Hidden (Deep Ops #1)

by Rebecca Zanetti

  He hated this. “Anything on the bug I planted in Isaac’s office?”

  “Not yet. He had sex with somebody and it was loud, but I can’t tell you who. There wasn’t a lot of talking.” Disgust coated Force’s voice. “Wolfe got information from the two guys we have here. The attack will take place on Friday, but that’s all they know. Eagle’s guess was New York, while the other guy thought Boston. I have Brigid looking for activities and large gatherings on Friday, but there are a lot. We need more info.”

  Mal breathed in, moving his chest. Focus. He had to focus, damn it. “Okay. I’ll be in touch.” He clicked off and slid his phone into his pocket.

  He pulled the van over about a mile from the mansion and jumped back to shake George the hell up.

  “What?” George sat up, his eyes blinking rapidly. He looked around, and his eyes widened at the blood spatter, as well as the dirt covering the shovel. Mal had dug into dirt for about two minutes to coat the stupid thing.

  George gingerly touched the back of his head. “What happened?” he slurred.

  “Orchid beat the crap out of you,” Mal said without sympathy. “She tased you and then jumped on you, smashing your head into the side of the van. You’ve been unconscious for about four hours.”

  George turned even paler. “Did you tell Prophet?”

  “Of course not. Why would I?” Mal helped the guy out of the back of the van and into the passenger seat, then slammed the door a little loudly. He crossed around and jumped into his seat, his hand on the key. “If you want, I can tell Prophet that you and I took care of Orchid together. We don’t have to let him know she knocked you out.”

  George wiped his eyes. “Thank you, Brother.”

  “No problem.” Mal started the ignition and pulled out onto the deserted road. “We wouldn’t want you to miss out on the fun Friday, would we?”

  “You know about Friday?” George asked.

  Mal nodded. Part of running a successful cult was keeping members in the dark about who knew what. “Sure. Don’t you know?”

  “Just that it all happens Friday. I don’t know where or when. Or exactly what.” George kicked out his boots. “Just fire and cleansing. Do you know more than that?”

  “No.” Unfortunately. It looked like his good buddy George wasn’t going to be much help.

  George looked back at the carnage. “How did we kill her?”

  “Ultimately, I strangled her,” Mal said easily. “She put up a fight first, as you can see. We buried her in the forest near Minuteville. Her body will probably never be found.”

  George scratched his chin. “That sucks. I wanted to have her one more time.” He sounded like a petulant child.

  Mal’s fingers folded into a fist. Rage caught him so sharply, he couldn’t speak for a moment.

  They reached the entrance to the mansion, and Malcolm parked the van. “I’ll take care of cleanup after we report in to Isaac. My guess is you have a concussion.”

  George clapped him on the arm. “You’re a good guy, Mal. Thanks.”

  It was all Malcom could do to keep from crushing the guy’s larynx. His hands were shaking as he got out of the van, so he shoved them in his pockets and made his way through the front door and down to Isaac’s office.

  Isaac sat at his desk, pouring over what looked like a map. He quickly covered it with his desk calendar. “How did it go?”

  “Perfect,” George said, his voice a little too high. “We took care of your problem.”

  Isaac studied George and then Malcolm. “Which one of you did?”

  “We both did,” George said, his smile not quite working right.

  Mal stayed silent.

  “I see.” Isaac nodded. “It’s almost midnight. Get some sleep, George. Malcolm, I’d like to speak with you.”

  George’s sigh sounded relieved as he hustled out of the room.

  Isaac gestured toward the chairs near the fireplace. “Sit with me.” He walked gracefully to the bar and poured two generous glasses of Scotch before returning and handing one over. “Tell me. Does George have what it takes?”

  Mal took the glass and sipped, almost humming in pleasure. “Yeah. George has no problem killing.”

  “Did he kill Orchid?” Isaac sat and took a drink.

  “No. I did,” Mal said, swirling the liquid in his glass. “Made a bit of a mess but will clean it up.” He glanced around and then stood as if uncomfortable. “It’s not who I want to be,” he murmured.

