Hidden

  Mal turned and crossed his arms. “Why not?”

  “You kind of disappeared.” Isaac moved to the bar and poured two tumblers. “I thought maybe what you did to Orchid sent you over the edge or something.”

  “I told you I’d track down your men. I did.” Mal accepted the offered drink.

  Isaac cocked his head to the side, his eyes alert even though he’d just been awakened. “Yet they are not here with you.”

  “No. They aren’t.” Mal swirled the liquid in the glass. “I tracked them through the Minuteville cops to DC, where I spent the entire day and most of the night calling in every favor I have with pretty much anybody I could connect with.”

  “And . . . ?” Isaac took a deep drink, his attention absolute.

  Malcolm didn’t have to pretend to be angry. The emotion boiled just beneath the surface of his control, threatening to detonate. But he was damn good at using genuine emotions while remaining in character. “The good old FBI has them. To be more specific, the Counterterrorism unit of the FBI has your two family members.”

  Isaac stopped moving. Completely. He might have stopped breathing. “Why?”

  “Well now.” Mal forced sarcasm into his tone. “Surprisingly enough, they wouldn’t tell an ex-detective from New York. I exhausted every friendship I might’ve had just finding those two guys.”

  “Fuck.” Isaac strode to one of the two chairs flanking the fireplace and sat.

  It was the first time Mal had heard the Prophet swear. Interesting. “Listen. I realize you don’t know me all that well, but what is going on?” He moved around the free chair and sat. “I can’t help if you don’t tell me, and I’ve proven to you that I can be trusted.”

  Isaac leaned over, lit a long match, and set fire to the paper and logs already in place. “Do you believe in justice, Malcolm?”

  Hopefully, the bug Mal had planted was buried in soot in the corner. “Sometimes,” he answered.

  “What about sins? Can they be cleansed?” Isaac sat back, his gaze on the flames.

  “Cleansed?” Mal tried to listen for any other noises in the house, but it was silent at this early morning hour. “Not really. Punished, sure.” He shrugged. “But I ain’t the expert on the Bible you seem to be.”

  Isaac partially turned to study Mal. “You’re not a believer. In the Good Book or in me.”

  Mal exhaled as if thinking it over. “Man, I don’t know. You have a nice place here, and the folks are kind. And you can get two women to sleep with you at once, so you must be doing something right.”

  Isaac chuckled. “Yet you haven’t availed yourself of April or anybody else.”

  “When?” Mal kicked back in the chair, his head jerking. “It’s not like I’ve had time to avail myself.” He shook his head. “I’ve been tying up loose ends in not only my life but yours.” Which was the absolute truth.

  Somebody knocked on the door.

  “Enter,” Isaac said.

  George strode inside and walked toward the chairs facing the fireplace, his gaze down. “The first of the chosen has arrived.” He stopped behind the chairs.

  “Ah, good.” Isaac leaned forward and patted Mal on the knee. “It’s going to start soon. And by the way, Malcolm?” He waited for Mal to lift an eyebrow. “We’ve been drugging Orchid periodically during meditation time, questioning her afterward, and we knew she’d talked to the police. The woman didn’t remember being drugged, and she certainly didn’t remember telling us about the cops. Then you showed up. Even so, I’d hoped you were legitimate. That you could be family. Yesterday we found the bug you planted.”

  Something steel hard and hammerlike came down on Mal’s head before he could move. Lights exploded behind his eyes, and he crashed immediately into darkness. His very last thought, if it could be considered such, was of Pippa.

  * * *

  Isaac turned to see George looking at the bloody hammer in his hand. “Search him.”

  George shook himself and set the weapon on the table before turning around and bending down. He found a gun, a knife, and a phone.

  Isaac took the phone and scrolled through. No contacts, calls, pictures, or apps. Mal had apparently wiped the device before entering the home. Smart. “Is he dead?” Isaac frowned and peered down at the very still ex-cop bleeding all over his floor. He wanted some time with the betrayer before he went to hell.

  George felt for a pulse. “No, but he isn’t going to move for a while.”

