“You need to stay calm right now,” I say as I pull my jacket on.

Molly isn’t on the same wavelength.

She’s been pacing back and forth for the past five minutes, checking her phone repeatedly as if she’s trying to make sure she hasn’t just missed a message or is reading something wrong.

And in all honesty, I don’t think her fears are unfounded.

“I can’t,” she snaps, brushing a lock of hair out of her face yet again. “I need to figure out what to do, I-I-I can’t just sit around and do nothing, there’s no way that Andie wouldn’t be answering unless there was something seriously, seriously wrong!”

“I believe you,” I say, nodding firmly and making eye contact with her. “But we can’t do anything until we have a clear head and think things through step by step.”

“We don’t have time!” she nearly shouts, stopping at the kitchen counter and leaning back on it, consciously trying to keep herself from biting her nails. She wrings her hands instead. “But I’m on the run, I’m supposed to be staying under the radar, there are fucking mercenaries after me! That fucking bastard Eddie has to have something to do with this, he has to!”

“He could be trying to lure you out,” I point out, crossing my arms. “He must know the two of you are close. If he wants to get to you or draw you out somehow, this is easily the best way to do it.”

She nods in agreement, but the worry on her face only gets worse. “That doesn’t help either of us though. Fucking...fuck!” she walks in a circle in the kitchen, putting her hands on her hair before forcing herself to take a breath. “That fucking bastard.”

It’s a dirty play--and it’s one that I recognize. It’s the kind of thing the mafia does all the time, and I’ve known people who have done similar things personally.

“So if I try to find her, I’m just putting myself out there for Eddie to find, but if I don’t, Andie’s in trouble, but even if Eddie isn’t behind it, I’m supposed to be keeping a low profile and and and-”

“Molly!” I say, stepping forward and putting my hands on her shoulders gently, squeezing them and looking into her eyes. They’re wild and panicked, so I keep a calm as face as I can. “You need to get a hold of yourself. Follow my breaths,” I say, and together, we practice breathing--five seconds in, seven seconds out, several times, until Molly’s hands have stopped shaking.

While we breathe, my mind races with possibilities. My instinct is just to keep her here and keep my client safe. That’s the responsible, professional thing to do.

I’ve broken all kinds of professional boundaries in the past two days, though.

I know my feelings for Molly--whatever that means--are affecting my judgment, but that aside, I know there’s a good chance her fears are very valid. And I know Molly enough by now to know that she won’t stay put in peace. She’s better than that.

“Alright,” I say once I see the panic settle down in Molly’s eyes. “My professional opinion is that we should work backward from what you know about Andie’s whereabouts. It’s the day after Christmas. Who would Andie have talked to recently?”

Molly gives a frustrated sigh and breaks away from me, pacing into the living room. “I have no idea. She has a huge network of people she could be in touch with, we both do. She’s always out with someone.”

That makes Molly pause, and I can see why. I step into the living room with her.

“Okay, so it would be unusual for her to be alone.”

“...but if something happened to her and I don’t know about it yet, then it was either someone close to her who did it,” she winces at the thought, “or she was alone for some reason.”

“Right,” I say, nodding. “So, do either of those options ring a bell?”

“I...can’t imagine,” she says, shaking her head. “She should have been with my parents on Christmas Eve, but I don’t know what her plans for the next day were. She can’t have been with my parents, because they had plans on their own, and we aren’t that close with the rest of the family. Most people don’t work around Christmas, so that rules out most of the work contacts, unless there was something going on she wasn’t telling me.”

“Does she live alone?” I ask.

“No,” she says. “She lives with a couple of other models--Stella and Taylor. They’re about her age, but they don’t do anything on screen, I don’t think, they’re full-time models.”

“So not likely suspects,” I say.

“God no,” she says. “I’d try to get in touch with them, but they’re definitely out of town for Christmas. I remember Andie saying something about the apartment being empty for a little bit and giving her some breathing space.”

I nod. “So we don’t have any leads and don’t know who she might have talked to last.”

