“Okay. Normal cult stuff,” Mal said. “Runaways and deaths can be covered by state or local cops. What else?”
“Second, I conducted a linguistic analysis, or rather had a friend do it, and the results reveal a trend toward violence and action. We have intel that the group has been planning an attack for years. Putting these women in place has been part of the plan. Unfortunately, the pictures are from years ago, and Pippa is one of only two we’ve found so far. We think her real name is Mary, by the way.”
Her name hadn’t seemed right. Mal kept his face impassive. “How do you know about the rest of the women if you haven’t found them yet?”
“My third step was to get to somebody inside. That’s how we got the pictures,” Force said, shaking his head. “But she’s a woman, and with the hierarchy of the cult, she can’t get into the inner circle. She’s good, but nobody is that good.”
Mal leaned back. “So you want me to get to know Pippa and pump her for information.” Other ways he could pump her filled his mind, and he shoved them away.
“For a start,” Force agreed.
“What kind of a threat are we looking at?” Wolfe asked, his gaze not leaving the dog.
Roscoe kept his focus on Clarence Wolfe, not wavering.
Were they having some weird staring contest?
Force cleared his throat. “The dog won’t blink.”
“Neither will I,” Wolfe murmured, not moving.
Yep. Crazy. Malcolm studied Angus Force. “You didn’t answer his question.”
Force looked back. “Our intel from our source indicates a mass attack with suicide explosives. Don’t know where, but our source thinks it’ll happen very soon. The cult has relocated to West Virginia . . . rather close to here, actually. So we think the attack will take place in DC, but as you know . . .”
“New York is close. As are several other cities,” Mal said. None of this was making a lot of sense, and he didn’t like the way the hair was rising on his arms. “Why are we in the basement of a shithole office building if there’s an imminent terrorist attack? What is this unit? Who are you?”
Force grinned, the sight oddly and suddenly familiar. “At the moment, I’m the only one who thinks the cult is going to make an attack, so I’ve created case room two to find out.”
Angus squinted and imagined Force with a clean-shaven face and FBI-issue hair. Realization kicked him in the balls. “I know you. The FBI special agent who took down the Surgeon. The media only caught a couple of pictures of you, and they never got your name. I thought you looked familiar.”
Force frowned. “Those damn pictures. Journalists. Hate ’em.”
Mal slowly shook his head. “What’s an FBI profiler, the FBI profiler, doing creating an HDD unit in a basement? What the hell, man?” And why was the guy still shaking from alcohol withdrawal?
Force rubbed the scruff across his jaw. “What do you know about the Lassiter case?”
Mal sat back. He’d been deep under cover in the mob at the time, but he remembered some details from the news. “Henry Wayne Lassiter was a serial killer who did some sick shit with women. Kidnapped and killed at least, what, ten?”
“Twelve that we know of,” Force said, his eyes darkening.
Right. “You tracked him down and put him away.” Mal cocked his head to the side. “They called him the Surgeon because of his ritual and what he did to the bodies. And here’s the interesting part: He was a lowly analyst for the HDD.” When the world found out that an employee, even just an office drone, at the Homeland Defense Department had been a serial killer, the agency had taken a huge hit. “You killed him when you arrested him. There was a shoot-out.”
Force crossed his arms. “So they tell me.”
Mal let his chin drop. “You . . . disagree?”
“Yeah. I shot him, but he wasn’t dead on-site,” Force said, his voice low. “Everyone thinks I’m nuts, but I don’t think he’s dead. The HDD owes me one big-time, so we have this crappy little office to investigate. It also keeps me from going to the press.”
Mal’s back teeth began to ache. “Do you or do you not have proof Lassiter is alive?”
“I have no proof.” Force’s voice went dead flat. “I left the FBI after the case and was just fine never going back to that world, but an informant I used to have at HDD left me a couple of messages on my phone—cryptic ones—about the case not being over. Then the messages disappeared, as did my informant.”