  “We’re who we need to be,” Isaac countered.

  Mal moved toward the mantel, his eye caught by a picture of Pippa. He hadn’t gotten close enough to see the pictures yet. She must’ve been around twelve years old. She looked innocent and young, and his heart hurt for her. “Your daughter?” Mal asked.

  Isaac scoffed. “No. My bride. That was her as a child. She’s an adult now.”

  “Oh.” Mal turned and looked him over, then retook his seat, his instincts humming. “I hadn’t realized you were married.”

  “Sometimes the right woman captures your heart,” Isaac said, lifting his glass. “To the right woman.”

  Mal lifted his glass, every primal instinct he had pushing him to snap this guy’s neck. Now. “To your bride.”

  They both drank, and Isaac refilled their glasses.

  “If you don’t mind my asking, where is your wife? I haven’t seen her,” Mal said, the liquid starting to warm his stomach.

  “She’s not here right now,” Isaac murmured. “But she’s with me at heart. The woman is doing very important work. It matters, and so does she.”

  That was such a nonanswer. But it did sound like Pippa was in touch with Isaac, though the guy was a born liar. Mal mulled over the situation. He didn’t want to give himself away, but he had to get more details about the attack coming on Friday. “It must be nice to be married.” He looked around. “I feel like this place may be a little complacent for me.”

  “You just buried a body about two hours ago. How is that complacent?” Isaac asked.

  Mal shrugged. “She was a threat to you. Threats go down.” He took another drink of the potent brew. “But what do you stand for? Just peace and love and sex?” He rolled his shoulders.

  “No. We’re a guide for the rest of the world. And we’re also God’s wrath if necessary,” Isaac said.

  There it was. All right. “What does that mean?” Mal asked, trying for boredom.

  “All in good time, my brother.” Isaac sat back, his linen pants stretching over long legs.

  There wasn’t enough fucking time, damn it. Mal winced. “I’m not good at being in the dark, Prophet. Never have been.” He scraped at dirt he’d put beneath his fingertips while pretending to dig a grave. “There’s a tension in the air, in the people scurrying around, that I don’t like. Something’s up with your family, and it’s not working for me.”

  Isaac nodded. “You are very astute, my friend. This is your family, too. Family comes with trust, no?”

  Mal barked out a laugh. “No. Not in my experience. Definitely . . . no.”

  Isaac’s eyes gleamed. “Trust goes both ways. Yet what you just said, I don’t understand. Did you not have the gift of a family like this growing up?”

  Mal’s smile felt painful. “No. My folks died in a car crash when I was young, and I went to live with my grandfather, who was a steel worker in Detroit. The guy drank a lot.” Mal rubbed the scar over his right eye. “A bottle to the head can knock a kid out for more than a day. Not many people know that fact.” He tipped his head and finished his glass, the memories burning through him.

  Isaac’s expression formed in lines of what most people would mistake for sympathy. “I’m sorry that happened to you. When you became a cop, did you then find family?”

  Mal hated this part of any undercover Op. To get, he had to give of himself, and what he gave had to hold the ring of truth. “Not really. I worked hard but didn’t do well making connections. Then I started going undercover on different Ops, and you
can’t have connections to do that right.” The closest he’d ever come to a brotherhood was right now, with Angus Force and his odd gang.

  “Ah, my friend. I am so truly sorry.” Isaac swirled his drink. “What about love? Women?”

  The deepest feeling he’d ever had for a woman was with Pippa, and their relationship had been based on lies. From both of them. “I’m not sure what love feels like.”

  “For a woman? It’s a burning obsession that you’d do anything for her,” Isaac said.

  Well, Mal would do anything for Pippa. Even if she was guilty. “Then maybe I’ve felt love.” The word seemed tame for what he was currently experiencing.

  “As have I,” Isaac said.

  The irony that they were most likely talking about the same woman wasn’t lost on Malcolm. “What about you? Did you have a family growing up?”

  “Sort of. Basic folk with no big dreams. I knew I was meant for a large life. Serving God,” Isaac said.

