The Trigger

by Jacqueline Diamond

  Sam gave her a tight nod. “See you.”

  “See you.” It hardly seemed an adequate response, but right now, it was the best she could do.

  THE AIR IN HIS CAR hinted of Nora’s light fragrance, Sam noticed as he drove the short distance to the hospital. He also could have sworn the front passenger seat retained a slight indentation from her tantalizing rump.

  Without intending to, she’d moved into every corner of his life. Unfortunately, that didn’t appear to be what she wanted. After today, Sam wasn’t sure the two of them had a future together, but he did know one thing.

  He couldn’t change his fundamental nature any more than she could. That meant looking out for people he cared about, and whether she liked it or not, right now that included Nora.

  But first, he had to question Carl Garcola. If he could identify the culprit who’d planted the bomb in his cell phone, Sam might be able to short-circuit the afternoon’s charade and pull Nora out of harm’s way.

  Mentally, he reviewed what he knew about the subject. Carl was in his late forties, he cheated on his wife and he worked as a supervisor at Esmee Engines. That wasn’t a lot to go on, but Sam didn’t need to establish a personality profile, just to ask the right questions in the right way.

  Assuming the Trigger had been angered by the Chiseler chip, Carl’s connection was clear. Garcola had reviewed Lance Corker’s simulation tests and, although they’d shown the chip could fail at high speeds, had recommended testing it in a race car.

  The problem was, the only person seriously injured had been Ginny Stone, and her husband gave no sign of being the Trigger. Yet someone had been vengeful enough to kill Lance and Julius Straus and Patty Reese, and to attempt twice to kill Carl. Who and why? What had he and Nora missed?

  As he parked in the hospital lot, Sam couldn’t shake the feeling that the truth had been right under their noses all along. He wished they’d been able to learn the identity of the race-car driver. Maybe he knew something that no one else had mentioned.

  Another possibility suggested itself. Wonderworld headquarters had blocked the investigation several times. That appeared to be due to a natural corporate instinct toward secrecy, but was it actually the work of an executive with a hidden agenda? If so, he or she might know about Barbara’s alternate plan.

  One way or another, Sam reflected as he strode into the hospital, he desperately needed to learn the truth.

  AT THE COURAGE BAY AIRPORT, Nora drove through a rear entrance and whipped along a road to a small, unmarked terminal. Out of sight of the general public, it served private jets carrying corporate passengers and the occasional VIP.

  A guard checked her ID before admitting her. Inside, she spotted a man in a chauffeur’s uniform who presumably went with the limousine parked outside. Only a handful of other people, including a janitor and a woman staffing the counter, occupied the lobby. No one looked familiar, and no one paid her any particular attention.

  A few minutes remained before Barbara’s scheduled arrival, although with a private jet, the timetable might not be exact. Through a rear window, she saw a jet bearing a computer company’s logo taxi toward the terminal. After it stopped, a worker drove a motorized staircase into place, the plane’s door unlatched, and a couple in business suits descended.

  The limo driver stood up. The newcomers came into the terminal, shook hands with some of the waiting people and departed through the front door, accompanied by the driver. That left only Nora, the janitor and the woman at the counter.

  Finding it impossible to keep still, Nora paced in a long, looping path. So many things could go wrong. Suppose the Trigger had tracked Barbara from Atlanta to Los Angeles and managed to tamper with her cell phone? After the attempt to plant a bomb in Fran Garcola’s purse at the hospital, Nora didn’t doubt the killer’s willingness to blow a jet out of the sky.

  Thinking about Fran reminded her that Carl had awakened. Glad to refocus her thoughts, Nora pictured Sam striding through the hospital to the restricted area. She smiled at the image of his tight muscular build and the memory of how that body felt in her arms. If only he weren’t so obstinate. She’d sworn never to let a man control her again, and that hadn’t changed.

  Outside, a small jet droned into view above the airport. As she watched, it banked for a final approach.

