I held my breath.
“D-deliberate?”
But he didn’t answer. Instead, he leaned in, his body pressing into mine. Despite the fear tickling my spine, my body instantly responded. My heart sped up, heat pooling in my stomach as my lungs suddenly couldn’t get enough air. I felt his belly rising and falling against mine, in sync with his warm breath on my cheek.
He paused there, his blue eyes never leaving me.
Then he slowly closed the gap between us, his lips moving closer until they hovered a breath away. I tasted coffee and toothpaste, felt his lips brush mine.
I closed my eyes in anticipation of what came next.
His tongue flicked out and tasted my lips, so lightly I wasn’t even totally sure it happened, before his mouth covered mine in a soft, slow movement. Nibbling, tasting, nipping. Before I knew what happened, I was returning it, doing a little tasting and nibbling of my own. I must have liked what I sampled, because all on its own my body let out a sigh, sinking into his. His hand slid down my side, resting possessively at my waist as he leaned in, pressing his hips closer.
For a half second, the rest of the world disappeared as I went warm in all the right places. All the twisted thoughts running circles through my mind the past twenty-four hours melted away. All I cared about right now were his lips, surprisingly soft, capturing mine, his hands, warm and oddly tender, holding me. The fact that despite his annoying habit of pasting my head on Pamela Anderson’s body, I just might be able to forgive a guy that was this good a kisser.
A damned good kisser.
Then somewhere through the fog of hormones shrouding me, a tiny voice in the back of my head piped up. What the hell are you doing, girl? This was a potential murderer. A creep. A tabloid reporter. Felix!
I twisted away, breaking the kiss and sucking in large gulps of air.
“What was that?” I asked Felix.
Only it wasn’t Felix’s voice that answered.
“My question exactly.”
I looked past Felix.
And froze.
Filling the doorway, a death look on his granite features, stood Ramirez.
Chapter Eleven
My life flashed before my eyes as I looked from Felix, his lips still wet and swollen looking, to Ramirez, his eyes flashing fire, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides.
“I… we…” I stuttered, taking one giant step away from Felix.
Ramirez did a low growl and I suddenly feared another murder might take place soon. Very soon.
“It’s not what it looks like,” I blurted out. “I didn’t even kiss him back!” Much.
Ramirez looked from me to Felix, his unreadable cop face slipping into place.
“Jack?” I said feebly.
But it was too late. I could see all emotion draining from his eyes, being replaced with that dead Cop Face look I’d come to know and dread. Then, before I could stop him, he turned around and stalked out the door.
“Shit.” I hobbled after him, my crutches slipping on the over-polished floor. I fumbled with them, then ditched them altogether as I turned the corner, throwing them clattering to the floor in the hallway. “Wait,” I called desperately, half hopping half running after him. “Please, Jack, wait,” I begged. I was rushing after him so quickly I plunged right into him when he stopped abruptly and turned around.
“Uhn.”
He immediately pushed me away, as if suddenly my touch repulsed him. Tears instantly stung my eyes.
“Please, Jack,” I pleaded, sure I was two seconds away from a total girly cry-fest melt down if he didn’t at least look at me.
“What.” He didn’t phrase it as a question. And he didn’t meet my eyes.
“Look, I am so, so sorry. You weren’t supposed to walk in on that.”
“Obviously.”
“No, wait, I didn’t mean it like that. I meant that I didn’t expect you. You weren’t supposed to be here. What are you doing here?”
“I was worried about you, Maddie. I made your mother tell me where you were. I thought you were in trouble.” He spit the words out, his voice rough and void of all emotion. He looked past my head down the hallway. “Apparently you were getting along just fine.”
“No, I’m not. I mean, I am, but it’s not what it looks like.”
“Oh, so you weren’t kissing him?”
“Well, yes, but he kissed me this time!”
Ramirez raised one eyebrow, that vein in his neck pulsing like a Latin conga dancer. “This time?”
Oh. Shit.
I bit my lip. “Uh, yeah. I mean, last time was totally an accident. He turned his head.”
Ramirez held up his hands. “You know what? I don’t even want to hear it. It doesn’t matter.”
A lead weight dropped into my belly. “It doesn’t?”
“No.” And from the flat,
dead tone in his voice I had a sinking feeling it really didn’t. I had a feeling, as he turned and walked purposefully down the hall, his footsteps echoing, that nothing I did was going to matter to Ramirez anymore. That I could beg, plead, promise six ways till Sunday that I hadn’t meant to kiss Felix, that no matter how much I promised I had no idea how what had started out as interrogation had ended with his lips locked on mine, Ramirez wasn’t going to forgive me. This was it. The end.