  Right. Delusions of grandeur. “I need a mission. An Op at all times to feel useful.” There was a little too much truth in that statement, but Mal went with it anyway. He had to get inside the organization.

  “I understand.” Isaac sighed. “In fact, because you mentioned it, while I hate to ask more of you tonight, is there any way you could track down Eagle and Leroy? Maybe use some of your contacts to find out where they are? I sent a lawyer to the local police station in Minuteville after the arrest at the pharmacy, and they said our men had been taken elsewhere.”

  Mal feigned a frown. Just how much did Isaac know? “By whom?”

  “I don’t know,” Isaac said. “Would you help?”

  Mal lifted his glass to his mouth and realized it was empty. He set it down on the table between the chairs. “Of course. After tonight, I’m all in, Prophet.”

  “You sure are. Welcome to the family.” Isaac’s eyes glittered. He reached into the drawer of the table between the chairs and drew out Mal’s gun to hand over. “You should have this back. Would you please now go clean up the van you used tonight and find my missing men?”

  “Yes.” Mal stood and exited the room, tucking his gun at his waist. He leaned back against the closed door, his hands shaking with the need to punch right through Isaac’s face. The man had no problem with murder. What kind of a hell had Pippa’s childhood been?

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Pippa had no clue where to drive. She couldn’t just leave without knowing what had happened to Trixie, but she couldn’t stay in the area either. Either the cult or the police had Trixie or none of this made sense.

  One more time. She’d try one more time. Pippa pulled over on the side of the road and then remembered she’d thrown her phone out the window. She had the burner phone, but if she used it, the person who answered would have the number. If the cops had Trixie, then they’d be able to find Pippa.

  Rain slashed down, and she wanted to cry. Never had she felt so alone.

  The phone rang from the go-bag.

  She gasped. Her heart raced. Only Trixie had that number. Thank God. Pippa scrambled to unzip the bag and slapped the phone to her ear. “Where have you been all day? I’ve been worried sick,” she answered.

  Silence ticked for a second. “That’s so kind of you to say, my beautiful one,” Isaac said, his voice deeper than she remembered.

  The entire world narrowed around Pippa, and her vision blurred. “Isaac,” she whispered. Her body shuddered and her stomach seemed to disappear. Bile rose so quickly up her throat that heartburn scalded her. “How did you get this number?” She already knew the answer.

  “I believe she goes by Trixie now,” Isaac said calmly. “Or at least she did until about thirty minutes ago.”

  Pippa let out a low sob. “If you’ve hurt her, I’ll kill you.”

  “Oh, I’ve definitely hurt her,” Isaac said. “I had no choice, and you know it.” He chuckled, and icy fingers skittered down Pippa’s spine. “I had to occupy myself with something until midnight. It had to be midnight when I called you. Exactly forty-eight hours from your birthday, my love.”

  She gagged. “Put Trixie on the phone. Now.”

  “You forget your place, Mary. You do not give orders.” His voice sharpened like a razor, taking her instantly back to the time when she’d been a terrified, confused child in his home. “Who does give orders?”

  She closed her eyes. Nausea rippled through her. “I am not playing your game. Ever again. Now tell me what you want.”

  “You. It has always been you,” Isaac whispered. “I am with God. Did you really think you could do the devil’s work for so long? That it wouldn’t catch up with you?”

  “I’m not entirely sure you aren’t the devil.” She’d given plenty of thought to the matter.

  Isaac made a disappointed clucking sound that had made children quake in terror for years. “Are you trying to get Trixie and your mother killed?”

  So Trixie was still alive. Pippa scrambled for something to say that wouldn’t make him strike out at her friend. “How did you find her?”

  “Picture in an online newspaper after the shooting the other day. One of my family members was a reporter with connections, and was able to track down her name and the fact that she worked as a waitress in the area. It was simple investigation from there.” He chuckled, the sound ominous. “I like the name Trixie. It was from those books you girls were caught reading, remember?”

