Zach and I celebrated by ordering room service. The papers and case files laid out on the table were replaced by plates upon plates of foods with names we could barely pronounce. I ate like a pig, making up for all of the calories I had been missing the previous days, no longer worried about fitting into that ball gown before Fashion Week.
To put the cherry on top of our night, Fred called back. He had found a boatload of information on the murderer.
Zach and I sat at the table, shoving food into our mouths, as Fred relayed the information to us over the laptop. "His name is Andre Gaston." A mug shot of the man flashed up on the screen. Once more his beady, dark eyes made me uneasy. I swallowed hard.
"He's fifty-two years of age and was released from prison three years ago. He was charged with stalking and endangering the life of a female model, Clarissa Giles.” Fred looked at us closely. “Coincidently, she was one the first ones murdered in this string of crimes."
He shuffled a few papers in his hands. “After sending an inquiry to the French police, I received fingerprints found on the bodies of several of the deceased models, including Cosette Clary. All of the traces we found led back to Gaston.”
Zach pushed his nearly empty plate to the side and got down to business. "Do you know his address or where he spends his time? We could possibly catch him."
Fred pulled another piece of paper from a large pile. "He lives in a flat on Rue St. Denis. 189." He looked at us apprehensively. “If you could just get him cornered in his flat and leave him there, we can get him. It will take some time to get backup, though. There’s been an incident at the UN conference.” My mouth fell open in shock. “Oh, nothing serious,” Fred insisted. “But the intelligence agencies from the permanent Security Council countries are busy.”
"We'll go tomorrow. Laura has another photo shoot at eleven and we will go from there."
I groaned. I totally forgot about that. There was so much going on with this case, the last thing I wanted to do was get dolled up and stand in front of a camera for two hours.
A phone buried beneath Fred’s papers began to ring. Fred hurriedly sifted through the piles, searching for his phone. "I've a meeting to attend. Be careful." The screen went black, leaving Zach and me at the large table with food that suddenly no longer seemed appetizing.
"Shouldn't you be at the bus station with your girlfriend?" I laughed as we walked past the front desk the next morning. A man was sitting in the woman’s usual place, his bald head shiny under the chandelier’s light. "She's probably waiting for you."
"Her husband must be severely lacking in the love area,” Zach said as he put his hand on his neck. I didn't have to ask what he was covering up.
"Obviously, if she was going crazy for you," I jested. Clearly any girl would go crazy for him. Until they met him. Being a jerk was a turnoff no matter how tall, dark, and handsome a guy was.
I couldn’t control my giggles. Just thinking of the woman sucking on Zach’s face was enough to prompt side-splitting laughter.
“Wait until you see how funny it is,” Zach retorted. “If we ever have to get into the control room again, it’s your turn.” He gestured to the overweight man sitting at the desk who was wiping his bulbous nose on his sleeve. “He’s not my type. But I’m sure you two will make a fine couple.” It was his turn to laugh as I let out an involuntary gag.
The guard at the agency welcomed us in with a wink towards me and a pat across Zach’s behind. Maybe the secretary wasn’t the only one with a little crush.
Again I was tortured for over an hour with makeup and hairspray. Clipboard Girl, clearly flustered, came up to me, her expression crazed and her forehead sweaty. "Today you are 'Girl at Eiffel Tower,'” she said. As quickly as she approached me, she spun around and cornered the next girl entering the room with such a shocking intensity and disregard for personal space that the young model backed herself into the brick wall.
Dylan met me by the stark-white canvas. This time the bench was missing, leaving me with nothing to work with. As if that even helped the first time, though.
"I have the pictures from yesterday." He handed me one printed on glossy paper. "How do you like them?"
Like he said, it was me sitting on the bench pouting as it rained. The park background was added digitally. A couple walked hand-in-hand behind me, sharing an umbrella. A little boy played in the puddles to my left. I could tell my skin was heavily edited. There was no way it was that perfect.
Overall, the picture was ok, I guessed. But what pose would I do today? I couldn’t pout when I was supposed to be at the Eiffel Tower. Unless Dylan made it digitally rain again.
Zach came to my side. "Do you mind if I watch?" He eyed Dylan harshly.
"No, not at all, mate," Dylan said stiffly, making no secret that Zach’s hatred for him was returned.
I minded. For over an hour I struggled to get the poses to Dylan’s liking. I could tell he was being patient, but his kindness could only last so long. Even Zach’s amusement at my complete ineptitude waned after thirty minutes. His attention refocused on the dessert table.
"Shoot, I'm out of film," Dylan said, though I could tell he was thankful for the short break.
"You wouldn't be if I were just doing it the right way," I sighed.
