“I’m afraid we’re going to have to take you down to the station,” Flint said. “Mr. Wayland, there are laws against setting off smoke bombs in occupied buildings.”
“You’re not going to arrest me, are you?” The words came out in a whine.
Seeing Flint about to advise the man of his rights, Nora held up one hand. She didn’t intend to ask an incriminating question, only to find out information that might lead them to someone else. “This is important. Freddie, tell us about the hat. Where did you get it and what’s the significance of the logo?”
“I bought it at a gun show,” he said.
“What about the logo?” Sam growled. “What does it mean?”
“I don’t know,” came the perplexed response. “I think some Western-style clothing manufacturer makes them. It’s kind of cute, don’t you think?”
Nobody answered.
“Are these only sold at gun shows?” Nora asked.
“I’ve seen them on the Web,” Freddie said. “Lots of people sell them.”
Great. Another dead end, Nora thought, not exactly surprised. It would be uncharacteristically careless of the Trigger to have worn an identifying insignia when he swapped Fran’s cell phone.
Still, although this inept inventor looked less and less likely to be their culprit with every word that issued from his mouth, she and Sam accompanied him to headquarters. At the station, they waited for a court-appointed attorney and participated in the interrogation.
By the time they finished several hours later, they’d crossed Freddie off their list. They’d also missed dinner. “You think there’s any point in us reviewing our notes this evening?” Sam asked as the two of them emerged from the interview room.
“I think our most productive move would be to get some sleep,” Nora returned.
“Sounds good to me.”
A longing tugged at her to go home with this man to his beautifully kept house and let him cook for her. But she could pop a frozen meal in the microwave just fine by herself. Besides, he looked too tired to cook.
“See you tomorrow,” Sam said. “We can review in the morning.”
“You got it.”
He strolled out of the police station, heading across the plaza toward his office. As Nora watched through the window, his rugged, loose-hipped stride put her in mind of a cowboy in the old West. He seemed at home in his own skin, and nice skin it was, too, she remembered wistfully.
“I’m glad to see you two getting along,” Max said, stopping beside her.
“Don’t count on it lasting, but for now we’ve established a truce,” she told him. “Want an update?”
“I’d appreciate it.”
Nora accompanied the chief to his office, where she filled him in on what they’d learned so far. “I wish I could tell you we’ve got a suspect, but we’re still drawing a blank,” she concluded.
“At least you’re putting the pieces together,” Max told her. “I knew you two would make a good team.”
“Necessity is the mother of collaboration, I guess,” she responded.
On her way out, she also briefed Adam Guthrie, the chief of detectives. Not until she was driving home did Nora recall what she’d been thinking in the parking lot at Finder Electronics. After observing Rick Tennant’s callousness toward his employees, she’d wondered how far Wonderworld had been willing to go to try to make the chip work and whether it had harmed an employee further down the line.
Mentally, she made a note to follow up on that point tomorrow.
SAM AWOKE Friday morning convinced that, despite his reluctance, he had better take Nora to his sister’s party tonight. Not for her company but for protection.
By now, Mary must have filled their mother’s ears with the notion that the two of them suited each other. He needed to put the kibosh on that idea right now.
Mary might romanticize his and Nora’s bickering, but given direct evidence, Angela would know better. Unlike her daughter, she’d see at once that the two of them were fundamentally incompatible.
In addition, she’d told Sam once how lucky he was not to be the one waiting at home, worrying while his loved one risked her life at work. Once she recognized how much danger Nora ran as an explosives expert, she’d do everything in her power to discourage Mary’s speculation.
“I wouldn’t give up my years with your father for anything, but believe me, it’s not the kind of marriage I’d choose for my children,” she’d once told him. “Your future wife has my sympathy, but at least you’ll never have to live with that terrible anxiety.”
“You mean you wouldn’t want Mary to date a firefighter?” he’d asked.
