Hidden (Deep Ops #1)

by Rebecca Zanetti

  She gulped. “I-I don’t know.”

  “I think you do.” He set the gun on her leg, his hand over it.

  She jerked, her breath panting. “I don’t, Prophet. I really don’t.”

  “Don’t lie,” he snapped, the sound harsh after his soft tone. “Give me the truth.”

  She looked frantically over her shoulder at Mal, who could only stare her down. If she gave him up, they were both dead. Maybe he could get her to play along. He lowered his chin. “Have you been talking to somebody outside the family?”

  “No,” she whispered.

  He hardened his expression. “Maybe accidentally? Just someone you thought was nice?” First rule of any interrogation was to get the person to say something. Anything. Then one could take them down the path.

  She slowly nodded. “Yes.”

  “What?” Isaac asked, falling into an interrogation style that was pretty damn good. “What did you say?”

  Her voice shook. “I just told him about the family and what we do. That we love each other.”

  Malcolm moved in, standing at Isaac’s side while he knelt. He hoped to God she followed his lead. “Who? Who is this guy?”

  She visibly shrank back. “His name is Angus. I don’t know his last name.”

  “But you know what he does, don’t you?” Malcolm asked, keeping his tone congenial. If they were going to play at an interrogation, he might as well do it right. If he could just get to that bug . . . but Isaac was in the way. “It’s okay, Orchid. Time to tell the truth.”

  She gulped down a swallow, the freckles standing out over her dark skin. “He’s a cop,” she whispered, the sound barely audible.

  Excellent. She was following Mal’s lead and playing along.

  Isaac stood. “A cop. You’ve been talking to a cop about your family.” He shook his head. “What did you tell him?”

  “I told him about Stacy,” Orchid burst out with surprising spirit. “She was just eighteen, and you made her sleep with your lieutenants. She wasn’t ready for that. You can’t just use women like that, Prophet.”

  Isaac’s gaze hardened. “It is not your place to make that decision.”

  “She overdosed because of the pain and shame.” Orchid lifted her face. “You were wrong.”

  George audibly gasped.

  Mal stiffened. The woman was going to sacrifice herself for him. That couldn’t happen. He had to keep her attention and not let her get too far away from what he needed to be said. “Watch your tone,” he said.

  Orchid glared at Isaac and ignored Malcolm. “Eagle hurt her, and you know it. I hope he’s rotting in a cell somewhere right now.”

  Isaac struck, hitting her across the face. The slap echoed loudly around the room, and her head jerked to the left and then back.

  Adrenaline poured through Mal’s body, but he forced himself to remain still. “How did you even know about the planned robberies?”

  She hung her head. “Leroy liked to talk after, well, you know.”

  Mal breathed out. Good. Blame the guy who wasn’t there to counter the lie. “You told the cop about the robberies that were planned. Why? So you could get rid of Eagle? Or did you want to hurt the entire family?”

  “Just to take Eagle away,” she said, her shoulders slumping. “And I’m tired of being drugged. Sometimes I can’t even remember whole days.”

  Isaac grabbed her braids and jerked her head back. “What else? What have you heard around here?”

  “Nothing,” she said, tears in her eyes.

  Isaac frowned. “Did you tell the cop about the cleansing fire about to commence?”

  Mal went on even higher alert.

  Orchid blinked. “No, of course not. I don’t know any details about that. I just wanted Eagle gone. From all of us.”

  The woman was a decent liar. Bone-deep fear would do that.

  Isaac released her and stalked around the desk. “I don’t believe you.”

  Mal moved to Orchid’s side and dropped down, staring into her eyes. “How did the cop approach you? How did this come about?”

  She dropped her gaze to her hands. “I was crying in the bathroom of the coffee shop in Minuteville. He said he was a cop and asked me what was wrong, and I don’t know, I just kind of spilled everything about Eagle. About what he’d done, and about Stacy overdosing.”

  Mal looked over his shoulder at Isaac. “Is Stacy dead?” He kept his voice brisk.

  “No,” Isaac said. “When she poisoned herself, we took her to the hospital. Last I heard, she was in a coma there.”

