Trigger Effect

by Maggie Price

  “Yes.” Looking back at her laptop, she reread Isaac’s words.

  I anticipated having you by now. It is an anomaly that your entombing me in a cell these past three years has left me many details to see to before I complete my mission. It is a slippery slope. I am sure your mentor will concur. Still, the ark of time that separates us lessens each passing second.

  While you still can, bid farewell to Tate and Sara Sue. Soon, Paige.

  She pulled in a deep, controlled breath. “Isaac’s first e-mail contained a clue to his location. He wants us to believe this one does, too.”

  “Go on.”

  “In his reference to the ‘ark of time,’ the proper spelling should be A-R-C. Taking into account Isaac’s love of religious theories, I think he’s referencing either the ark of the covenant or Noah’s ark.”

  Paige looked down, realized she was scrubbing her scar. She forced herself to stop. “While I was on the phone with Grandpa, I did a quick Internet search. There’s tons of hypotheses on where the ark of the covenant might be. But basically one general consensus on the location of Noah’s ark. Turkey.”

  “On or near Mt. Ararat. Which is indeed a slippery slope.”

  “You’ve been there?”

  “It appears Dr. Isaac believes I have.”

  Veil of secrecy, Paige reminded herself, wondering again if Holden had completely severed his ties to the government. “I found articles that say the CIA has declassified documents concerning the remains of Noah’s ark having been possibly found on Mt. Ararat.”

  “True. Agency insiders refer to whatever is entombed in ice on one of the mountain’s slopes as the ‘Ararat Anomaly,’ which many believe is Noah’s ark. It’s interesting how Dr. Isaac seems to have certain knowledge about the CIA. And myself.”

  “He’s brilliant with a computer.”

  “Apparently. So, he wants us to believe he’s in Turkey.”

  “I’ve forwarded the e-mail to OCPD’s computer whiz. I anticipate Crawford will contact me in a few hours and tell me it originated in a cybercafe in some Turkish city.”

  “You don’t sound convinced.”

  “I’m not. After all, Isaac didn’t say he’s sitting on some slippery slope. For all I know he’s in the hotel room across the hall, disguised as some mild-looking business executive. The only thing he really tells us in this e-mail is that he’s got a lot of stuff to take care of before he completes his mission.”

  “Which is having you.”

  Dread surfaced inside her like something corrosive. “It’s all about pressure and mind games. He wants me to feel like I’ve got a target painted on my back. Vulnerable.” She threaded her necklace through her fingers, sliding the handcuff key and miniature badge over the silver links. “Mentioning my family is Isaac’s way of twisting the screws. Upping the stress.”

  Dammit, it was working.

  “The OCPD sergeant you’re working with who is also overseeing the Isaac investigation from that end. What’s his take on this latest e-mail?”

  “McCall hasn’t seen it yet. He’s out of pocket all day for a quadruple family wedding.” If she remembered right, there was a brunch scheduled before the late-afternoon ceremony. Then a dinner reception. “McCall couldn’t do anything more at this point than forward the e-mail to the department’s computer guy.”

  “Paige, it might be wise for you to cancel your contract with the police department there. My villa on the Sea of Cortez is very secure. I know ways of making it even more so. The company jet can pick you up within the hour.”

  “Isaac somehow found out about your connection to the CIA. He could eventually locate me at your villa.”

  “Anything is possible,” Holden concurred. “Just agree to think about staying there. I’ll keep the plane at your disposal.”

  “I appreciate it.” She swept her gaze around the elegant suite, decorated in subdued hues. Everything was neat and tidy. It was her life that was in shambles.

  “Holden, take care of my family.”

  “I’ll see that they stay safe. You have my word.”

  “Thanks. I’ll hold you to that.”

  With dread lodged in her stomach, Paige took a quick shower, threw on jeans and a sweater, grabbed a latte from the lobby kiosk and managed to make it to the cop shop within the hour. The Homicide squad room was manned by a skeleton crew, the majority of the detectives having taken off to attend the McCall festivities. The phone in her small office was ringing when she slid her key card into the lock.

