I'm not sure how long I was crumpled like that on the floor, but at some point a uniformed officer scooped me up and moved me across the hall to another hotel room full of police scanners, walkie talkies, and other electronic devise I couldn't begin to guess the functions of. He sat me on the edge of the bed and a man in a white uniform with a red cross on it asked me a bunch of questions in French, to which I just shook my head, more tears falling. Finally he gave up, pulling out a first aid kit and checking me from head to toe. I had a few bruises, and very sore roots, but other than that I think he gave me a clean bill of health. I think, as he did it all in French. Though my leg throbbed like crazy under Wonder Boot. I guess fighting off a homicidal maniac was putting a little more pressure on it than Doctor Pontytail would advise.
I don't know long my exam took, but a few minutes later, Mom and Mrs. Rosneblatt were ushered across the hall, as well. I jumped up, giving them both a hug. For a second we kind of stuck to each other from the duct tape residue, but I didn't care. I'd never been so happy to see anybody in my life.
"I've never been so happy to see you in my life," Mom said, voicing my exact thoughts. "Oh, honey, are you okay?"
She finally pulled back a moment to look at me. I'm pretty sure I had long, horror movie streaks of mascara running down my cheeks, but at least I was minus gunshot wounds.
Which was more than I could say for Charlene. I could still hear her howling across the hallway as more guys in white stabilized her.
The man with the red cross did a repeat of his head-to-toe with Mom and Mrs. R, checking their persons. Mrs. R said the guy got a little fresh, but I'm pretty sure that was just wishful thinking on her part. Finally they were pronounced fine. A little dehydrated and hungry from being locked up and given drugged tea for two days. But a meal and some fluids and they'd be okay.
Which prompted another round of sticky hugging and grateful tears all around.
Finally, the guy with the first aid kit left and Moreau walked into the room.
"Madame Springer, Mademoiselle Rosenblatt," he said, nodding in Mom and Mrs. R's directions. Then his eyes settled on me. "Mademoiselle Springer. We meet again."
I crossed my arms over my chest. "Yes we do. And I think it's you who has some explaining to do this time. What did you mean back there about not suspecting me?"
The dead squirrel on Moreau's upper lip shifted and I think it might have been his attempt at a smile. He sat down on an armchair opposite the bed.
"I'm sorry to have kept you in the dark, but I knew as long as the killer thought you were the prime suspect, she wouldn't flee."
"You used my daughter as bait?" Mom asked, doing a twin crossed arms thing.
"Uh…" Moreau looked from Mom to me, clearly feeling outnumbered. "No. Not exactly. But we felt as long as the killer thought her job of framing Mademoiselle Springer was working, she would feel safe enough to stay in Paris."
"So, you knew it was Charlene all along?"
He paused. "I'll admit, at first you were the focus of our investigations. It was impossible to overlook the similarities in the current deaths and your past, no?"
I shrugged. "I suppose."
"But," he went on, "as soon as we saw your DNA did not match the hairs found at the crime scene, you were cleared."
I'd forgotten all about the DNA sample I'd given up. "What about Charlene? What made you suspect her?" I asked.
He spread his hands out wide. "It was a simple matter of finances. She had recently made some large deposits which were unaccounted for. We did some digging into her life and found she had a record of petty thievery as a teenager. We were in the process of obtaining a warrant for a DNA sample from her when we were informed that you might be here with her."
I cocked my head to the side. "Informed?"
"Eh…" he paused. "How do you Americans say… a tip-off?"
"Who?"
He paused. His mustache twitching. "I'm sorry, I cannot say."
I narrowed my eyes. "Cannot or will not."
He looked down at the ground, up at the ceiling, everywhere but at my eyes.
I cleared my throat. "Look, I think after letting the press brand me as the Couture Killer to the entire free world, you owe me. Who was it?"
He did a little sigh, his mustache blowing north. "Detective Ramirez."
I felt my breath catch in my throat. "Ramirez?"
