Hidden (Deep Ops #1)

by Rebecca Zanetti

  Malcolm’s chest ached.

  Force nodded. “I’d profile him as narcissistic and probably sociopathic.”

  “So what’s changed?” Malcolm asked, trying not to think of Pippa with this guy. If she’d left the cult years ago, she would’ve been eighteen to Isaac’s thirty-five. Old enough for consent.

  “He’s nuts. Started believing his own hype, is my guess,” Nari said quietly. “Persecution complex, and then digging into the Bible and misinterpreting it. Getting carried away with fire and brimstone, I think.”

  “Plus—” Force clicked the button and pictures started accumulating across the screen. “It’s important to note that we believe any attack will have women sacrificing themselves. As far as we know right now, good ol’ Isaac doesn’t intend to self-harm.”

  What a dick. Malcolm wiped a hand across his eyes. “All right. How does the cult work?”

  “Cults create a sense of community. If you’re thinking thoughts adverse to the leader or the cult, you’re being disloyal. It’s a grave sin,” Nari said.

  “We’re looking at peer pressure to a crazy degree,” Force agreed. “The individual has no meaning.”

  Sounded like hell. Mal sighed. “Give me my cover.”

  Force slid a manila file across the battered conference table. “Meet Malcolm West. He has PTSD, alcohol issues, anger issues, and battles self-hatred.”

  Mal opened the file folder to see his face, battered and bruised, right after he’d been admitted to the hospital with bullet holes in his body. “The self-hatred is a little harsh.” Speaking of which, he’d love a shot of Jack Daniel’s right then.

  “You’re suffering and you’re looking for enlightenment. Something to believe in,” Force said quietly, his jaw tightening.

  “What?” Mal asked, his chest heating. “You look concerned. I’m a master at undercover work.” The last was said with enough self-derision that he had to double-check his thinking on the self-hatred. Yeah. He was okay.

  Force clicked another button. “I know you are, but have you ever gone under and back repeatedly? You have to be you in the cult and then be you with Pippa. And they’re each slightly different yous.”

  The fact that Force’s sentence made sense might be a sign that things were getting seriously messed up. “No problem,” Mal said. “It’s all me, right? Anyway, it’s the same Op. I’ll have to pump Pippa for information.” He tried to keep his voice nonchalant, but by the narrowing of Force’s eyes, he’d failed.

  “It’s okay to want to save the girl,” Force murmured. “I promise we’ll do our best for her when this is done. You have my word.”

  “I wasn’t asking,” Mal returned.

  “Yes, you were,” Force said, looking at the screen again. “These are copies of pictures from cult archives our CI has gotten out to us. The earliest one we have of Pippa shows her around nine or ten. This one is Pippa at seventeen—about a year before she left. The woman on her right is allegedly her mother.”

  Pippa stared right at the camera, her gaze serious, her face calm and unanimated. The woman next to her had blond hair and similar blue eyes. But she looked deliriously happy.

  Mal swallowed. “Was Pippa abused?”

  “Don’t know,” Force said. “From what I understand, it’s possible. But I really don’t know.”

  Mal exhaled slowly. He’d taken her like a wild animal the previous night. Then he’d left her sleeping quietly in his bed while he’d sabotaged her car and come in to figure out how to dig into her past and maybe ruin her future. “I’m such an asshole.”

  “It’s a job,” Wolfe said, feeding his cat. “You have to remember that this is just a job.”

  Force arched both eyebrows. “He’s right. Tell me now if you want out.”

  If he got out, who would protect Pippa? Even if she was brainwashed, which he didn’t believe, he wanted to save her. The go-bag was a concern, as was the fact that her name wasn’t really her name. “I’m good,” Mal said. “Give me what you have on Pippa after she left the cult.”

  Force clicked more buttons, and three licenses with Pippa’s picture and different names came up—the ones Wolfe had found in the go-bag. “These are good. Phenomenally good,” he said. “We know the cult has money, and a lot of it. Members give everything they have, and from what we’ve traced, they invest well also. If the cult didn’t acquire the identities for her, I don’t understand where she’d get the money to buy such high-end aliases. Her bank accounts don’t reflect much accumulation.”