“And it’s the day after Christmas,” she adds, slumping on my couch and burying her face in her hands, “so anyone who works in information is probably shut down still.”

We’re silent for a few moments before I bring up the elephant in the room that’s only obvious to me. “Well, that leaves us with one obvious option.”

She looks up, and I look down at her.

“But you’re not gonna like it.”

* * *

“If someone finds out about this, I’ll never live it down.”

I smile. “Then we’ll be careful.”

We’re driving up to the security guard box at the gate of the neighborhood where Andie and her roommates live.

We’re on our way to break into her apartment.

Molly is wearing the closest thing to a disguise we could pull up on short notice. It’s nothing more than a celebrity might usually wear around the Hollywood area, just...not exactly fitted. I put her in one of my jackets, hilariously oversized, and I put a pair of huge sunglasses on her.

She looks like she just got finished with one hell of a night.

“Don’t think I don’t see you trying not to laugh at me,” she hisses as the security guy waves to us.

I just smile, saying nothing.

“Don’t worry about this guy,” she adds, nodding to the guard. “I have a feeling he’s not involved in high intrigue.”

“Can I help you two?” the man says as we stop at the gate, rolling down the window. He’s a short man with a mustache, and I can hear a soap opera playing from a little TV in his box. I start to say something, but Molly leans over me and raises her sunglasses.

“Hey, Hal,” she says with a wink. “Just dropping off a Christmas present a little late--don’t tell on me, okay?”

“Well hey there Miss Parker!” he says with a broad smile. “Secret’s safe with me. Merry late-Christmas.”

He goes back into his box and opens the gate for us, and Molly gives him a wave as we go.

“Quick thinking,” I remark as we pull through the rich neighborhood with beautifully maintained streets.

“There’s a reason actresses made great spies in World War II, you know,” she says. “Never underestimate someone who’s been trained in improv.”

“I’ll try to remember that.”

Molly points out the building where Andie and her roommates live, and I pull the car to a stop in what she tells me is her usual parking spot. There’s nobody there. That makes Molly nervous, so I don’t bring it up.

“I’m guessing you don’t have a key?” I ask as we get out of the car.

“Never got one made,” she says, her eyes widening. “Shit, you weren’t relying on that, were you?”

I raise an eyebrow at her. “You don’t think I would have asked by now?”

She flashes a smile at me. “I figured you’d be relying on me for everything by now.”

I smirk back, shaking my head as I head toward the apartment. She follows after me, taking the glasses off and tucking them into the huge jacket. “Okay, but seriously, what is the plan?”

I don’t answer. Instead, I just head straight for the hallway under the buildings, outside the apartment building, until I find a set of doors. “Utility room,” I say simply.

“What about it?” she asks, following at my heels while I look around us before going to the door.

I take out a hairpin and start fiddling with the lock.

“Wh-” Molly starts, her jaw dropping and her voice going down to a whisper. “What the hell are you-”

A moment later, the door clicks open, and I glance at Molly. “Someone left it unlocked,” I lie with a smile.

“Oohhh,” she says with wide eyes.

This is fun.

“But wait,” she says, “there’s no elevator in here, what are you doing?”

I step inside and look around for something that looks like a panel of breakers. Finding it, I look through the switches and wires for a few moments and ask over my shoulder, “What floor does Andie live on?”

“Uh, 7th.”

I raise my gloved hands to one of the rows of switches, flip a few, and unhook a few wires. Without a second thought, I shut the panel and nod for Molly to follow me out the door. I quickly lock it behind us and shut it before heading for the stairs.

“What the hell was that?”

“Electronic locks and cameras should be dealt with,” I say simply. “Getting into her room will be as easy as that utility room now.”

She blinks in disbelief as we start climbing the stairs. “How do you…”

“I’m good at my job,” I say simply. I don’t want to get into the details of my skills just yet. Preferably not at all. This isn’t the first time I’ve used this exact tactic to break into an apartment. “You’d be surprised how lax the security can be at places like this. Nobody dares break into these kinds of places, usually. They’re too well policed.”

