by A. C. Arthur
London waited until Ace finished speaking with the crew and then approached him. “I downloaded the itinerary the publicist sent. Are you coming with me for all of this?”
“I wish I could, London, but we’ve got to head straight to the venue. I just looked at the pics of what’s been done so far. There’s a lot of work to do.”
“Where is it going to be?”
“At this funky, cool eighteenth-century throwback on the Thames, with views of the London Eye and Tower Bridge. It’s usually rented out for weddings, large parties, stuff like that. But by tomorrow night the main floor of that massive stone edifice will be transformed into a showroom and the runway will replicate a London alley, complete with rain cylinder, ready for the now highly anticipated show closer...you.”
He leaned in for a kiss.
She averted the attempt. “Hey, what’s with all the PDA?”
“I can’t help myself. Come on, Samantha is waiting for you.”
“Your company publicist, right?”
“Yes. She wasn’t in New York, but you met her at that first meeting at OTB. She’s handling the European leg and will make sure you get through everything. Call your personal assistant, too, if you need her. We know this is a lot of work and want to make it as painless as possible. So be sure and ask for whatever you need, okay?”
“I’ll remember you said that.”
It was early afternoon in the Old Smoke. The skies were overcast and the traffic brisk. London hardly noticed the right-sided drivers and double-decker buses, so busy was she interacting on social media and responding to emails about New York’s show and the gossip that ensued. A horn startled her from the task just in time to take in the wrought-iron gates of Buckingham Palace and two bobbies conversing beneath Big Ben. A wisp of a smile as the scene brought back memories of when she’d jumped on a police officer’s horse and spent the next two hours convincing him not to put her in jail or worse—call her parents. She’d spent a lot of time in her namesake. Movies could be made about her wild teenage years. The more London thought about it, Milan was definitely the better choice for her parents’ visit. Less chance of running into an escaped skeleton from her closet moonwalking down Abbey Road.
Forty-eight hours later, London owned London. The show had gone off without a hitch and there were no floral deliveries. The team flew to Milan, the third of the fashion-week calendar’s four major shows, with nothing but more success on their minds.
They arrived at Il Caravaggio International Airport, a smaller strip near Bergamo that served intercontinental flights and private planes such as the one the OTB team had flown in on. A car was waiting to take them to Seven Star Galleria, a boutique hotel of just seven suites near one of the oldest malls in the world, Milan’s Galleria Vittorio Emanuele II. They would only be in Italy for two days so rather than a home, Frida had booked them into the presidential suite of this boutique—quiet, private and close to the runway-show location.
London yawned loudly and rested her head on Ace’s shoulder.
He wrapped his arm around her and shifted for her comfort. “My poor baby. I know it’s a grind, but it’s almost over.”
“I’m okay.” Said through yet another yawn.
“I hear how okay you are. I think I’ll contact Samantha and cancel today’s interviews. You need sleep.”
“You know what ballers and shot callers say about that.”
“No, what?”
“You sleep when you’re dead.”
“Yeah, well, while working my show, you’re going to rest and prolong that inevitable eternal get down, okay?”
London nestled into him. “I wanted to visit the castle.”
Ace rested his chin atop her hair. “I thought about that place, too. Where you and I met all those years ago.”
“I wonder if anyone bought it or whether it’s still being rented out for ridiculous prices.” Ace shrugged, said nothing. Wheels turned.
“How long are your parents going to be here?”
“They arrive tomorrow and leave the day after our show for a ten-day tour of Italy. They’ll see Rome, Florence, Tuscany and a couple more places.”
“Sounds like a whirlwind trip. I can’t wait to meet them.”
Their assistants had flown commercially earlier, taken the bulk of luggage to the hotel and given the room cards to the driver who met them at the airport. They bypassed the front desk and, still keeping up appearances, took the stairs to their side-by-side suites on the third floor.
“This is beautiful,” London said, admiring the decor as they walked down the hall. “Feels like a place to spend a honeymoon.”
Ace gave her a look.
“Not with you!”
“What?”
“Wait, that didn’t sound right. What I meant is that wasn’t a subtle hint or anything.”
“Yeah, right.”
London sped Ace’s walk down the hall with a playful push. Somewhere over the past few weeks they’d settled into the easygoing rapport of, well, an old married couple. Neither of them realized or would have admitted it, but being in each other’s presence was why they felt so good.
They reached London’s door first. “This is me.”
“Here, let me get that for you.” He went to put the card key in the slot. The door was already open, just slightly ajar.
“What’s the matter, Ace?”
“The door is open. Hello?” He placed an ear near the door and awaited an answer. None came. He eased the door open wider, stuck his head inside. “Hello? Ciao?” Then turned to London. “Wait here.”
As he entered the room, there was no hesitation in Ace’s stride.
“Dammit!”
London pushed the door fully open, entered the room and followed Ace’s eyes to a package on the hallway table. Patriotic colors of red, white and blue suggested the parcel had been sent from the United States.
She went over to pick it up.
“Don’t!”
“Why not?”
