Hidden (Deep Ops #1)

by Rebecca Zanetti

  “I almost did last night. But even if he believes me, if Isaac turns me in, there’s probably nothing Mal can do. Evidence is evidence, you know? And then Mal would probably go after Isaac.” He would have no idea how evil Isaac could be or how strong his influence was over the family. “He’s strong, but . . .”

  Trixie coughed some more. “Do you ever think we have an inflated impression of Isaac? That he seemed invincible when we were kids, so we’re making him out to be more than he is, even now?”

  “No.” Isaac had an army who’d do anything for him. “We see him as he is.” Which was powerful and evil. A terrible combination. Pippa looked around her room. She loved this place. It would physically hurt her to leave it.

  Trixie coughed again.

  Pippa sat up. “Are you all right? You sound worse.”

  “I’ll be fine. I went back to the clinic this morning for more antibiotics. Apparently, the last round only quelled the cough for a little while. These are stronger.” Trixie was quiet for a moment. “I think you’re at a crossroads. Either run or tell Malcolm the truth. You’ll go crazy otherwise.”

  Crazier anyway. Pippa sighed. “I know.” Enough about her and the problems she’d created for herself. Her friend didn’t sound well. “Earlier, you said you’d been followed.”

  Trixie snorted. “I see shadows in shadows. Some guy said hi to me on the street the other day, and I yelped and ran in the other direction. Seriously. I’m nuttier than a fruitcake.”

  Pippa smiled. “Remember that year we made hundreds of those things and sold them in town?” She’d been twelve and hadn’t yet realized how bad things were going to get with the family. She and Trixie had spent days baking fruitcakes during the holidays.

  “Yes. I was so tired of nuts, I didn’t eat any for three months.” Trixie laughed. “Those days weren’t terrible. The chores were okay, and who needs sleep at twelve?”

  The terrible days came a couple of years later. Pippa sobered. “We’re survivors, Trix.”

  “Hells ya,” Trixie said quietly, her voice hoarse. “I sometimes wonder about my sister.” Her older sister had been her guardian, and she’d brought Trixie to the family. “If she’s still alive. If she’s still with the family.”

  Pippa tried to roll tension out of her neck. “I wonder about my mom, too. And about some of the other people.” Many had been nice to her, but they all followed Isaac. He was the law. How could so many people be so blind? She’d researched cults since leaving, so she kind of understood. But sometimes she could only shake her head and wonder why. “We have each other, Trixie.”

  “You could move in with me, if you wanted,” Trixie said. “If you leave your place.”

  Pippa smiled, glad for her one friend. “Ditto.” They’d lived together in Miami for a while, and it had been fun. But what bonded them also brought back horrible memories. The arrangement they had now seemed to work best for both of them.

  “What are you going to do?” Trixie asked, coughing some more.

  “I don’t know. But I’ll be in touch. Get some sleep.” After saying good-bye, Pippa sat in her room and listened to the rain for several long moments. Maybe Trixie was right. Was it time to trust? Even so, it wouldn’t hurt to pack her trunk, just in case. She carried the first suitcase to her car. Shoot. She needed gas. She usually got gas after seeing Trixie each month, but the shoot-out had changed her routine.

  Sighing, she opened the garage door and slid into her car. Maybe she could make a decision while driving to get gas. She had almost finished packing. She turned the key, and nothing happened. She tried again.

  Her car wasn’t working.

  * * *

  Malcolm sat in the passenger side of the van as April drove him from the fake crappy apartment to the mansion.

  “You know, if you just stayed at the big house, it’d be easier,” she said, her chipper manner back. Today she wore tan pants and a low-cut, white, see-through blouse. Her breasts bounced beneath it, and she thrust out her chest several times.

  Was she supposed to try to seduce him again?

  The music she played the entire time had a quick beat—close to a heartbeat. Hypnotic and rhythmic. The shrink had prepared him to listen for traps like that.

  April turned down the heat. “It was really cool of you to teach us self-defense yesterday. A bunch of us practiced after you left.”