And all because of Felix.
I didn’t go back in the room. I couldn’t face Felix again. Instead, I scooped my crutches up and prayed he didn’t come after me as I quickly hobbled to the front door and out to my mini car, shoving Wonder Boot in through a thin veil of tears.
He didn’t.
And as I put the car in gear and pulled away from Felix’s castle, I prayed I never saw him again. Ramirez was right. Felix brought nothing but trouble into my life. Kidnapping, gunshots, arrest, it was all Felix’s fault. Hell, he probably had offed Gisella just to screw up my chance at being a designer.
And now he’d screwed my chances with Ramirez too.
The tears felled in big fat drops down my cheeks as I sped way too fast through the village and back to the M1. As if to match my mood, the fog thickened into menacing rain clouds, a down pour to match my own sobs hitting the tinny roof of the little car, drowning out my hiccupping and keeping me company all the way back to London.
By the time I returned the rental and hobbled back to the Queen’s Cozy I was drenched, shivering, and didn’t have a tear left in me. I staggered through the door, stripping off my wet clothes, and took a long, almost warm shower. After which I wrapped myself in a towel and collapsed onto the bed.
I stared at the picture of the Queen.
“Your cousin’s an asshole,” I told her. She didn’t respond. I closed my eyes, and contemplated calling Ramirez. But I didn’t even know what I’d say. I’d already apologized. Sorry just didn’t seem adequate. And, quite frankly, I didn’t even know if he’d pick up. He needed some space, right? Just some time. To either forgive me or… well, I didn’t even want to think about the “or”. The “or” made tears I didn’t know I had left well up behind my eyes again.
My love life was seriously in the toilet, my career was virtually over, and I was one DNA test away from being locked up in a Paris prison. I was pretty sure my life could not get any worse.
At the moment, there was nothing I could do about my love life, and unless a miracle occurred and Moreau gave back my shoes, the career thing was pretty dismal as well. But, I could at least try to keep my butt out of jail.
I rolled over and grabbed a pad of hotel stationary and a pen from my purse.
As much as I absolutely loathed Felix right now, I had to admit that I still wasn’t convinced he’d killed Gisella. Not really. Lying, yes. Cheating, yes. Printing vulgar pictures by the truckload, of course. But stabbing her with a stiletto seemed a stretch.
So if it wasn’t me and it wasn’t Felix, who did that leave?
I clicked open my pen and wrote “Suspects” at the top of the page. Only I wasn’t sure what to write next. Assuming Gisella was actually stealing jewelry from the shows, obviously her accomplice was my first choice for her killer. Maybe he or she had wanted a larger portion of the proceeds. Maybe they thought Gisella was getting sloppy and they’d be found out. Maybe they just plain didn’t like her.
I wrote the word “Accomplice” down under “Suspects”. The only problem was, I had no idea who the accomplice was. So, I put a big question mark next to that one.
Okay, so who did I know that might have had a grudge against Gisella? Her agent? Suppose Donata was the accomplice. To be any kind of agent, she had to have had lots of contacts all over Europe. And it was the agent that had booked Gisella in the Jean Luc show in the first place. I was beginning to like this theory.
Of course, there was always the angry, jealous boyfriend theory, too. I wrote Ryan’s name down next to Donata’s. Unrequited love, jealousy – both classic reasons for wanting someone dead. And didn’t they always say on Law & Order that it’s usually the boyfriend?
And, while we were talking jealousy, how about Angelica? I added her name to the list. We only had her word for it that she hadn’t gone in to see Gisella after Felix left. It would have been easy for Angelica to slip out of her room and lure Gisella to the tent unnoticed.
I paused, my pen hovering in mid air. Why the tent, I wondered. What had Gisalla been doing there so early? Was she meeting someone there?
Then a terrible thought occurred to me. When I’d walked into the tent, she hadn’t been alone. Jean Luc had been there, too. I’d assumed at the time that Jean Luc had come in just before I had. But what if he’d been there all along? What if he’d been the one to stab Gisella? Why, I couldn’t imagine, but he had both ample opportunity and means. I wondered just how well Jean Luc had known Gisella and what kind of history lay between the two. He had mentioned how difficult she was to work with. Had he just meant this show, or were there others?
Reluctantly I wrote his name down, too. Then stared at my list.
One thing was certain. It was time to go back to Paris.
