Alibi in High Heels

by Gemma Halliday

  Suddenly peeing in public just got replaced as the worst thing about being in a holding cell by being groped by a prostitute of ambiguous gender.

  "Springer?" A tall, thin officer with a crooked nose opened the cell door.

  I popped up from the bench like a Jack in the Box, shoving my crutches under my armpits. "That's me!"

  Tube Top looked disappointed, but gave me a little one finger wave as the officer took me by the arm and escorted me down the hallway.

  I breathed a sigh of relief. I had a feeling I'd been one knee grab away from being someone's be-atch.

  My relief was short lived, however, as the officer steered me around the corner and I spotted the man who had sprung me from the pokey. Arms crossed over his broad chest. Eyes dark and unreadable. Lips pursed into a fine white line. Jaw set into those hard granite angles of Bad Cop.

  Ramirez.

  "Uh... hi." I gave him a little wave. No reaction. "I see you made your flight." Still nothing. "Nice to see you, honey?" I tried. Though it sounded more like a question.

  Ramirez ignored me, addressing the officer. "I'll take it from here." He put his signature down on the officer's clipboard, then grabbed my upper arm in a vice grip and steered me down the length of the hallway.

  "See, the proper response here would be, 'Hi, nice to see you, too, Maddie,'" I said as I hopped to catch up to him. "Or maybe, 'Are you okay? Wow, how traumatic this must have been for you.'"

  Ramirez paused just long enough to shoot me a death look, then propelled me past booking, the front desk, and the glass doors of the police station, outside onto a street that was busy with afternoon shoppers and sightseers. He walked me a full block in silence before backing me into an alleyway that smelled like urine and rotting fish and spinning me around to face him.

  "What the hell were you thinking?" he growled, his voice doing a tightly restrained thing I knew could easily snap at any moment.

  "Look, it was all a misunderstanding. We just wanted to look around. Angelica said they'd been fighting."

  "Who?"

  "Angelica. The friend who's not a friend."

  Ramirez just stared at me.

  "Look, we were just looking for evidence that someone else did this. We were gonging to put everything back where we found it. Well, except maybe the necklace."

  Ramirez's Bad Cop face did give away any emotion. Though I could tell from the long, blue vein in his neck starting to bulge just a little that I wasn't making any headway with him.

  "Didn't I distinctly tell you," he ground out between clenched teeth, "not to do anything stupid until I got here? I think this qualifies."

  I put a hand on my hip. "Yeah, about that-"

  But he cut me off, shaking his head. "God, do you know how guilty this makes you look, Maddie? Being found pawing through the victim's belongings?"

  "I didn't do anything wrong. You and I both know I'm innocent."

  He stared at me. Silently.

  For one horrible second doubt hit me as I looked into his unreadable eyes.

  "You do know I'm innocent, right? Jack?"

  He rubbed a hand over his face. "Jesus, Maddie, of course I know that."

  I let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding. "I'm sorry you got dragged down here. Thank you for getting me out."

  His eyes softened and he reached a hand out, running the tip of his fingers lightly along my cheeks. "What am I going to do with you?"

  "Well," I said tentatively, "you could start by giving me a kiss hello."

  His Bad Cop face cracked, the corner of his mouth lifting up into a deceptively boyish grin. He leaned in close and brushed his lips softly over mine. I tasted the mingled flavors of coffee and Dentyne and think I sighed out loud.

  "What about Felix?" I mumbled onto his lips.

  He froze. "Felix?"

  I nodded. "We were arrested together. Did he get bailed out, too?"

  Ramirez pulled back, his eyes going dark and unreadable again. "I don't know."

  "Well you have to find out."

  "Oh I do, do I?"

  "Yes! Felix doesn't belong in jail. He's not a criminal."

  Ramirez planted his feet hip-width apart and crossed his arms over his chest. "He broke into her hotel room."

  "To look for evidence."

  "He was found with a half million in diamonds in his pocket, which he readily admits he took from the victim's room."

  "But the diamond's are his! She stole them first."

  "He carries a lock picking kit."

  Okay, he had me there. I never quite got a straight story out of Felix about his wild teenage days, but it wasn't everyone that carried a lock picking kit around in their cargos.

