Free Stolen with Style by Carina Axelsson

your behavior remind them that they are.” I waited a moment before continuing. “Can you can think of anything you’ve said or done to any of that group, anything to make someone angry enough to try blackmailing you? Or to seek revenge against you?”
    She shook her head. “Honestly—no, I can’t think of anything. Like I told you yesterday, I’ve known Peter, Trish, and Tom for years and consider them good friends. I’ve known the models since they started, and I know Brandon, who I really like, through his mother. She was like a mentor to me when I started modeling. I’ve never had a fight or even a disagreement with any of them. Honestly.”
    â€œHmmm…maybe it isn’t against you personally,” I said aloud as another possible theory formed in my mind.
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œWell, if the thief isn’t after you personally, they may be trying to blackmail Chic by using you. After all, if you have to go public with this, Chic ’s name will be dragged through the mud.”
    Cazzie looked at me, eyes wide.
    I sighed. “Anyway, it’s just an idea.”
    â€œI’m not sure that makes me feel any better,” Cazzie said. She was becoming visibly more drained with each passing moment.
    â€œI’m sorry, but don’t worry. I’m sure we’ll corner them—whoever they are,” I quickly added. “And at the studio today I’ll have a chance to ask questions about Friday. I should get something to go on from the answers.”
    â€œI hope so,” she said with another sigh. Then, after a quick look at her watch, she got up to leave.
    As I watched Cazzie walk to her waiting car, I hoped my confidence about cornering the culprit would turn out to be well founded. Bravado alone wasn’t going to solve this case—and with both my and Cazzie’s careers on the line, I had to hope there was more to me than empty promises.
    Cazzie had offered to take me with her in her car to Juice Studios, but I said it would be better if I walked. I didn’t want to give anything away by the two of us showing up together.
    After pushing open the glass door of the studios, I went to the reception desk and gave my name and the details of the shoot where I was expected, then signed the logbook. From there I was directed toward the elevators and caught one going up. I stepped out into the lit corridor that led to Studio 7.
    The studio had the entire seventh floor to itself. I passed the bathrooms and, at the end of the corridor, opened the door into the studio itself. I blinked as I stepped into the light-flooded space. From the inside, it looked as it had from last night’s vantage point on the High Line—all large industrial windows and well-worn wooden floors—only now it was coming to life.
    Giant lights were being moved into position, their skeletal frames reminding me of the dinosaur fossils I’d seen yesterday at the museum, and a caterer was just leaving after setting up the buffet table with a yummy-looking selection of breakfast muffins, fruit, and croissants. Just to the right as I walked in, at the top end of the studio, a gray paper background was being clamped into place.
    The morning sun shone brightly, and a buzzing, busy atmosphere permeated the studio as it was made ready for the shoot. It was hard to believe that such a dramatic theft had taken place in this room just a few days earlier.
    Thanks to my early-morning study session with my computer and Cazzie’s notes, I recognized everyone from the group on sight—not that I let on. And Cazzie came forward to say hi as if we hadn’t just been talking together a quarter of an hour earlier.
    She introduced me to Peter Van Oorst, who set his camera down to shake my hand. He was dressed in black jeans, gray T-shirt, black leather jacket, and sneakers. A pair of large glasses with thick black frames (a bit like mine) completed his look.