He nodded. "We got a call from the airport this morning. Apparently he was going back to the U.S., but apparently he missed his flight. He had to wait until this morning. Then he said he saw a news program and heard about your evidence and the interview scheduled for after the Le Croix show. He called, saying he smelled a… how did he put it… 'harebrained scheme?'"
For once I wasn't even peeved at the term. All I cared about was that he'd called! Okay, so he hadn't exactly called me, but he'd called someone about me. That was close, right?
I realized Moreau was still talking.
"…so, he changed his mind. He said he called his captain to tell him someone in Paris needed him more."
I blinked, unsure I had heard him right. Ramirez had blown of his captain for me? I felt my heart swell and those tears welled behind my eyes again as I dared to hope.
"Is… is he here?" I craned my neck toward the door.
"Uh…" Moreau looked away again, not meeting my eyes. "No. He left."
Just like that the hope crashed and burned.
"He left?"
Moreau nodded. "As soon as he knew you were safe."
"Oh," I said, my voice suddenly very, very small.
He was gone. Again. Okay, so he didn't want me to become maimed by some British nutcase. But he also didn't want to see me.
Moreau continued, "Detective Ramirez said he felt it best if we handled the situation. When he saw the news program, he warned me that we should keep an eye on you. That it was likely you would try to engage the killer. So, we put surveillance on you at the show. A good thing too, oui?" he asked, gesturing across the hall.
"Oui, oui!" Mrs. Rosenblatt piped up.
"You know, you could have come in a little sooner," I said, rubbing at my bruised neck.
Moreau shrugged. "We needed to hear her confession first. You did a fine job getting it out of her. You did wonderful!" He clapped his hands in front of him.
"Gee. Swell."
"Say," Mrs. R said, "if you know Maddie didn't do it, how come you took all her shoes?"
"We had to make it look as though we suspected her."
I narrowed my eyes at him.
Moreau's expression softened. "I'm sorry, Maddie. I know you wanted to show at Fashion Week."
I had. And, at the time, it had meant the world to me. But just now, knowing Mom and Mrs. R were safe, I could care less where my shoes were.
"So, I get them back now?"
Okay, fine, maybe a teeny tiny part of me cared a little.
He grinned, that dead squirrel on his upper lip twitching. "Yes. You may have your shoes back."
Two hours and many, many blue unformed officers later, Mom, Mrs. R and I were all escorted back to our rooms. It was past midnight before we finally said goodnight in the hallway, promising to meet in the morning for breakfast. I closed the door to my room, the sudden silence after the night's chaos almost unreal. I stripped off my jeans and tank in the dark and crawled into bed. I closed my eyes, and willing myself not to dream, fell into a much needed sleep.
I'm not sure how many hours I slept, but by the time I cracked my eyes open my hotel room was filled with sunshine and there wasn't a part of my body that wasn't sore. I rolled over and groaned, looking at the clock. Noon. I couldn't believe I'd slept that long. I slowly got out of bed, flexing my limbs, and dragged myself into the bathroom. Bruises covered my upper arms, a nice shiner on my left eye where Charlene's elbow had connected and my leg throbbed almost as badly as the day I'd been hit. And my hair looked like it belonged on a troll doll.
I turned away, figuring mirrors were not my friends at the moment. Instead, I took a long hot shower, probably using up half the hotel's hot water supply, and did the best I could with concealer to hide the majority of my bruises. I slipped into a comfortable pair of white capris and a pink T with rhinestones that spelled the word "Princess" on it and one pink flat.
I called Mom's room but she and Mrs. R still had the do not disturb on their phone. Instead, I dialed room service, ordering croissants, brioche, jams, cheese, orange juice, coffee, and one grapefruit half (no need to go overbaord).
No sooner had I hung up than a knock sounded at the door. I checked the little peep hole and saw Dana standing in the hallway.
I opened the door and barely got out a, "hi" before she was grabbing my in a bear hug.