“I’ll encourage her to go out with a nice dentist,” Angela had responded tartly. “At worst, he might get bite marks on his hand.”
So it seemed safe enough—even advisable—to take Nora with him. They could use an evening’s relaxation, if events didn’t interfere, and he wouldn’t mind socializing as long as he had his partner to discourage unwanted female attention.
He dropped by Nora’s office and found her talking animatedly on the phone. Looking around, Sam wondered how she could function amid such disorder, although he suspected she would answer that she knew exactly where to find everything. A lot of investigators worked this way. He didn’t happen to be one of them.
No point in moving her stuff aside to clear a place to sit. Judging by her tone of voice, they’d be heading out soon.
When she hung up, she thumped the desk and grinned. Her spontaneous enthusiasm crackled through the air like an electric charge. “That weasel! I knew he was avoiding us!”
One person came immediately to mind. “Ramon Nunez?”
A nod set her dark hair bouncing. “When I called, he picked up the phone because his secretary hadn’t come in yet. I demanded an explanation for why he’s been refusing our calls, and he admitted Wonderworld didn’t want him to talk to us.”
“Is he going to?”
“You bet.” She grabbed her purse. “I played up that smoke bomb over at Finder yesterday, which shows how easily a loony can gain access to one of their facilities. He sounded like he was having an anxiety attack. Let’s hit the road before some honcho slams the lid shut again.”
She didn’t have to ask twice.
On the drive, they ran through their observations from yesterday. Nora brought up the possibility that the Chiseler might have injured someone during the testing process. Sam had to admit it made sense. If an engine malfunctioned at high speed, it could cause a collision or a fire, or both.
The guard at Esmee Engines admitted them immediately. This time, they didn’t need directions to the president’s office.
Dark circles shadowed Ramon Nunez’s face, Sam noticed when they shook hands. “I’m sorry about stalling you guys yesterday. My bosses in Atlanta figured we should sit tight and this whole thing would blow over.”
“Blow over?” Nora barely refrained from commenting on his unfortunate choice of words. “Let me see. Somebody’s made two attempts on Carl Garcola’s life and he’s lying in a coma. Lance Corker is dead and one of your trucks got blown sky high last December. That’s not to mention what’s happened to people from Finder and Speedman.”
“I’d say the pace is accelerating,” Sam added to goose the guy into cooperating. “Exponentially.”
The president paled. Sam saw with satisfaction that, coming after the groundwork Nora had laid earlier, his words had achieved the desired impact.
“I found a few things. I hope they help.” When Nunez retrieved his notes from a desk drawer, his hand trembled. “They could fire me for telling you this stuff.”
“That sounds like Wonderworld, doesn’t it?” Nora probed, apparently trying to encourage the president to open up. “They seem to care a lot less about what happens to their employees than what happens to their bottom line, don’t they?”
“Businesses have to make a profit,” Nunez responded. “But in a case like this…well, a lot of people
have made bad decisions. Now they’re paying for them. Or someone is.”
Sam’s instincts went on full alert. At last, they might be close to unraveling the Trigger’s true motive. “What do you mean?”
To his dismay, the man backpedaled. “Nothing. I was just speculating.”
“We understand that Finder developed a chip code-named the Chiseler that ramps up fuel efficiency,” Nora said. “We know that, despite some problems, it won approval for further testing. Did that involve your company and Speedman?”
Nunez nodded. “Esmee Engines did the lab simulations.”
“Who handled them?” Sam asked.
“Lance Corker.”
Despite his sympathy for the victim, the name gave Sam a jolt of gratification. They were apparently heading in the right direction. “Have you seen the results of his tests?”
Nunez fiddled with his papers. “Yes, I read them yesterday. The Chiseler worked great at the equivalent of normal highway speeds. That means if you were to use it in your personal car commuting to work, you’d save twenty-five percent of your fuel. With gas prices periodically skyrocketing in California, you can imagine how much that would be worth.”