“Don’t touch it. Don’t pick it up. This is gone past the actions of a love-struck fan and into straight stalker status. Your door was open. Either the person broke in or was a hotel employee with a key.” He pulled out his phone. “Carly, where are you? I need you in London’s suite. Now.”
Carly was there within seconds.
Ace jabbed at the package. “How did this get here?”
Carly’s eyes widened. “I have no idea.”
“The door was unlocked when we arrived. Do you have an idea about that?”
Carly shook her head. “No. I definitely closed the door behind me.”
“Are you sure?” London asked.
“Positive.”
London walked over to the package.
“Don’t touch it, London.”
“I’m not. I’m just seeing who it’s from.” She leaned over to read the label and crossed her arms as she turned, a smirk on her face. “I think we can calm down, Ace. This has to be someone with a sense of humor, a harmless prank.”
“Why, who’s it from?”
“Emma Phan.” Ace didn’t laugh. “I’m a fan. Get it?”
“I get the name. Just not the joke.”
London talked Ace out of involving law enforcement but not out of questioning the doorman, concierge and front desk clerk. No one had handled anyone with a package nor seen anyone enter with package in hand. There were no cameras in the hotel lobby or hallways. The manager assured Ace he’d get to the bottom of the matter and report back first thing the following day. The package was given to the concierge unopened, with instructions to return it to its sender.
They headed back up to their floor.
“You need to move into my room.”
“Ace, that’s a bit drastic. Besides, with
my parents coming over, it’s not a good idea.”
“Why not? They’re not staying here.”
“But knowing my mother, she’ll want to stop by. Why don’t I just keep my things in the room and spend the nights with you, like always?”
They entered her suite. Ace looked around. Now that the mysterious package was gone, the room looked and felt normal. He came over to stand in front of her, placed a finger under her chin to look into her eyes. “I’m going to have Samantha reschedule your interviews around tomorrow’s appearances, baller or not. You can get some sleep and have more time to spend with your parents. Okay?”
“If you insist. We have dinner reservations for eight o’clock. If you haven’t heard from me by seven, come wake me up.”
Three hours later, at seven fifteen, Ace knocked lightly on London’s door. No answer.
He knocked again. Still nothing. Pulling out the extra card key to her room that he’d requested earlier when they talked to the front desk, he opened the door and went inside.
“Hey, baller! London!” He walked through the living room and down a short hallway. “Thought you didn’t need to get any—”
Ace stopped in his tracks and stopped talking, too. The king-size bed was empty. London was gone.
Chapter 21
“What do you mean, missing?” Ike Sr. bellowed.
“Probably not missing,” Ace amended, hating his poor choice of words. “I just can’t find her.”
“Do you normally call the police if a model can’t be found?” Ike’s question dripped sarcasm and disbelief.
At 9:00 p.m., an hour past the time London and Ace were to meet her parents at the city’s famed Michelin-starred restaurant, Il Luogo di Aimo e Nadia, they now stood with a frantic Ace, worried Tyler, frazzled Mira and two Italian police officers in the hotel lobby. After waiting half an hour for her to arrive and their calls going to voice mail, London’s parents had called OTB, who’d tracked down Ace. When he was finally forced to tell them the truth, that he didn’t know London’s whereabouts, they’d come over immediately.
“You say you last saw her a couple hours ago?” A serious question that, delivered in a heavy Italian accent, sounded like a song.
“Around four,” Ace replied through gritted teeth.
“And she was wearing a sundress and sandals? Did you see those clothes in her room?”
“I didn’t look for her clothes,” Ace yelled in frustration. “I’m looking for her!”
“Please.” The other officer, a slight, pleasant-looking man with a shock of black hair and kind brown eyes, stepped toward Ace. “I understand that this form of questioning must be incredibly nerve-racking. But it’s necessary to give us what we need. Often, when people are upset and not thinking clearly, wrong answers are given. That’s why questions are sometimes repeated. It gives the person time to calm down a bit and think more clearly.”
Ace nodded and took a calming breath that was not so calming.
“Now, did she say anything that would give a clue as to where she might go? Does she know anyone here that she’d perhaps go visit? Or the mall? It’s close by and—”
“We’ve checked there already. I sent a team over and they scoured every inch of it, showed her picture to employees in every open store. No one had seen her. I’ve personally circled this area a half dozen times, called her phone so many times that it now goes straight to voice mail.”
Mr. No-Nonsense Police Officer scowled. “I still don’t understand why you called us. You say she’s a smart, capable world traveler who’s been gone for a few hours. There are a dozen perfectly logical explanations for where she could be. Unless there’s something else you can share with us to prove otherwise, I see no sign of danger or reason for us to stick around.”
Ace ran a frustrated hand through shiny coils as tight as his stomach was right now. London had blown off the gifts as the innocent attention of a superfan. Ace felt differently. He was sure she wouldn’t want her parents to know what had been going on. But he had to tell them, had to let the detectives know about earlier today.
