Trigger Effect

by Maggie Price

  “It did to Lauren.”

  “Yes, you’re right. Unfortunately.”

  Paige did a mental review of the information they’d covered. “You said Lauren had partnered a couple of times with Loverboy. I understand that build and body shape must come into play, but if everyone is masked, how did she know for sure she’d had the same partner twice?”

  “It just dawned on me.” Brenna blinked. “His ring.”

  “His ring?”

  “The whole point of Midnight is to obtain pleasure. Let’s say I find someone whose expertise I admire. I’m going to want to hook up with him again. I could identify him by his gold ring. We are all required to wear one. A distinctive one.”

  “Distinctive, how?”

  “Doesn’t really matter. The ring must be gold and worn on the right ring finger. Other than that, any shape is acceptable. There can be a small figure on the ring’s face. Or a design.”

  “Did Lauren mention what type of ring Loverboy wears?”

  “No, I… Wait, she said he’s ‘the wolf.’ I thought she meant he’s a wolf in the sack. It’s the ring he wears.” Brenna’s eyes widened. “I remember seeing that ring. I’ve seen him.”

  “Just how close up have you seen him?”

  Brenna shook her head. “We haven’t gotten it on. There’s no real reason for that, except neither of us chose the other during what’s called the rite. But he did catch my eye because he’s got a great build. Tall, maybe six-three. Two hundred pounds, give or take. The leather clings to his muscles in a really nice way. I was interested enough to glance at his hand to see his ring. It’s a wolf’s head.”

  “Before I leave, I’ll need you to draw a sketch of the ring.”

  “I’m no artist, but I’ll give it a shot.”

  “Okay, Loverboy is about six-three, two hundred pounds. Is there anything else you can tell me about his physical description? Marks? Scars? Tattoos?”

  “I haven’t seen him out of his leather, but nothing like that caught my eye. Remember, Midnight is all about staying anonymous. The only way for me to spot him again is to watch for that ring at the next meeting. I could do what Lauren did and follow him to his car. Then call you and let you know after he’s left the grounds.”

  “Brenna, we’re talking about a man who may have murdered a woman and stuffed her body in a freezer. You’ve called the police, given us a lead on where to find him. We’re going to have to go into Midnight. Surely you knew it would come to this.”

  “Oh, honey, of course I knew that’s how the police would think. Which is why I said there’s some things you’re going to want to keep under your hat. You need to remember that Midnight is a private club with an elite membership. There’s no telling who might get snared if some SWAT team rushes in and tosses a net over everyone. Chances are, there’d be a slew of civic leaders, politicians, a judge here and there. Who knows? Maybe even the chief’s mother.”

  “The chief’s mother?”

  “Just hypothetical. Which is the point. Except for the women I’ve recruited, I don’t know who belongs to Midnight. And think about this—nothing going on there is illegal. No one is being exploited or used, no one is doing it for money, no one is underage. Drugs and alcohol aren’t allowed. We’re all consenting adults. We don’t force anyone to show up, or make them stay a second longer than they want.”

  Brenna sat back in her chair, crossed her legs. “Just inform whoever it is you report to that the members of Midnight are most likely prominent people sufficiently in the public eye to cause scandal. And there’s no telling just how far that scandal could reach. I’m sure you can convince those involved in the investigation to be discreet.”

  “I’ll convey your message. But I can assure you the police won’t agree to leave it up to you to spot a possible murderer, then follow him to his car. What if he sees you and gets spooked? If he did kill Lauren, I doubt he’d have a problem doing the same to you.”

  Even as she spoke, Paige was working things out. The information on Loverboy was the first sniff they’d had of Lauren Gillette’s killer. Granted, it was just a whiff of his track, but instinct told Paige the answers to solving the case would be found at Midnight.

  “What do you have to do in order to take a new recruit to Midnight?” she asked Brenna.

  “Nothing in advance. I just take her to a meeting. There’s a small amount of business to deal with when we get there, then that’s it. Why?”

