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.