  Yeah. That was right. Of course, the asshole was leaving out the rather important fact that they’d dropped Stacy off at the door and sped away. “So there’s no body or crime.” Mal stood and swiped the bug on his way up, shoving it into his pocket in one smooth motion. He looked at Isaac. “I’m not in charge, but if you ask me, you need to make an example here.”

  Orchid gasped and shrank back even more. She looked small and defenseless in the chair, and Mal had to fall back on skills he’d hoped to forget forever to stay in character. “I won’t do it again,” she croaked.

  Isaac shook his head, the movement sad. “Malcolm? You have more experience with this than I do. What do you think?”

  Mal sighed. “I don’t know her as well as you do. In my line of work, once a snitch, always a snitch. But you may have insights here I lack.”

  George cleared his throat. “I say we make her an example. A good one.”

  Mal looked toward Isaac, as if waiting for guidance. “If so, it has to be quiet. Nothing obvious, but she has to disappear.” Just how dedicated was Isaac’s flock? Mal let the truth show in his eyes. “I’ve done things undercover, things I did for a mob family, that I’ll never be free of.”

  Isaac’s gaze sharpened. “Is that a fact? Are you offering to do the same for me?”

  Mal made himself look around as if he was thinking it through. “I’m just searching for a place to belong. I like April, and I like that Millicent. This is a nice family. But if I stay, if I belong, then I call my own shots.”

  Isaac’s eyes began to gleam.

  Yeah. Challenge accepted. Mal was down and out, and killing Orchid would give Isaac something to hold over him. As a way of recruitment, it wasn’t bad.

  “You’re special, Malcolm,” Isaac said, his voice deepening. “Very. I would like for you to stay with the family. We could use your skills. We need you.”

  Nice. “I appreciate that,” Malcolm said.

  Isaac nodded. “If you take care of this problem for me, you can stay. Both April and Millicent shall keep you company as long as you wish. Angel as well, if you like.”

  Mal tried to look satisfied, but his gut churned with bile. “All right.” He jerked Orchid to her feet. “I’ll need to borrow the van.” Somehow, he had to get her to safety.

  Orchid whimpered, no doubt as scared as she was confused. But the woman was smart. She didn’t say a word about him.

  Mal pulled her toward the door.

  “Wait,” Isaac ordered.

  Malcolm half-turned in time to see Isaac grasp a stun gun out of his desk and toss it to George. “George is going with you. In this family, we don’t do anything alone. Especially the difficult parts.”

  Damn it. “I don’t need help,” Mal snapped.

  “Too bad,” George said, sounding downright gleeful.

  Isaac motioned to Malcolm. “Please give me George’s gun.”

  It hurt, but Mal handed over the weapon. They still had his gun. Well, one of his guns.

  Orchid tried to pull free, but Mal held her arm tight. She hissed. “I’ve been with you for ten years, Prophet. How can you do this?”

  Even after all this, she called him Prophet. Something ached in Mal.

  Isaac’s gaze was hard as rock. “You’ve betrayed me. You’ve betrayed God. You deserve this fate.”

  Mal gave the prophet a hard look. “You have any other weapons?”

  “Yes, but bullets can be traced.
” Isaac shut his desk drawer. “You’ll have to be resourceful.”

  “Fine.” Mal let Orchid yank her arm free, and surprised, she fell onto the couch. He made a show of bending down to grab her. Twisting his shoulders, he attached the bug inside the fireplace, which had gone dead.

  His smile even felt feral as he moved to open the door. He’d have to figure out what to do with George on the way. This was a mess, for sure. “Orchid, you’ll walk with us through the house, and you’ll say nothing. One word, and I’ll knock your ass out.”

  The woman swallowed, her entire body trembling next to his.

  He kept his expression hard. What the hell was he going to do with her?

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Pippa couldn’t breathe. She looked frantically around the outside of Trixie’s apartment building, but only the wind and pine trees stirred. Everything inside her wanted to turn and run back to her car. But if Trixie needed help, she had to go in.

  She tugged a can of Mace out of her purse and nudged Trixie’s door open.

