“Probably taught,” she said, just as the rain started to fall in earnest.
Interesting. “Who taught you, beautiful?” he asked, sliding open his back door.
Her stride hitched as she followed him into the house. “Probably my mom?” Her voice had been slightly tentative, so he needed to open up before she did.
“I always wanted a mom.” He shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it over a kitchen chair. The house had come furnished, and the kitchen set was wooden and comfortable. “Never got one.”
Sympathy flashed in her blue eyes. “I’m sorry.”
He shrugged. “My folks died in a fire right after I was born, and I was raised by my grandpa. A drinker. A total bastard. He’s long dead.” The words were true and saying them still hurt a little. But that was how you got into somebody else’s head. “Is your mom around?”
Pippa tried to retreat; he could see it in her eyes. But he’d shared, so she’d be obligated. Yeah, he was good at his job and could be a total dick. “No. My mother is gone.”
“I’m sorry.” Mal turned to study her. There was a ring of truth to her words, but something was off. Plus, Force had told him her mother was still in the cult. “How did she die?” he asked, leaning back against the peach Formica counter and trying to look relaxed.
Pippa’s mouth opened and then closed. “Car wreck. Destroyed her quickly.”
Interesting. Again, some truth with the lie. “Where is she buried? Can you visit the grave?”
Pippa blinked. “Enough sad talk. Really.” She looked at the white-painted drawers to the right of the sink. “That’s where Mrs. Maloni kept her utensils.”
He nodded and tried to remember which box held the utensils he’d bought at Target. His gaze caught on the furniture in the living room. All floral and old ladyish. He couldn’t afford new stuff, and he bit back a wince.
Pippa caught his focus. “You could get slipcovers.”
He paused. “Slipcovers?”
“Yeah. They cover the sofa and chairs. There are tons to choose from. If you have a computer, I can show you sites.” She moved to the nearest box and opened it. “These are socks.”
“Oh.” He loped toward her, not missing the widening of her pupils. She was as aware of him as he was of her. He crouched and slid another box toward her, opening it slowly. The new utensils. “Do you shop a lot online?”
She nodded and reached for the box of forks. “Sure. I work online, too.”
“Doing what?” It was getting easier to question her.
She took the forks over to the drawer by the sink. “I’m a virtual assistant to several self-employed people. A couple of business owners, an artist, two dentists, an art dealer, three stockbrokers, and an author. I do their accounting, make their travel plans, or assist in whatever they need.”
Sounded like an ideal job for a shut-in. It also sounded perfectly innocent. “What kind of businesses do the owners have?”
“One is a small construction business and the other is an antiques store. He travels a lot.” She struggled to open the box and then started putting forks in a slot. Mrs. Maloni had left the divider thingy in the drawer.
“What kind of construction?” Mal asked casually.
Pippa shrugged. “Everything from demolition to renovation. It’s profitable.”
Demolition. Interesting. So, she had an easy way to get her hands on explosives. Mal grabbed the boxes holding knives and spoons and slid them to her across the counter. “Sounds like a good living.”
“It’s okay.” She took the knives. “You were gone earlier today. Where were you?”
His mind finally shoved away all the external noise. All the excuses. It was time to decide, so he did. “I took a new job.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “You have a job already?”
“Yeah.” That was that, then. He was in.
Chapter Six
Special Agent Angus Force enjoyed early mornings in the office. He always had. When the coffee was fresh, the quiet still there, and nobody had informed him of a dead body. Oh, that always came. But at the moment, alone in the crappy basement, he sipped his warm drink and studied his murder board in case room one.
The elevator dinged outside, but he didn’t move. West was a detective. He could find Angus.
The man’s heavy steps echoed through the empty bull pen, and then movement came at the door. “I’ll take the job.”
Angus didn’t bother turning around. “I know.”
Silence ticked for two beats, and West walked into the room, yanking out a chair at the conference table. He set down an entire platter of what looked like cookies and banana bread. “How did you know?”