  “Because if you take me to the next meeting at Midnight, I can maybe get a lead on Loverboy.”

  Brenna nodded slowly. “And if you do spot Loverboy and his wolf ring, you can fade into the woodwork and then leave when he does. I’m sure the police can come up with a reason to pull him over on his drive home. I like the way you think, Paige.”

  “Glad to hear it,” Paige said. Her civilian status meant she’d have to do some fast-talking to get Captain Ryan and McCall to agree to her plan.

  She pulled a card out of her purse. “I’ll leave you mine and my partner’s cell numbers so you can reach us anytime.”

  “Good. Now, you’ll need a black leather dress.” Brenna examined her from head to toe with an expression of frank admiration. “You’ve got a great body, honey. And I have to tell you, I envy those long legs of yours. None of my leather getups will fit you, so you need to see to that yourself. Buy a black leather mask, too. And a gold ring.”

  “Any suggestions on where I should shop?”

  “I order my outfits over the Internet. But I understand there are some speciality stores in the south part of town.”

  Low Track. She’d noticed several sex shops when she and McCall were there.

  Brenna dipped her head. “That scar on your right hand, you’ll need to cover it with some heavy makeup.”

  “Could I wear the ring on my left hand?”

  “No. A ring on the left hand signifies marriage. Commitment. That’s not what Midnight is about.”

  That, Paige thought, was an understatement. “After you sketch the ring, I need you to write down the directions to the house where Midnight meets.”

  “Remember, there’s no chance of your being able to see it from the road.”

  “I understand.” Paige wasn’t thinking about the road. She knew OCPD had an aviation division. Still, with the gag order on the case, she wasn’t sure she could utilize it. With McCall and Ryan out of pocket, she would have to go to Chief Quaid to find out. And if he did grant approval, all police markings on the helicopter would have to be covered. Having a cop helicopter hovering overhead would be a sure tip-off if someone on the grounds of Midnight spotted it.

  Brenna sat her glass aside. “You strike me as a smart woman, Paige. So I figure you’re sitting there, planning how to go about getting a look at Midnight from the air.”

  Paige arched a brow. “You strike me as a smart woman, too, Brenna.”

  “Well, then, why don’t I save you time and call my pilot? He can take you up in my chopper this morning.”

  “You own a helicopter?”

  “Honey, I’ve got two.”

  Chapter 18

  Late that afternoon, Paige slid into her rental car and tossed a sack of paraphernalia into the passenger seat. Cranking on the engine, she shook her head. She’d just charged more than three hundred dollars for a full-head black leather mask and a dress that required a shoehorn to get into. And out of.

  She didn’t want to think about how many hoops she’d have to jump through to get the OCPD bean counters to reimburse her. Since the sleaze store in the center of Low Track had a no-return policy, she couldn’t even bring back the damn stuff if the brass nixed Brenna Freeman’s plan to take her into Midnight.

  As for the ring required to complete her evening-at-a-sex-club ensemble, she planned to buy a gold-plated cheapo at the first discount store she spotted.

  The garish red neon lights of the sleaze store reflected off the windshield. Dusk was settling in. More snow was predicted, so it was fortunate she’d a
lready taken the aerial photos of the house Brenna had accurately described as belonging on an English moor. Amazing how fast things got done when you dealt with a megarich widow who owned a small aviation company. Not to mention aerial photo and processing equipment. Paige had stowed the developed photographs in the car’s trunk and planned to drop them by McCall’s house on her way to the hotel.

  She had yet to talk to him today. Since he was tied up with wedding events, she’d opted to update him via his home answering machine. She counted on that giving him time before they came face-to-face to not only get over being nuts about her interviewing Freeman on her own, but to swallow the fact his civilian partner had dug up a lead on Loverboy, the man who may have murdered Lauren Gillette.

  While the engine idled, Paige scanned the street. Not surprising, Low Track looked seedier than it had on her nighttime visit. Most of the buildings were boarded up; the ones still inhabited were run-down eyesores.