  Silence of the truly empty kind ticked like a bomb within. Pippa looked over her shoulder, saw no other people, and edged inside.

  The living area was decorated in bold blues and purples, with a sofa and chair facing a television on the wall. The room was tidy, save for one bright pink throw pillow on the floor. Not unusual. The room led right into a sparkling-clean kitchen with a small round table. Mail and other papers were scattered across the table, as if Trixie had been working on finances.

  Pippa kept up her Mace, ready to spray, as she looked into the bathroom to the left. It was the only one in the apartment. She held her breath as she whipped open the brightly colored shower curtain.

  Nothing.

  Okay. One room left. Exiting the bathroom, she moved back toward the kitchen and swung into the room. The bed was unmade, but nothing seemed out of place.

  Her shoulders went down. Glancing guiltily over her shoulder again, she moved toward the dresser and checked the false bottom beneath the lower left drawer. Trixie’s go-bag was still in place. Pippa’s chest constricted again. Why wasn’t Trixie answering her phone?

  Pippa put the bag back in place and hustled from the apartment, making sure she shut the door. The wind pushed against her as she made her way to the car and dialed Trixie again.

  Only the answering machine. Igniting the engine, she pulled away from the curb, heading into Minuteville and the diner where Trixie worked.

  Nothing could happen to her only friend. The skies opened up, as if in agreement, throwing rain down to splatter against the windshield. She clicked on the wipers, and their rhythmic swishing sound upped her concern. The window fogged, and she pressed the Defrost button.

  Trixie had to survive.

  * * *

  That quickly, Pippa was seventeen again and being fitted for an all-white gown in Isaac’s office. He sat by a wide window showing a mountain, his fingers steepled beneath his chin, his gaze hot on her.

  She tried not to look at him as the two women inserted pins in various places.

  “You look beautiful, Mary,” Isaac said, his voice deep.

  She tried not to shiver. Every time he looked at her like that, her stomach cramped. Her friend Trixie had already purified with Isaac, and she’d cried hard when telling Pippa all about it, saying it hurt. Bad. Those were their names now. Trixie and Pippa. Oh, they couldn’t share those names with anybody else, and they might not be able to use them for a long time, but those were their names. That mattered. Choosing your own name.

  One of the ladies finished the hem and stood, turning toward Isaac. “Prophet? I think we’re finished for now.” She was new to the family, and her name was some kind of plant. Pippa hadn’t paid attention.

  “Thank you, Fern,” he murmured. “You and River can take the dress now so it’s ready for tomorrow. I expect it to be perfect.”

  Pippa held absolutely still as they carefully removed the dress, leaving her in only a light white slip with no socks. They carried the dress out of the room as if it was made of gold.

  “Come sit with me,” Isaac ordered.

  Her knees trembling, she walked toward the other chair by the window, looking around for a blanket. There wasn’t one, of course. She crossed her arms over her breasts and sat, making sure the slip covered her thighs.

  He looked her over. “You get lovelier every day. Are you looking forward to your birthday tomorrow?”

  There was a correct answer for that. “Yes,” she whispered, wanting to run.

  “Numbers are important. Your turning eighteen on the seventh is very crucial to the way we live. Those numbers equal twenty-five, which is when you’ll truly reach your destiny. It’s a sign from God.” Isaac leaned forward.

  She tried not to shrink back. She tried really hard. His reliance on numbers didn’t make any sense. Seven and eighteen and twenty-five? It was all just numbers. “Why don’t you give anybody else names from the Bible?”

  He set his hand on her knee. “Those names are for you and me only. We’re special.”

  She tried to swallow, but her knee burned. Her being special had spared her the things that had happened to Trixie. So far. Tomorrow there would be a huge ceremony with the whole family, and then Isaac was taking her somewhere for a week. He hadn’t told her where.

  The idea made her want to throw up.

  “Besides our holy union, your birthday starts the clock for seven years. Seven crucial years for the outside world to get its act together. To remake the family structure and find God.” He squeezed her knee and released her. “I can only hope our leaders make good choices.”

  “Or what?” The closer she came to being forced to bond with him, the more she questioned everything he said. Often not out loud, though.