  “Good. Take him to the basement,” Isaac ordered, moving to his desk and the battle plans hidden beneath the calendar.

  George hesitated. “He’s a cop, and he must’ve taken Leroy and Eagle. We have to get out of here. They’ll know about our plans.”

  Isaac lifted an eyebrow. “What are the plans?”

  George faltered, his eyes remaining down. “I, um, don’t know. Just that today is a big day. An important day.”

  Exactly. Nobody knew the plans. Which was why Malcolm had come back to the family. Obviously, the government feared Isaac had plans, but they had no clue what they were, and Mal was to find out more. By the time they discovered the truth, it would be too late.

  Nobody, not even George, knew of the new home for the family. Isaac had been quietly sending people away for the last month, and he’d sent the remainder of his family the day before. He would meet up with them the second the cleansing was in motion.

  Only those who were no longer useful to him would remain here, where no doubt the government would raid soon. Once the fire started. Those left behind knew nothing. Not one thing.

  Oh, hellfire would consume sinners today. He’d known for years that Mary’s twenty-fifth birthday would be the day God called him to do his duty, and he’d been planning just as long. There had been a chance—not a good one, but a chance nonetheless—that humanity would turn to good. Would be righteous.

  It hadn’t happened.

  “I’ll be right back,” George said, his voice shaking. “I’ll need help carrying him.”

  The cop was a big guy; that was for sure. Isaac stood and crossed over to stare down at the sinner who’d dared to infiltrate the family. Anger rushed through him, sharp in its intensity. He kicked Malcolm in the ribs. Once, and then again. The sound of one breaking calmed him. That was nice.

  When he’d discovered the bug, Isaac had been so furious he’d nearly ripped the skin off April’s nubile body. It had been her job to get close to the cop, and she’d failed.

  But in the end, he hadn’t been able to kill her. It had been much more satisfying to teach her a lesson she’d never forget, one she’d screamed through. A woman’s screams could be so cleansing, truly. Then he’d decided to use her for the higher purpose of today. She was fortunate he was so forgiving.

  God had taught him that.

  George returned with an older man named Hector who had lost his usefulness and started questioning Isaac months before. They hefted Malcolm off the floor, both groaning with the effort.

  Hector cleared his throat right before leaving. “Two more of the chosen have arrived.”

  “Good. Keep them in the kitchen until I call for them.” Isaac glanced at George. “It’s a good thing Leroy finished with the preparations before being foolish enough to get caught.” Of course, that was probably Malcolm’s fault, really.

  George nodded, his face pale.

  Isaac lost interest and sat down to review his map. The locations he’d chosen were prime for destruction. He’d been planning this for so long, it was hard to imagine today was the day. God had tested him, and he’d risen to the occasion.

  He double-checked the plan from every angle for hours.

  Finally, a knock sounded on the door again. He looked up. “Yes?”

  George opened the door. “She is here, Prophet. Mary has arrived.”

  Finally.

  Chapter Forty

  An invisible iron band constricted Pippa’s chest. This mansion was new to her, but it smelled the same as the old one. Meditation oils,
cleansers, and an unidentifiable scent of hopeful fear. She let the man lead her down a long hallway lined with expensive oil paintings. He must’ve joined in the last decade; she didn’t recognize him.

  He opened the door, and she walked inside a sprawling home office complete with a crackling fireplace.

  “Mary.” Isaac sat behind a gleaming mahogany desk with maps spread across it. He leaned back and studied her.

  The door closed behind her. Even though it hurt to breathe, she studied him right back. The decade had been good to him. Now in his early forties, he still had thick, light brown hair, and his eyes were the same gleaming amber she remembered. He wore a neatly trimmed mustache and goatee, which made him look younger than his years. Not a strand of gray showed. Did he dye it? Or was he just genetically blessed?

  The charisma she remembered poured from him, but it was tinged with evil. That might just be her interpretation. “Where’s Trixie?” Pippa asked without preamble.

  He didn’t react. Not one facial tic showed he’d even heard her. “You are dressed improperly for the family.”

