Hidden (Deep Ops #1)

by Rebecca Zanetti

  Raider tossed the papers to Mal, who quickly read up.

  Force and Wolfe crossed into the room.

  “Malcolm, I’d like to have a go at Eagle first. You interrogate and I’ll observe,” Force said. “I want to see his reaction to you. To finding out you’re a cop.”

  Mal nodded. It’d be nice to know if Isaac was suspicious of him.

  Wolfe whistled and headed to the computer room. “Where’s Kat?”

  “He’s snuggling with Roscoe on a pillow I brought in. Under the desk over to the right,” Brigid said. “He snores.”

  “Does not,” Wolfe returned, disappearing into the computer room.

  Mal stood and rolled back his shoulders, mentally preparing. It had been a long time since he’d interrogated somebody in an interview room. “Let’s go.” He kept the research with him and followed Angus through the small doorway.

  A narrow hallway led to a cell at the far end. Two thick doors, the old wood kind, were set into the wall at even intervals. “Interesting,” Mal said.

  Force shrugged. “We have what we have.” He pushed open the first door and Mal followed him inside.

  A dinged-up table sat in the middle of a room with cement walls and floors. One can light had been set into the ceiling, directly above the table. Eagle sat across it, cuffed to a ring drilled into the table. His eyes widened when Malcolm walked in.

  “Answers that,” Force muttered, moving to lean against the far wall.

  Yeah. Definite surprise. Mal slid out one of the two folding chairs to sit. “Hi, Eagle.” He smiled. “Or should I say, Jackie Morose?”

  “Eagle. That’s my name.” Eagle was in his early thirties with brown hair and eyes. His build was bulky with muscle, and he was a little twitchy. “God will punish you for this.” He smiled, his teeth yellowed. “The Prophet will get you. He sees all.”

  Uh-huh. “Did he see you’d get caught tonight?” Mal asked.

  “The Prophet has a plan,” Eagle said, sniffing. “We don’t have all the facts.” His eyes were bloodshot, and he couldn’t seem to sit still.

  “What are you on, Eagle?” Malcolm asked.

  “Nothing. Just life, man.” Eagle looked around. “Where am I, anyway? This isn’t a jail.”

  Mal flipped open the file folder. “No. You’re at a dark ops site.”

  “I want a lawyer,” Eagle said, his square chin jutting out.

  “Too fucking bad,” Mal said mildly. “You don’t get one.”

  Eagle sputtered. “I have rights, man.”

  “No. You really don’t,” Force said with slight boredom in his voice, drawing attention away from Mal for a moment.

  Eagle sat back, and his shoulders tensed. “You assholes are so stupid. You have no idea what you’re doing. What is happening. What needs to happen.” Spittle flew from his mouth. He shook his head almost in slow motion. “Fire and wrath are coming ... soon. Real soon. You’re gonna find out. Oh yeah, you are.”

  “When?” Mal asked.

  Eagle shrugged.

  Force snorted. “You’re full of shit. Nothing is going to happen.”

  Eagle’s eyes flashed. “The hail of hellfire is going to descend on nonbelievers. On holy day, the one we’ve waited so long for, sinners will burn.” Absolute conviction colored his tone.

  “What holy day?” Mal asked.

  Eagle flexed his forearms. “This place looks secure. But not so much, huh?” In a shockingly quick movement, he jerked away from the table and pulled the ring right out of it. He bunched his legs and flew toward Mal, fists already punching.

  Instinct took over. Mal came partially up, took the hit, grabbed Eagle by the shoulders, and pivoted, putting him down. The angle was wrong for full control, so Eagle’s head hit the concrete before his body. He went limp.

  Mal flipped him over and felt his pulse. Strong and steady. He stepped up, his fists clenched and adrenaline cutting a swath through his body. He needed to hit something. Now.

  Force strode forward, looking down at the unconscious man. “Guess the table wasn’t sturdy enough for the ring.”

  Mal slowly turned his head. Amusement shocked him, and he snorted. “Guess not.”

  Force opened the door. “You have to go. Sounds like you’d better get into the inner circle sooner rather than later. Whatever this flash of fire is, it’s happening soon.”