Angus slowly turned. “You baked for me? How sweet.”
“No.” Apparently, the decision hadn’t been an easy one. West’s green eyes were bloodshot, his jaw scruff heavier than usual. White lines fanned out from his eyes, and it looked like he had a hell of a headache. “These are from Pippa. How did you know I’d take the job?”
“I’m a profiler. The best.” It wasn’t bragging if it was the truth.
“Ah.” West’s chin dropped. “Profile me, then.”
Angus sighed. Why did they always ask that? Curiosity? The need to be understood? The desire to prove him wrong? “You became a cop because you wanted to protect people who couldn’t protect themselves. Because you had a guardian who beat the shit out of you until you were old enough to leave.”
West snorted. “You could get that from my personnel file.”
From his psychiatric file, actually. Angus nodded. “You were good at undercover because to survive, you learned how to manipulate other people. How to say the right thing, do the right thing, become the right thing.”
“Again, not impressed.” West turned his attention to the murder board, studying the pictures of the Surgeon’s victims. What was left of them anyway. His jaw tightened.
“What you didn’t expect on your last assignment was that you’d get close to the marks. That you’d like the criminal family and form bonds. When you broke those bonds, something broke in you.” Force turned back to the murder board as well.
Tension emanated from West. “Fair enough.” He sighed. “So, I’m taking this job now because I want to, what? Redeem myself? Be a hero? What?”
Angus’s lips twitched, but he didn’t smile. “No. That’s not why you’re taking on a cult.”
“Then why?” Challenge and curiosity lowered West’s voice.
Angus exhaled. “You like the girl, Mal. That’s why you’re taking the job.” Sometimes it really was that simple.
West mulled it over. “She’s sweet. I don’t see her wanting to kill a bunch of people.”
Yeah, the guy had a hero complex. Wanted to save people because he’d never been saved. “You can be sweet and also be a sociopath. Or a brainwashed victim who’s trying to find the kingdom of heaven,” Angus returned.
West frowned. “I don’t know.”
“You want to save her, get into her head. Possibly her bed.” Angus turned, waiting until Mal met his gaze. “I’ve got your back. No matter what happens, in this unit you’re protected. Remember that.”
West sat back, surprise flashing across his hard face for the briefest of moments. “Ditto.”
It was important. Angus had been out there, on his own, falling from a limb too many times. This was his unit, and he’d created it the way he wanted. Mainly. “We need a name.”
West blanched. “I told her last night that I’d taken a job. She asked doing what, and I told her it was with the government.”
“Smart. Stick as close to the truth as possible,” Angus said. There was a reason West was the best at this. “What’s the problem?”
“She asked which agency, and I said it was in requisitions.”
Angus barked out a laugh. “A paper pusher? That wouldn’t concern her. Smart.” Then he mulled it over. “In fact, I kind of like it. Requisitions.”
“Nah, we need more than just tha
t. Another word,” West murmured.
Angus twisted his lip. “Okay. Requisition Unit. Yeah.”
West chuckled. “No. I’ve got it. The Requisition Force.”
Angus leaned back. “We’re not using my last name.”
“Yeah, we are. The Requisition Force. It carries the connotation of us being harmless, or not. The ambiguity works in our favor either way.”
That seemed a little too much. “You’re kidding.” Angus frowned.
“Nope.”
Angus shrugged. “Nope. Just requisitions.” At least West was getting involved. But they’d keep it simple.
West looked back at the board. “Where are we on this case?”
“Nowhere,” Angus said, his gut starting to churn. “I can’t even prove he’s not dead.” He pointed to the stack of letters that spouted philosophical bullshit and challenge. “Feel free to get caught up. But for now, we’ve got nothing until he makes another move.” That was the sad part.
“He sent you letters?” Mal glanced at the stack. “That’s personal.”
“It was a sick game between the two of us,” Angus said.
