Hidden (Deep Ops #1)

by Rebecca Zanetti

  “You stink. It’s good.” Wolfe took the bottle and drank a couple of shots.

  “Hey. You’re my driver,” Mal said, not really caring.

  Wolfe handed it back. “Lid.”

  Mal took another swig to the gut, then twisted the lid back into place.

  Wolfe reached into the glove box and handed over a cheap-looking pen and a burner phone. “The pen is actually a camera. Get as many faces as you can. Call in an hour if they don’t pick you up.”

  “Oh, they’ll pick me up.” Mal messed up his hair more. “I told the sweet blonde that I often return to the back of the bar in the early morning hours and try to find any leftover booze. That sometimes they throw bottles out that aren’t quite done.”

  “That’s just sad, man.” Wolfe sped up.

  “That’s the whole point.” Mal studied the soldier. “Where do you live anyway?”

  Wolfe reached the interstate and pulled on. “I found an apartment complex just off the exit where the offices are. It’s okay. Came furnished.”

  “Where were you before that?”

  Wolfe twisted on the heater. His voice remained level. Perfectly so. “Syria.”

  Ah. “Do you miss the Teams?”

  “Yes.” Wolfe pressed the accelerator. “I disobeyed orders. Probably can’t go back.”

  Mal rolled his neck. “I thought your deal with Force was to get you back.”

  Wolfe shrugged. “Force might have the juice, but I doubt it. It’ll be interesting when he tries and fails and then owes me.”

  “He’s a profiler. You sure he hasn’t profiled you just right?” Mal asked.

  Wolfe cut him a look. “Maybe. He sure got you right.”

  Yeah. Mal had noticed. “Want to talk about your last mission? When you disobeyed orders?”

  “No.”

  Fair enough. They drove the rest of the way in companionable silence as the dawn began to break through the cloudy sky. Mal relaxed, enjoying the quiet tone and camaraderie. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed such moments until right now. Just as they reached the block of Blue’s bar, the skies opened. “Ah, shit.”

  Wolfe pulled over in a deserted lot. “Take the phone.”

  “No.” Mal slid it over the console. “If I go with them, and if they search me, they won’t understand why I have a burner phone. Just meet me here around six tonight.”

  Wolfe frowned and looked even deadlier than usual. “I’m not sending you in there alone. We’re a team now.”

  The guy obviously took that very seriously. “No choice. This is undercover.” Mal clapped him on the arm. “And ditto.” He jumped out of the truck and into the rain, quickly jogging away before Wolfe could try to stop him. Rain smashed down and mixed with the alcohol in his hair, making him smell even worse.

  Before he knew it, he was behind Blue’s, going through a huge green metal garbage dumpster. Holy crap. There really was a bottle of tequila with booze still in it. He took it out, found a nice place slightly sheltered from the rain, and waited.

  By the time they arrived, he’d finished the alcohol and was soaking wet.

  Tree ran across the mud puddles. “Hey, Mal. How’s it going?”

  Mal let his head loll on his shoulders. “Pine? Wait. No. Tree. Dude, what are you doing here?” His voice slurred just the right amount.

  “We were driving by and saw you.” Tree shoved a surprisingly strong shoulder beneath Mal’s arm. “How about breakfast? You need some food.”

  Mal let the empty bottle crash to the pavement. There was no way Tree had seen him while driving by. But considering he was supposed to be drunk, he let himself be herded toward a sleek black van.

  The door opened, and the blonde was there. She’d said her name was April because good things arrived in the spring. Today she had on very short white shorts and a tube top, again with no bra. “Malcolm,” she said, reaching out toned arms to help him into the van. “How fortunate we found you. The storm is just getting worse.”

  Tree smoothly removed Mal’s gun as April pushed back his hair. “Such a handsome face.”

  Right.

  Tree shut the door and ran around to jump into the driver’s seat, leaving Mal alone with April.

  “I want my gun back, Tree,” Mal slurred, letting April put his head on her shoulder and caress his leg.

