Hidden (Deep Ops #1)

by Rebecca Zanetti

  Tears filled Pippa’s eyes. How could her own mother do this?

  What if, somehow, her mom was right? What if Isaac really did talk to God? Sometimes it did seem as if he knew things others didn’t. And sometimes in his presence, she felt a peace she couldn’t understand.

  Trixie said it was drugs and tricks.

  Was Trixie right?

  Or did Isaac have gifts Pippa shouldn’t deny? What if she was going against God’s will? Who was she to do something like that?

  But sometimes, instincts mattered. Right? Or she wouldn’t have any.

  She’d been forced to spend enough time with Isaac to know and see that he liked hurting people. Especially women. He enjoyed their pain. He enjoyed making her witness their pain.

  That had to be wrong.

  Pippa swallowed and moved to the bed and her few meager possessions. She didn’t know who was right or who was wrong. But it scared her to death to think of marrying Isaac the next day. Some of the things he’d done through the years, that he’d made her watch him do to other people, were horribly wrong.

  Those things had to be wrong.

  So she’d run. She’d pack and meet Trixie and then Trixie’s guy friend. If that meant she would eventually go to hell, then so be it.

  Hell couldn’t be worse than this place.

  * * *

  Pippa jerked back to the present and pulled into the parking lot of the restaurant, not seeing Trixie’s car. The old Buick hadn’t been at the apartment either. It took her five minutes to push herself out of the car.

  She ducked through the rain and opened the door, where the smell of bacon grease and cheeseburgers bombarded her. People were there. Too many of them.

  She wanted to be back home. Safe by herself behind locked doors. Baking in her kitchen. Away from all these people, possible danger, and so many sights and sounds. Instead, she looked around for help.

  A quick check with the nearest waitress confirmed that Trixie wasn’t at work for the dinner shift, and she was an hour late.

  It was starting to get dark outside.

  Pippa could barely breathe. She owed her entire life to Trixie. Something was very wrong. It wasn’t like she could go to the police. There had to be something she could do, though. The walls felt like they were closing in.

  Where was Trixie?

  Chapter Thirty

  Malcolm had driven about fifteen miles away from the mansion when George decided to climb in the back of the van with Orchid. “What are you doing?” Mal asked.

  George paused. “I want to have some fun with her before we kill her. I mean, why not?” He pushed a couple of shovels to the side, and they clunked noisily. Then something crackled several times, and Orchid cried out.

  Anger heated through Mal’s chest. “You did not just tase her.”

  “Nope,” George said cheerfully. “I just cracked it a bit in her direction.”

  Mal glanced over his shoulder. Orchid was pressed against the side of the van, her hands tied, tears flowing down her face. George was across from her, leaning in, the Taser precariously close to the woman’s right breast.

  The asshole.

  Mal whipped the van into a turnoff against a bunch of trees, and George flew back to hit his side of the van with a loud thunk.

  Before the man could protest, Mal was out of the vehicle. Cool evening air slapped his face, but at least it wasn’t raining. He opened the back door.

  George shook his head, as if trying to get his bearings. “What the hell did you do that for?”

  Mal smiled. “You’re not the only one who gets to have fun.” He waited for George to relax. “Why don’t you shock her a little? Just see what that thing can do?”

  Orchid whimpered and drew her knees up toward her chest.

  George’s eyes gleamed. “Well, okay.” He pressed a button, and the Taser charged.

  “I want to be closer.” Mal stepped up into the van, pretended to trip, and smoothly claimed the stun gun from George. He let out a fake gasp as he fell, pressing the weapon into Orchid’s hand in a quick motion.

  The woman lunged forward and tasered George in the chest. The man cried out, falling back, his eyes closing.

  Mal leaped up and slammed George’s head into the wall as hard as he could. The guy slumped down, out cold.

  Orchid panted out several deep breaths. “Did I knock him out?”

  “No.” Mal lifted his knife from his boot and sliced the ropes off her hands. “A Taser won’t knock somebody out. But a good bang to the head is always helpful.”

  She wiped tears off her face, her wrists obscenely raw from the rope. “Then he’ll know you helped me.”