* * *
It was dark by the time my plane landed again at Charles De Gaulle. I took a cab to the hotel and let myself into my room. A small part of me had hoped a pissed off cop might be waiting for me there, but that was dashed quickly enough as I entered the dark, empty room. Ramirez’s bags were gone. No note. No sign he’d even been there except for the lingering scent of his aftershave in the bathroom. I inhaled deeply, telling myself I was not going to cry again. Instead, I pulled off my dress and changed in to a pair of black capris and a black long sleeved DKNY logo T. I slipped on a silver ballet flat and added an extra layer of eyeliner to my eyes to compensate for the slightly red, puffy look. I took a blow dryer to my hair, but even that didn’t help the French braid plus rainwater thing I had going on, so instead I pulled it back in a messy ponytail before grabbing my crutches and heading out to Le Carrousel du Louvre.
The first person I saw when I arrived back on the site was Dana. She was sitting with a group of the other models outside the tent, sipping Perrier through a straw.
“Mads!” She jumped up and dragged me to the side, just out of earshot. “What happened?” she asked, her voice low. “Did Felix do it? Did you confront him?”
I felt that lump form in my throat again, but quickly pushed it back down and filled Dana in. She was such a good friend that when I was finished I thought I saw tears in her eyes.
“Oh, Mads, I’m so sorry.” She leaned in and gave me a long hug. “Don’t worry. I’m sure Ramirez will come around. That man is nuts about you.”
I wasn’t so sure. But somehow, it was comforting to pretend. “Yeah?”
Dana nodded. “Of course. Just give him a little time.”
“Right. Thanks. I’m fine. Really.” I sniffed back tears - so not convincing. “Is Jean Luc around?”
Dana nodded. “He’s in the workroom. He got a case of plain black pumps that he’s trying to convince himself will work for the show.”
I cringed.
It must have been visible because Dana said, “I know. So lame. I tried them on with my silk dress and ohmigod, total clash. I think Jean Luc’s about to slit his wrists.”
“I’ll go see what I can do.”
I left her sipping her bubbly water and ducked inside.
Jean Luc was, as Dana said, about one Xanax away from suicidal. He was pacing the room, a pump in each hand, shouting in French to poor Ann who was furiously dialing up numbers on her BlackBerry. He stopped when he saw me, throwing his hands in the air.
“Maddie, thank God you’re here. These are all I could get on short notice.” He held up a pair of black pumps with pointy toes. “Hideous, aren’t they?”
I bit my lip. “Um, well, I guess they’re not that bad.”
“Please tell me you can do something with them, darling? If not, I
may be forced to swan dive from the top of a very tall bridge.”
“I can try,” I hedged.
“We’ll get you anything you need. Just please make these knockoffs into something that doesn’t scream ‘off the rack’ when my girls wear them down the runway. I’ll be the laughing stock of Fashion Week!”
I took one pump from him, turning it over in my hands Already ideas started to brew about how to embellish it for Angelica’s outfit in the finale. Granted, they were a far cry from what I’d originally planned, but they beat barefoot.
“Jean Luc, I was actually wondering if I could speak to you for a moment?”
He put up one finger. “Un moment.” He turned to Ann and barked out a quick stream of orders in French. Ann nodded and I could mentally see her ticking items off a checklist before she scurried off to fulfill Jean Luc’s every demand.
Once she was gone, he turned to me again. “Not only do we have to find shoes, but now Becca is scared to go on, worried someone will commit random violence on her, too. Models,” he said shaking his head.
I hesitated, wondering if I should share just how un-random I suspected Gisella’s death was. “You know, it’s possible that Gisella wasn’t just an innocent victim. We think she may have had something to do with the necklace going missing,” I said slowly, watching Jean Luc’s reaction.
He nodded. “Oui. She was much too careless.”
“I meant, she may have had something to do with it that goes beyond careless.”
“Oh?” He raised an eyebrow. “But I thought the police found the necklace in one of her coat pockets?”
“Yes,” I conceded, “but I’m not sure it was put there by mistake.”
Jean Luc blanched, pulling out a fresh roll of antacids. “Please don’t tell me I hired a thief.”
“How well did you know Gisella?”
Jean Luc shrugged. “How well does anyone know anybody these days? We worked together. I certainly didn’t socialize with the girl.”
“Had you worked with her before?”
“Once. Gisella has been on the circuit for quite a while now. I had always heard nasty things about her temperament, but, once Donata took her on last year, she starting hitting some of the bigger campaigns and making a name for herself. Honestly, I would have been a fool not to jump when I had the chance to book her. She was in Cannes when I was doing a photo shoot, so Donata asked if I’d like to have her for the day.”
High Heels Mysteries Boxed Set (Books 1-5) Page 90