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“It’s all in the line of duty. You’re playing Don Juan for a cause now, not for selfish reasons.”
Up on the third floor, a frighteningly thin blond (probably fake, but with no roots showing) woman in a severe suit stood waiting, tapping the pointy toe of her high-heeled shoe impatiently, even though it was still several minutes before her appointment. “That’s got to be her,” Rod whispered.
“Do you feel anything that might be the Eye?” I asked him, also in a whisper.
He shook his head. “If she’s got it, it’s in the box. Do you think she’d be standing there, waiting, if the Eye were working?”
“Good point. Now, go get ’em, tiger. We’re all counting on you. But no pressure!”
While the rest of us lurked behind mannequins, Rod dialed up the charm to maximum levels and approached the woman. “Ms. Winters?” he asked.
“Yes.” She snapped out the word.
“I’m André, and I’ll be helping you today.”
“My appointment was with Cecile.”
“I’m afraid Cecile had a family emergency, so she asked me to fill in until she could get here. She sent her most sincere apologies. Now, is there something in particular you’re looking for today? Any big events you need to dress for or pieces you want to build an outfit around?”
She looked at him like he’d grown a second head. “Cecile usually pulls pieces and has them ready when I arrive. I told her what I wanted when I made the appointment.”
“Oh, ah, um,” Rod stammered. He sounded a lot like Owen. This was not a good time for him to lose his mojo and turn bashful. Then I felt an increase in magical use as he gave up trying to do this the hard way and hit her full-on with the whammy. “I wanted to add my personal touch,” he said, his voice soft and seductive as he reached out to touch her hand.
All her frosty edginess melted away, and she looked more like what I was accustomed to seeing in women around Rod. In fact, it reminded me of when I first saw him, when I wondered if he was a rock star I didn’t recognize because of the way all the women on the subway car looked at him. “Oh, personal is good,” she sighed.
Still weaving his spell, Rod said, “I definitely think we should add more blue. I’d bet you look lovely in blue—like a sapphire blue. Please tell me you wear sapphires.”
“I haven’t before. But let’s buy some!”
I put my hand over my mouth to suppress my giggles. I wished we were filming this because it was one of the funniest things I’d seen in ages. Then I noticed that Owen was staring at me, not Rod. “What’s wrong?” he asked, frowning with concern.
“Wrong? What makes you think something’s wrong? I mean, other than the killer brooch on the loose. This”—I gestured toward Rod— “is the best thing that’s happened all day.”
“Not now, at this moment, but in general. Something’s up with you lately.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re all lit up today, practically glowing, and you haven’t looked like that in a long time. It’s good to see, but it makes me wonder what’s wrong the rest of the time. I know I’ve been kind of obsessed lately. Has that been bothering you?”
Owen acted like an absentminded professor, but he wasn’t nearly as oblivious as he seemed to be. I wasn’t sure what to say, though. Given everything he was dealing with, I felt like a whiner to complain about something so petty as being bored. “It’s not your fault, really. Can we talk about it later, though, when we’re not on a quest to retrieve the magical brooch that could plunge the world into war?”
“I’ll hold you to that.” His phone rang, and when he checked the caller ID, he handed it to me. “It’s for you.”
It was Gemma. “Sorry, I’m not having much luck,” she said. “The profile you gave fits half our customers, and nobody remembers anyone’s fiancé’s name.”
“Thanks for trying. We may have a good lead here.” Since it had taken every ounce of Rod’s magical charm to keep Natalie Winters from snarling at him, I thought she just might be our girl.
“Where did you find her?”
“Macy’s. A woman engaged to a Jonathan Martin had a personal shopper appointment.”
She laughed. “Oh, honey, that can’t be the right one. The woman you’re looking for wouldn’t be shopping at Macy’s.”
“Really? It’s my idea of a splurge. And she’s got a personal shopper.”
“You could get a personal shopper if you made an appointment. The woman you’re looking for wouldn’t shop off-the-rack. She might not even set foot in a department store. She’s more likely to go straight to the designers for couture.”
“Are you sure?”