  Mal stepped into the hall. “We need to find out about the holy day. What, and more importantly, when.”

  Force locked the door, and they made it down the hallway into the elevator area.

  Wolfe was waiting, slipping a Goldfish Cracker into his pocket. “Well?”

  Force nodded. “Yeah. Take a harder line with the other guy. Do what you have to do.”

  Mal rolled his shoulders. “We have to have some rules.” Even though they’d declared themselves a de facto dark site, at some point, they’d have to turn the prisoners over to the system. “Eagle wasn’t wrong. The guy has rights.”

  “Not at the moment. I’ll get him to talk. I promise.” Wolfe pulled out Kat and handed him to Angus. The kitten was now a fluffy pure white with big blue eyes. Apparently, he’d had a bath. He meowed in protest. “Take my cat.” Then Wolfe disappeared through the small doorway, ducking to keep from banging his head against the doorframe.

  Mal looked at the cat and then Force, unease in his gut. “We can’t just let him loose on somebody in our custody.”

  Force gingerly took the cat toward the bull pen. “Tell that to the people about to meet hellfire somewhere. Go to work, West. Get your head in the game.”

  Mal eyed the closed door. One thing at a time. “I’ll report in.”

  “You want an earbud?” Force called back.

  “No.” There was a good chance they’d search him if they didn’t just shoot him in the head on sight. “I’ll be in touch when I can.” He was already becoming somebody else when he stepped into the elevator.

  Again.

  * * *

  Pippa was halfway to Trixie’s when her phone buzzed. Her real phone. The burner was still in the pretty beach bag she’d bought somewhere in Florida last time she’d been on the move. She looked down, and her body jolted. Malcolm.

  There was no reason not to answer him. She should be home working and staying under the radar. If she didn’t answer, he’d wonder why.

  “Hello,” she said, trying to keep her voice light. Being out in the world gave her a stomachache, so it was more difficult than she’d hoped.

  “Hi, beautiful,” he said, his voice warm. “I wanted to check on you.” A horn blared in the background. Oh no. Was he headed home for a late lunch or something?

  She tried to give a small chuckle. “Good afternoon. I missed you.” God, she was terrible at this. Her head started to hurt. “Are you headed my way? I’d be happy to make you an afternoon snack.”

  “No, I’m on the job.”

  Her fingers slowly loosened their painful hold on the steering wheel. Her lungs filled again. Good. “That’s too bad. Maybe dinner tonight?”

  “Maybe. It might be a really late night.” He paused for a moment. “Where are you? I hear background noise.”

  “The television is on,” she said lightly. He couldn’t know she’d fixed the car and was on the move. That she’d found out what he’d done. “Nothing interesting.”

  “Oh.” He was quiet for several beats. “Last night got a little intense. Are you sure you’re fine?”

  She bit her lip and tasted blood. “I enjoyed last night and you know it.” When all else failed, stick with the truth. “Fun isn’t quite the right word to use, but it’s all I can think of.” The lying, cheating, car-sabotaging bastard. Maybe she and Liliana the mechanic should form a club or something. Women who chose men badly. “Don’t worry about me, Malcolm.”

  “I’ll always worry about you, sweetheart.” His voice had that rich, dark tone that would’ve made her melt the day before. “We really do need a chance to talk.”

  “Right.” She was so
tempted to blurt out the truth, it hurt. But if he was undercover and investigating her, he’d have resources to find her. A lot of them. Oh, she’d call him when she was free, and she’d give him hell. But not now. Two could play at his little farce. Maybe she could even beat the big, bad, famous undercover cop at his own game. The righteous anger felt kind of comforting. “I would love to sit down and talk with you.”

  “It’s a date.” His voice lightened. “Hopefully tomorrow.”

  It did beg the question, though. If she was his case, or if her ties to the family were his case, where was he going? “Can you tell me anything about the case you’re on?” she asked.

  “No,” he said flatly. “I’m on two cases right now, really. I can’t talk about either one, though. Maybe someday.”