  She glanced down at her multicolored skirt and bright blue top. Colorful bangles jangled at her wrist, and her boots were a red brown that gleamed in the soft light of morning falling through the wide windows. She tilted her head to the side and looked at him. “Did anyone ever tell you that linen makes a guy look like a wimp?”

  He abruptly stood.

  She took a step back before she could stop herself. Feelings rushed into her with a force that weakened her knees. Helplessness and fear. For a moment, she returned to being that terrified and confused kid facing a grown-up she’d been groomed to trust.

  Trust, her ass.

  Wearing the skirt instead of jeans had been difficult, but it allowed her to hide the gun nestled between her thighs. It was attached to her right leg, and she needed to tug the holder around so it wasn’t so uncomfortable. But it had escaped the quick search from the guy at the door because nobody would have the courage to touch her there. Not Mary.

  She tried to steel her shoulders, but fear made her muscles feel like mush. “I’m here, as demanded. What do you want from me, Isaac?”

  He strode around the desk and moved toward her like a graceful cat. “You’ve grown more beautiful through the years.” Reaching out, he brushed a strand of hair away from her face.

  Her stomach revolted, and she tried to think clearly. She stood five-foot-four in her boots, and he only had about five inches on her now. She’d remembered him being taller. Bigger. Malcolm was at least seven inches taller than Isaac.

  That thought, more than any other, calmed her. He was here somewhere. And outside the gates, she had backup waiting. She had more than that. She had Malcolm. “Touch me again and I’ll rip your arm off.”

  Isaac instantly grabbed her by the neck and yanked her forward. She lifted her right arm to stop him, and he slapped it down. Her eyes bugged out, and adrenaline poured down her body, beneath her skin, with nearly painful pricks.

  “You will remember how to behave in my house,” he said, his nostrils flaring.

  Her vision narrowed from the edges. She didn’t know how to do this. She wanted to fight him, to hurt him. To kick him in the balls and prove he didn’t frighten her. But she had a mission. She had to find out the truth about the attack. How had Malcolm been undercover for so long? She tried to swallow, but Isaac’s hold made it difficult. “I’m sorry,” she croaked.

  His hold relaxed slightly. “That is better.” He caressed her neck, ending at her heart. “It’s prophetic that you should return today of all days.”

  “That was your intent, wasn’t it?” She swallowed easily this time, her entire body needing to step away from him.

  He sighed. “I had hoped Trixie, as she’s been calling herself recently, would help us find you.”

  Yet she hadn’t.

  “All we could get from her was your phone number.” Isaac smiled, showing perfectly white teeth. “And here you are.”

  “Where is she?” Pippa asked. “I’d like to see her.”

  “You will.” Isaac finally removed his hand and turned to look at a clock on the mantel. “We shall prepare in about an hour.”

  Pippa followed his gaze, her heart lurching at the sight of the pictures of her next to the clock. The guy was seriously nuts. Then something caught her eye. Blood had pooled on the floor by the fireplace. “Who did you hurt?” she whispered.

  He shrugged. “Nobody important. Why? Did you want to watch me cleanse somebody? I think your mother is available.”

  “Is she really sick?” Pippa asked, the fresh adrenaline rush giving her a headache.

  “So, you did see our website.” Isaac’s lips turned down in a way that used to make Pippa want to run away. “How pathetic you wouldn’t make contact for your ill mother.”

  “She made her choice,” Pippa said, the guilt still feeling like hot pokers in her chest. “What’s the truth?”

  Isaac tilted his head. “George? Send Angel in.”

  Pippa gasped and partially turned as the door opened and her mother walked in. She was pale and wan. “Mom.” Her feet were frozen in place.

  “Mary.” Angel rushed forward and drew her up in a hug.

  Tears threatened Pippa’s eyes, and she returned the hug, losing herself in her mother’s still-familiar scent for a moment. Then she released her. “How are you?”

  “Well. So glad you’re back home.” Tears of real joy filled her mom’s eyes. “I knew you’d come home to us. I just knew you’d find the right path.”

  Disappointment crashed into Pippa so quickly she swayed. Her mother hadn’t changed. Even after all this time, she was blindly following Isaac. For the first time, pity replaced the anger in Pippa’s breast. “Are you healthy?”