“Actually, there is. She’s been getting—”
“Clarisse!” Jennifer pushed past Ace and ran toward her daughter. Ace and Ike Sr. were close behind.
“London!”
“Daughter, are you all right?”
London wobbled toward them—heels in hand, clothes askew—but seemingly okay.
“Baby, are you okay? Can you walk?”
London nodded, then grabbed her head. “Ow!”
“We need to call a doctor.” Jennifer’s strained voice conveyed her worry.
“No, Mom. I’m fine. Just need to lie down.”
Ace, London, her parents and the police officers all walked toward the stairs—there was no elevator in the quaint hotel.
Once they reached them, Ace swooped her up.
“Ace, I can walk.”
“I don’t care.”
The concerned hotel manager followed behind them. “Excuse me. Is everything all right here? Is there anything I can do, anything that you need?”
“Yes,” Jennifer replied. “Please have a pot of tea sent to her room. And call a doctor!”
“Mom, no!”
Ike Sr. interrupted, “Don’t argue with your mother.”
They reached the suite. Ace looked at Ike Sr. “The key card is in my back pocket.”
Ike Sr. pulled it out and unlocked the door then stepped back so Ace could enter. He walked straight to the bedroom and laid London on the bed. Jennifer walked to the other side and crawled over to her daughter, fluffed up two pillows behind London’s head and felt her forehead for a fever.
“Sweetheart, what happened?” She continued to brush damp tendrils away from her daughter’s face.
“I...I don’t know.”
The no-nonsense police officer stepped forward. “Ma’am, what is the last thing you remember?”
London closed her eyes and began lifting herself up. Ace and Jennifer helped her to a sitting position. Her creased brow showed the effort it took to answer that simple question.
“Carly came in. I couldn’t find my...makeup-removing cream and called her to ask about it. She found it for me. And then...water. I asked her to bring me a bottle of water from the kitchen. That’s the last thing.”
The nice officer stood at the foot of the bed. “Where is that water bottle, Miss—what is her name?”
“London,” Ace answered.
“Clarisse,” Ike and Jennifer said in harmony.
“Miss London Clarisse,” Nice Officer continued, “where is the bottle of water you drank?”
“It was there.” London pointed toward the nightstand that was bare except for a lamp. “I’m remembering more clearly now. I drank some of it as I took off my makeup. About half. Then I came in here to take off my clothes and...” She looked down and saw the same sundress she’d worn on the plane. “I felt so tired I just laid down. But I don’t remember getting up. And I definitely don’t remember going to where the driver said he picked me up.”
“Driver?” Ike asked. “What driver, Clarisse?”
“The car that dropped me off just now. I woke up and was in this man’s car. I freaked out so much he had to pull over.”
“Who is this man?” Jennifer asked.
“I don’t know! He calmed me down, told me someone had told him to pick me up.”
Ace sat on the bed, reached for her hand. “From where, babe?”
“The Palazzo Primo.”
“Why would you be there, honey?”
“It’s where our show is happening.” Ace looked at No-Nonsense Officer. “Do you have probable cause to move forward now?”
Room service arrived with a cart bearing tea, water, sandwiches and soup. The manage
r had returned as well and was questioned by the officers as they took a full report. A detective was called in. He talked to everyone in the room along with the doorman and front desk clerk. Carly was questioned. For all, the answer was the same. “Non lo so. Non ho visto niente.” No one knew anything. No one saw anything. Carly had taken the incident personally, breaking down in tears.
“It’s not your fault,” Ace told her.
“But I feel like it is. What if there was something in the water? I gave it to her.”
“And you’re sure the seal wasn’t broken?”
“Yes. I unscrewed the cap and it was definitely sealed.”
All contents of the refrigerator and minibar were removed for analysis. The room was dusted for prints. A doctor arrived and examined London. Blood was taken for analysis. Finally, two hours later, London had been moved from her suite into a two-bedroom suite at her parents’ hotel. An OTB team assistant had been sent to retrieve her things. While Ace talked to Ike about recent events, Jennifer got London showered and tucked into bed.
Two somber faces greeted her when she walked into the living room.
“How is she?” both Ike Sr. and Ace asked.
“Already asleep.” Jennifer sat on the couch next to Ike. He placed a comforting arm around her.
“Clarisse is in trouble, honey,” Ike Sr. said. “Ace tells me she’s received anonymous packages, starting at Papa Dee’s home going in Temecula.”
“Oh, no! Why didn’t she tell us?”
“She thought it was just another overzealous fan,” Ace explained. “At first I did, too. Wouldn’t be the first time.”
“How’d they know her schedule, where she stayed?”
“Most likely the internet, Mrs. Drake. If you search hard enough and long enough, you can find out anything.”
Ike didn’t have any questions. “We’re taking her home.”
“No. I’m staying.”
Three pairs of eyes turned to see a tousled London walking toward them.
“Honey, what are you doing up?”
“Preventing you from planning my future, from the sounds of it.”
“Clarisse, honey, this is too serious to ignore. We are not going to allow you to remain where it’s unsafe.”