“Okay, suppose I didn’t put it in my personal car,” Nora said. “Suppose I put it in a police cruiser and chased a suspect at a hundred miles per hour.”
“There could be a problem.” The man seemed to have a hard time getting the words out.
“What kind of problem?” Sam said.
“It might overheat and conk out. The sudden loss of thrust could cause a guidance anomaly.” Before anyone requested clarification, Nunez volunteered, “At high speeds, if you lose power, you lose control.”
“You’d crash,” Sam summarized.
“Possibly.”
“So it would work great in golf carts,” Nora put in, “but that’s not exactly a huge share of the automotive market.”
“We’re not irresponsible,” Ramon said. “We didn’t just throw the thing into production. Lance proposed that we develop a system to cool the chip when the engine heats up. We figured it merited further investigation.”
“In the lab?” Nora asked.
“Well, sure, but we got inconclusive results,” he admitted. “We couldn’t be sure the cooling system would function under real-world conditions. Lance’s supervisor recommended that we build a prototype, install it in one of our race cars and test it on a track.”
Carl Garcola had been Lance’s supervisor, Sam recalled with a chill. He could almost hear the pieces falling into place.
“What happened when they tested the chip on the track?” Nora demanded.
“I don’t know,” Nunez said. “Honest. All this went down a couple of years ago, before I arrived, so I don’t personally recall it, and the records are either over at Speedman or at headquarters. One thing I can tell you is that we aren’t manufacturing the Chiseler, so I assume it failed.”
“And Wonderworld refuses to release any further information, I gather.” Nora frowned. “We might be able to get a search warrant, but we’d have to know exactly what we were looking for and where it is.”
“We need to talk to someone at the top.” For all Sam knew, some midlevel executive might be responsible for trying to hush things up.
“Before you tangle with the hierarchy in Atlanta, I’d suggest you talk to Rose Chang, the president of Speedman,” Ramon said. “Since she could be on this maniac’s firing line just like me, she might want to cooperate.”
“Do you mind if we mention that we talked to you?” Sam asked.
“I’d rather you didn’t.”
“We’ll work around it,” Nora promised.
Ramon wrote down Ms. Chang’s name and phone number for them. “Good luck. I hope you catch this guy soon.”
“One more thing,” Nora said. “If you had to guess who the Trigger planned to go after next, who would it be?”
He didn’t hesitate. “The president of Speedman.”
“Then we’d better get hold of her fast.” Sam stood up. This time when they shook hands, Nunez looked marginally less frightened, as if talking to them had removed a burden from his shoulders.
Outside, Sam dialed Ms. Chang’s number. Her assistant, a woman with a voice strident enough to pound nails, informed them that her boss had left for the weekend and didn’t wish to be disturbed. Trying to convey the urgency of the situation got him nowhere.
“We’ll have to track her down some other way,” Nora said. “I’m not comfortable waiting until Monday.”
“Me either.”
An afternoon spent tracing Ms. Chang revealed that she owned a cabin in the mountains, but none of her Courage Bay neighbors knew the address or her cell phone number. On the chance that she might check her home answering machine for messages, Nora left a detailed one explaining that her life could be in danger.
Six o’clock had slipped past, Sam noted when he checked his watch. He got up to stretch his legs. As long as he was getting the blood flowing, he collected the coffee cups and candy wrappers that had accumulated around Nora’s office. “Listen, I have a favor to ask,” he said.
“Oh?” She quirked one eyebrow. Maybe she lifted the other one, too, but a sweep of hair hid it from view.
He explained about his sister’s party. “I’m sure they’ll have plenty to eat, so it’s a free meal. Plus you can help me kill these persistent rumors about you and me being an item.” He couldn’t bring himself to admit he wanted protection from overeager females. A guy didn’t like to show weakness in front of his colleagues.
“Persistent as in, your sister likes me?” she teased.