  “Paige Carmichael.”

  “This is Brenna Freeman. I just now got back in town and I need to speak to Sergeant McCall.”

  Brenna Freeman, Paige thought. Lauren Gillette’s friend who’d been in Africa and refused to answer McCall’s questions over the phone.

  “Sergeant McCall isn’t available. I’m his partner on the Gillette investigation, so—”

  “So, you come see me, honey. I’ve got a good idea who killed Lauren.”

  Chapter 17

  Brenna Freeman was close to fifty, short and curvy with an attractive, creamy-skinned face framed with flaming red hair. Wearing shimmering ice-blue pants with a loose blouse of the same silk, she led the way down a hall toward the back of the enormous house, talking as she went. “You’re not a police officer?”

  “No, ma’am, a former one,” Paige answered, trailing in the wake of the woman’s expensive French perfume. “Chief Quaid hired me to consult on the Gillette case.”

  “I expect that means you know what you’re doing.”

  Tell that to McCall, Paige thought. She fully expected him to go into full-tilt it’s-my-turf mode when he found out she’d conducted this interview solo. Tough. She’d swung by Ryan’s office to see if he was available. According to his secretary, the captain was attending a regional law enforcement meeting this morning, then planned to attend the McCall wedding that afternoon.

  Paige knew when an investigation started burning hot, you had to jump into the fire. After hearing Freeman’s comment that she might know who killed Lauren Gillette, Paige had jumped in with both feet.

  As they moved along the marble-floored hallway, she noted the walls of every room they passed were loaded with framed artwork. She was no connoisseur, but she knew quality when she saw it and estimated the thick, gilded frames held a collection of art worth millions. Then there were the antique furnishings, porcelains and blown glass sculptures that glinted beneath strategically aimed lights.

  “When I think about what happened to Lauren, I just get sick,” Freeman said when they neared the end of the hall. “The minute Sergeant McCall told me about her murder, I asked myself if I hadn’t had to leave for Africa, could I have talked her into staying here instead of going to wherever it was he killed her.”

  “And he is?”

  “That’s one of the problems—I don’t know his name or what he looks like.”

  Paige followed the woman into an enormous room with cathedral beams soaring overhead. The walls, floor, couches and chairs were snow-white, as were the plethora of pillows and throws. Smoldering red paper-thin screens, brilliant area rugs and vases were arranged to provide pools of color in the otherwise monochromatic room.

  “It’s a long story, so let’s get comfortable.” The woman waved Paige to one of the couches, then tugged on an embroidered bellpull that hung beside the white marble fireplace. “What’ll you have, honey? Rent can mix about anything. I’m having a Bloody Mary.”

  “Rent?”

  Freeman winked. “Sexy name for a houseboy, isn’t it?”

  “Uh… Just coffee. Black.”

  Rent looked to be in his twenties, two hundred pounds of sculpted bulk, with bright blue eyes and corn-colored hair. He wore dark tailored slacks and was bare-chested beneath a spotless white jacket that hung open. While he poured Paige’s coffee, his muscles flexed and bulged.

  She pulled her recorder from her purse, noting the open admiration in her hostess’s gaze while the houseboy made a sedate ex
it. Obviously Rent did more around the mansion than just mix drinks.

  “Mrs. Freeman, I’d like to record our conversation.”

  “Call me Brenna. It makes me feel younger. And considering what we’re about to discuss, we ought to be on a first-name basis. Yours is Paige, right?”

  “Yes.” Paige sipped her coffee. This was an interview, not an interrogation. She didn’t care what Freeman called her as long as she talked. “About the recording?”

  “Fine. But, with the understanding that some of what I’m about to tell you has to remain confidential.”

  “This is a murder investigation. I can’t promise that.”

  The comment in no way threw the woman off stride. “Paige, I know you have to give me the standard company policy. Later on you’ll understand why I refused to answer your partner’s questions about Lauren on the phone. And why it’d be best to keep a lot of this under your hat.”