  “No problem. After breakfast.” Tree pressed the accelerator, and they zoomed out of the lot.

  About an hour passed before they drove beneath an imposing archway toward a colonial-style mansion. Green grass and rolling hills led to surrounding mountains. The place was beautiful. Even though it was raining, kids played out front and slid over wet grass, laughing merrily.

  “The gardens are out back,” April said, her hand at the very top of Mal’s thigh.

  They parked, and Tree jumped out to open the door. “We’ll get you some food and then take you wherever you want to go.” He held out a hand to help a now dry Malcolm.

  Mal stepped out and made a show of trying to straighten his torn and dirty shirt. “I’m not exactly fit for company.”

  April trilled a laugh and slid her arm through his. “Don’t be silly. We’d never think of judging on looks here.” She escorted him up the wide steps and between massive columns into a wide foyer with shiny wood furniture beneath a sparkling chandelier. “Welcome to our home.”

  Mal stumbled and looked around. “This place is beautiful.” He looked down at the small blonde. “Who are you people?”

  She laughed again and drew him down the hallway to the left. “Let’s get you some food and we’ll talk about that.”

  Tree headed in the opposite direction.

  With Mal’s gun.

  * * *

  After a truly excellent meal of beef and rice, Mal found himself alone in a thick stone shower with steam rising all around him. He’d kept it cool during lunch while meeting several long-standing members of the family. Nobody asked him for anything, and everyone seemed relaxed and happy.

  The steam made him feel secure. Damn, he felt good. For the first time since he’d been shot, his leg didn’t hurt. Before he could contemplate that, the door opened, and April walked inside, completely nude.

  He moved away from the spray, his mind oddly fuzzy. “Whoa. Um, no.”

  She smiled, her body nubile and tight. Intriguing triangles around her breasts showed she’d worn a bikini recently. “I just came to help you.” Her slim hands reached for the soap on the ledge.

  His heart rate picked up while his body seemed to somehow relax.

  They’d drugged him. The realization helped his brain to kick in even as his body remained way too content. “Listen, April. I don’t need help.” His tongue felt thick. The sense of euphoria was interesting. A small dose of meth? It could’ve been a hundred different things.

  April set the bar of soap against his chest and began massaging him.

  He grabbed her wrist and set her to the side, turning back into the spray. “How old are you anyway?”

  “I can be any age you want.” She moved into him, pressing her breasts against his back.

  An image of Pippa flashed through his head, and he shut off the water. “Sorry, sweetheart. My guess is you’re around eighteen, and that’s way too young.” He shoved wet hair away from his face and turned around to face her. “Why did you come in here?”

  “To help you,” she said, her face earnest.

  “Why?” He studied her eyes. Clear and probably not drugged? He wasn’t sure.

  She reached out and ran her hands over his chest. “Because that’s what we do here. We help people. And I thought you could use a release.”

  The wrong woman had her hands on him. He grasped her wrists and pulled them away from his body. “Is that what happens here? Everyone has sex and finds release?” A part of him wanted to disappear back into the steam by himself. Just get lost in the steam and not have to do this job. Stupid drugs. “April?”

  She shook her now-wet hair. “No. We’re encou
raged to find our own paths. Our own bliss.”

  His bliss at the moment would be putting his fist through the face of whoever had taught this kid to use her body to manipulate men. “Where are the towels?”

  For the first time, her expression changed. Fear and then hurt filled her eyes, and tears started spilling over. “You don’t think I’m pretty. I’m fat. I know it.”

  Now that manipulation he recognized. “You’re perfect the way you are.” He released her and moved out of the shower, finding towels and quickly wrapping one around himself. He handed one over to her, and she took it, holding it to the side.

  “Do you have a girlfriend?” she asked, dripping water onto the expensive tiles.

  Trying to find out about his life, was she? Man, she was good. “No. No girlfriend, no family, no more friends.” His jaw hardened, because it might be the truth. “I was a cop, and when you’re undercover, you have nobody.”

  “You can have me.” She shook back her thick hair.