  "But he didn't use it." This time. "Look, I was with him the whole time. He didn't do anything illegal." I paused. "Well, not very illegal at least. Look, we just needed to search her place. You don't understand, I have no alibi. They think I'm the Couture Killer. Moreau wants to lock me up."

  "He's not out to get you, Maddie, he's just doing his job."

  I narrowed my eyes. "Don't tell me you're taking his side?"

  "What are you talking about?"

  "I should have known. It's a cop thing, right?"

  "Jesus, Maddie, I'm not taking sides."

  "So what happens if Moreau arrests me for murder, Jack? Is he still 'just doing his job?'" I asked, doing air quotes with my fingers.

  Ramirez looked to the sky as if asking for help from somewhere above. "Look, Moreau is investigating a crime. Which you are not making any easier."

  "Oh, so now I should be trying to make his job of building a case against me easier? Someone's trying to frame me, Jack!"

  "Which doesn't give you license to break into the murdered woman's hotel room."

  I crossed my arms over my chest. Which was not easy to do with crutches stuck in my armpits, but was worth the effect. "So what, you gonna lock me up?"

  Ramirez breathed in deeply through his nose, nostrils flaring as that vein in his neck bulged in earnest now. "No. They're letting you go into my custody. I convinced them it was a language barrier thing."

  "And Felix? I'm not leaving without him."

  Some indefinable emotion flitted across Ramirez's face. "This guy really means that much to you, huh?"

  "Of course not," I said. A little too loudly. "He doesn't mean anything to me. I just... it was my idea. He went along with it. I owe him."

  Ramirez bit the inside of his cheek, doing that stare down thing he usually reserved for criminals he was trying to intimidate a confession out of. I held my ground, still crossing my arms, jutting my chin out defiantly, trying to squeeze one more half inch of height out of my already stretched spine.

  "At the very least they'll want him extradited back to England."

  "Hey, as long as he's not rotting in jail, I don't care where he goes."

  Ramirez made a sound halfway between a snort and a growl. Then turned around without a word and hailed a passing cab. He opened the back door.

  "Get in," he commanded.

  "Where am I going?"

  "Back to the hotel."

  "And you?"

  His jaw went granite again. "To find out where they're holding Felix."

  I dropped the defensive posture. "Thanks." I stood on tip-toe (just one) and planted a kiss on his cheek.

  "Hmm," he grunted. Though, I thought I saw that vein in his neck relax just a little.

  I got in the cab and watched his retreating form as he walked back to the police station. Okay, so maybe he wasn't always the easiest guy to get along with. But he did bail me out of jail. Gotta love the man for that.

  The ride to the hotel seemed to take forever, and by the time I'd fought my way through the paparazzi standing vigil outside, I was tired, hungry, and really, really needed to go to the bathroom. I took care of the latter first, before collapsing on the bed and dialing room service for the biggest order of crepes they had. I was just digging into it when the adjoining door to my room po
pped open.

  "Maddie! There you are, were have you been?" Mom asked, bustling into the room with a handful of shopping bags. Mrs. Rosenblatt waddled along behind her, her bright blue muumuu accessorized with three strands of plastic yellow pearls. I swear I needed sunglasses around the woman's wardrobe. Mom was more subdued today - white stretch pants under a black skirt with a stretchy black and white polka dotted top and her black high tops. Okay, so maybe "subdued" was a stretch. But this was Mom we were talking about.

  "Where was I? Where have you two been? I tried to call you last night."

  "Last night we dragged that Pierre fellow to the Eiffel Tower," Mrs. R said.

  "The tower?" I asked, my voice going high. Great - they went to the Eiffel Tower and I went to prison.

  Mom nodded. "Oh, Mads, you should see it at night, all lit up. It's the most magical thing I've ever seen in my whole life. I have to come back here with Ralphie. It's so romantic."

  Mrs. R let a frown settle between her draw-in brows. "Pierre didn't think it was romantic. He didn't even try to kiss me."

  Imagine that.

  "So what have you been up to?" Mom asked.

  "I had a little run in with the police."

  "Police?" Mom swayed in her high tops, falling back on the bed beside me. "Oh, my baby," she said as she dove in for a patented rib crusher hug. This time, though, I let her. After spending the morning in a holding cell, I'll admit, I could use a hug.