  She checked in the rearview mirror, then the side ones. All day she’d watched for a tail. She’d seen nothing. Sensed nothing. Holden Lassiter had called to assure her he’d cast an impenetrable safety net around her grandfather and mother. Paige breathed a little easier knowing that.

  What didn’t make her breathe easy was that she didn’t totally buy into Edwin Isaac being on the other side of the globe. As she’d suspected, Wade Crawford had tracked that morning’s e-mail to a library in a Turkish city. Which, considering the escaped shrink was good enough on a computer to fool even the most expert gizmo whiz, proved nothing.

  If Isaac were out of the country, why would he have tried to kill her with tampered fruit? Maybe he didn’t like to get his hands dirty, but he did get his rocks off watching his victims die. During interviews, he’d described in detail the deaths of each of the five prostitutes who’d mutilated themselves while he held them captive. His eyes had absolutely glittered.

  The shrink clearly liked watching his victims close-up.

  Since she was in Low Track, Paige figured she would try to spot the hookers she’d talked to two nights ago. Just a check to make sure no john had shown up looking or sounding like Isaac.

  She glanced around to get her bearings. The corner that the redhead and bubble-gum chewing blonde had identified as “theirs” was one block east.

  Paige pulled the car from the curb. The instant she steered around the corner she witnessed a towering black man deliver an open-handed blow to the blonde’s cheek. Arms flailing, the woman stumbled sideways in her stilettos.

  “Bastard!” Paige shoved the car into Park. The guy was Juju, the pimp who’d given McCall lip.

  She shouldered open the door at the same instant Juju delivered a second blow to the blonde’s face. This time she went down.

  “I wasn’t holdin’ out, Juju,” she sobbed, attempting to scramble away on hands and knees.

  “Lying piece of trash.” He grabbed a handful of bleached hair, jerked her up and slammed his fist into her belly.

  The pimp was big, six-five and muscled. Physically, Paige was in prime shape, but a large man was still a large man. She didn’t have a gun so the only way to control him was to get him off his feet. Fast.

  The fact he had his back to her gave her the element of surprise. Good thing, since an unexpected attack was necessary when trying to topple a mountain.

  She dashed toward the melee, yanking the asp out of her coat pocket. A flick of her wrist telescoped the thick, silvery baton.

  With his fingers clenched in the hooker’s hair, she dangled from Juju’s hand like a puppet. He pulled back a fist. “Teach you ta lie, whore—”

  Paige landed a full-force flying kick, her foot smashing into the side of his knee. The blow drove him sideways. Attacker and victim crashed to the sidewalk.

  The hooker rolled away, blood spurting from her nose.

  Paige had never encountered a pimp who didn’t carry a gun or at least a knife. So she was ready when Juju’s right hand swept up, switchblade snapping open with the movement.

  Dark eyes blazed in a face twisted with instant rage. “Gonna slice you bad, bitch!”

  “Not going to give you the chance.” Evading the slashing blade, she swung the asp, smashed the baton against his wrist. Bone crunched; the knife vaulted into the street.

  Howling in pain and fury, two-hundred-plus pounds of muscle surged off the sidewalk.

  Paige whipped the baton against the side of Juju’s skull.

  The mountain dropped like a sack of sand.

  Taking deep breaths, she tried to control the adrenaline rushing through her system. Her hand trembled when she jerked her cell phone off the waistband of her jeans.

  Juju groaned, shifted positions and continued kissing the sidewalk.

  While talking to the police dispatcher, Paige patted him down for weapons. She pressed two fingers to his throat. Even through her leather gloves she felt his strong pulse.

  She moved to the blonde, helped her ease into a sitting position. Blood, sticky and brilliant red, matted her hair and glazed her cheeks like candy on an apple.

  “Help’s on the way,” Paige said.

  The hooker stared at Juju through dazed, swollen eyes. “Hope you didn’t hurt my man bad.”

