Gemma Halliday - Alibi In High Heels

"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 popped 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."