  His heart broke a little. There was a sweetness to her, and he didn’t want to hurt her feelings. Yeah. That’s what they counted on. But he had a part to play. “Like I said, you’re too young for me. Too cute and bouncy. That’s a good thing, April.”

  “I’m not a virgin or anything.” She pouted out her bottom lip.

  Yeah, he got that. He looked around. “My clothes are gone.” Instead, neatly folded linen pants and a white shirt waited on the counter. Great. The cult uniform. Just for him. He sighed and drew on the clothing.

  “Yours are being washed.” April reached for a linen sheath hanging on a hook and shrugged into it, turning around. “Zip me?”

  He barely kept from rolling his eyes but zipped her up.

  She smiled, the bounce back in her step. “This way. Isaac wants to meet you.”

  About time. Mal finger combed his too-long hair and followed her through the bedroom, through the big living room, and down to the end of a hallway. A woman was coming out, and Mal recognized Orchid, the informant. He gave her a nod, and she barely nodded back before continuing past him.

  April knocked on the door.

  “Enter,” said a man’s voice with a slight accent.

  They entered.

  Isaac leaned against his desk, looking pretty much unaged from the photos Mal had seen. A woman huddled by a brick fireplace with a boy of about six in her arms. Both had bruises on their faces.

  Fire lashed through Malcolm and he pivoted, putting his body between Isaac and the terrified duo.

  Isaac cleared his voice. “April, would you please take Mrs. Thomson and her son to the kitchen for food? They haven’t eaten in a while.”

  Mal could take the guy out with one hand around the neck. Just squeeze until Isaac flopped like a fish on a hot dock. It was all he could do to let April escort the other two out of the room and shut the door. His fists clenched, but he couldn’t help it.

  “Detective West, please calm down. I didn’t cause the bruises,” Isaac said, gesturing toward one of two leather chairs flanking the desk.

  Mal took a deep breath. “Then who did?” He sat.

  Isaac took the other chair. This close, the guy looked taller than he had in pictures. The brown eyes were even more charismatic, and long-limbed muscles showed beneath his linen clothing. “I’m assuming her husband, considering we found her outside of a woman’s shelter. We’ll get her food and clothing and safety if she wants it.”

  That was one way to gain new members.

  Mal tried to relax his jaw, remembering he’d supposedly been drunk outside a bar just a few hours ago. “Thank you for the food and shower. How do you know my name?”

  “I’m Isaac Leon.” He held out a hand to shake. “We checked you out the other night, after you met April. Can’t be too careful who we invite home.”

  Mal looked around. “Yeah. This is a nice place.” How long would the drugs take to leave his system? “Kind of seems like a touchy-feely type of group, though, and I’m really not into that.” He tried to sound properly apologetic.

  Isaac nodded. “I completely understand. But I was hoping, maybe in exchange for the food and shower, you’d spend a couple of hours teaching some frightened young women like Mrs. Thomson a little self-defense? Maybe take your experience as a cop and do some good?”

  “Ex-cop,” Mal said automatically. His weakness had been read instantly by an expert. Were those bruises on the woman and kid even real? Isaac had found the one thing that would’ve made him stick around.

  If he was really being himself.

  “Sure.” He shifted his weight. “I could help out a little for a couple of hours.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Pippa couldn’t shake the restless feeling that had plagued her all day. Sipping a nice glass of Riesling as it neared ten at night, she read Malcolm’s second note to her. While she’d never admit it, she’d kept the first one in the file cabinet attached to her desk.

  Pippa,

  Sorry to leave so early, but I’ve been called to New York to deal with the shooting that just happened. I should only be gone for the day, and I’m sure the NYPD has found me a nice middle seat on a flight between two people who like to talk on planes. Which I do not. I’m digressing because I don’t know what else to say. Thank you for letting me stay the night and hold you. There’s a peace to be found around you that I haven’t known in a long time, even when I can’t sleep and the nightmares keep looming. Somehow, just having you there makes it better. I’ll try to bring dessert this time.