West eyed him, the letters, and then the board. “I’d read that—”
Angus nodded. “Yeah. He got my sister first. Don’t want to talk about it.” There was still a hole in him that would never be filled. No matter what. “Your first duty is the cult case. My source says they’re gearing up for something, but I don’t know what or when.”
West nodded. Then he glanced at the empty doorway. “Before I forget, who won the staring contest yesterday? Wolfe or the dog?”
“They both finally fell asleep,” Angus said, tilting his head to see the board differently. To find a clue.
West snorted. “Is Clarence Wolfe crazy?”
“No more than you or me,” Angus returned.
“So, yes.” Malcolm drummed his fingers on the table. “It’s time you gave me the records on Pippa and the family cult. I want to know everything.”
The elevator dinged in the other room. Angus’s calmness started to dissipate.
“Must be Wolfe,” Mal said.
“No. I wish.” Angus pushed his chair back. “We’re saddled with a shrink for the unit, so I asked her to meet you this morning for her take on the cult and Pippa Smith. She’s also shrinking your head—never forget it.”
West stood up. “You didn’t know I’d be here this morning.”
Angus straightened his shoulders. “Yeah. I did.”
* * *
Malcolm followed Force out of the room, his thoughts jumbled. Was Force a freaking mind reader or what? No wonder the guy had been able to bring down one of the most brilliant serial killers in history. What had it cost Force to get into the Surgeon’s head?
Two men dressed in suits and a petite woman in a pencil skirt and a white blouse waited on the other side of the bull pen.
Tension rolled off Angus with a heat Mal could feel. This was interesting. He stood shoulder to shoulder with Angus, letting the three walk to them.
Angus nodded at the woman. “Dr. Nari Zhang, this is Special Agent Malcolm West.”
Mal hadn’t been sworn in yet, but he still held out a hand. “Hi.”
“Hello.” Zhang had long black hair and intelligent dark eyes. Her three-inch heels still only made her about five-foot-four. “It’s nice to meet you. Angus has been so forthcoming with your information that I’ve been ... curious.” Amusement tipped up her full lips.
Angus huffed out what could only be a suffering sigh. “The doctor is here to help, and also to report back to our handlers—these guys—if we’re fit for duty or not.”
No tension there. What had the doctor done to be relegated to the office from hell? Malcolm released her hand. “Wonderful.” He turned his attention to the two men.
Angus jerked his head at the younger guy. “Special Agent Tom Rutherford.” The derisive tone said it all.
Rutherford held out a hand. He was sleek with blond hair, wore a suit that had to cost as much as a small car, and had perfectly manicured hands. “Hello.”
Mal disliked him immediately. He shook hands, surprised by the strong grip. “Yeah. Hi.”
Angus’s voice mellowed just a little at the next introduction. “Special Agent Kurt Fields.”
Fields held out a gnarled hand. He was older, with world-wise brown eyes and a salt-and-pepper beard. “Hi.” He glanced around. “This is a shithole.” His shake was firm and quick. His ill-fitting suit showed a wiry body and his stained brown tie probably was purchased in the early eighties.
Dr. Zhang set down a large laptop bag. “Where’s my office?”
Angus stiffened. “You’ll have to choose a desk here in the middle. There isn’t another office.”
Her smile was perfectly polite. “That won’t do. I need to speak privately as the ... shrink, as you put it. I’ll require an office.”
Angus’s smile was a bit feral. He sure didn’t like shrinks, now did he? He looked around and then pointed at the one closed door on the south wall. “That’s the best I can do. We’ve been using it as a storage closet.”
Zhang’s eyes tightened a fraction, and then her smile widened. “That would be lovely. Thank you so much, Special Agent Force.” She turned to Malcolm. “For now, how about we chat in one of the conference rooms?”
Getting between these two would be a total mistake. Zhang and Force were oil and water, without question. But Malcolm nodded and gestured ahead of him, reaching down to pick up her laptop bag. It was every bit as heavy as it had looked. “After you.”
Rutherford turned to leave.