  “You said you have a good idea who killed Lauren.”

  Stirring her Bloody Mary, Brenna settled back in an overstuffed chair. “She was so mixed up. Growing up, sex had been used against her. As a woman, she used sex to get what she wanted.”

  “What did she want?”

  “I’m not sure Lauren even knew. I’ve been around the track tons of times so, to my way of thinking, she wanted a man who would look beyond the surface and see what was inside.” Brenna sipped her drink. “Lauren was beautiful. And she sure knew how to work men. All she had to do was bat her lashes at Davis Gillette. Before you knew it, he’d married her.”

  “Did he love her?”

  “At first. I don’t know about now. A man’s ego is a fragile thing. All her running around would’ve played hell with Davis’s self-esteem.”

  “Mrs. Freeman—Brenna—we know Lauren was into kinky sex. Hard-core stuff, maybe. It’s possible she left home on Saturday night to meet a lover. I need you to tell me who you think killed her.”

  “It’ll be easier for you to understand if I give you some history.”

  Paige replaced her coffee cup on the saucer on the table beside the couch. “Fine.”

  “A friend of my dear late husband was always thinking outside the box, coming up with ideas about how to cater to the needs of the wealthy that weren’t being met. Sex, for instance. People who have lots of money might not have a problem getting power and celebrity, but when it comes to getting safe sex it isn’t easy.”

  “Safe sex?”

  Brenna flapped a wrist. “Honey, I’m not talking about wearing a rubber. What I mean is sex that offers variety, toys, group stuff if that’s what gets you off. So, what are your choices? Buy sex from a prostitute and end up seeing your mug shot in the newspaper? Cruise bars and risk getting recognized, robbed or worse? Sleep with the spouses of friends if you’re prepared for emotional and matrimonial complications? None of those options are too attractive. So, my late husband’s friend created a club where a certain class of people can go to engage in guilt-free sex with one or more partners who enjoy the activity as much as they do. It’s sex with an edge of secrecy and slight risk, which makes it even more tantalizing.”

  “Your late husband was a member of this club?”

  “He was. And I’m not going to beat around the bush. I joined, too. It just added zing to our marriage. And I kept up my membership after my husband died six years ago.” Brenna tilted her head to the side, the dark blue stones at her ears catching light and glinting. “It’s nothing I’m ashamed of. Going there keeps me young. Vibrant.”

  “Did Lauren Gillette belong?”

  “Yes. When I first met her, I could almost read her mind and knew what she was all about. And I’d already heard a rumor she was running around on Davis. Despite all that, she was a sweet girl, just so mixed up. I knew she wasn’t going to stop what she was doing, so I thought recruiting her into the club would keep her safe.”

  “What’s the name of this club?”

  “Midnight.”

  Paige felt her heartbeat hitch. Finally, finally the investigation was going somewhere.

  “I want you to understand that just by telling you, I’m breaking an oath,” Brenna continued. “But if the man who killed Lauren is who I think he is, the only way you’ll catch him is through Midnight.”

  “What do you know about him?”

  “Hardly anything. That’s because nobody knows who belongs to Midnight. There’s no membership list. Everyone wears a mask. We’re forbidden to speak while we’re there. It’s a bit theatrical, but it adds to the attraction.”

  “Where do you meet?”

  “In a house north of the city. I don’t know the address, but I can tell you how to get there. The place looks like it ought to be sitting on an English moor. It’s way back from the road so you can’t see it. There’s a high fence and electronic gate that blocks the drive.”

  “Does someone live there full-time? Part-time?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “There has to be someone who maintains the house and grounds.”

  “I’m sure there is.”

  “How are the meetings set up?”

  “On an encrypted Web site. The members check it for the date and time of the next meeting. There’s a code that opens the gate. It’s changed after each meeting, and a new one is posted on the Web site.”

  “Do you know when the next meeting is scheduled?”

  “No. That information’s announced only a couple of hours in advance.”

