“The Family,” Mal murmured, reading the time line below the pictures. “They moved from Dallas to Atlanta to Milwaukee to Boise and then outside of Boston. Now they’re in West Virginia. Finding more members, I guess.”
“Yes,” Nari murmured. “The original cult was based on a sense of family and community. A place to get clean, be yourself, and live a simple life.” She drummed pink nails on the table. “As well as worship him. We’ve interviewed a couple of members who’ve left. Apparently, sex with the good Prophet is a way to heaven.”
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.”