  He gave her a smile. “That’s fantastic. What did you practice?”

  She ran him through the different exercises, and he calculated the time spent. Feigning interest, he asked her what else she’d accomplished the night before.

  Her list was impressive.

  It also showed she’d only had an hour or so of sleep. Another classic cult trick: keep the members too busy to think and too tired to protest. But he had her alone for a little while, so he’d be an idiot not to take advantage of it. “I appreciate the ride,” he murmured, looking out the window.

  “You bet. But what about staying with us? With me?” she asked.

  He watched the trees fly by. “You’re sweet, but I’ve never seen myself settling down with one woman, you know?” His fingers tapped naturally with the rhythm from the iPod.

  “I totally get it.” She set her hand on his thigh. “Nobody is married in the family. The Prophet says marriage divides a family. Only being available to one person. That status is reserved only for him.”

  Mal turned his head. “The Prophet is married?”

  Her smile showed dimples on either side of her generous mouth. “Not yet. Soon, though.”

  “Who is he marrying?” Mal asked.

  She withdrew her hand. “That’s personal family business.”

  Oh yeah. Asking questions was frowned upon. “No problem.” He withdrew as well, turning to watch the trees outside.

  She lasted about three minutes. “There’s a special woman just for the Prophet. She’s so very lucky.”

  “Hmmm.” Mal didn’t turn back. The special one had better not be a kid.

  “I think we’d have fun together,” she said, accelerating. “I like you.” Her voice was wistful.

  He turned slightly, pretending to warm to her. It was like manipulating a butterfly. “I like you, too. Are there guys you don’t like?”

  Her mouth tightened, and a flush spread across her girl-next-door face. “Of course not. I love everybody in the family.” She said the words as if she was reminding herself. “I’m lucky to share any type of moment with the chosen few.”

  Any type of moment? “I assume refusing to share time or anything else with a family member is wrong.” He tested his theory.

  “Of course,” she said, nodding emphatically. “We all belong to one another. People are just light and energy, you know.”

  How many others had the poor girl belonged to? Mal searched for the right words. “You never told me how old you are.” He still guessed around eighteen.

  “Twenty.” She pursed her lips. “Though age is just a number, right?”

  He hated that saying. Some numbers mattered. “How long have you been in the family, April?” It was the first time he’d used her name, and he did it on purpose. Anything to throw her enough so she kept answering his questions.

  “Forever. I don’t remember a time I wasn’t in the family.” She turned and smiled at him, her eyes unfocused again. “You should join. I’d be there for you.”

  God, he was going to save this girl if it was the last thing he did. But for now, he had a job to do. “I’m kind of a take-charge guy. It seems like I wouldn’t be welcome there.”

  She grasped his thigh again. “The Prophet really likes you. He wants you with us.”

  If Mal could get rid of a couple of the higher-ups, good old Isaac would want him even more. “Did he tell you that?”

  She pressed her lips together and then, thinking it through, slowly nodded. “Yes.”

  “I don’t know.” He rubbed his eyes. “Ever since I was shot, I’ve been drinking a lot. It’s hard for me to rem
ember some things, and it seems like the family is big on, well, familyness. I don’t think I could navigate that many people.”

  She squeezed. “You don’t have to know everyone. That takes time.”

  “I’d hate to tick off the wrong person.” He tilted away from her again. “Forget it. I deserve to be alone.”

  “No,” she breathed. “You’re not alone, Malcolm. I’ll help you.”

  He turned fully toward her, patting her hand, feeling like the biggest ass in the world. “You will? You mean it?”

  She nodded solemnly. “Of course. Okay. Besides the Prophet, there are three men basically in charge.”

  Mal listened and steered her in the right direction several times as he gathered information. She had been perfectly groomed to manipulate, and for that, Isaac Leon would pay.

  They finally reached the mansion, and as soon as April stopped the van, a tough-looking brunette of about thirty opened his door. “Malcolm. My name is Millicent, and the Prophet has asked me to show you around the gardens.”