"Ohmigod, Maddie! I'm so glad you're okay. I like totally couldn't find you after the show and then you weren't at the after party either and then I came back to the hotel and there were, like, these policemen everywhere and I tried to go see you, but they wouldn't let me through and then finally that detective guy said you were okay but that you'd gone to sleep and I've been like totally waiting to come wake you up. And ohmigod, I can't believe it was Charlene!"
"Dana, I can't breathe."
"Oh." She let go of my midsection. "Sorry."
I ushered her into the room and we sat on the bed as I filled her in on the previous evening's events. Ending with the good news that Moreau had promised my shoe collection would be placed back at the Le Croix tent this morning.
"Oh, that reminds me," Dana said, grabbing her purse. "Have you seen this morning's Informer?"
I shook my head. I figured even with the news of Charlene's arrest, it may be a while before tabloids were my friends again.
Dana pulled the folded paper out of her purse. "Okay, good news first, better news second. Check out page seven."
I grabbed the paper from her, open to page seven. And saw a picture of Ricky and Natalie Portman. They were outside a restaurant, stuck together in a lip lock.
"Oh, honey, I'm so sorry," I said. Then paused as I looked up and saw Dana beaming from ear to ear. "Uh, I don't get it. You're happy Ricky is kissing some movie star?"
She giggled. Then pointed to Ricky's left hand, zoning in on Natalie's boobs. "Look," she instructed. "He had a little mole right by his thumb."
"Uh huh."
"Well, Ricky doesn't have a mole! Don't you see, they totally pasted his head on someone else's body. My boyfriend is totally not kissing Natalie Portman." She sat back, a smug smile on her face.
I couldn't help but grin back. "Congratulations."
"Thanks," she said, taking the paper. "Okay, now for the better news, ready?" she asked, flipping to the front page.
"Always ready for good news."
She slid the paper across the bed to me.
The headline read: Couture Killer Cleared. But the part that immediately caught my eye were the photographs. Somehow they had gotten pictures of every single one of my shoes that were supposed to have been in the Le Croix show and blown them up on the front page. Okay, so it wasn't quite the same as showing in Paris, but you couldn't buy this kind of publicity. I quickly scanned down to the byline. Sure enough, it read: Felix Dunn.
I bit my lip, suddenly all the more sorry I'd ever suspected him of having anything to do with the deaths, let alone his crazy aunt drugging me.
"Wow," I said. "I can't believe he did this for me."
"Believe it, girl," Dana said. Then added with a smirk, "So, tell me again what a terrible kisser he is?"
I snapped my head up.
But I didn't get to answer as a knock sounded at the door. I padded over and looked out the little peep hole. Only all I could see were flowers.
I opened the door.
"Mademoiselle Springer?" asked a voice. Only I wasn't sure whose, as the guy's face was completely covered by a huge bouquet of red roses.
"Yes?" I asked tentatively.
The guy lowered the flowers and a pimply kid with a shock of red hair appeared. "A flower delivery for you."
"Who are they from?"
He shrugged. "There is a card. Please sign here, Mademoiselle," he said, shoving a clipboard at me. I awkwardly balanced the roses in one hand while I took his pen in the other and signed his form.
"Merci," he said, before turning down the hallway.
I looked at the roses. I sniffed them. I couldn't help a little lift at the corners of my mouth.
"Whoa! Who are those from?" Dana asked as I came back into the room.
I shrugged. "I don't know." I sat down on the bed and fished a little white envelope from a plastic fork shaped thing at the top of the bouquet.
The outside simply said: Maddie.
I opened it and felt my heart speed up as I read the card. "We need to talk. Meet me tonight. 6pm. The top of the Eiffel Tower."
I flipped the card over. It wasn't singed. I bit my lip. The Eiffel Tower. The most romantic place in all the world.
But who was I meeting?
"My money's on Felix," Dana said, digging into my grapefruit twenty minutes later as we devoured the last of my room service breakfast. I'd put the mystery roses in water in the hotel issue ice bucket on the dresser and couldn't help staring at them every ten seconds.
"Felix?" I scrunched up my nose. "Why?"
