Linda Gerber - Death by Denim (Death By...)

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Table of Contents

NO ESCAPE

Hand in hand we sprinted for the station, arriving out of breath just moments before the train was supposed to leave. The ticket windows were closed so we had to buy our tickets from the machines. It felt like forever that Mom was feeding coins into the slot and another eternity for the machine to print and spit out our tickets. We grabbed them and raced through the turnstile, reaching the train car just as the warning chimes sounded, signaling that the doors were about to close.

The train had already started to move by the time we settled into our seats. I leaned back against the upholstery, silently saying my good-byes to Lyon. Then I noticed Moms grip on the armrest tighten and I followed her gaze out the window.

Marlboro Man was running onto the platform. Late. Too late. I smiled at his failure... until it hit me. My ticket. I flipped it over and my heart dropped. Ours was an express train. No stops between Lyon and Paris. He may have missed us, but he would know exactly where we were headed. And when we would get there.

One glance at Mom and I knew she was thinking the same thing.

We were in trouble.

LINDA GERBERSDEATH BYSERIES

Death by Bikini
Death by Latte
Death by Denim

OTHER SLEUTH BOOKS YOU MAY ENJOY

Double Helix
Haunted
Hunted: Fake ID
In Darkness, Death

Lulu Dark Can See Through Walls

Nancy Werlin
Judith St. George
Walter Sorrells
Dorothy and Thomas
Hoobler
Bennett Madison

Acknowledgments

The writing of this book was made possible by the encouragement and support of my family who continue to be my number-one cheerleaders. Thanks, guys!

Also, special thanks to my CPs, Jen, Ginger, Barb, Nicole, Julie, Kate, Karen, and Marsha for their wisdom and patience, and to Davide and Natalie Lorenzi, Jonathan Neve, and Ammi-Joan Paquette for their generous language and translation help.

As always, I am indebted to the fantastic team at Puffin for bringing the book to life. Heartfelt thanks to Angelle Pilkington (welcome to the new addition!), Grace Lee (best of luck with nursing!), and Kristin Gilson (I appreciate the 11th hour save!) for their editorial genius, and to designers Theresa Evangelista and Linda McCarthy for their brilliant cover designs. Its been my sincere pleasure to work with the best people in the business!

CHAPTER 1

I knew it was just a matter of time before they caught up with us. Knew it every morning as I kissed my mother good-bye and walked out the door. Knew it every afternoon as I rode my bike home from the school in Lyon, France, where I had enrolled under a counterfeit name. Knew it every minute of every day, so it shouldnt have hit me with such a jolt when I noticed the man following me. But it did.

Part of the shock, I suppose, was the realization that Id seen him before. Despite all the rules and techniques my mom had tried to drill into my head since wed slipped underground, his presence hadnt more than grazed my consciousness before. Looking back, I recognized how often hed been in shadows or hovering around the periphery of my attention. It wasnt until he grew bold and walked right past me, though, that all the other sightings registered in my head. Then everything fell into placethunk, thunk, thunk, thunklike bars in a cage locking tight.

Wed been out to dinner, my mom and I. It was a beautiful evening with the first promise of summer riding on the breeze, and a sky so clear above us that the stars shone like a million tiny lanterns. We strolled along the Rhne River on our way home, watching the barges glide past, the reflection of their lights stretching across the inky water like shimmering tentacles.

I let my mind wander; I imagined those barges following the river until eventually it emptied into the open sea. How long would it take them to sail from ocean to ocean and finally reach the island I used to call home?

Like before, I was so preoccupied that the mans presence barely registered. Hed been leaning against the stone retaining wall, smoking. Watching us, I know now. As we neared, he pushed away from the wall and dropped his cigarette, grinding it out with the toe of a snakeskin boot. Im not sure if it was the movement or the boot that drew my attention. All I know is that I was suddenly very aware of him striding toward us.

As Id been taught, I made a quick catalog of his features without letting my eyes fully rest on his face. He stood a full head taller than me, broad-shouldered but thin almost to the point of being lanky. Even in the darkness, I could see the leathery texture of his skin, like hed spent a lot of time in the wind and sun. He reminded me of the kind of rugged outdoorsy types they featured in those old Marlboro cigarette ads.

Mom must have felt me stiffen next to her as he neared because she slipped her arm through mine to propel me forward. Keep walking, she whispered. She didnt have to remind me, though; I knew the drill. Head up, no eye contact. Just. Act. Casual.

I patted her hand and laughed as if shed said something really clever. Okay, so maybe the pat and the laugh were overkill, but I had to do something to mask the pounding in my chest and the weird catch in my throat as I drew each breath.

The man brushed past me, so close that the sleeve of his denim shirt touched my arm and I could smell the sharp burnt-roofing-tar stench on his breath. The vibration of his snakeskin boots striking the stones so close to my feet seemed to echo run, run, RUN! But even then, I didnt know exactly why.

It took several steps for the dark, smoky stink to register in my head as familiar. And the boots. Id seen them before. Thats when it all came flooding back. Thats when I knew.

Wed been found.

To be honest, I was surprised we lasted as long as we did. Despite my very real-looking fake passport and student visa, I had been sure from the moment my mom and I arrived in France that everyone we met must know we were imposters. We kept to ourselves at home and I didnt make friends at school, but no one seemed to notice. I was one of the few students who wasnt boarding there as well and, from the talk I heard in the hallways, they just thought I was a stuck-up American.

By the time we passed the half year mark without incident, I had dared to believe that we might be safe after all. We lived a quiet expat life, me going to a real school instead of taking online classes, and my mom acting like a normal mother instead of a CIA agent. I think we both liked the role-playing reality so much that we wanted it to be true. Little by little, despite the constant training to be vigilant, we began to slip into our faux identities. We began to relax.

Maybe thats why they waited so long to hunt for us. They must have known that once our guard was down, wed be easier to catch. Exactly who they were, I couldnt say, except that they worked for a man called The Mole. He was the leader of a sleeper cell who had turned to organized crime to fund his operation. Both my mom and I had gotten in his way at one point or another, and the man held a grudge.

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