Trigger Effect Page 5

  “My employer, the Lassiter Group, maintains a Web site. The dates and locations for my workshops are listed so students can enroll online.”

  “To do that, Isaac would have to know you’re working for Lassiter. He’s been in prison, so how would he find out?”

  “My partner and I suspected Isaac had an accomplice working with him during his killing spree. We could never find enough evidence to prove it. But if we’re right, that person could have been feeding him information the past three years. I suspect that’s how Isaac got my cell phone number.”

  “He called you?”

  “Yes, hours after he escaped. I was on another call so he left a message on my voice mail.”

  “What did he say?”

  “That we’ll be together soon.”

  McCall looked at the mug shot. “Same message he sent tonight. Anybody check to see who visited Isaac in prison?”

  “I checked. During the entire time he was locked up, his attorney was his only visitor. The accomplice could have sent information through him.”

  “You told me on the phone your instincts tell you Isaac isn’t who mugged you. Maybe he hooked back up with the unknown accomplice after he escaped? That could be the guy who snatched your briefcase.”

  “That theory feels more right.”

  McCall’s gaze settled on her cheek. “I take it you got that in the mugging?”

  “Yes.” She fingered the edges of the bruise. With all that had happened since then, she’d forgotten about it. She glanced up, noting he continued to inspect her intensely. “What?”

  “I’m thinking what the mugger gained was minimal compared to the effort he put out, especially since he didn’t try for your purse. If he had, he would have at least gotten some cash, credit cards. Is there anyone other than Isaac who’d have reason to come after you like that? Rough you up a little? Then drop off Isaac’s mug shot, just to mess with your head?”

  “I’ve been asking myself those same questions. There’s no one.” She shifted her gaze back to the bed. “When you knocked on my door I was just about to call dispatch and leave you a message.”

  “About the mug shot?”

  “That’s one thing.” She watched him use the pen to nudge the photo and envelope into the plastic bag. “I need a favor.”

  He slid the bag into his coat pocket. “What?”

  She gave him a rundown on her allergy to peanuts, the E.R. doctor’s theory that she could suddenly be allergic to bananas, the information she’d found out about the fruit bowl from the hotel desk clerk and the contents of her briefcase. Then she added that the meds pumped into her at the E.R. prevented her from being tested for two weeks. While she talked, she watched McCall work the information, taking it in.

  “You can’t be tested, but the fruit can,” he said. “You want me to submit it to the cop lab.”

  “Yes.” Paige eased out a breath. “After this morning, I’m not in the best position to ask you for a favor.”

  “Submitting evidence of a possible crime isn’t a favor. It’s my job.” Moving around the bed, he grabbed a pillow, pulled off its case, then walked to the sitting area where the fruit bowl sat. “I’ll write a supplement to the mugging report that Vawter wrote. That’ll help push the testing on the fruit.”

  Paige watched as he eased the bowl and fruit into the pillowcase. It hit her then, how close she’d come to dying only hours before. Her legs went unsteady as the enormity of that sank in.

  She lowered onto the edge of the bed, fisted her hands that had suddenly begun to shake. “I had one more reason for leaving you a message.”

  He flicked her a look as he knotted the ends of the pillowcase. “Was it to admit your theory about lights and sex is a load of crap?”

  Paige’s mouth twitched. The humor was unexpected, and welcome. “The theory’s solid, McCall.” She shoved a hand through her hair. “I wanted to thank you for getting help here when I had the reaction. And for staying on the phone.” Though her voice had taken on a barely perceptible quake, she continued. “One second my throat was fine, the next it had nearly swelled shut. I thought…” I might die. She took a deep breath. “Just your telling me the ambulance was on the way, that I was going to be fine, helped me focus. So, thanks.”

  Leaving the pillowcase on the table, he strode across the suite to stand in front of her. “I was scared, too,” he said quietly.