“Well, that’s not creepy at all,” Mal murmured. Sometimes cops just couldn’t let go of a case. Was that Angus’s problem? “And this?” He swept his hand toward the board.
“The deal I made with the HDD,” Force said, his gaze turning to the picture of the man on the board. “If I keep my mouth shut about Lassiter, they’ll throw us a case or two. I’ve weeded out the ones that have merit, and this one does. That’s based on my gut instinct. Evidence is sorely lacking.”
Yet he already had somebody undercover in the cult. “So, your informant. You turned her.” Somehow.
Force nodded. “Yeah. There’s something going on with the group.”
Now that didn’t sound ominous at all. Mal frowned, his leg aching. He gingerly rubbed the side of his thigh. “I get why you’re here.” Either Force’s instincts were right, or he was letting ghosts rule his life. “I even think I understand why you’re here,” Mal said to the soldier still staring at the dog. He’d mentioned getting back to the Teams, and no doubt Force had promised him help if they succeeded in their job. “Why am I here?”
“Like I said,” Force said easily, “you’re the best undercover cop I’ve ever seen.”
Mal breathed out, the air oddly hot. “As flattering as that is, getting close to a lonely woman, or even a sociopathic one, if you’re right about her, doesn’t require much undercover skill.”
“I’m aware.” Force turned back toward Mal to face him head-on. “There’s more to your assignment than just getting close to Pippa Smith.”
“You want me to seduce her,” Mal muttered, his head starting to pound.
Force snorted. “You wish. Man. Why did you go there?”
Mal blinked. Because he’d wanted to go there, obviously. “Explain.”
Amusement glimmered in Force’s eyes for the briefest of seconds. “Hey. You can do that part of your job any way you want. Become her confidant. If that takes multiple orgasms, I’m sure you’re up to the task.”
Mal’s chin lowered as his anger stirred. If he told Force to stop talking about Pippa that way, then Force would know he had him. “If you can’t provide three orgasms at a time, why bother?” he drawled. “What’s the second part of my so-called assignment?”
Force’s amusement disappeared. “We want you to infiltrate the cult, of course.”
Mal stiffened. “What?”
“Yeah. As yourself.” Force glanced at the still silent staring war going on between soldier and canine and then focused back on Mal. “An ex-detective drunk who’s fighting demons every night and drinking them away every day. You’re the perfect mark for a cult. Especially one with a terrorist bent.”
Mal’s lungs seized, but he kept his expression placid. “You want me to join a cult and also get close to a former cult member without letting those two worlds collide.”
Force nodded. “Like I said, you’re the best. If anybody can do it, you can.”
Mal stared at the man, no longer curious. About anything. His last assignment had nearly killed him. This one, this one would take everything he had. “Nobody is that good.”
“Well, then. I guess we’re about to find out,” Force said. “Right?”
Chapter Five
Pippa smoothed her hair for the tenth time and waited by the back door. Wait. That was too eager. She studied her sparkling-clean kitchen. There was nothing to do. Should she go outside to meet Malcolm? Or should she wait for him to knock on the door?
Geez. This wasn’t a date, for goodness’ sake.
Sure, she’d put on lip gloss and
a bright purple sweater. That didn’t mean anything. Except that her very handsome neighbor was about to show up and walk their property with her. What if he asked her questions again?
He wasn’t a cop any longer, but surely he could tell if somebody was lying. She’d gotten pretty good at it, but she was no expert.
His sharp rap on the back door made her jump. She turned and strode over to pull the heavy sliding glass open. “Hi.”
“Hi.” He smiled, but his deep green eyes remained serious. A small cut was surrounded by a purple bruise on his temple from the night before. Today he wore a faded black leather jacket over a white shirt and worn jeans. “You might need a coat.”
She shook her head and moved toward him. “This is a warm sweater.” She’d paired it with dark jeans and her rain boots. “I’ll be fine.” Though it was nice to have somebody worry about whether she’d be cold or not. Why had she stopped dating so long ago?