That seems to satisfy her for now, but I catch her watching me suspiciously every now and then. It’s a conversation we’ll probably have to have eventually, as much as I hate to admit it. “You can do a character review of me later,” I add on the third time I catch her glancing.

Several flights and one picked lock later, the door to Andie’s room opens, and no alarms go off. Perfect.

Molly slips ahead of me and steps into the apartment. “Andie?” she ventures, a hint of desperation in her voice. She looks back at me and whispers, “Just in case.” Turning back to the room, she adds, “Stella? Taylor…?”

No reply.

I close the door behind us and step inside.

It’s about what you would expect from a house belonging to three rich models. Stunningly stylish, designer furniture, and the kind of aesthetics you’d expect from a professional interior designer. Hell, they probably hired one.

In general, though, things look tidy. No signs of struggle anywhere. Andie wasn’t kidnapped from her home, at least, or if she was, she went willingly.

“Andie’s room is over here,” she says, jabbing a thumb toward one of the rooms down the hall. “I’ll check it if you look around the kitchen. I’m going to grab a set of clothes while I’m here, too,” she adds, looking down at her outfit.”

“Are you two the same size?” I ask.

“Close enough,” she says with a weary look at her clothes. “Better than wearing the same outfit for a third day, anyway.”

“Fair enough.”

Molly goes into the room, leaving me to look through the kitchen. I stride through it, my eyes scanning over everything. They don’t seem to do a lot of cooking. I open the fridge and see some takeout boxes from what looks like a trendy restaurant that someone probably forgot about.

There are some supplements and other vitamins filling a few other shelves, and of course, I find a few shelves of liquor. No beer, and just a few bottles of wine.

It’s all the signs of some models having to police their body image, I think with a slight frown. I’ve been thinking more than usual about everything that must be involved in this kind of life. Molly having to mind her public image constantly and carry on a balancing act that would drive me crazy, Andie and her friends trying to keep their bodies exactly the way their sponsors want them... I can’t imagine living like that. I’d just as soon bash my managers’ heads together.

Well, at the end of this trail, I’ll probably be bashing someone’s manager’s head, at least.

I look at a picture of all three of the girls at the beach on the fridge. Their selfie is pretty good camera work, I have to admit, even though it looks like it’s just a personal photo, not something done for modeling. Picking out Andie is easy--she looks a lot like Molly, just younger, and the way she carries herself is a little different.

Maybe it’s the association of her to Molly, but the idea of Eddie Arnold actually getting a hold of her makes me furious. Spoiled celebrity child or no, nobody deserves this kind of treatment.

Just then, I hear Molly from the other room. “Oh my god…!”

I head inside Andie’s room to find Molly standing over a little desk, staring at a little calendar in her hands. “What is it?”

She holds the calendar up to me with wide eyes. I give it a blank look. “What about it?”

“This is Andie’s,” she says, looking down at the little thing, then pointing to a date on it. “Look what she has written down for Christmas Eve!”

I squint at the date. “Goldschmidt, 3:00 PM.”

Molly’s eyes are wide. “Exactly! She dropped me off at the hotel at 2:00 PM that day, and that was the last time I saw her!”

I nod, my brow furrowing. “So this Goldschmidt might be the most recent person to talk to her. But this isn’t much of a lead, can you find anything saying who he might be?”

“We don’t have to,” Molly says, tossing the calendar to the table and putting her hands on her hips. “That’s the bizarre part. I know who Goldschmidt is, there’s only one guy with that name that we know, and we’ve known him for a long time.” She pauses for a moment, thinking.

Finally, I make a hand gesture as if to say “And…?”

She looks me in the eye, confusion and hurt written in them. “Wes, Goldschmidt is an acting agent for huge blockbusters, usually only A-list actors.” She glances back down to the calendar. “Andie...Andie must have been auditioning behind my back!”