  Two cases. Did that mean two lovers? Was he working some other woman for information or whatever with that spectacular body of his? Anger roared through her, and it took a second to recognize the raw feeling of jealousy in there. Now, that was screwed up. Even though he couldn’t see her, she let her eyelids flutter. “You’re so brave, Malcolm.” God. She almost gagged.

  “No, I’m not. Just getting the job done so I can get home to you,” he said quietly.

  Good line. Definitely a good line. “It seems like you’re awfully good at your job.” Did bitterness creep in there? Damn it. “Just be careful. I’d hate to see anything happen to you.”

  “I know what I’m doing, Pippa. Don’t worry.”

  Yeah. That’s what she was afraid of. He’d really convinced her he cared about her. The guy probably had a wife somewhere. Maybe kids. The idea hurt deep in her chest. A part of her, one she didn’t like at all, wanted to just confront him and get the truth. She wanted him to have feelings for her.

  It was time to buck up. At the very least, he’d lied to her. He knew who she was and where she came from. Maybe she could mess with him a little. “It’s nice to have you in my life. I miss having a family.”

  He didn’t answer for a minute. Thinking that over, was he? “I’m sure you do. You’ve never told me much except that your folks have passed on. Tell me more about you.”

  That really wasn’t a good idea. “I’d rather learn about you. All you’ve mentioned is your grandpa. Are you sure you don’t have a wife and kids stashed somewhere?” Damn. Why had she said that?

  He chuckled, hopefully taking it as a joke. “I think I would’ve remembered that fact. No. I’m all yours, Pippa.”

  All of a sudden, she didn’t like him using her name. This name she’d created just for herself from a nickname her father had given her. The truest name she’d ever felt. The lying dickhead on the other end of the line didn’t get to use it. “My cookies are burning, Mal. I should go.”

  “Me too. Work calls. I’ll, ah, catch up with you later.” His voice held a warmth she wanted to sink right in to—after she punched him in the face.

  “I can’t wait. Good-bye.” She clicked off, finally reaching Trixie’s apartment. The woman hadn’t been answering all day, and even if she’d been at work, she would’ve gotten a message at some point.

  Trixie lived on the ground floor of a weathered apartment building that had twelve units. Even though the place could use a can of paint, the grounds were lovingly tended with early spring flowers.

  Pippa parked at the curb and looked around the quiet residential area. Trees swayed in the chilly wind, and the air hinted at oncoming rain. Nobody was around. Even so, she felt exposed being out in the world. Facing her fears sucked.

  Her hair blew against her face and she pushed it back while walking up the sidewalk and turning at Trixie’s door.

  It was slightly ajar.

  Everything in Pippa stopped short. Heart, breath, thoughts.

  Trixie would never leave her door open.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Malcolm barely made it to his fake apartment in time for April to pick him up in the same van she’d used the day before. He’d grabbed warm food and drink earlier just to keep himself going and felt a little better by the time she arrived. She was chipper again today, extolling the virtues of the family. She’d also handed him a lemonade the second he’d gotten into the van.

  He set it aside, needing to stay clearheaded as long as possible. He couldn’t risk being drugged so early. The fact that he’d had about an hour of sleep in days wasn’t helping either.

  He pumped her for information during the drive, but she either didn’t know anything was amiss or she was a much better actress than he’d given her credit for. They reached the family mansion in no time, and he settled into his character.

  His bloodshot eyes and raging headache from lack of sleep worked in his favor.

  Tension blanketed the interior of the mansion as the members scurried around, cleaning frantically. “What’s going on?” Mal asked.

  Tree hurried in from outside. “Malcolm. The Prophet would like to see you immediately.”

  “Huh.” Mal kept his expression mildly curious. “Okeydoke.” He patted April on the arm. “Will I see you for lunch later?”

  Happiness flushed her young face. “Definitely.” Then she frowned, looking around. “What do you think is going on?”

  “Dunno.” Mal turned and made his way unescorted to the end of the hall, where he knocked and waited for Isaac to invite him in. The second he’d cleared the doorway, a gun cocked and a barrel was pressed to his temple. “I’m thinking you’re not happy to see me,” he murmured.

  Isaac sat behind his desk, while George held the gun to Mal’s head. He shut the door. “Ever seen brains splatter on a wall?” George asked.