"Well," Dana said, a frown settling between her strawberry blonde brows. "First the article. Now flowers. I mean, has Ramirez ever sent you flowers?"
I paused. Then shook my head.
"So it has to be Felix."
"But Felix hasn't sent me flowers before either."
"Yeah, but does Ramirez seem like the roses kind of guy?"
I had to admit, she had a point.
"What do you think Felix wants to talk about?" I asked, thinking back to our last interrupted conversation at the show.
Dana shrugged. "Maybe how he's madly in love with you."
"He is not!"
Dana sent me a get real look.
"Okay, so maybe he likes me a little."
"And you like him."
"I do n-"
Dana shot me that look again.
"Okay. Fine. He's a good kisser." I paused, sniffing the roses again. "But so is Ramirez. Very good."
Dana shrugged. "Okay, so maybe Ramirez sent them." She popped a bite of muffin in her mouth.
I absently shoved a piece of croissant in my mouth. "You think?"
Dana nodded. "Sure. He said you needed to talk. I mean, you guys really have unresolved issues."
I nodded. "But then again, so do Felix and I. He was about to tell me something at the show, but he was interrupted."
"Okay, so we're back to Felix again?" Dana asked, the frown increasing.
I shrugged. "Or Ramirez."
"Maddie," she said setting down her spoon and leaning in close. "Who do you want it to be?"
I bit my lip. And stared at her. But I didn't say anything.
Because I had no idea.
The rest of the day moved in slow motion. After Mom and Mrs. R got up we went down to the police station to give Moreau our official statements. Then Jean Luc called, saying my shoes had arrived – most of them minus fingerprint dust – and he was having them sent to the hotel. Marcel called, wanting to know when he'd get his interview, and Ann left a message saying she was booking the next Le Croix photo shoot and could they use my designs? But I couldn't concentrate on any of it. All I could think about was the Eiffel Tower at six o' clock as I watched the time crawl by.
Finally at quarter past five, I threw on a black, form fitting dress with a high neck (to cover my bruises), a short hemline (to give my legs the illusion of length – or at least the one good one) and a low scoop in the back (to make the boys drool). I went heavy on the mascara, light on the eyeliner, and puckered up for a swipe of Raspberry Perfection lip gloss, then pulled my hair up into a flattering French twist. I slipped on one black, strappy, two inch pump, and, while there was nothing I could do to dress Wonder Boot up, I had to admit, I looked pretty damn hot.
On instinct, I grabbed one of the roses from the bouquet to take with me, holding it to my nose as I made my way down the elevators and across the lobby.
I took a cab to the Eiffel Tower, my stomach doing the dancing butterflies thing as my palms grew sweatier the closer we got. As we drove through the city, the sky just starting to turn a dusky pink, the setting sun illuminated the old architecture and captured the light off the fountains spurting along the plazas.
And then I saw it.
The cab rounded a bend and suddenly there it stood in front of me, in all its glory. The Eiffel Tower. I sucked in a breath, the beautiful pink hued sky behind it breathtaking.
By the time the cab pulled up in front, I was lucky I could walk, my stomach was wobbling so badly. I paid my fare with shaky hands and took a ticket, riding the elevator all the way up to the top of the tower. I awkwardly hobbled out on Wonder Boot, taking a spot in the center of the platform, just a little scared to stand too close to the edge this high up.
Though I had to admit, the view was amazing, the entire city of Paris spread out before me, the air clear and cool. I inhaled deeply, trying to steady my nerves.
And watched the elevators.
Group after group came up, families with cameras around their necks, students toting backpacks, all speaking a variety of languages. People snapped photos, laughing and pointing down below us. And I stood, twisting my hands together. Two words tumbling over and over in my mind. Ramirez. Felix. Ramirez. Felix. I had no idea who would come off those elevators next.
And then another carriage arrived. The doors slid open. Three teenagers and a family of four from Japan filed out.
And him.