  If the Trigger had planted a bomb, he might set it off now, when he could see for himself that the job was done. Nora braced herself.

  Maybe their ruse was about to end before it even began.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CARL GARCOLA LAY attached to tubes and wires, including an IV and a heart monitor. After a week in bed, his skin looked pallid, and although he was clearly awake, his expression had a vague, confused quality.

  “Don’t overtire him,” the nurse warned. “His wife should be here any minute. The physician on duty says he may not stay awake long, and I’m sure he’ll want to save his energy for her. Also, the neurologist needs to examine him.”

  Normally, Sam would have backed off. Today, he didn’t have that option. “Lives may depend on what he knows. Possibly including his own.”

  The nurse bit her lip and refrained from instructing him further. After she left, Sam pulled a chair to the bedside.

  “Mr. Garcola?” He noted with relief that the man’s eyes fixed on him. “My name is Sam Prophet. I’m an arson investigator here in Courage Bay.”

  The patient managed a nod.

  “Someone planted a bomb in your cell phone.” Sam went on to sketch the connection to the death of Lance Corker and other Wonderworld employees. “We believe whoever did this held a grudge because of a chip you tested, code-named the Chiseler. Do you remember it?”

  Again, he received a nod.

  “Do you know who might have tampered with your cell phone?” The importance of the question made Sam want to hurry the witness, but he forced himself to wait patiently.

  A furrow formed between Carl’s brows. After a cough, he rasped out, “Not sure.”

  “You didn’t see anything suspicious before it happened? You didn’t lend your phone to anyone?”

  A weak head shake.

  “We’ve talked to a man who claims to have invented the chip and the husband of the woman injured by the race car, but we don’t believe either of them was involved,” Sam said. “We wondered if anyone else might have reason to…”

  He stopped, hearing the guard in the hallway demanding someone’s identification. It was only a formality, since whoever approached should have already cleared an earlier checkpoint, but Sam took nothing for granted. If the Trigger had learned that Carl was awake, the chance to get revenge on Barbara Noot might not be enough to keep him away.

  Rising quietly, he drew his gun and took a position behind the door.

  THE SMALL JET VANISHED from sight. Nora moved to the other side of the window, craning her neck until it reappeared on a runway.

  If the Trigger intended to detonate a bomb on board, he’d probably have done so in the air. Nevertheless, she didn’t breathe easily until it halted, the door opened and a woman of medium height descended the movable staircase, her blond hair bouncing and a pair of sunglasses shielding her from the California sunlight.

  Nora made a quick assessment. Medium height, a slightly chunky figure, tailored suit. A friend would have no difficulty telling the difference between the two women, but they had a good chance of fooling anyone else.

  As soon as Barbara entered, Nora introduced herself and shook hands. When the executive removed her sunglasses, a tracing of laugh lines showed her age to be late forties. That could present a problem up close, but it wouldn’t be evident from a distance.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” Barbara said. “I’m terribly nervous.”

  “How’s your mother?” Nora asked.

  “Holding up, but very frail, according to my sister. I wish my daughter could have come—she’s twenty-two—but I refuse to expose her to danger.” She exhaled deeply. “Where do we go
from here?”

  “I’ve reserved a private room at a restaurant,” Nora told her as they walked through the small lobby. “That way you can help me adjust my disguise and we can catch a bite to eat, too.”

  “Your disguise?”

  “I’ve got a wig in the car.” After checking through the glass and seeing no one in the area, she held the door.

  As they exited the terminal, Barbara looked distinctly unimpressed. “I’m afraid you don’t resemble me much.”

  “You should see how I look without this wild red mane.” In the store mirror yesterday, the change had been startling. “Do you have luggage?”

  The executive indicated the slim suitcase in her hand. “Just this.”

  “Good. My car’s trunk isn’t exactly huge.” Nora clicked her key holder. With a cheerful beep, the red sports car flashed its lights and unlocked the doors.

  Barbara halted in dismay. “Surely you don’t expect me to ride in that!”