  The next hour was a wasteland of questions and answers. While cooling her heels in the back of a black and white, Paige watched an EMT strap an ice pack to the now-conscious Juju’s right wrist. That done, a cop placed him in the back of a second patrol car for transport.

  The blond hooker refused treatment and declined to file assault charges. So Paige did.

  Which required additional report writing on the part of the cop in whose car she sat.

  It was dark by the time she carried the envelope of aerial photos onto the porch of McCall’s house. Only faint light glowed behind the front windows. The porch light was off.

  Using her small penlight for illumination, she lifted the lid on the mail slot. At the same instant, her cell phone vibrated against her waist and the front door swung open. She nearly jumped out of her skin.

  “Oh, my God!”

  “I was just calling you.” Snapping his cell phone shut, McCall locked a hand on her arm and pulled her inside.

  “You’ve been busy today, Carmichael.” Both his voice and expression were mild and put her on instant alert.

  “Extremely.” She watched him close the door. “I didn’t think you were home.”

  “I’ve been here long enough to check my messages.” The tails of a black bow tie hung down the front of his crisply pleated shirt. A satin cummerbund circled his waist. “That’s why I was calling you.”

  To her right was the living room, a long sweep of warm color with heavy, masculine furnishings. He’d draped the jacket of his tux over the back of a chair.

  Looking back at him, she angled her chin. “So?”

  “So, are you waiting for me to go into orbit over your going it alone with Brenna Freeman?”

  “In a word, yes.”

  He sent her a benign smile. “I’ve got a champagne buzz going, so I’m in a mellow mood. Also, it would be damn ignorant of me to give you grief about snagging the first firm lead on our case. Loverboy.” He dipped his head. “Besides, you did check to see if Ryan was available to go with you to Freeman’s.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “I didn’t mention that in any of the messages I left you.”

  “I’ve got this spy network, remember? Sounds like you handled Juju without any problem. Too bad the hooker wouldn’t file charges against him.”

  Paige heaved out a breath. “What hooker ever files against her pimp?”

  McCall’s gaze sobered. “Has Crawford come up with anything more on the e-mail you got from Isaac today?”

  “No.” She shoved her hair behind her shoulders. “Holden Lassiter is taking care of security for my grandpa and mother.”

  “If you trust them to your boss, he must be good.”

  She thought about Isaac unearthing Holden Lassiter’s ties to the CIA. “The
best.”

  “What about you?”

  “What about me?”

  “You left the text of the e-mail on my machine. Isaac didn’t sound quite as polite as last time. I got the impression he’s closing in.” He took a step toward her. “Do you believe he’s in Turkey?”

  “No. I’m not sure. We know Isaac’s had someone watching me. He probably found out a long time ago that I’d gotten into statement analysis. Something like that would intrigue Isaac. He might have studied it, too. Might be as proficient as I am.”

  “If so, every flag you spot in his e-mails might have been planted on purpose. Another way for him to play mind games.”

  “Yes.”

  “Carmichael, you need to be in protective custody.”

  “I’m not locking myself up somewhere and going stir-crazy while I wait for Isaac to show up. That could take months. Years. He may never come. And wouldn’t he have a good laugh, watching us in ten years on some unsolved mystery show, asking people to call in if they spot him?”

  “He could make a run at you tomorrow.”

  Avoiding the grimness in McCall’s gaze, she turned and laid the manila envelope on a small table snugged against one wall. “I know.”

  “Carmichael.” She felt one of his hands slide across the back of her neck. “You’re not alone in this,” he said, gently drawing her toward him.

  Their faces inches apart, he looked intensely at her for a moment, then pressed his lips to hers. Softly, as if his intent was more to comfort than arouse.

  Then, as if he’d changed his mind, he parted his lips and deepened the kiss until his tongue was tasting hers, and her hands clenched his shoulders.

  He was holding her so closely her breasts were pressed against him. The heat of his body seeped through the layers of clothing between them, and the scent of him wrapped around her, warm and masculine.