  “All right. So, you recruited Lauren into Midnight. When?”

  “About six months ago. To say she was a natural would be an understatement.”

  “Did Lauren attend all the meetings?”

  “As far as I know. I had to miss the last two.”

  “Any particular reason?”

  “I’m a businesswoman. My daddy had money and he never could stay in one place very long. So he traveled all over the world, buying up property on a whim. Which is why I now own a chunk of the West Coast. Then there are my holdings overseas. My trip to Botswana wasn’t a vacation. I’m building a resort there for tourists who go on safari. So I had a boatload of details to take care of here before I left, and they kept me from doing a lot of things, which included going to Midnight and seeing Lauren. The day I was scheduled to fly out, my jet was sitting on the Tarmac when Lauren called. She was there at the airport. She said she just had to see me before I took off. I had my pilot delay the flight and I met her at my hangar.”

  My jet, my pilot, my hangar, Paige thought. A chunk of the West Coast. Brenna Freeman was stinking rich.

  “All Lauren could talk about was this man she’d partnered with a couple of times at Midnight. Called him Loverboy. She said she’d never had a man touch her the way he did. One who made her feel like he wanted her, not just her body.” Brenna shook her head. “She was totally obsessed with him.”

  “What else did she tell you about Loverboy?”

  “The last time they were at Midnight she waited for him to leave, then followed him to his car.” Brenna held up a hand. “I know what you’re thinking—what’s the point of all the secrecy if you can just get someone’s tag number off their car?”

  “You read my mind.”

  “Everyone pulls over before they arrive at the property and affixes a special metal plate over their tag. It’s got a lock. You reverse the process after you leave. Easy on, easy off.”

  “So, Lauren couldn’t just spot which car was Loverboy’s and try to find someone to run his tag,” Paige reasoned. “She would have had to follow him. Home, probably.”

  “That’s exactly what she did.”

  “Did she tell you where he lives?”

  “No. And, damn me, I didn’t ask. I was more concerned about Lauren’s plan to confront him there. I reminded her that just by following him she’d broken one of Midnight’s sacred rules. It’s forbidden to exchange personal information, much less to meet outside the club with any member but the person who sponsored you. Lauren was all set to con
front this man and tell him she loved him.”

  “Do you think she really loved him?”

  “No. I think she loved the idea of the conquest. That’s one reason she slept with almost any man she could.”

  As she spoke, Brenna rubbed her throat in long, soothing strokes. “Remember, Midnight was created for the type of men and women who are used to power and the manipulation of power. People who would never willingly believe they could be in danger. When—if—Lauren showed up at Loverboy’s house, he must have perceived her as a very real threat. Perhaps one who could devastate his business, his family. His entire life.”

  If that were the case, thought Paige, Lauren had given Loverboy ample motive to kill her. “She had a note in her possession that referenced a meeting at Midnight. Was she planning on giving it to Loverboy?”

  “I don’t know. She didn’t mention a note.”

  “Was there anything else Lauren told you that might help us identify the man?”

  “I’ve racked my brain. There’s nothing.”

  “Did you ever see Loverboy at Midnight?”

  “Honey, it’s possible I’ve had sex with him.”

  Paige kept her expression unreadable while trying to wrap her mind around the concept of a playground for the rich to engage in sex with no consequences. One thing about it, she couldn’t fault Brenna for her honesty. “Okay, maybe something will come to mind if you tell me about Midnight’s operations. You said you recruited Lauren. Is that how everyone joins?”

  “Yes. The only way to get in is to be brought there by a current member. Females are allowed to recruit only females, same for the men who belong—only males.”

  “So, in theory, the only members of Midnight whom you know are the other women you recruited?”

  “It’s not a theory. That’s how it works.” Brenna leaned forward. “This isn’t some ratty sex brothel. People belong to Midnight because they can remain anonymous. They wear masks. They don’t speak. By taking those precautions, they get their every desire fulfilled without paying any consequences. It doesn’t matter who does the fulfilling.”