  Mal shook his head. “He won’t. I waited until his eyes were closed. I’ll tell him you attacked him and he hit his head.” The jackass would probably be so embarrassed a woman had gotten the better of him, he wouldn’t want to tell anybody. Hopefully. “I need him to stay knocked out. If he stirs, hit him with a shovel.”

  “Gladly,” Orchid said, her eyes overly bright as the adrenaline no doubt drained from her system.

  Mal hustled back to the driver’s seat and quickly dialed Force. “I need a pickup and some sort of sedative that’ll wear off in about three or four hours.” He was more than two hours away from headquarters. “And a first aid kit. Can somebody meet me halfway?” He didn’t want to continue hitting George in the head to keep him out. Not right now anyway.

  “Affirmative,” Force said. “In fact, Raider is in Minuteville right now dealing with the local cops. They’ve thrown up a bit of a hissy fit about our taking their collar, and he’s smoothing over the issue. I’ll have him drop by the local hospital, and he’ll meet you in about thirty minutes.”

  “Affirmative.” Mal hung up and turned the key, pulling the van back onto the road. “Orchid? Tell me everything I don’t know.”

  The woman kept the Taser pointed at the unconscious George. “Like what?”

  “This big attack. Is it still going to happen?” he asked.

  “Yes. Prophet has been having a lot of closed-door meetings lately, and something is definitely up.” Orchid wiped her nose on her sleeve. “I heard him say something about Friday being a holy day.”

  It was Wednesday night. “Do you have any idea what he wants to do?”

  “No.” Orchid sniffed. “I don’t. Whenever something big happens, he calls an all-family meeting and announces it then. I think that’s happening tomorrow. We’ve had extra food and drink brought in.”

  Mal had to get back inside. But he had George to deal with, and what about Pippa? “Do you know anything about Isaac’s bride?”

  “Not much.”

  “What about Pi—I mean, Mary. Do you know anything about the girl Mary besides what you already told Angus?” Just thinking about Pippa made his chest ache. How deep was she into this shit? Not at all, if he had to bet.

  “I knew Mary,” Orchid said. “She was one of the first to leave. One day she was there, and the next, the Prophet said she was hiding in the world to create a way for us.”

  Mal’s temples began to hurt. “Had you heard from her since?”

  “I haven’t, but that doesn’t mean Prophet hasn’t. I just don’t know. I told Angus I didn’t know.” Orchid’s voice rose.

  Mal nodded. He’d have to find out about Pippa on his own. “Okay. Run me through everything you know again, and don’t leave anything out. Even a small detail might help.” Friday was too close. What if there wasn’t enough time to get the salient details? How many people were in jeopardy right now?

  Orchid told him everything she could think of, and soon Mal pulled the van into the parking lot of an abandoned fast-food joint at the edge of Minuteville. Raider was waiting in a nondescript white compact car. He slid out, looking way too big for the vehicle, his movements strong and sure. Definitely graceful.

  Mal met him at the back door of the van. “What do you have?”

  “Propofol,” Raider said, taking out a syringe.

&n
bsp; Mal paused. “Seriously?” No wonder Force had sent the guy to a hospital. It wasn’t as if they could’ve gotten the sedative at a local pharmacy. “How did you get your hands on that?”

  Raider shrugged. “We all have gifts.” He filled the syringe. “Take off his shoe. We’ll inject him between the toes.”

  Apparently, clean-cut Raider had some experiences Mal wouldn’t have guessed. He followed instructions. “How long will he be out?”

  “If he survives the concussion you gave him, you have about three to four hours,” Raider said, tucking the drugs back into his pocket. “He’ll be confused and probably not remember much, so you can create whatever memories you want. If he awakens.”

  “Do you have the first aid kit?” Mal asked.

  “Yeah. Picked one up at the hospital.” Raider jogged over to his car.

  Mal helped Orchid from the back of the van and then shrugged off his shirt. He took his knife from his boot. “This is gonna hurt.” He sliced his upper arm, above his shirtsleeve. Blood flowed. Taking the knife, he dipped it, then swung it around the interior of the van.