  “Then we shall be the warriors for the Lord and teach them a lesson,” Isaac said smoothly. “These have the power to shut up the sky, so that rain will not fall during the days of their prophesying; and they have power over the waters to turn them into blood, and to strike the earth with every plague, as often as they desire.”

  “Revelation 11:16,” Pippa murmured. That was one of the passages Isaac made her read. The women in the family read the Bible almost every day. “I don’t understand.”

  “There’s a place that holds all the power in this country. If the world doesn’t return to a state of proper peace, we will be God’s vengeance. He will tell me what to do,” Isaac said.

  Why did he always talk in circles? What did any of that even mean? Pippa looked toward the door.

  “You’ll want to go prepare for tomorrow.” He pinched her thigh, and she jumped. “If you’re not smiling tomorrow, Mary, I will be greatly disappointed.”

  She nodded and stood, her head down as she walked as slowly as she could for the door. Managing to keep her hands from clenching into fists until she’d shut the door behind her was the hardest thing she’d ever done.

  Trixie and their friend Tamarack were waiting, their faces pale. “You okay?” Trixie whispered.

  Tears filled her eyes, and she shook her head.

  “You will be.” Trixie grasped her hand and pulled her away from the door. “I found a way out, and my friend will be waiting for us. The guy I met on outreach a month ago. Tonight. Meet me in the garden with the two lemon trees at midnight. Trust me. I’ll get to the storage room first.”

  Where Isaac’s money was hidden. So much money. Pippa shook her head. “Let’s just go. We don’t need their money.”

  “Yes, we do. It’s the only way to get freedom,” Trixie had whispered urgently. “You have to believe me.”

  Tamarack shook her head. “It’s a mistake. You two will get caught and punished.”

  “Come with us,” Trixie said urgently. “If we make it, he’ll punish you.”

  Tamarack’s green eyes darkened. At about six feet, she was tall for a girl, but her features were delicate. “If he does, then he does. I’ll pray for you both.” Then she ducked her head and hu
rried down the hall to the laundry.

  Pippa needed to throw up. Bad. She’d seen Trixie’s friend. The guy had gang tattoos all over his arms, his neck, even on his face. “Maybe we should just cut through the fence and run into the mountains. We don’t need help.”

  “Yes, we do.” Trixie snorted. “Say we get to the mountains. What then?”

  Pippa couldn’t answer. There wasn’t an answer, really. “What about my mom and your sister?”

  “We can’t tell them. They won’t come with us, and they’ll tell Prophet. You know they will.” Trixie peeled off to go pretend to do women’s work in the laundry.

  Pippa climbed the stairs to her bedroom, feeling around a thousand years old. She entered, stopping short at seeing her mother sitting on the white coverlet on the bed. “Mom.” Hope burst through her so quickly her skin flushed.

  Her mom had lost weight lately but still looked beautiful. “I wanted to check on you.” For a quick moment, something familiar showed in her eyes.

  “I don’t want to marry him.” Pippa shut the door. “It’s not right.”

  Her mom stood and crossed to her, distress wrinkling her cheeks. “He’s the Prophet, and he knows best. We’re safe here, Pippa. With the family. We need them.” She grasped Pippa’s arms.

  Pippa pulled away, her heart falling inside her chest. It hurt. “We don’t need them. We never did.” She wanted to be angry, so angry, but the sadness was eating her up.

  Her mom didn’t try to touch her again. “I love you, Mary.”

  Being called that was like a punch to the stomach, and Pippa nearly bent over. She spun around to face her mother. “Do you ever wonder what he’d think about this? What my father, the man you supposedly loved, would think about my being forced to marry a thirty-five-year-old man who thinks he talks to God?”

  “He does talk to God.” Her mother’s face turned so pale her lips were blue.

  She didn’t have an answer for the other question, now did she? Pippa shook her head. “My father wouldn’t let this happen.”

  “Your father is dead.” Her mother’s shoulders straightened, and her chin went up. “This is our family now, and we will follow the rules here. Someday, you’ll understand.” She left and quietly shut the door behind her.