  “I’ll put the top up, of course.” She moved around to the driver’s side.

  “I hate being cramped.” The older woman brushed at her skirt. “This rayon creases horribly. Besides, that car’s so distinctive, people will stare at us. I thought the point was to avoid attracting attention.”

  For once in her life, Nora wished she drove a stodgy department-issue sedan. “If it bothers you, I’ll rent a car.”

  Barbara’s frown deepened. “I want to get away from the airport. Waiting around makes me feel so helpless. I’m going to call a cab and you can follow me over.”

  “I’ll ride with you.” As soon as she said it, Nora realized that wouldn’t work. Without a car on the premises, she’d have no way of whisking Barbara to safety in an emergency. “No, I guess not. Look, it’s only a few miles. Why don’t you hop in and we’ll be there in no time?”

  The executive wavered. Just when Nora thought she might agree, a taxi pulled to the curb, discharging a couple of Asian businessmen.

  Barbara made a beeline for the cab.

  “Wait!” Nora cried. “You can’t do that!”

  “Give the driver the name of the place, would you, please?” Her charge slid inside, cutting off the argument.

  Short of physically wrestling the woman from the taxi, Nora didn’t see what choice she had. “Sunscape Coffee Shop,” she said.

  “Yes, ma’am.” The cabbie, a young man with blond highlights in his brown hair, wrenched the wheel and pulled away.

  “Wait!” Nora wanted to make sure he had the right address. Apparently, he failed to hear her.

  She trotted to her car, jumped in and shot away from the curb, barely taking the time to fasten her seat belt. Ahead, the taxi made a swift right and merged into traffic.

  Heavy cross traffic held Nora back. By the time she made it onto the main road, the other car had vanished.

  Zipping in and out at top speed, Nora squeaked through a light as it turned red and snapped around the next corner. The cab should be straight ahead of her.

  There was no sign of it.

  Although the cabby’s posted license had appeared to be in order, Nora hadn’t had time to give him or the photograph more than a quick glance. If she had planned to disguise herself, maybe the Trigger had done the same thing.

  She hit the gas and started to pray.

  IN THE HALL, Sam heard the guard say, “Thank you, Mrs. Garcola, you can go in.”

  He holstered his gun but kept his hand ready and stayed out of sight. He and Nora hadn’t ruled out the possibility that the Trigger might be female.

  A middle-aged woman with short blond hair entered hesitantly, her back to him as she concentrated on the figure in the bed. “Carl?” Recognizing Fran Garcola’s voice, Sam relaxed.

  The patient stared at his wife. “Fran. Oh, lord. I was at the motel…I was…I’m so sorry.”

  “We’ll deal with that when you’re better.” She stood awkwardly behind the chair. “I’m glad you’re awake. I’ve been terribly worried.”

  “Mrs. Garcola?” Sam saw her start as he moved into view. “I hate to intrude, but I have some vital questions to ask your husband. Time is of the essence.”

  Her strained face showed relief. It must be difficult to face a man who’d been injured while betraying her, he reflected. “Of course. I just wanted to see for myself that he’s okay. I’ll wait outside.”

  “Thank you.” After she left, Sam sat down again. “I’m sorry to interrupt.”

  “Don’t be.” Carl’s words came out in a croak. “I’m a real louse, aren’t I?”

  “I’m sure you two will work it out.” When it came to people’s morals, Sam kept his opinions to himself. If an investigator started judging his witnesses, he’d never get anywhere. “We were talking about the chip.”

  “Chiseler.” The word was slightly slurred.

  “That’s right. Did the accident harm anyone other than Mrs. Stone?” he asked.

  “Bethany?”

  Confused, Sam tried to make sense of the response. “Was she present during the testing?”

  “No.” The patient struggled to explain. “Is she hurt?”

  Realizing Carl was concerned about the blast at the motel, Sam reassured him. “She escaped without harm. You helped her out the window.”

  “Don’t remember.”