  It hit him, then. He’d told April she was too young for him and not his type the day before. Apparently, she’d reported that back to the people in charge.

  This woman was her opposite.

  He stepped out and shut the door, waiting until April had made her way around the front. Then he winked at her. “I appreciated the ride, April. I hope we can meet up later.”

  The way her eyes lit up nearly made him snap. At the very least, if either woman reported to Isaac, they’d say he’d been appreciative and interested. Then nobody would punish April. Her happy hop as she bounced away made him want to kill somebody.

  He smiled at Millicent, too easily playing his part. “Tell me about these gardens.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Pippa paced by her window, her mind reeling. The car wouldn’t work. What she knew about cars could fit in a teacup. No, not a teacup. In a tiny little eyedropper. Yeah. Why would her car suddenly stop working? It was old, but she’d never had a problem with it before.

  She called four mechanics before she found one who’d drive all the way out to her house, but the woman didn’t have an opening for three days.

  Three days.

  Okay. Pippa gave her number in case there was a cancellation.

  Maybe Malcolm knew something about cars. It seemed wrong to get his help and then take off without a word. Or perhaps he didn’t know a thing about cars.

  Who the hell knew?

  But, she didn’t want to leave. She wanted, for the first time, to stay and fight. To tell the truth to somebody. To Malcolm.

  The flash of a truck caught her eye, and butterflies winged through her stomach. He was home. What should she do? Face him. That’s what she should do. It was time to trust. If anybody could be trusted, it was Malcolm West.

  The second she truly decided, a huge weight lifted from her shoulders.

  She opened the door and walked out on the porch, making it to the end of her walkway before noticing that the black truck wasn’t Malcolm’s.

  The dog she’d met before barked and rushed toward her, yipping happily around her feet. He brushed her legs, and she nearly went down.

  The guy who worked with Malcolm slowly made his way over. What was his name? The cop at the diner after the shooting had said it. Angus Force. Yeah, that was right. She watched him carefully.

  He moved like he could move much faster if necessary. “Roscoe? Don’t knock the nice lady down.” He kept coming, his boots spraying up water. His hair was cut above his ears, thick and kind of messy in a totally cool way. This close, his eyes were a deep green. Darker than Mal’s. “You okay?”

  She nodded, all words trapped in her throat. Ten steps. Ten steps backward and she’d be in the house. Away from this man.

  He stopped a couple of feet away, his gaze searching. “I came to see Mal, but he’s not home. Any idea when he’ll be back?”

  Wait a minute. This was Mal’s boss. “I thought he was at work.”

  The guy blew out air. “He was, but then he said he had some errands to run. I told him I’d meet him at his house for pizza in about an hour, but I finished up early.” He frowned and glanced up at the cloud cover and then back to her. “Oh. I’m Angus Force, by the way.” He held out a hand.

  Hers trembled, but she reached out and shook. This was one guy and not a crowd. He was Mal’s boss, which had to mean he was okay. Yet when he released her, relief made her shake. “Pippa.”

  His grin made him look much younger. “I know. Mal’s talked about you.”

  Her ears perked up. “He has?” Could she be any more of a dork?

  “Yeah. Likes you a lot. Also says you’re a great cook.” Angus glanced at his watch. “I’m sorry to have bothered you. Roscoe and I can wait in my truck.”

  She’d be a total ass if she let them wait in the truck. If she was going to tell Mal the truth, demand truth from him, and start facing her fears, why not start now? “Um, would you like to wait inside? I have some biscuits and tea.” The biscuits were a couple of days old, but they were homemade and would heat up nicely.

  He paused, his eyes lighting up. “Are you sure?”

  Was she? “Yes. Of course.” She patted the dog’s head again. “Roscoe can come, too.” The dog wagged his tail happily.

  Angus glanced back. “Why is your garage door open? Were you leaving?”

  “No,” she said. “My car stopped working, and I was trying to figure out why.”

  His eyebrows rose. “I know a bit about cars and could take a look, if you’d like.”