  “Yes. Have you?” Mal kept his gaze on Isaac, who watched impassively.

  “Not yet, but I’m looking forward to it,” George said grimly.

  Enough of that shit. Malcolm dropped, punched George in the knee, and grabbed the gun as George fell. “It’s a very ugly sight.” He slipped the Glock into the front of his waistband for easy access and faced Isaac, tilting his head. “Want to tell me what the hell is going on?”

  Isaac studied him, his eyes a darker amber than usual. “I don’t believe in coincidences.”

  “Neither do I.” Mal could barely see a silver gun held casually in Isaac’s lap. He really didn’t want to get shot again.

  Both men ignored a groaning George, who had to use the wall to pull himself upright.

  “Do you understand that ends very often justify means?” Isaac steepled his fingers together.

  Mal scoffed. “You’ve probably seen my record. Of course I do. Always have.”

  Isaac nodded. “Can I trust you?”

  Mal lifted an eyebrow. “As much as you can trust anybody, buddy.” He kept an eye on George via his peripheral vision. “Listen. I don’t need this crap. April is cute, and the meditation kind of helped with the headaches, if not the migraines, but seriously.”

  “Do you want to belong?” Isaac asked. “Do you want to protect abused women like Mrs. Thomson and scared kids like her son?”

  “Of course.” Mal leaned back against the door. “You know what I don’t want? I don’t want to walk into a room and have a gun pointed at my head.”

  A light flared in Isaac’s eyes. “We need funds to keep this place safe for our family. Sometimes, we’ve robbed dens of inequity to make money and obtain necessary medication for some of our ill members.”

  Dens of inequity? Had the jerk really just used that term? Mal tried to nod.

  Isaac continued. “For decades, we’ve taken from pharmacies. They’re insured, and nobody has been hurt. We’ve had a couple of missteps, but last night, two of my best were captured. The police were waiting. Do you have an explanation for that?”

  Mal lifted an eyebrow. “Were your guys any good?”

  “The best.” Isaac set his hand on the hilt of his gun but didn’t lift it. “Don’t you think that’s a coincidence, considering you’re an ex-cop and have just joined the family?”

  Mal hadn’t exactly joined the famil
y. He frowned. “All right. I don’t believe in coincidences. But the only person I’ve really hung out with is April. Are you telling me she’s some sort of secret superspy who gave me information?”

  Isaac leaned back. “No. Definitely not. Do you have an alternative explanation?”

  Yeah. There was a bug two feet away from Mal. He had to get to it. “Well, approaching the issue like a detective, I’d ask if any of your members have acted funny lately. Used the phone without being authorized? Taken off by themselves when in town? Needed alone time to maybe talk to the cops?”

  Isaac frowned. “George?”

  George shuffled his feet. “Well, Beth has been on the phone a lot lately. And Orchid has disappeared several times while we’ve done outreach in the last few months. We’ve kind of joked about it. Like, ‘where’s Orchid off to now?’”

  Isaac’s nostrils flared. “Beth has been talking to her sister in Toledo, asking for funding. I okayed it. Get Orchid for me, please.”

  Malcolm moved so George could open the door. Fuck. The last thing he needed was Orchid losing it and giving him up. “What’s your plan?”

  “To get the truth,” Isaac said shortly.

  George returned with Orchid in record time. The woman’s eyes were huge, and she shook visibly. She looked at Isaac, glanced at Mal, and then halted.

  George shoved her into a seat.

  Mal tensed. If he intervened, he’d blow his cover and lose any chance of finding out if and when the attack was going to happen.

  Isaac stood and walked around the desk, gun in hand. He crouched by Orchid’s chair. “You know the family means everything to me, right? That God has charged me with the protection and love of these people?”

  Orchid slowly nodded. Her hair was in long braids down her back, and they seemed to jump to panicked attention.

  “It has come to my attention that a member of my family, someone I love and trust, has betrayed me. Betrayed these wonderful souls who are just trying to do my work. To do God’s work. What do you think I should do about that?” Isaac crooned, his gaze intense as he stared her in the eyes.