Oh yeah.
But this was different. He was her neighbor, and he seemed to have no interest in exploring the world out there. She smiled at him and moved outside, turning to shut the door.
He beat her to it, easily sliding it closed again with one hand.
Once again, his strength gave her the flutters. Those green eyes didn’t hurt either. “How’s your head?” she asked, peering way up into his face.
“Tough as ever.” He grinned. His lips were firm and curved just right. He looked like a guy who could kiss.
She ducked her head to hide a blush and turned to start walking. It had been way too long since she’d flirted, and she was probably looking like a complete dork. The good news was that she’d investigated him online during the day, and he really was an ex-cop. So he wasn’t here to find her. She was still safe. Should she tell him she’d read the newspaper articles about his bravery? About how he’d brought down an entire mob family? Or was that something he wanted to forget?
“What are you thinking?” he asked, gently taking her arm as they crossed from the wet grass to the forested land.
“I read about you today.” She followed a barely there hiking trail, heading straight away from their properties. “The online article didn’t mention you’d quit being a cop.” Which was lucky for her.
“I was still in the hospital when the news moved on to better stories.” He reached in front of her and held a tree branch out of the way so she could pass. “Are there any news articles about you? I feel like I’m behind in the getting-to-know-you phase of this friendship,” he said.
Was he flirting with her? Her body heated in a way she’d all but forgotten. She glanced back and had to look up. “No. I’m pretty boring.” It hit her, then. She was in the woods, completely isolated, with a man she’d just met. Away from her home and out and exposed. But she’d read about him, and there had even been a picture, so he had to be all right. Didn’t he? “So . . .”
He grasped her arm and turned her to face him. Trees bracketed them on both sides and clouds had started rolling in. “Your breathing just changed and you’ve gone pale. Why?” Those dark emerald eyes seemed to look right through her.
“I’m fine.” Her lungs seized, but she looked him in the eye.
He released her and took a step back. Slowly, he turned his head and looked at the trees all around them. “What’s your deal, Pippa?”
Oh boy, that was a question. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Yes, you do.” His voice was a low rumble. “Yesterday I thought you were a terrified shut-in who couldn’t even answer the door. Then you let me inside your house last night. Now you’re walking outside, away from the house, with somebody you barely know. Oh, you just registered that, and it freaked you out. But you still came outside with me.”
It figured an ex-cop would be so observant. “I’m not agoraphobic. I just don’t like crowds. Cities and big groups of people bother me.” As well as cameras. They were everywhere. “It’s not so much that I have to stay in my home. I just don’t like going anywhere else.” As an explanation, it was the best she could do.
“Why?” he asked, his tone soft. Inviting. Coaxing.
Her heart sped up and adrenaline flooded through her. A fight-or-flight reaction. Instinctive. His tone, the trust-me tone. She heard that in her nightmares. A manipulation that could be felt, if not defined. She couldn’t outrun him, and she more than likely couldn’t outfight him. So she smiled her prettiest smile and lightly kicked the ground. “I’m just a serious introvert. Really shy, too.”
His eyes narrowed.
She fell back on looking innocent and clueless. It had saved her life more than once.
Then, that quickly, his expression cleared. “Fair enough. Sorry if I made you uncomfortable. It’s the detective in me. Always trying to solve puzzles.”
Oh. She swallowed. Had she totally misinterpreted him? Her past just wouldn’t leave her alone. “Okay.” Scrambling, she tried to think of something, anything, to say. “How did you get the scar over your eye?”
He gingerly rubbed the moon shape. “Still looks bad, huh?”
“No,” she blurted out. “Makes you look tough. Dangerous and kind of sexy.” Why wouldn’t her mouth work with her brain instead of against it? She hunched her shoulders.
He snorted. “That’s sweet of you.”
Darn it. The guy probably didn’t want to talk about it. Scars were personal. Very. “I’m sorry to pry,” she said.
He shook his head. “No, it’s all right. I got hit with a golf ball while undercover a long time ago. Just thought the scar was fading.”