"No, love, you're doing great," he comforted me. "I'm just waiting for the one that pops!" With that evident lie, he scurried across the room to gather more film.
"Love, you're doing bloody awful!" Zach imitated Dylan's accent as he popped another mini éclair into his mouth.
"At least I'm doing something besides packing on the pounds." I smacked his stomach with the back of my hand. Instantly I drew my hand near and nursed it. Despite the sweets, his stomach was definitely harder than I had thought. Zach smirked.
Before I even had time to rest, Dylan was back. "Okay, let's continue!" He was so peppy. If I hadn’t have been so tired, it would have been adorable.
"This would be a whole lot easier if I actually had a setting to work with," I mumbled. How cheap was this agency? I never imagined a white bed sheet and smelly clothing as my only things to work with.
Dylan threw his arm around my shoulder. "Just act like you did the first time you saw the Eiffel Tower," he said.
"I’ve never seen it. Not up-close anyway," I informed him.
His jaw dropped. "You mean to tell me that you haven't seen the Eiffel Tower and you've been in Paris longer than thirty minutes?"
I nodded numbly.
"I have an idea." He grabbed my hand. "Let's shoot at the tower. That way, your reaction will be totally realistic." He grabbed his camera bag off of a nearby table. "Let's go!"
"Now?" Was he even allowed to do that?
"No time better than the present," Dylan said as he dragged me out of the room.
"I don't think-" I started as he pulled me by my arm roughly down the stairs.
He kept going, taking the stairs two at a time. "Be adventurous!"
"Wait!" Zach called after us. He followed us down the staircase. This clearly wasn’t his plan.
"You don't have to come. I assure you she'll be safe with me." Dylan gave him a friendly pat on the back.
"Are you sure it's okay, Emma?" Zach stared at me. I could’ve sworn his head shook “no” ever so slightly.
I wasn’t sure what to do. But one look at Dylan prompted me to make up my mind. He waited patiently, his green eyes watching my every move, a hopeful smile pulling at his pink lips. His fingers fidgeted with the stylish navy scarf around his neck. He was so handsome.
I nodded at Zach. "Didn't you say you wanted to go shopping?"
He stared at me blankly.
"At that shop on the Rue St. Denis. Remember?" There was no use for him wasting time sitting around the hotel. The faster we got this guy, the better. He made it known since the very first day I met him that he was perfectly capable of doing this on his own. Now it was the perfect time for him to prove it.
He smiled forcefully. "Yes, I forgot. I needed to buy a present for my fiancé. Thank you for reminding me, Emma."
"Excellent!" Dylan nearly jumped up and down. "I'll return her to her hotel tonight, mate. You enjoy your day off and I'll show her the Paris I call home." He grabbed keys out of his pocket. "Stay here,” he told me. "I'm going to get our ride."
"Laura, are you sure?" Zach asked me again once Dylan was out of earshot.
"You have time to nab this guy. Obviously I can't leave, this is my job. People will think I'm up to something. You can do whatever you want."
"Do you trust Dylan?"
"Does he really look like the type that would harm me?" I asked. "I mean, he's like a child in a candy shop. He needs to lay off of the coffee."
"You think he's cute?" he asked me out of nowhere.
"So?" I replied. "What does that have to do with anything?"
He shook his head as Dylan came back. On a moped. It was like one of those chick-flick movies! I was sure Zach thought the same thing. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him throw his head back with exasperation.
"I'll be back at the hotel in a bit!" I called to Zach as I put on a helmet.
"See you, mate!" Dylan yelled.
Zach gave an unenthusiastic wave before heading in the opposite direction, towards the Rue St. Denis.
A nervous feeling twisted my gut painfully. He could do this alone, right?
Winding through crazy traffic and crowds of tourists, we got to our destination rather quickly. It felt so exciting to be riding on the back of a moped with a cute guy and the wind blowing through my hair. I forgot about all of the stress I was feeling. Almost.
Was it wrong of me to ditch Zach like that? The look on his face as I drove off with Dylan was etched in my brain. He almost appeared, sad, lost even. Like he didn’t know which way to turn. We had been a team since we landed, we didn’t always get along, but we were a team nonetheless. Tonight could have very well been the most important night during the entire case: the takedown. And I was riding around Paris on the back of a moped with a cute guy I barely knew.
“Dylan, I need to be back in an hour," I found myself saying over the rushing wind. Maybe I would have time to catch up with Zach. Oh, Zach would so owe me for ditching this date!
Dylan ignored my comment as he continued to weave throughout the busy lanes.
“Dylan!” I said louder, but the traffic paired with the sounds of the moped speeding along the street was too loud for him to hear my meek voice.
Finally Dylan parked along a busy street, squeezing his bike between two parked cars.
