Trigger Effect. Maggie Price
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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. “Anything 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.
“Do you have time to answer a couple of questions?”
Taking care not to slosh her coffee, Paige turned. Tia Alvarado, the Vice detective who’d sat in the first row in yesterday’s workshop, was tall and slim with a dusky complexion. Her black hair was pulled back in a heavy braid. She wore a white cable-knit sweater and jeans that fit her slender legs like spandex.
Paige glanced at her watch. “We only have a few minutes before the workshop starts. Why don’t you walk back with me? I have to stop by the office first.”
“Okay.”
As the two women exited the break room, Tia said, “I can’t stop thinking about that demonstration you gave us yesterday.”
“Demonstration?”
“The way you nailed what Houdini and his female-of-the-moment did.” She wiggled her dark brows. “Or didn’t do.”
“Houdini?”
“Nate McCall.” Alvarado dipped her head. “I don’t have firsthand knowledge, but the rumor is that in bed, the man performs magical feats.”
“Oh.” Paige sipped her coffee. Well, hell, the instant she’d seen McCall’s grin-that-could-corrupt-a-saint she’d known he was the kind of guy mothers warned their little girls about. But magical feats? She tried not to speculate what exactly had earned him that moniker among the females of the OCPD.
She took another sip of coffee. “I was a little rough on Sergeant McCall yesterday.”
“Nate’ll get over it,” Alvarado said, flicking a wrist. “He’s a damn good cop, but when it comes to romancing a woman, he’s slicker than black ice. That’s another reason for the Houdini aka. He’s a pro at making a clean escape before a relationship turns serious. You have to figure a nick to his ego now and then is good for him.”
They rounded a corner; just as Paige reached the office door she caught a glimpse of a man in a dark gray suit at the far end of the hallway. A second later, he disappeared into a connecting corridor. Too tall to be Isaac, she automatically calculated before she stepped into the office.
“What precisely did you want to ask me, Sergeant Alvarado?” Paige asked as she set her coffee cup on the desk. Her hand froze as she reached for the drawer where she’d stashed her purse. It was open a few inches. She was positive she’d locked the drawer.
Jerking it open, she stuck her hand inside her purse and felt her heart stop. “Dammit!”
“What’s wrong?”
“My billfold is gone.”
Tia took a step forward. “Are you sure you had it in your purse this morning?”
“Positive, I bought a latte before leaving my hotel. This lock was either jimmied, or someone had a key.” Her eyes narrowed. “That man.”
“What man?”
“About six foot four, dark hair, gray suit. He disappeared around the corner just as we walked in here.”
Tia glanced toward the door. “I missed him.”
“I didn’t.” Too tall to be Isaac, but maybe his accomplice? Fueled by that possibility, Paige yanked her purse out of the drawer, slung its strap over her shoulder and skirted around the desk.
The hallway was crowded with cops and civilians headed to the various classrooms. Paige threaded through the milling bodies, sweeping her gaze right to left. Her chin came up when she spotted the man at the entrance to a classroom at the far end of the hallway.
“Excuse me?” The curtness of her words had several people turning her way. Including her quarry.
“Are you talking to me?” He was distinguished-looking, in