“A golf ball,” she murmured.
His smile invited shared amusement. “Sorry to disappoint you, but that’s the truth. I suck at golf, for the record.”
Her smile matched his, grounding her in the moment. With him. “I’m more of a gin rummy player myself.” Especially via the computer. The seconds drew out, tying them in a way she couldn’t decipher.
He blinked. Then he sighed. “It was a bottle to the head. From my grandfather.” His eyes darkened. “I tell most people the golf ball story.”
Her heart warmed. Hot and bright. “Oh.”
He shrugged. “I don’t like the sad, pitying look.”
Yet he’d told her the truth. The real truth. Without even meaning to, he’d made her feel special. “I think you’re brave,” she whispered.
He cocked his head to the side, studying her.
Okay. Back to business. She turned and pointed at a large rock. “That rock is the far end of our properties. Your twenty acres go to the south and mine go to the north from here.” She wasn’t walking forty acres with him.
Thunder ripped closer than she’d expected. The air charged.
He winced. “We’d better get back to shelter.” Taking her arm again, he let his hand slide down her wrist to grasp her hand. “Let’s hurry.”
Awareness shot up her arm and zinged through her body. Surely he’d taken her hand just to get them moving. But his touch awakened all sorts of feelings in her. Aroused sensations she’d lost. She felt warm and safe and protected. She’d forgotten this feeling of her hand in a man’s. His hand was bigger than any she’d held before.
Was the old saying true about men’s hands?
She stumbled.
He slowed down. “You okay?”
She nodded, biting her lip. Why did her brain keep going to raunchy land with him? He might be a flowers-and-poetry type of guy, not a shove-a-girl-up-against-a-wall-and-goat-it one. Her secret fantasy that she’d never shared with anybody. Hard and fast and kind of scary—overcome by passion. But that took trust, and she didn’t know how to do that. Either way, he looked like he could really kiss.
What in the world was wrong with her? “Do you have anybody, Malcolm?” she asked, trooping along behind him.
“Anybody?” He held another branch for her, keeping her hand in his.
“Yes. Family, girlfriend, cop buddies.” While he’d said he didn’t have friends, that couldn’t be true.
“Me either,” she whispered, which was almost the absolute truth.
Now she just had to keep it that way, no matter how warm his hand or how sexy his lips. Forget fantasies of hot and wild passionate encounters with a strong man. She’d learned the hard way that to survive, she had to remain alone.
Period.
* * *
Her hand felt tiny in his. Right. A police shrink had described him once as having overly protective instincts toward delicate women, probably because he’d never had one in his life and wasn’t sure what to do with them. Even his one serious girlfriend had been a badass cop. The shrink had defined his instincts as a weakness.
But he was also a cop, and Pippa was lying. Was it possible she was a brainwashed cult member? When it had come down to it, Angus Force had refused to hand over her file for twenty-four hours. Just long enough for Mal to decide whether he wanted in or not.
He didn’t.
But he was curious about Pippa. Was she crazy? Or did she need help?
He led her out of the forest and onto their mutual lawn. “I’m having trouble organizing the kitchen,” he said, letting his shoulders slump.
She moved up to his side, not pulling her hand away. “Trouble?”
He’d noticed her house was perfectly organized, so he nodded and gave her his best helpless-guy look. “Yeah. I’m sure there’s a right drawer for utensils and stuff like that, but what goes where, you know?”
“Oh.” She looked at the back of his small white clapboard house and then at hers. While hers had a brick patio and his stone, they were basically identical. “Well, I could help, if you’d like.”
That was the idea. He let his eyes widen just a fraction. “Would you? That would be great. I can offer you lunch.”
Her brow wrinkled, making her look cute. Very. “You said you can’t cook.”
“No, but I can order pizza.” That quickly, he was back on the job and leading her to his house. “Do you think organizational skills are inherited or taught?”
Hidden (Deep Ops #1) Page 4