  "What happened?" Mrs. Rosenblatt asked.

  I filled them in on my adventures in the French criminal justice system while I devoured the plate full of crepes. By the time I was done, Mom was back to hugging me again.

  "Mom, I'm fine. Really." I wriggled out of her death grip. "So, what's with all the shopping bags?"

  "Well," Mom said, straightening up. "Like I promised, we spent yesterday gathering info on Gisella." She gestured to Mrs. R who pulled a sheaf of papers out of one the bags and handed it to me. "Did you know she was booked to do seven different shows this week?"

  I shook my head. "No." I thumbed through the papers. They were printouts of various fashion websites, online gossip columns, and industry blogs.

  Mrs. R nodded. "Yep. The Le Croix was her only lead, but she was doing runway for six other designers. So, your mom and I figured we check 'em out today."

  "We went undercover as Fashion Week tourists," Mom said, her eyes shining.

  I looked down at the bags. "Mom, you are tourists."

  "Anyway, you'll never guess what we learned, Mads. That necklace you said went missing at the Le Croix show? Four of the other designers Gisella was working for said they've had pieces go missing as well. We asked, but only a couple of them had reported the thefts to the police. The others figured the pieces were just misplaced in the chaos of getting ready for the event and would turn up soon enough."

  "Just like Jean Luc."

  Mom nodded. "Interesting coincidence?"

  As much as I was beginning to hate that word, I had to agree with her. I wished we'd had time to check the pockets of Gisella's Chanel. I'd bet my ballet flats there were more than hankies in them.

  "All right, so let's assume that Gisella was taking the jewelry. Then what? What did she intend to do with them?" I asked.

  Mom shrugged. "Sell them?"

  "On the black market! She had to have someone fencing the jewels for her. A partner," Mrs. R said. "My third husband, Alf, had a pawn shop for a while. They're real particular about what they take. They don't wanna get busted. It ain't as easy as it looks to unload hot stuff."

  "So, assuming it was Gisella, who was unloading it for her?" I wondered out loud.

  "Another model?" Mom offered. "Mystery boyfriend?"

  "Maybe her agent?" Mrs. R piped up.

  I thought about that. Angelica had said that Gisella called her agent numerous times a day. Maybe the calls hadn't been about booking a cover after all, but about where to get rid of a half million dollars in stolen diamonds. "Did you find anything on who her agent is?" I asked, shuffling through the computer printouts.

  "Here," Mrs. R said, pointing to a printout of a website that read "Girardi Models" across the header. "Donata Girardi. She's based in Milan, Gisella's hometown."

  "Oh, I saw something about that," Mom said, grabbing the stack from me. More shuffling. "Ah!" She pulled a gossip column out. "Donata Girardi is staying at the Hotel de Crillon. She's the one that threw the party where Gisella wore the necklace."

  I stared at the party photos. I wasn't entirely convinced that Gisella was a master thief, but I figured it wouldn't hurt to have a conversation with her agent.

  "Okay, first thing tomorrow, we'll question her."

  "Question who?"

  Mom, Mrs. Rosenblatt and I snapped our heads up in unison, all eyes pointed at the adjoining doorway where Ramirez's frame had suddenly appeared.

  "Who are you going to question?" he repeated, stepping into the room.

  "No one," I said quickly. Then gave Mom and Mrs. R serious psychic vibes to ix-nay on the estions-quay. "We're not questioning anyone."

  "Okay." Ramirez narrowed his eyes. "Maybe I should rephrase. Who are we not questioning, then?"

  I planted my hands on my hips. "How did you even get in here?" I asked.

  "The door next door was open. This," he held up a red shopping bag with the word "Dior" on the side, "was wedged in the door jamb. And don't change the subject."

  "Oops," Mrs. R said, taking the bag from his hand. She looked from Ramirez's narrowed eyes to my hands-on-hips. "Uh, maybe we ought to let you two alone."

  She gestured to Mom, who quickly dumped the printouts into a "Hermes" bag and followed Mrs. Rosenblatt to the door. She gave me a quick co-conspiratorial wink and mouthed the words "call me" behind Ramirez's back as they slipped out.