  Yours,

  M

  She trusted him. That quickly, she realized the truth. Could she tell him everything? He wasn’t a cop any longer, but surely he believed in the law. Or could she just make this her truth? As far as she was concerned, she was Pippa Smith. The last two nights with Malcolm, that had been her. The real her. What did the past really matter?

  Her phone buzzed, and she answered it. “Hey, Trixie. How are things?”

  “They have a website,” Trixie said, her voice panicky. “With our pictures.”

  Pippa dropped her glass and ran to the computer. She kept a continuous search going for her birth name as well as Trixie’s, and nothing had dinged. “What is it?”

  “AnTeaghlaigh dot com,” Trixie said, her voice way too high.

  “It’s okay. Just hold on.” Pippa typed the address and brought up the site. Nausea rolled through her. It was a pretty picture of a happy group of people “living off the land.” She selected “About Us,” and a full picture of Isaac came up on the screen.

  Ice shot through her veins. Her skin itched. Bile rose in her throat, and she forced it back down. It was as if his eyes were looking directly at her like he used to. God. She clicked another link and was brought to a page talking about meditation, living off the land, and finding one’s true purpose in life. “Crap.”

  “I know.” Trixie’s voice shook. “Click on ‘Help Us.’”

  Pippa tried to swallow and clicked on the link. Her picture scrolled up with Trixie’s right under it. She read the caption out loud. “‘Please help us find our lost family members. Mary and Tulip unfortunately started taking drugs and are lost to us. If you see them, please contact us immediately. We are offering a ten-thousand-dollar reward.’”

  “Ten grand.” Trixie chuckled, the sound full of pain. “Well. I guess the good news is that they didn’t turn us in to the cops. Yet.”

  Pippa forced her lungs to keep working. “This is new. Why are they suddenly on the internet and looking for us like this?”

  “Because they haven’t been able to find us any other way. You disappeared from Miami five years ago, and we’ve stayed off the grid since. They’re desperate.” Trixie’s voice sounded just as desperate. “And you know why.”

  Yeah. Her birthday was in several days. Her twenty-fifth birthday—the special day foretold by the Bible that would elevate the family to the next plane. The ticking clock.

  Trixie sniffed. “What’s next? This is just one we
bsite. You know they’ve had detectives searching for years.”

  “Yes,” Pippa said. “We need to find all the footage of the shooting the other day. Just to make sure we’re not in there.”

  “I’ve watched every channel and looked at every online newspaper I could. No problems yet.” Trixie audibly swallowed and then coughed. “Man. This stuff is strong straight out of the bottle.” She sighed. “Have you ever thought that maybe Isaac is the real deal? That we’re being punished for leaving the family? For our sins?”

  Only in Pippa’s darkest nightmares. “No. If he was the real deal, we wouldn’t have been able to evade him for this long.” How was it possible the bastard still wanted them?

  Trixie’s voice wavered even more. “Click on the link for ‘Pray for Our Members.’”

  Praying had been a big part of living with the family. Pippa clicked on the link and stopped breathing. “Mom.” Fear burst through her chest. The picture was recent, and her mom had new lines at the sides of her pretty eyes. Pippa quickly read. “It says she has cancer.”

  “It’s probably a lie,” Trixie said. “Just to get you there. He’d do anything.”

  Pippa reached out and traced the screen. Tears pricked the back of her eyes. “I hope she’s okay.”

  “Me too,” Trixie said. “They’re in West Virginia now. I thought at first they’d found us because they’re so close, but then I saw their mansion, which was given over by a new member. Generosity first, remember?”

  West Virginia? They were that close? Maybe fate had brought them full circle. “Should we head to California or something?” Pippa asked, her heart breaking at the thought. “They seem to be staying near the East Coast.” Though members were from all over, there were numerous satellite recruiting areas, if she remembered right.

  “Maybe. What about your hot ex-cop?” Trixie asked, her voice weary.

  A knock sounded on the door outside. Pippa went from worried to breathless in a second. “He’s here. I’ll call you tomorrow.” She clicked off and erased her browser before running into the other room and opening the door.