"Close your eyes," Dylan said as turned off the loud motor and removed my helmet. Gently, he flattened my windblown helmet-hair. I told myself he did it only because it was his job as my photographer, to make me look good. But he touched me softly and gently, as if he was afraid I would break. My heart skipped a beat.
He lightly grabbed my arm and led me along a walkway. "Don't look." A car honked its horn loudly and Dylan clutched my arm a little tighter as he muttered a curse word under his breath. "Be careful," I heard him say as he guided me over a small curb.
He let go of my arm and fumbled in his camera bag. “Keep your eyes closed,” he ordered quietly. I heard him snap film into his black camera.
A gentle hand rested on the small of my back. “Now!”
I opened my eyes and heard my quick intake of breath. Next to me, the shutter on Dylan’s camera snapped again and again.
The tower was bigger in person. I went dizzy just looking up at it, outlined against the clear blue sky. Tourists and locals meandered along the grassy lawn stretched out in front of it. Who would have ever thought that a tower made of nothing more than iron lattices could make a person incapable of speech? I took in its appearance, ingraining it in my brain. Every sight, sound, and smell was stamped into my memory. I could have stood there all day, gazing up at the steep tower with my mouth hanging open.
"Do you want to take a few pictures at the top?" Dylan asked.
I pulled my gaze from the tower and looked at the line wrapping and winding its way around the tower’s base. It was at least a two hour wait, or even more. I didn't have time. Zach needed me. "The line is too long," I told him.
"Wait here." He darted away quickly. Confused and speechless, my eyes followed him until he disappeared in the crowd.
I groaned out loud, causing a group of elderly women to quickly glance my way.
What was I doing? This wasn’t my job, as much as I would have liked it to be. Zach was alone with some creepy, stalker serial killer and I was enjoying an afternoon in the sun with Prince Harry’s long-lost brother. It was evident who the better spy was in this situation. And despite the many times Zach insisted he could do this alone, no matter how many times he so blatantly informed me that he was better off alone, I couldn’t help but feel anxious.
Dylan scared me as he joined my side. “Let's go." He grabbed my hand and led me to the front of the line.
"We can't cut ahead," I said as I looked at the angry face of a man glaring at me from the middle of the line. Sweat drenched his shirt and three empty water bottles laid at the feet of his white sneakers. He had to have been waiting all afternoon.
"I turned on my British charm and told the workers that I'm here to do a photo shoot. They said the quicker the better. Let's go." Dylan tugged my arm harder.
We boarded the elevator and I watched as the buildings and people below got smaller and smaller. At the top I caught my breath yet again. The view from the top was just as beautiful as the view from below. I could see for miles. The city of Paris stretched out below me, appearing to go on forever. All the while, Dylan snapped away with his camera.
"Why are you in a rush to leave?" Dylan asked as we were taking the elevator down. "There is so much in Paris that I want to show you."
I thought of Zach. What if he was in trouble? "I don't know-"
"You have nothing else to do today," Dylan reasoned. "There is so much to see." His green eyes pleaded with me.
I sighed. Zach was okay by himself for a little while. He probably already had the murderer cuffed and on his way to headquarters. "Maybe a short tour," I heard myself say despite my better judgment.
A short tour turned into almost seven hours of sightseeing, shopping, and eating. Every time I was about to say I had to go, Dylan came up with another thing to do, another place to see. Zach was going to be furious with me.
We took his moped to every tourist destination there was. Dylan’s camera worked overtime. A simple Eiffel Tower photo shoot turned into an entire, full-color centerspread out of a Paris tour guide. Notre Dame, the Lourve, the Arc de Triomphe.
We walked past countless bakeries with windows displaying sweet cakes and artisan breads. I learned to keep my mouth shut after the first three. Every time I made a comment on how delicious this or that looked, Dylan was inside the shop before I could stop him, buying me whatever I saw in the window. His intentions were thoughtful, though. I finally got my chocolate éclair I had wanted so much.
As I savored the delicious food, he kept me entertained with history lessons on everything, from the opera house to the names of streets. He was the cutest and most interesting tour guide I ever had.
“What made you come to Paris?” I asked him as he paused to take a breath during his lively explanation of the French Revolution. “I mean, I may be mistaken, but I’m pretty sure that’s not a French accent you have.” I cringed at my lame attempt at flirting.
Dylan didn’t seem to notice. “Why, do you think my accent is dashing?” He grinned. “I guess I’m a 21st century Bohemian.” He chuckled to himself. “My parents made me go to Oxford.” Oxford! Wow, he was cute and smart! “They expected me to be the next Prime Minister or something.” He waved his hand, as if he was shooing away the annoying memory. “I lasted less than a year. It was so annoying,” he grumbled.