“In spite of being divorced, she’s a romantic at heart.” It was kinder than saying that Mary must be suffering from delusions.
“Misguided, in this case.”
“Precisely.”
When Nora scrunched her nose, he thought she meant to refuse. Disappointment arrowed through Sam. Although they’d spent the entire day in each other’s company, there’d been little time for joking. He would enjoy seeing Nora in a playful mood. In fact, if she didn’t go, he wasn’t sure he should bother.
Not that he wanted a date. Rather, he preferred a companion who wouldn’t ask stupid questions about whether he handled safety inspections at the supermarket, which was the fire marshal’s job. Or whether an arson investigator carried a gun, and then request to see it when he admitted he did.
“So you want me to come to a party with you in order to convince everyone we can’t stand each other,” Nora summed up.
“Basically.”
“I don’t see how any woman could resist an invitation like that,” she said. “You’re on.”
She grinned. And just like that, Sam found himself looking forward to the party.
CHAPTER TEN
NORA HAD SPENT more than enough time poking along in Sam’s sedan that week. She insisted on picking him up in her sports car, a condition he accepted with outward calm. At least he didn’t mind letting her take the wheel, she thought appreciatively. Her ex-fiancé would never have agreed to ride in the passenger seat.
When she made the demand, however, she’d forgotten how Sam’s hip and leg kept pressing against hers after he folded himself into the tight interior. The short spin to his mother’s house proved a challenge to her self-control.
She wanted to run her hand up his thigh and hear his breath quicken. The more she reflected on what had happened between them Wednesday night, the more tempting it became to pull over in a secluded glen for a make-out session. Of course, just their luck, some cop would come along and embarrass the heck out of them, not to mention spreading the news all over the department.
Besides, she’d promised herself not to get that close to Sam again. So what if his heat enveloped her like liquid silk? Chalk it up to the enforced intimacy of working all day and half the night together, plus the minuscule size of her car.
Trying to put temptation behind her, Nora hit the gas, and in the process nearl
y shot by the turnoff to his mother’s home. Sam, who’d been watching her with a trace of amusement, said, “Eucalyptus Lane, remember?”
Hoping the diminishing light didn’t betray her flaming cheeks, Nora slammed her foot against the brake pedal and cornered onto the residential street. Only the seat belt kept Sam from landing in her lap, and even so, he made solid contact that fell just short of bruising.
“Sorry.” Remembering that she had once endorsed the motto Never apologize, never surrender, Nora added, “The car needs to get the kinks out. It’s been sitting around too much this week.”
“It’s not the only thing that has kinks.” He flexed his leg muscles, a movement that pressed his knee against her stocking-clad thigh. “This seems to be a contact sports car.”
“Do that again and I might wreak havoc on a few mailboxes,” Nora warned.
“I hope you’re paid up on your insurance.” He didn’t retreat. “Besides, I think you already took out a couple back at the corner.”
“Not even close!” Nevertheless, she slowed down, because they’d run out of road.
The ranch-style house lay at the end of a cul-de-sac. Since cars already filled the curbside, he directed her to park in the curved driveway.
As Nora killed the engine, she caught a tantalizing aroma drifting from a breezeway set at a right angle to the house, connecting it to a freestanding garage. A trim middle-aged woman in a red apron looked up from flipping burgers on a grill and waved. Sam returned the gesture.
To Nora’s surprise, a wave of homesickness filled her. She’d accepted Sam’s invitation on a lark and because she had no other plans for tonight. Now she realized how much she missed family get-togethers.
When she’d moved to Courage Bay, she’d told herself she would make the drive down to see her family in L.A. at least once a month. In truth, she only made it down for major holidays and special events, and not always then if work intervened. Each time she saw her brother’s kids, it amazed her how much they’d grown.
When they reached the breezeway, Sam gave his mother a big hug, dwarfing her, then turned to make introductions. “I guess you’ve heard about my new partner. Mom, this is Nora Keyes.”
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