  She saw sympathy, concern and something more in his expression. She saw a cop’s perception of how hard it was for her to think of herself as a victim. “The doctor said you came by the E.R.”

  “To find out for sure what had happened to you. And check your condition.”

  “I hate being scared. It pisses me off. I felt the same way when I read the label on the back of Isaac’s mug shot. Spooked as hell.”

  “He’s a scary guy.”

  “At least I can do something about getting myself off his radar screen.” She rose, moved to the closet, grabbed her suitcase and plopped it on the bed. “I’m getting out of here tonight.”

  “And going where?”

  “To some hotel where I can check in under an alias and pay with cash.” She scooped up everything out of a bureau drawer, dumped it into the suitcase. “Can you recommend a place?”

  He nodded. “It’s a little less plush than this, but still on the five-star scale. The manager is a pal of mine. If I give him a call, he can have you registered and a room ready by the time you get there.”

  She glanced at her watch. “He must be a good pal if you can call him this late at night.”

  “His name’s Burke Youngblood and he won’t mind.” McCall’s mouth quirked as he pulled his cell phone off his belt. “Burke lives on-site and he likes to play cop. He’s cut me a good rate in the past just so I would house a couple of witnesses under protection there. Burke keeps a good eye on things.” He angled his chin. “What alias do you want to use?”

  “You pick,” Paige said as she emptied another drawer. “That way, it won’t tie to me.”

  “Will do.” While McCall punched buttons on his cell, she stepped into the bathroom and gathered her toiletries.

  “Burke will have everything taken care of by the time you get there,” McCall said when she carried her tote into the room. “Your alias is Fiona Shepherd.”

  “Fiona?”

  His mouth curved. “It’s a family name. The place you’re staying is the Ambassador Arms, about a five-minute drive from here. You can follow me there. That way I can make sure you don’t pick up a tail.”

  “All right.”

  “I’m sure this has occurred to you, Carmichael, but I’m going to point it out anyway. If someone’s looking to find you, all they have to do is wait for you to show up at the training center tomorrow.”

  “I know. If I pick up a tail when I leave there, I’ll make sure I lose it.”

  “The homicide I snagged today is political, so there’s a lot of pressure to get the case wrapped up fast. That means I won’t be back at your workshop. I’ll call Steve Kidd, brief him on what’s happened tonight. He and Henderson can back you up when you leave the training center. If you do get tailed, they can close in and grab him.”

  “Thanks.” Paige checked all the drawers to make sure she hadn’t left any belongings behind.

  McCall gave her a scrutinizing look. “It hasn’t been that long since you were a cop, so I figure you’ve still got federal contacts. Are you getting flagged for NCIC off-line searches on Isaac?”

  “Yes.” As a high-profile escapee, Isaac was listed with the National Crime Information Center, the national database operated by the FBI that was the world’s largest collection of information on known criminals. If someone thought they recognized Isaac in Des Moines, Iowa, and contacted NCIC, Paige would receive a message on her cell phone.

  “The note on the back of his mug shot is enough reason for me to issue a ‘be on the lookout’ to local cops,” McCall said. “If Isaac is here, he’ll need a place to lie low. Food an
d transportation. For all that, he needs money.”

  “We never found all his money. He had tons of it, not just from his psychiatric practice, but an inheritance from his grandmother.” Paige pulled her cleaned coat out of the closet and stripped off the plastic bag. “My partner and I always suspected he’d stashed funds in numbered accounts in various locations. In and out of the country. If that’s the case, he will have made sure he can get that money easily and safely.”

  “That’s going to make him a lot harder to find.”

  “If he’s found at all. Right now he could be overseas while his pal performs the dirty work here.” Paige slid her laptop into its leather case. She didn’t want to think about the prospect of having to watch her back for all eternity.

  “Ready to get out of here?” McCall asked after she shut the lid on her suitcase and set the locks.

  “Yes.” She shrugged on her coat, then reached for her purse. A thought had her hesitating.

  “Something wrong?”