I couldn’t help but giggle. “Yes, it must stink to be accepted into one of the best universities in the world. I just told Harvard that I wouldn’t be caught dead walking through their doors.”
He nudged me playfully. “You’re a terrible liar.” He put his hands in his pockets and looked around him with such pride it was as if he had created the city with his own two hands. “I’m an artist. I like being able to do what I want and go wherever I want to go. To me, the world isn’t black and white. I want to capture all of its colors with my camera and let others see what I see.”
I almost stopped dead in my tracks. He was beautiful. Why couldn’t American guys be as sincere as him?
He turned around to see why I had stopped. “What? Don’t you believe me?”
I blushed. I couldn’t believe I was caught staring at a guy in awe. “No, I mean,” I stumbled over my words. “No one is ever that open in America.”
His smile faded and he became almost serious. “One thing you should know about me Emma is that I’m always truthful.” He held out an arm, beckoning for me to hold it. I was hoping to hear more about his life, but he dropped the subject.
The sun began to set as it got later and later. As much as I loved spending the day with Dylan in one of the most romantic cities in the world, I had to get back to the hotel. I had a knot in my stomach knowing that Zach was by himself. Something didn't feel right. "I really think it's time for me to go, Dylan," I said as we walked along the Seine.
The smile that he wore all day faltered into a troubled stare. "You're not enjoying yourself?"
"No. No. No," I jumped to console him. I slowed my speech as I lied and held his arm. "I just think my manager will be getting impatient. She's back in America, but she's very strict. She calls every night at nine to make sure I'm in my room and not tainting myself with bad publicity." Fred would be proud. Not too fast, but not too hesitant.
He nodded. "Okay. I will bring you home after one last stop." He grabbed my hand and ran along the edge of the river. He let go of me once we got to the walking bridge Pont des Arts.
That view from the bridge topped everything that I had seen all day. The whole city was lit up, the dark waters of the Seine reflecting its many lights. Illuminated boats came down the river, disturbing the reflection for a moment, causing it to ripple into little waves. Within seconds, the misty reflection was back and its surface was as smooth as glass. In the distance: the sparkling Eiffel Tower.
Dylan snapped another picture. "How do you like it?"
"It's beautiful," I sighed.
"Like you," Dylan whispered in my ear, giving me chills. His body pressed against mine as he leaned in for a kiss.
"Dylan, I have to go," I said quickly as I backed up. I shouldn’t have been on a date. I had a job to do. And I kept thinking of Zach. What if he was in trouble? I should have been back hours ago.
"Alright, Cinderella. I don't want you to turn into a pumpkin," he sighed.
"Thank you. Today was amazing," I told him as I gave him back his helmet. I cast a quick glance to the top floor of the hotel. Which room was ours? I searched for a light, maybe even Zach sitting on the balcony, waiting impatiently for me to return home from my date like my father had done so many times before.
"I'm glad you liked it." He gave a charming smile that made me unsteady. Before I did something I may have regretted, I turned to walk into the hotel.
"You can repay me, Cinderella."
I stopped in my tracks and turned to look back at him, eyebrows raised. "How?"
He was leaning against his bike, a smug look across his face, his arms folded in front of his chest. "A French thank you right here." He pointed to his lips.
He stood there, a playful smile forming on his pink lips. He thought he had me cornered, but he should have thought again. I wasn’t the girl to kiss on the first date, if that’s what this even was. I walked towards him slowly, his smile widening with every step I took. He put his hands on my waist.
I looked up at him, having never realized how much taller than me he was. “How about you get to know me better,” I told him.
He raised his eyebrows and smiled vainly, a look almost every guy in L.A. knew how to do. “What else is there to know?” He pulled me closer.
A lot. If only he knew…
I began to protest, but he silenced me with his warm lips. I didn’t kiss back. At first. He made me unstable, like my feet couldn’t find the ground. Before I knew it, he pulled away.
"See you at work tomorrow, Cinderella," he said once our little kiss ended. He winked and jumped on his bike and sped away, before I even had a chance to scold him. Even if he did stay, what was I supposed to say? Never kiss me like that again, even though it was amazing. Yeah right.
I looked at my watch. It was nearly eight thirty. Zach should have been back. I hoped everything went smoothly, though I felt like there was something wrong. But I couldn't quite pinpoint why.
I walked quickly up to our room and unlocked the door. The cold air emitted by the air conditioner hit my face. The room was dark. "Zach?" I called as I felt for the light switch. I set down my bags. "Zach?" No answer.
I looked on the mezzanine and in his room without any luck. I checked the top floor and found nothing. I even tried calling his phone. Straight to voicemail.
Something wasn't right.