Angus cleared his throat to stop him. “When is my computer expert getting here?”
It was Fields who answered. “We’re having a little trouble with the prison transfer. Give us another day.”
Mal paused. “Our computer expert is in prison?”
“Not for long,” Rutherford said, sarcasm lacing his tone. “Why leave the criminals in prison? What’s the good in that?”
Mal didn’t have time for this crap. Force could deal with the bureaucracy. Mal turned and followed the sharp clicks of Dr. Zhang’s heels into case room two and set her laptop bag on the table. “Dr. Zhang, I’m sensing a lot of tension.”
She shut the door and then pulled out a seat. “We’re going to be working together for a while. How about you call me Nari?”
He narrowed his gaze and also drew out a chair at the head of the table. “I think I should keep your title in mind when we speak.” The last thing he wanted was to be kicked from the unit because of PTSD or any of his other issues. Once he was in, he wanted it to be his decision to leave.
She sighed. “I’m not here to judge you. I’m here to help.”
“Uh-huh,” Malcolm said, kicking out his boots. “Right.”
She rolled her eyes, looking very undoctorlike. “Really. I’m here to provide insight into individual cases, and also act as a counselor for the team. I’m trained, and I’m good at this. The only time I’ll go outside the unit is if you’re going to hurt yourself or anybody else. That’s it. I promise.”
The woman was beautiful and earnest. He couldn’t sense any falsehood in her. But she was trained by the HDD, so that might not mean much. In addition, she must’ve screwed up somewhere to be here right now. “What did you do wrong?”
She blinked. “Nothing.”
Okay. She sucked at lying. Mal shook his head. “You expect honesty but won’t give it?”
Her lips tightened. “It’s none of your business. How’s that?”
Fair enough. At least it was the truth. “All right, Nari. What do you know about my case?”
“I’m the resident expert at the moment,” she said, no arrogance in her tone.
“Have you met Pippa?” he asked.
“No.”
“I have. She’s sweet and kind.” He tilted his head. “Very.”
Nari nodded. “I understand. Tell me how the family you infiltrated felt about you. Wh
at was their name? The Bodoni family?”
Just the name was like a punch to the gut. “They liked me. Thought I was a stand-up guy.”
“Right. Because you are.” She smiled. “You were good and kind with them, but you had a reason. A higher reason for manipulating them. For getting to know them and bond with them. Doesn’t make you a bad person.”
Didn’t it? He’d taken down the biggest drug dealer in the states, and he still felt shitty about it. His gut felt its usual punch. “Makes me an asshole.”
“No. My point is, you were doing your job. Something you believed in. It didn’t change who you were inside. Not really.”
Sure it did. “So you’re saying that Pippa can actually be sweet and kind ... and still want to kill a bunch of people.”
“If she’s doing it for the right reasons, or what she’s been brainwashed to think are the right reasons, then yes. If she truly believes that Isaac Leon is God, or is from God, and that she’s doing God’s work by fire and destruction, then she could still appear sweet and be planning to kill.”
Mal shook his head.
“Isn’t that how you did it?” Nari asked quietly. “How you justified being part of the Bodoni brotherhood while also reporting back on their activities?”
“Yes.” Man, he hated that the shrink was making sense.
She took out several pictures and laid them on the conference table. “Pippa Smith came into being almost seven years ago. She was eighteen years old and suddenly had a driver’s license and a social security card.”
He picked up a picture of her license taken years ago. “The cult has connections?”
“I’m not sure.” Nari handed over several faded photos. “Our source found these in some old boxes at the cult when they were moving. I think that’s Pippa as a child.” She pointed.
Malcolm squinted at a pretty ten-year-old with blue eyes and pigtails. “Could be.” He started reading through the documents. “She cut ties with them seven years ago?”
“Yes. She seemed to have left around the age of eighteen, the same time as another member named Tulip. Then, five years ago, at least three other women did the same.” Nari pointed to a chart with dates and names but no locations.
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