  Mal rubbed his aching thigh. “Can you trace her movements after the cult?”

  More buttons and more pictures. “She headed for Seattle first and then to Miami,” Force said. Pictures of her from different security cameras showed up. “Then she disappeared five years ago and started using the Pippa identity. Holed herself up in Cottage Grove and hasn’t looked back.”

  Mal nodded, studying the IDs. “Pippa, Patty, and Polly. What were the names she used in Washington and Florida?”

  “Paige and Pamela,” Nari said. “It could be a smart move, just so she remembers to turn around if somebody new says her name.”

  Force frowned. “I don’t think so.”

  “Me either actually,” Nari murmured. “You say her name is Mary?”

  “That’s only what our CI said. That her name was Mary in the cult,” Force said.

  Mal leaned forward. “Do we have a birth certificate?”

  “No,” Force said. “Can’t find it.”

  “Her name, her real name, started with a P,” Mal said, knowing it deep down. “Before they joined the cult. She’s not letting go of that.” Maybe there was hope for her. “I could just ask her.”

  Nari turned suddenly toward him. “I don’t think we’re there yet. If you ask her, she’s no longer a source. What if you get into the cult and need information from her?”

  “Agreed,” Force said. “You don’t broach the truth until after you’re under. She fits the profile, Mal. She has fake identities there’s no way she could buy, and she has contacts in construction. We have pictures of her at the cult.”

  “She uses a false name and only goes places where cameras can’t catch her,” Wolfe said. “I watched her after the shoot-out. She purposely put herself and her friend in a position the news cameras couldn’t see. And when she finally moved, she kept the blanket on as well as the hat—and the dyed hair was a nice touch.”

  Force clicked off the screen and turned on the lights before the cat could complain. “If you want, I could meet with her. Profile her for you.”

  Mal studied the unit leader. It was time to trust or not. “Okay. I’ll arrange something. Maybe a dinner?”

  The click of heels kind of scraped the cement outside the door. Mal and Wolfe instantly sat at attention. The elevator hadn’t dinged, and everyone in the basement right now sat inside case room two.

  “Oh, man,” Force said, his chin dropping to his chest. “Did you leave your door open, Nari?”

  The shrink looked over, blinking. “Well, yes. Why?”

  Roscoe clopped into the room, his front paws in her high heels. His tongue lolled out and he doggy grinned.

  Wolfe’s jaw dropped open.

  Malcolm looked, shook his head, and looked again. “The German shepherd is wearing high heels.”

  Nari angled her neck. “He’s a cross-dresser?”

  “No,” Angus said. “He has a complex because of another, bigger dog. I’ve told him he’s really big, and he is, but any chance he gets to use heels or boots, the bastard puts them on his front legs.”

  The dog overturned a shoe, and it scraped against the concrete.

  Nari winced. “Dude. Those are Jimmy Choos.”

  The dog flipped the pump over and slid his left paw back into it. His tail wagged enthusiastically.

  Mal glanced sideways at Angus. He wasn’t sure whether to be amused or bemused. “You said he had a few quirks. Any chance you’ll hit us with the rest of them right now?”

&
nbsp; “No,” Force said shortly. “Hopefully, we’ll have worked the other ones out before they become an issue. This one, this one is okay.” He winced. “Except he gets bored with the shoes and eventually chews them up.”

  Nari’s gasp only made Roscoe’s tail wag harder and faster.

  Wolfe shot Force a look. “And you said I couldn’t have a cat.”

  Malcolm looked around the room. “Just so we have this straight. I’m going undercover in a cult that might be planning to use explosives to harm a lot of people in the name of the Bible.” He tried to quiet the rioting in his head. “I’ve slept with the mark, who we all know I want to save. The new shrink wants to get into my head, and I don’t want that.”

  “I really do want inside your head,” Nari said, her eyes lighting up.

  Mal ignored her and looked at Wolfe. “You’re a little nuts and now have a kitten in your pocket.”