  “It just hit me. I didn’t ask why you showed up at my door. Why are you here?”

  “I wanted to see how you’re doing.”

  “You’re under pressure to solve a homicide. You could have just called instead.”

  “Could have.” Gripping the pillowcase holding the fruit bowl, he moved back across the suite. “Look, Carmichael, here’s the deal. I’ve got three younger sisters who are all OCPD cops. It would take a hell of a lot for any of them to admit they have a problem dealing on their own with whatever comes their way.”

  Her chin angled, she said, “Maybe that’s because they can deal with it.”

  “Female cops,” he muttered. “Even former ones work hard to act tough.”

  “It’s no act, McCall. We are tough. And proving it is the only way to get macho male cops to take us seriously.”

  “Trust me, Grace, Carrie and Morgan have delivered that message loud and clear.”

  “Good for them.”

  “Here’s a news flash from a brother’s perspective. If one of my sisters was out of town and had some escaped psycho killer after her, not to mention getting mugged, then almost checking out while having an allergic reaction, I’d hope to hell some local cop would care enough to lend her a hand.”

  Paige stared at him while something warm raced through her blood. Every gesture he made brought the layers of the man beneath that pretty face and cocky grin a little closer to the surface. He wasn’t just a cop who cared about what happened on his turf, he was a man with a soft spot in his heart for his three sisters.

  The realization seemed to have too much influence on her pulse. His dark eyes locked on hers. “You going to go all tough on me now, Carmichael? Tell me you’ve got a problem with me helping you out?”

  “No, I appreciate everything you’ve done.” Easing out a breath, she slid the strap of her computer case over one shoulder. “Greatly.”

  Before he could make a move for her suitcase, she hefted it off the bed and rolled it toward the door.

  She glanced at him over her shoulder. “Just don’t be too nice, McCall. You do, you’ll mess up my image of you as a slimeball.”

  Chapter 5

  Shortly after seven the next morning, a bit sore and fuzzy-brained, Paige settled at the desk in the guest instructor’s office at the OCPD training center. The triple-shot latte she’d picked up at the coffee kiosk off the lobby of the Ambassador Arms had done little to make up for snagging barely three hours of sleep.

  She would hit the hay early tonight, she promised herself.

  In the meantime, the day stretched out before her like fifty miles of bad road. She had a workshop to teach and a trip to The Epicurean to find out who had ordered the fruit bowl the company delivered to the Waterford. She also needed to locate a pharmacy and fill the prescription the E.R. doctor had written her for another epi-pen. She was using her laptop case as a makeshift briefcase, so high on her list was to find a place to buy a new one. And while she muddled through the day, she would guard her own back in case Dr. Edwin Isaac—or whoever the hell mugged her and left the mug shot under her door—decided to pay her a return visit.

  Paige rubbed at an ache in the center of her forehead. When she’d worn a badge, she had savored the feel of a hunt, the tracking, the adrenaline rush when she closed in on her quarry. Now, she was on the wrong side of a hunt. The prey. Instead of a rush she felt a dark edginess. And having to deal with grinding fatigue put her at a distinct disadvantage. The best she could do was close down on her nerves and rely on caffeine to get her through the day.

  With regret, she downed the last of the latte and tossed the cup in the trash can. After rooting in her purse for her mechanical pencil, she unzipped her laptop case and pulled out the file folder with the anonymous what-I did-yesterday workshop assignments. She would have preferred to wait to analyze the remainder until she felt sharper mentally, but that wasn’t an option. Not with the workshop ending the following afternoon.

  The first chalky light of the February morning seeped in the window at her back while she systematically analyzed assignments. While she worked, the training center came to life with the hum of distant conversation, footsteps and laughter. When Paige began work on the last assignment in the stack, its spidery handwriting made the reading difficult and slowed her methodical examination.

  It wasn’t the poor penmanship, though, that heightened her senses and accelerated her pulse.