  “What are you doing?” Orchid gasped.

  Damn, his shoulder hurt. “Creating a death scene.” He flung more blood.

  Raider jogged up. “Ah. Okay. You need more?”

  Mal leaned over and let his blood pool on the ground. “Nope. That should do it. Just want to show a bit of a fight. I’ll tell him I strangled her and she fought back pretty well.” He accepted the bandage from Raider and slapped it into place. Then he turned toward the woman. “You’re very brave. Thank you.”

  She shook her head. “I’m not.”

  “Oh, you are.” He gently turned her toward Raider. “Go with my friend. He’ll get you a safe place to stay and some help.”

  “What about you?” she asked, her lip trembling.

  He looked at the deathly silent man on the bottom of the van floor. “I have to pretend to bury a body, and hopefully, wake this guy up. Then, back to the mansion.”

  God, he hated that place.

  * * *

  Pippa slowly drove around Trixie’s neighborhood, looking for anything or anybody who seemed out of place. Her head hurt as bad as her heart. Mal had betrayed her, but Trixie never would. Bone-deep fear made Pippa’s hands shake.

  After scouting the area for a couple of hours, she settled down in her car where she could see the entrance to Trixie’s apartment, clearly lit by overhead lights. What else could she do? She’d called repeatedly, and there had been no answer.

  Rain started to patter on her windshield. Good. Maybe it would fog up a little bit. Her phone rang, and she jumped. “Hello?”

  “Hi,” Malcolm said.

  Her chest compressed. Why couldn’t it have been Trixie? “Um, hi.” Crap. Was he at his house, wondering where she was?

  “I’m sorry I didn’t make it home for dinner,” he said, as if it were expected that they’d eat together. He sounded slightly out of breath. “This case is taking longer than I’d hoped.”

  “Which one? You said there were two,” she reminded him, settling her head back against the seat.

  He was quiet for a moment. “Both of them, actually.”

  “I imagine that’s a hazard in your line of work.” Her body felt as if she was trying to swim in Jell-O without oxygen. Was it possible Malcolm had Trixie? He’d met her at the shooting the other day, and surely he’d gotten her address.

  Much as she hated to admit it, she’d prefer for Mal to have Trixie than Isaac. “Have you made any progress on either case?” she asked.

  “Not nearly enough,” he said grimly, sounding as if he was telling the truth. “But hearing your voice helps. I want you to know that I’m glad we met. The closest thing to peace I’ve felt in a long time has been with you.”

  Tears pricked her eyes. God, he was good. If only he were telling the truth. How much more would those words have meant to her yesterday? “You made me believe,” she murmured.

  “In what?” His voice deepened.

  “That I could maybe have a normal life.” It was wrong, of course. She’d never have a normal life. “With you, I thought that I could have a chance.”

  Rain could be heard over his phone, as well as windshield wipers. “Baby, you sound sad.”

  That tone shot right through her, spreading warmth. How screwed up was that? “I am. I’ve been calling my friend Trixie all day, and she hasn’t answered. That’s not like her.”

  Mal was quiet for a moment. “How not like her?”

  “Not at all. Do you think maybe the feds wanted to talk to her about the shooting again?” Pippa gave him the perfect out. If he jumped on it, then he probably actually did know where Trixie was.

  “No. There’s no reason they’d talk to her without contacting me first,” he said.

  God. What did that mean? Was he so good undercover that he could second-guess what she was thinking? Or did that mean that he really didn’t have Trixie? If she had run, she would’ve taken her go-bag. So that only left Isaac. Even so, Pippa couldn’t help hoping Trixie had gone off for a weekend with a hot guy and forgotten to charge her phone.

  Right. Just yeah . . . right.

  Mal cleared his throat. “Pippa? What’s going on?”

  It was the soft tone that broke her. “I can’t do it,” she burst out. “I can’t play this idiot game with you. I’m not good at it. It’s over. We’re done.”

  Silence ticked for two beats. “What are you talking about? I’m not playing games. This is real.” He sounded pained.

  “You dickhead,” she spat, anger and hurt all but spewing out of her. “I know this isn’t real.”