I sucked in a breath, not realizing until that moment just how very badly I'd wanted it to be him. I felt tears well behind my eyes and let out a long breath as he approached.
"Maddie," he said.
I took a deep breath. "Jack."
His dark eyes looked down at me and even though they were rimmed in sleepless circles, they were the most beautiful sight I had ever seen. His stubble covered jaw flexed, some emotion flitting across his face that I couldn't read. But I didn't care. He was here. And that was all that mattered.
"Oh God, Jack, I'm so sorry. I'm so glad you're here, but I'm so sorry about everything. I don't know how I always seem to make such a mess of everything, but I promise, I'm going to be the best girlfriend ever from now on. I just-"
"I can't do this."
I paused mid-sentence. "What?"
His eyes took on a sad look. "Maddie, I asked you to meet me here because I needed to talk to you. I'm sorry, but I just can't do this anymore."
My heart froze. "W-what do you mean you can't…?"
Ramirez shook his head, his dark hair falling across his forehead in a way that made me itch to brush it with my fingertips. Instead, I clasped my hands tightly together around the flower stem, hoping the death grip on the rose would somehow help me get a grip on reality.
"All we do is fight, Maddie. We're butting heads. Me, I'm a straightforward kind of guy. What you see is what you get. And you…" He paused, running a hand through his hair. "I don't know if I'll ever figure you out. Hell, you drive me nuts."
I felt tears welling behind my eyes. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to drive you nuts."
"I know," he said, his voice soft. Almost if he didn't want to say the words any more than I wanted to hear them. "I know you don't. But I swear you've taken ten years off my life since I've known you. I don't know how trouble finds you, but it does. I don't want to do this anymore, stay up nights wondering where you are, not knowing if you're safe, if you're in danger, if you're…" He trailed off and I could mentally see the scene at Felix's playing out in his head.
"I'm sorry," I squeaked out again, at a loss for anything else to say.
He took a deep breath, staring out over the roofs of Paris. "I just can't do this anymore. I don't want you to be my girlfriend."
The tears stared blurring my vision and I fought to keep them back. If he was breaking up with me, the last thing I wanted to do was cry and beg for him to stay. I did a loud, unladylike sniff. The sweet scents of roses and the cool Paris air oddly incongruent with the hollow, gnawing feeling in my stomach.
"So, what are you saying, Jack?"
He took another deep breath, his nostrils flaring, his jaw set at a determined angle. Then he turned and looked me squarely in the eye. It wasn't his Bad Cop look. It wasn't his lustful Big Bad Wolf look. Just him and me. It was the most real I had ever seen him. Like suddenly he was letting me in to see the real guy behind everything else.
And then he bent down on one knee.
His hands reached into the pocket of his jacket, and out came a little blue, velvet covered box.
A ring box.
I blinked and I dropped the flower.
My heart stopped beating, my breath doing short little gasps, my eyes going big and round. The tears couldn't be held back any longer, wet lines streaming down my face even as I felt my lips curve up into a smile.
"You're shitting me!" I said. I know, not the most romantic thing in the world. But I seriously couldn't believe me eyes. A ring? It was like I'd stepped into the end of a Meg Ryan movie.
Ramirez's gaze didn't waiver, his eyes steady on mine. Though a small corner of his lips twitched. "Jesus, Maddie, don't cry." He reached one hand up and gently wiped my cheek with the pad of his thumb. "At least wait until you see the ring."
He opened the box and the most brilliant emerald cut, sparkling two carat diamond winked back at me. The tears gushed like Niagara Falls and I think I actually laughed out loud. Okay, so it wasn't Tiffany, and it wasn't the biggest thing I'd ever seen. But it was the most beautiful.
It was from Jack.
Ramirez' Adam's apple bobbed up and down, his eyes suddenly vulnerable, his breath coming fast and hard. One of his large hands covered mine in a warm embrace.
"Maddie, I don't want you to be my girlfriend. I want you to be my wife," he said, his voice shaky but his dark eyes steady on mine. "Maddison Louise Springer, will you marry me?"