  That wasn’t encouraging. However, people who suffered head trauma often lost their short-term memories of the moments before the injury. That didn’t mean Carl couldn’t help with information on the chip.

  “The bomber may not be finished attacking people.” Sam needed to emphasize the urgency before this man got too tired. “We have to catch him before he strikes again. You may be the only one who can help us.”

  It took Carl a moment to clear his throat. “Sure. How?”

  “Did the race car hit anyone other than Ginny Stone?”

  “Hit? No.”

  The way he responded alerted Sam that he might have phrased his question too narrowly. “Was anyone else involved in the accident?”

  “Yes.” Before Carl could continue, he burst into a fit of coughing. When it abated, he leaned back against the pillow and closed his eyes.

  “Mr. Garcola?” Sam demanded.

  He received no answer.

  NORA ZOOMED PAST a self-storage yard, made a right next to a concrete-block wall and circled the restaurant parking lot. She was about to call the dispatcher on her hand-held radio when, on the far side of the cafe, she spotted the cab beneath a clump of trees.

  She shot toward it, arriving in time to see Barbara pay the driver and collect her suitcase. Thankful to see her safe, Nora whipped into a parking space.

  “You’re right—this wasn’t far,” the executive said when they met up. “But I hope I’m not expected to ride around on those little bucket seats for the rest of the day.”

  “No, you’ll be in a police cruiser,” she assured the woman.

  They entered through a side door, Barbara toting her suitcase and Nora with a large bag slung over one shoulder. Inside, diners crowded the tables. She noted a small family with children, some people in business suits and a group of older ladies in red hats and purple dresses.

  One man sitting alone appeared to be studying them. “Please take a look around without being too obvious and see if you recognize anyone.”

  Barbara swept the crowd with an imperious gaze. “No.”

  “What about that fellow over there?”

  The man had returned his attention to his menu. “Him? No.”

  “Good.” Still, Nora made a note of where he sat and what he wore in case she needed to describe him later.

  She led the way into the private room, where a small table had been set up for them. It wasn’t exactly an elegant setting, but quiet. “Would you rather eat first or help me with my disguise? We’ve got almost an hour till the backup team arrives.”

  Barbara scrutinized Nora skeptically. “I think we’d better start with the hair and makeup,” she said. “This could take a while.�
��

  “MR. GARCOLA,” Sam repeated. “Right at this minute, Barbara Noot’s life is in danger. You remember her?”

  Slowly the man’s eyes blinked open. For a moment, he didn’t appear to understand. Then, to Sam’s relief, he said, “Yes.”

  “Who else was involved in the accident?” he pressed.

  “Driver.”

  Sam already knew that, but now at last he might be able to learn more. “I understand he walked away from the crash.”

  “Yes.”

  Again, Sam had to rein in his impatience. Harassing Carl wouldn’t help either of them. If they were going to get anywhere within a reasonable time frame, he surmised, he’d better start filling in the blanks himself instead of relying on open-ended questions. “So the driver got hurt?”

  A nod.

  “His wounds turned out to be more serious than expected?”

  “No treatment,” the patient rasped. “Said he was okay.”

  “Is he still alive?”

  “No.”

  Since Sam couldn’t read minds, he had to keep drawing out the facts one at a time. “He died later? Was it that same day?”

  “Uh-huh…went surfing,” came the labored response.

  “After work?” Seeing a nod, Sam added, “Did he drown?”

  “Yes.”

  The picture began to come clear. “So the company claimed it was a surfing accident unrelated to the car crash?”

  The troubling memories apparently spurred Carl to make an extra effort. “Left a pregnant wife. Not much insurance.”

  “She sued and lost?” Wonderworld’s lawyers had won again. “I’m guessing the autopsy showed a head injury that might have come either from the crash or from hitting his head on a surfboard?”

  “Right.”

  Maybe the driver really had died from a surfing mishap, but Sam suspected there was more to it. Enough to convince someone that the driver and his family had been terribly wronged. But who?