  Wolfe nodded.

  “And you, our leader.” Mal focused on Angus. “Not only are you obsessed with a serial killer case that might just exist in your mind and splits your focus, but you have a high-heel-loving dog that’s also an alcoholic.”

  “What’s your point?” Force asked, his dark eyebrows slashing down.

  His point? What the hell was his point? He scrubbed both hands down his whiskered jaw. “I’m not going to ask what could go wrong. You know why? I just want to know what’s going to go right.”

  “Probably not much,” Wolfe said cheerfully. Then he fed another Goldfish Cracker to his kitten while the dog clip-clopped around the room and scratched up something called Jimmy Choos.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Pippa rolled over in the big bed, the scent of Malcolm West all over her. She blinked. The house was quiet—peacefully so. A note by the bed caught her eye, and she lifted it.

  Hey, Beautiful,

  I had to go in to work for a little while to deal with the shooting yesterday. Again, I’m sorry I brought my past to your door and almost got you shot. Last night was amazing. I’ll bring you a treat from town.

  Yours,

  M

  Oddly enough, she’d never received a love note before. Of course, she hadn’t spent much time dating either. She stretched again and winced as all sorts of aches and pains flared to life in all sorts of interesting places. Last night had been amazing. Not mellow either.

  She hadn’t realized she could feel like that. Wild and free. Totally taken.

  Her eyelids fluttered, and she snuggled down in surprisingly soft sheets. Malcolm West. Would he still like her if he knew the truth? Sometimes her doubts threatened to drown her. But she had to believe in herself. If she didn’t, who would?

  Rain pattered quietly against the window, and she let herself fall back to sleep.

  The dream was a comfortable one compared to some of the others. They were regular, whether or not she took a sleeping pill.

  * * *

  She was nine years old again—almost ten. “But I don’t want to leave my friends,” she’d protested to her mother as they walked into the entryway of the big house outside town. People in light-colored clothing smiled and nodded as they moved around, all working on something. Dusting, vacuuming, carrying food.

  Her mama held her hand and looked down, a new smile on her face. It had been hard the last four years, after her daddy died. He’d been a hero. A real one in the army. But then Mama had gone to work, a lot of work, and she always had tired lines around her eyes.

  The lines were gone today.

  “You’ll like it here, sweetheart,” her mama said. “I promise. I found us a new family.”

  She didn’t want a new family.

  “Come. You have to meet him.” Her mama pulled her past wicker furniture and down a long hallway. Some people sat along the way, their eyes closed, their legs crossed. It was weird, and she had to be careful not to step on them.

  They reached a room at the end, and her mama knocked.

  “Enter.” It was a man’s voice, but it sounded funny.

  Her mama moved inside, her step almost a hop. “Prophet. I’d like you to meet my daughter.”

  The man looked a little bit like a movie star. He wore white pants and a tank top, and his hair curled to his shoulders. His eyes were a light brown, almost gold, and they looked her up and down. His expression went from a small smile to total concentration. “Hello, Mary.”

  She looked up at her mama. “My name isn’t Mary.”

  Her mom tightened her hold, and it hurt a little bit. “We all get new names here. It’s a new start, sweetheart.”

  A new name? She liked her old name. “Daddy gave me my name.” She didn’t remember him much except that he was a hero and he loved her. A lot.

  The Prophet guy walked around his big desk and reached her, crouching down so they were at eye level. He smelled funny. Like he had rubbed fruity lotion on his arms. “Your father was a great man in history, and he was a friend of mine. You can be grateful you came from him. We are grateful for every blessing in our lives.”

  “You knew my daddy?” she blurted out.

  His smile showed very white teeth. “Yes. We graduated high school together, along with your mother. All of us.”

  “We were close friends.” Her mother made a small sound of approval. A twittering of sorts. “But we lost touch somehow.”

  Now her mama sounded sad again.

  The guy looked up at her mama and smiled. “Often things come full circle, Angel.”

  Angel? Her mama’s new name was Angel? Was this really happening? “Why can’t I keep my old name?” Her voice trembled a little this time.