  Two more beats. “Where are you?” His voice changed from warm to direct and commanding. Her body heated and then chilled. When she didn’t answer, he continued. “Pippa? Enough with this. Let me come and get you. Trust me. Where are you?”

  Trust him? Yeah right. It was shocking how much she still wanted to. She gripped the phone so tightly her knuckles hurt. “I’m at home, of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “What’s going on?” His tone softened just enough to make her want to cry.

  “You know what I learned today, Malcolm?” she asked softly.

  “No. What?” His voice sounded a little ... wary? Yeah. Wary.

  She dropped her chin. “I learned that an ignition fuse can be taken out of a car. I also learned that it’s easy to replace. Great facts, right?”

  The swish of the wipers came over loud and clear. “I don’t understand what you’re talking about.”

  Enough was enough. “Stop. Just stop.” Her eyes were gritty, and her head was going to explode. “Can you tell me one honest thing? Just one? Please.” Her voice thickened, but she couldn’t stop it.

  “Pippa, I really don’t—”

  “I have a key that still works in your sliding glass door. I saw the manila file about me as a child in the table by your bed.” The anger slowly just flowed out of her, leaving her empty. Completely.

  His silence was heavy. “Ah, baby. I’m sorry.”

  God. He was going to just shatter her heart, wasn’t he? The asshole. “I don’t care. Just give me one thing. Please.” She was almost begging.

  “Let me come and get you. We can talk about this,” he said. “Please, Pippa. Let me explain in person.”

  Did he think she was crazy? Well, probably. She’d fallen right in bed with him, heart first. That was nuts. “I don’t know what you wanted from me, but I’m sure you didn’t get it. You could’ve just asked instead of sleeping with me.” Tears slid down her face, but she didn’t care. “Good-bye, Malcolm.”

  “No.”

  The sharp command in his voice had her instinctively pausing. She blinked, her body on full alert.

  “Pippa? Right now, you tell me where you are.”

  She shivered. For the first time, he truly sounded just as dangerous as she knew him to be. “No,” she said softly.

  “Pippa.” The low command sent her
senses reeling.

  Her body reacted to his voice, to that tone. It betrayed her by softening. Even her breath quickened. “You were great in bed, Malcolm,” she admitted, her heart hurting as much as her body.

  “I’m not messing around.” The dominance in the words was punctuated by his deep voice. “Tell me where you are. Right fucking now.”

  “No,” she snapped, her back straightening.

  “You do not want me to have to hunt you down,” he warned.

  Tingles beat through her abdomen. She shivered. “You’ll never find me. I’m a master at running.”

  He sputtered something, but she ended the call.

  She ripped her phone apart and then threw all the pieces in the dirt outside the car. Trying to stop the tears, she started her engine and drove away from Trixie’s neighborhood.

  The problem was, she didn’t have anywhere to go.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  “Damn it.” Mal pounded his hand against the steering wheel. He dialed Force, who picked up immediately. “I need a trace on Pippa’s cell phone. Now. She knows.”

  “Give me five minutes. Stay on Op.” Force clicked off.

  Mal glanced in the rearview mirror. George was still out cold, and the back of the van looked beyond creepy with all the blood. Stay on Op? How was he supposed to stay on Op when Pippa was out there by herself thinking he’d betrayed her?

  Well, hadn’t he?

  His stomach rolled over and bile rose in his throat. He had to find her.

  His phone buzzed. “Where is she?”

  “No clue,” Force said. “The GPS on her phone is disengaged. If she really knows the truth, then the phone isn’t with her any longer, Malcolm. You know that as well as I do. It’ll take time to ping where she’s been all day. Where was she the last time you talked to her?”

  “She didn’t say.” Hell. She could’ve been three states over by the time they talked tonight. “But she did mention that Trixie hadn’t picked up her phone all day. Can you try to find her?” Mal asked.

  “Of course. I’ll have Brigid start a grid search for both of them. All traffic cams, street cams, facial recognition everywhere. Don’t worry. We’ll find them.” Force shuffled some papers. “For now, stay on Op. There’s nothing else for you to do.”