  Feeling herself stiffen up, she rolled her shoulders, then arched her spine while keeping the statement clenched in one hand. Uneasy, she reread the page.

  Woke up at 7:30. Decided I would attend the training class on Monday in hopes of learning some secret in interviewing that a person could use in the interrogation that will help him.

  Left the house to have breakfast by myself. Drove ’til I found the perfect place. Had breakfast, left. After leaving decided to go for a drive. Went for a drive in the country just to take a look around.

  Later I went to the house. Noticed the lights were on. Wife wanted to go eat so I agreed. Drove to Beef N Ail and had late lunch. After lunch drove back to Wal-Mart so wife could get some stuff she needed.

  Wife and I then went back to the house and she had some things to do and I took a nap while watching evening news. Wife woke me up at 10:30 to go to bed. Turned out the lights and that was it.

  Paige set her pencil aside. The author of the statement had written just four short paragraphs, but they were riddled with strong indicators of deception. Conflict. Gaps in time. Out-of-sequence events. Attempts to conceal information. And the distance he put between himself, his wife and their home life spoke volumes.

  Swivelling her chair gave Paige a view of the center’s main parking lot where vehicles seemed to huddle together in the wintry morning. Thinking about the statement, she frowned. Her job was to teach cops and other security personnel how people used their own words to betray themselves. In this case, it seemed one of the men in her workshop had done that to himself.

  “Ms. Carmichael?”

  Paige jolted, then swivelled the chair. She’d been so immersed in thought that the training center’s secretary, a blonde in her mid-twenties, dressed in a skintight maroon dress, had walked in without her having heard a thing.

  So much for watching her own back, Paige thought derisively.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  “It’s…” Paige hadn’t realized her throat had gone dry until she tried to respond. Yesterday’s events, along with the prospect of Isaac ghosting out of the woodwork, already had her jittery. Reading the bizarre assignment had stretched her ragged nerves tight.

  She shook her head. “It’s okay, Kassandra.”

  “I forgot to have you sign this form yesterday. It’s a purchase order to process payment to the Lassiter Group for your workshop.”

  “Well, my boss would have my hide if we forgot that.” Paige took the form and the pen the woman offered, slashed her name on a dotted line. “Anythin
g else?”

  “That’s it,” Kassandra said. “If you want coffee, it’s ready in the break room. You’ve got just about enough time to grab a cup before your workshop starts.”

  “Thanks.” Paige glanced at the wall clock. She’d been so engrossed in the assignments she hadn’t realized nearly an hour had passed since she arrived.

  Rising, she smoothed a hand over the hip of her slim gray wool trousers, then shuffled the assignments back into the file folder and slid it into her case. Her purse went into one of the desk’s empty drawers. Paige locked the drawer, using the key Kassandra had given her. Since her classroom was in the opposite direction from the break room, she planned to swing back by and retrieve her belongings on the way to her workshop.

  Vending machines and built-in cabinets lined the brightly lit room that was crowded with civilians and cops clad in uniforms and street clothes. Paige nodded to a group of men she recognized from her workshop. Kassandra had mentioned that several other meetings and departmental training sessions were also in progress, which had the building at full capacity.

  While squeezing toward the coffee machine, Paige’s gaze landed on Steve Kidd. The Homicide sergeant was shaking his head, seemingly disagreeing with something a curvy blond uniformed cop was saying. When he replied, he emphasized his point by stabbing the air with a plastic toothpick. Kidd’s partner, Hugh Henderson, had positioned himself inside the blonde’s personal space. When the woman shifted her attention to him, Henderson gave her a wolf’s smile while one of his hands made a preening sweep down his gray tie. Apparently he was more interested in the blonde’s physical assets than in the topic of conversation.

  Paige poured steaming coffee into a foam cup, her thoughts going to McCall’s comment about enlisting Kidd and Henderson to make sure she wasn’t followed when she left the training center for her new hotel. She pegged Kidd as the cop who’d be more serious about watching her back.