  The man ran a hand down her hair, and she barely kept from stepping back. But Mama wouldn’t like that. Somehow, she knew it. “Because you’re special. When your mother contacted me, and I saw pictures of you, I knew. I just knew you were the special one. Those blue eyes and brown hair were made for a godly woman. I’ve been looking for you for a long time. Mary is a special name,” he said.

  So was Jennifer. She liked being called Jennifer. Of course, her dad had called her Pipsqueak. She remembered his voice, and she had a video of him talking to her at the beach. But she wasn’t going to tell the Prophet guy that. “Why is Mary special?” she asked, when he kept looking at her. Was she supposed to say something?

  He leaned in. “Because it can be a pure name or a whore’s name. A saint or a sinner. Which do you want to be?”

  She blinked. “What’s a whore?”

  “Ah. I can see we need to study our Bible.” His smile got wider, and he looked at her in a way that made her stomach feel funny. “For now, we have to make sure others know you’re the special one. You may call me Isaac.”

  Her mother gasped. “Oh, Mary. What an honor.”

  She slowly nodded. All right. To make her mama happy, she’d let them call her Mary. But in her head, in her heart, she’d be Pipsqueak. That would make it okay. Maybe they wouldn’t stay at this place very long.

  Isaac stood up and moved to the side, in front of Mama. “It is a great honor to have you here among An Teaghlaigh, my sweet Angel.” He cupped her face and leaned in until their foreheads touched.

  This was weird. Super weird.

  Her mother let go of her hand. “I’m so glad I found you again.” Her eyes closed, and she swayed. “It is my honor to serve you. To serve the family. Always.”

  Isaac reached behind himself and took a bell off the desk. He rang it, and the sound was tinkly.

  A woman instantly opened the door. She was older, maybe about eighteen, with curly brown hair and even darker eyes. “How may I serve?” she asked, her eyes remaining down.

  “Juliet. Wonderful. Please take little Mary to the other children. I think they’re studying the Bible,” Isaac said. “Angel and I require a cleansing.”

  Juliet nodded and reached out a hand. “Mary. Come with me.”

  Jennifer, or Mary, looked up at her mama. But Mama was looking at Isaac with her eyes shining and her mouth partly open. “Mama?
”

  “Go, sweetheart,” Mama said. “My duty is here.”

  Another weird feeling lumped in Mary’s tummy, and her ears burned. She took the Juliet lady’s hand and followed her out of the room. At the last second, she looked back to see Isaac kissing Mama, his hand on her bum.

  His eyes opened, and he looked right at her. Then he squeezed Mama closer to him.

  Mary turned around and tried not to run. Where would she go?

  * * *

  Years later, she awoke in the big bed, letting Malcolm’s scent soothe her. Through the years, as she grew up, she’d slowly begun to know her destiny. Or rather, what Isaac believed to be her destiny. She was supposed to have been his special bride when she turned eighteen, but in one night, one moment really, she’d tossed that fate away. What she’d done to survive, she could never take back.

  To answer Isaac’s first question of her, she’d definitely chosen the path of a sinner and not a saint.

  It was too late to change that now.

  * * *

  Mal settled in the passenger side of the truck with Force driving while the dog snored contentedly in the backseat as they drove toward rural West Virginia.

  “The dive apartment we rented for you is only a couple of blocks from the bar,” Force said, his hands relaxed on the steering wheel. “It’ll be an easy trace for the cult if they decide to try to recruit you. Our intel says they will. They’re seeking anybody with law enforcement or military experience.”

  Yet another reason it looked like things were heating up. “How long have I been renting the dive?”

  “Two months,” Force said.

  Mal stiffened. “Seriously? Two months ago you knew I’d take on this assignment?”

  “I profiled you and figured if you made it out of the hospital, you’d need to do something that mattered. This does.” Force glanced in his rearview mirror and switched lanes on the interstate. “The apartment is on the bottom floor—basement, really—with its own access from the alley. Nobody will have expected to see you come and go.”