  She remembered the punishments. Isaac had no problem denying food or sleep to any of them. And manual labor was encouraged. “Did she tell you my name?”

  “Pippa. It’s an odd one. Where did you get it?” he asked.

  “None of your business.” Pippa’s body chilled. For Trixie to have given up her name, she had to be hurt. Badly.

  He sighed. “Yet she couldn’t give us your address. I find that interesting. That she didn’t know it.”

  Tears gathered in Pippa’s eyes. “She wouldn’t let me give it to her.” They both knew Isaac wanted Pippa above all else. So Trixie had always refused to know Pippa’s address in case she was ever caught. “She was protecting me.”

  “That’s my job,” Isaac said simply. “You have a destiny that God demands. I’m sorry we couldn’t have these years together to prepare you, but you must repent and pay. Dearly.”

  She shivered. “What do you have in mind?”

  “Come home and I’ll tell you. It’s your only safe recourse at this point,” he said.

  She blinked, exhaustion pounding through her temples. “What do you mean?”

  “Authorities outside Boston have been alerted to a dead body, Mary. They’ll identify your brother, and they’ll be after you. Come home, and I promise they’ll never find you.”

  “Mark wasn’t my brother,” she spat. “None of you are my family.”

  “Oh, you’ll pay for that. For now, you have an hour to get here to prepare for the cleansing fire on Friday. I’ll text you the address,” he said, his voice so calm, they could’ve been talking about the weather.

  She shook her head. “The cleansing fire? What exactly are you going to do?” She had hoped when he lost her that he’d find some other course of action.

  “What needs to be done, and you’re at the center of it. Come home. Now,” he ordered.

  There had to be time to figure out this mess. Her mind scrambled for something to hold him off. “I started driving west toward California the second the cops released me after the shooting. I’m at least twenty-four hours away, Isaac. You know I can’t fly. No identification.”

  His suffering sigh was full of disappointment. “Get here as fast as you can. Every hour you make me wait, I cut off pieces of Trixie.” He ended the call.

  Pippa dropped the phone. Sobs racked her, and it took several sucking breaths to get herself under control. She had a gun. If there was a way to hide it on her, she could shoot Isaac in the head when she arrived. She’d go to hell, probably, but she’d be doing this world a favor.

  Her hand sho
ok so violently, it took several tries for her to turn the key and start the car.

  She’d bought herself some time, but Isaac hadn’t been joking about hurting Trixie. He’d enjoy it.

  She remembered that fact well as she flashed back to the night that had changed everything. When she and Trixie had barely escaped.

  * * *

  Her backpack was heavy, but she didn’t complain as Trixie led her toward the west, through trees with branches that kept grabbing her hair. The moon was bright in the sky and easily lit their way.

  Was this an unholy mistake?

  She hadn’t lived in the outside world for nearly eight years and she didn’t know what to do. The money in their packs would help them—that much she understood.

  It was stolen, though. That was a sin.

  Would God punish her? She probably deserved it.

  Trixie slowed and gestured for Pippa to hurry up. “The back road is just up there,” Trixie whispered, setting down her pack to retrieve wire cutters she’d stolen from one of the gardening sheds. “Jack will be waiting.”

  Pippa paused and tried to catch her breath. “Jack looks scary to me.”

  “Jack is scary,” Trixie said, hitching her pack into place. “But he’s on our side. The guy doesn’t like cults.”

  “Isn’t he in a gang?” Pippa asked, clutching her hands together.

  Trixie nodded. “Yeah. He’s a businessman. We’ve agreed on the price for our escape and for some really good fake licenses and passports. This is the only way to go.”

  A stick snapped in the forest, and Pippa jumped. She drew the large cutting knife she’d taken from the kitchen earlier. If they got caught, Isaac would punish them until they wished they were dead. So she’d fight.

  Trixie showed the way through the trees, and they came to the chain-link fence. Rolls and rolls of barbed wire extended up from the top, making it impossible to climb over. On the other side, Jack waited on a narrow dirt road in a banged-up gray two-door car. He exited the car, looking big and scary.