  The offer seemed genuine. And kind. “Would you?” she asked. “That would be fantastic. The soonest I can get a mechanic out here is in three days. Roscoe and I can go warm up the biscuits.” The dog nuzzled against her knee, and she laughed. What a cutie.

  “Sounds good.” Angus turned toward the garage, whistling.

  “Come on,” she whispered to the sweet dog. He followed her happily into the house. “I’ll slip you a biscuit or two before Angus gets back here.” It was nice to have an animal in her home again. If she stayed, after telling Mal everything, then maybe she’d get another cat. Or even a dog. The backyard was fenced and had plenty of room.

  She had just finished placing tea and biscuits in the front room when Angus knocked on the door. “Come in.”

  He walked in and wiped his boots on the mat before giving a look to his dog, who’d sprawled out in front of the fireplace. “You gave him a biscuit.”

  “I’ll never tell. Please, sit.” He was just too big standing here. As big as Mal, for sure.

  He took a seat, and she poured him some tea. “Did you fix the car?” she asked.

  He shook his head, accepting the warm cup. It looked tiny in his big hands. “No. I checked everything I knew, and I have no clue what’s wrong with it. You said the mechanic could be here in a few days?”

  She nodded, her blood chilling. Oh, she’d decided to stay, but not having any way to escape just in case gave her the willies. “Thank you for trying.” Taking her tea, she sat in her bold, multicolored chair by the fireplace with the dog.

  Angus overwhelmed the bright blue sofa with his sheer size. He took a sip of tea. “Delicious.”

  She rolled her eyes. “You don’t seem like much of a tea drinker.”

  He smiled, and a surprising dimple winked in his left cheek. “You’ve converted me.” He ate a couple of biscuits. “I was wondering why the two houses are so close and share a backyard.”

  She slowly started to relax in his presence. “Two sisters built the homes after they were widowed. Margie and Mertie Maloni. Margie passed on, and Mertie moved to Florida.”

  He nodded. “I figured it was something like that. Do you enjoy living so far away from town?”

  “Yes. I’m not that great with crowds.” The dog snuffled, and her heart warmed. This was nice. It was also an opportunity. “You and Mal work together, but I don’t think I really understand what it is you do.”

 
Angus sipped thoughtfully. “We’re in requisitions.”

  Yeah. Right. “What exactly does that mean?” For some reason, questioning this man she barely knew was easier than pinning Malcolm down.

  Angus’s eyes lightened. “It means we acquire things for the government. You know. Paper, pens, clips.” Amusement curved his lips.

  She smiled, feeling like they shared a joke. “Right. I see.”

  He set his empty cup down on the table. “Mal is good at his job. Very. You don’t have to worry about him.”

  The reassurance was sweet, considering they both knew Mal was doing something other than counting pens for some boring agency. “I appreciate that, but calls in the middle of the night mean that danger is near.” She bent over and grasped the teapot, pouring him another cup.

  “Does it?” He accepted the cup. “If it did, I couldn’t tell you. But again, Mal’s safe. Very.”

  This whole government secret stuff was kind of sexy. “If you say so,” she murmured.

  Angus nodded. “I do. What about you? Mal says you’re a virtual assistant. That must keep you busy.”

  “It does.” She sipped her favorite lavender tea.

  “No need for adventure outside these walls?” Angus leaned forward slightly.

  She shook her head. “No. I understand how that’d bother some people, but I like my home. It’s cozy, warm, and safe.”

  He looked around, studied the several locks on the door, and then glanced at the sleeping dog. “It is at that.”

  The locks probably seemed like overkill. But for a woman living alone, it wasn’t totally bizarre.

  Angus chewed another biscuit and then swallowed. “I like your place. The colors are so vibrant and bold. It’s energizing.”

  It was the direct opposite of the family’s muted color scheme. She stiffened at the remembrance. “Thank you. I like it, too.” They needed to talk about something other than her. “So, how did you get into government work?”

  He sipped more. “My sister and I were in foster care most of our lives. It was always one official or another moving us around. They had the power and we didn’t. City, county, state. All of them.”