  Her mom shook her head. “No, but I will be. The Prophet protects us all.” Gray liberally streaked her blond hair now, and fine lines extended from her eyes. The light-colored linen clothing washed out her coloring, but she was still beautiful. Her sparkling eyes met Isaac’s over Pippa’s head. “Thank you for bringing my daughter home.”

  Isaac slid an arm around Pippa’s shoulders and pulled her into the side of his body, facing Angel. “Mary is my one true love. Of course she’d be here for this. For the cleansing.” His hold tightened. “I do have to know. Have you been pure for me, Mary?”

  What was the right answer? The urge to punch him in the gut and tell him she’d found love nearly overwhelmed her. “Does it matter?” she asked, trying to remember the tricks Mal had taught her about getting information from a source.

  “Yes.” Isaac turned her to face him. “It does matter, very much.”

  “Why?” Which answer would get her what she wanted?

  His chin lifted. “You always were full of questions. All right. If you’ve betrayed me, you will need to be cleansed in the fire if you’re to have any chance of redemption.”

  “And if I haven’t?” The idea of where this was going cramped her stomach.

  “Then we have more work to do here. I’ll put you somewhere safe while I do God’s work.” He planted his hands on her shoulders. “As God flows through me, you cannot lie. It’s impossible.”

  The hell she couldn’t. She looked him directly in the eye. If he put her away somewhere safe, then she wouldn’t be able to find out what was happening. But his punishment for the truth might be more than she could bear. “Isaac—”

  “I will confirm your claim of innocence, Mary. Quickly.” He lowered his face. “God demands you tell the truth.”

  Isaac really believed his own bullshit, didn’t he? An iron fist grasped her heart and squeezed. The only way to find out about the attack was, apparently, to become part of it. Her legs trembled so hard, her skirt rustled. “I-I can’t lie. I have not been true to you.”

  His chest fell. “Ah, Jennifer. I am so sorry to hear that.” He smiled as if somehow pleased.

  Her mom’s voice quavered. “Jennifer? Why not Mary?”

/>   Isaac slowly shook his head and released Pippa. “This isn’t the true Mary. I shall have to start seeking her now. This woman is an imposter. Put here by the devil to distract me.”

  Right. Pippa clasped her hands together to keep from punching him in the nose. She was probably too old for the nutjob now, considering she was in her twenties. Where was Malcolm anyway? “You promised if I came back I could see Trixie, Isaac. Even God keeps His promises.”

  “The assumption was that you were still Mary,” he said, glancing at his watch. Then he lifted his head and called out, his voice echoing around the room. “George? Please bring in the chosen ones.”

  Pippa angled herself more toward her mother. If she had to get to her gun, it was going to be awkward with the skirt, but there hadn’t been another way to conceal the weapon.

  She held her breath, hoping Malcolm was coming.

  Women filed inside the room, and Pippa recognized one from her time with the family years ago, and one from ... the television? She tilted her head and studied a woman of about thirty with long red hair, freckles, and intense blue eyes. “You’re Sylvia Newtonburg,” Pippa said slowly. Wait a minute.

  Sylvia nodded. “I am publicly anyway. My true name is Faustyna.”

  “The Apostle of Divine Mercy,” Pippa murmured, remembering her lessons well. She’d seen the woman on the news lately. What had it been about? She wracked her brain, and it finally came to her. “The woman’s march in DC later today. You’re one of the organizers?” Her mind spun.

  “Yes,” Isaac said. “Faustyna has been in place for five years, owning and working in a store in DC. She had infiltrated many organizations until she was in position to help plan this rally, along with the date and parade route. She has truly done God’s work.”

  The dawning realization of the true reach of Isaac’s plan nearly dropped Pippa to her knees. She looked at the five other women in the room. One was her mother, another was a pretty and very bruised blonde. The woman Pippa recognized from a decade ago had been named Lilac. “Lilac?” she asked, remembering the now fiftysomething woman’s kindness when she’d once been stung by a bee.