  Ramirez latched the door shut behind them before turning his cat-like slits of eyes on me. "Okay, you want to tell me what that was about now?"

  I bit my lip. And shook my head.

  Ramirez sat on the double bed beside me. Close beside me.

  Despite our little standoff, I was suddenly reminded of how much I'd missed him.

  "Maddie, I'm serious," he said. "You've got to let the police handle this."

  "But the police think I did it."

  He let out a long breath and rubbed at his temple. "I don't want you questioning anyone."

  I opened my mouth to protest but he quickly put a hand over my lips and talked right over me.

  "I don't want you nosing through anyone's stuff for some sort of non-existent evidence. I don't want you following anyone, spying on anyone, or impersonating anyone."

  Wow. He knew me well.

  "And most of all," he said, leaning in until the scent of his aftershave settled over my senses like a mellow fog. "Most of all, I don't want you anywhere near Felix Dunn again." He pulled his hand away from my mouth. "That guy is bad news. Every time you're around him, he gets you into trouble."

  "Well, technically it was me that got him into trouble this time."

  He gave me a look. "Promise me."

  I took a deep breath of Ramirez scented air. And nodded.

  He looked so relieved I almost felt guilty that I'd had my fingers crossed behind my back.

  "Good," he said. "Oh, and one more thing?"

  I raised an eyebrow at him. "What now?"

  His eyes crinkled at the corners, going all dark and warm as his face broke into a Big Bad Wolf grin - all teeth like he might eat me up at any second. "This."

  He dipped his lips in to meet mine, his stubble tickling my cheek as his tongue brushed against my lower lip.

  Instantly my mind went mush. The prison cell, Felix, Moreau, the whole mess the press was making of my life all disappeared as I leaned into his kiss, my lips melting under his. I closed my eyes as his arm wrapped around my middle, laying me back on the bed. In an instant, the hard planes of his body were covering mine. One hand dove into my hair, the other hiking up the hem of my skirt as his h
ips pressed into mine. I kissed him back. Hard. As I fumbled with the top button of his jeans. When I popped it open, he did a low growl thing in the back of his throat.

  "It's been too long," he mumbled into my mouth.

  "It's only been a couple of days."

  He paused, then looked down at me, his eyes glazed over with a look that could only be described as pure lust. "Yeah, like I said, too long."

  I laughed as he dove back in, his lips locking onto my throat, nibbling at my pulse in a way that made my body shiver from my head clear down to my toes. I wrapped one bare leg around his torso, navigating my gimp leg out of the way.

  Ramirez looked down. "Can you have sex in that thing?" he asked, gesturing to Wonder Boot.

  I felt a devilish grin of my own sliding across my face.

  "We're about to find out."

  Chapter Eight

  I awoke to the sounds of room service carts being wheeled down the hallway outside my room. I gingerly opened one eye, then the next. It felt like I'd been asleep for days, my mouth full of that morning gym socks flavor. I turned over and looked at the digital numbers of the alarm clock. Seven fifteen.

  "Mmmm," Ramirez moaned beside me. He rolled over, wrapping an arm round me and pulling me to him, spoon fashion. "Good morning, beautiful," he mumbled into my hair.

  I grinned, wiping the sleep out of my eyes. "Yes. Yes it is."

  "I had a dream about you last night," he said. He rubbed his pelvis against my bare tush, leaving very little to the imagination as to just what kind of dream I'd awakened him from.

  "Was I good?" I joked.

  "Oh yeah," he growled, his breath tickling my ear. I ducked, giggling.

  "And just where do you think you're going?" he asked. He pulled me onto my back and sat up, straddling me. Then he slid one hand down my arm, twining his fingers with mine as he stared down at me.

  "Police brutality," I teased, wiggling beneath him.

  He just flashed me a wicked grin and raised his eyebrows suggestively. "You ain't seen nothing yet." He leaned in close, his eyes intent on my mouth.

  "Halt!" I quickly covered my mouth with my free hand. "I have morning breath."

  He chuckled. "Me too. Who cares?" He zoned in again.

  "Gross. You may be cute, but I am so not kissing you with morning breath," I mumbled behind my hand.