“I’ll be fine. I went back to the clinic this morning for more antibiotics. Apparently, the last round only quelled the cough for a little while. These are stronger.” Trixie was quiet for a moment. “I think you’re at a crossroads. Either run or tell Malcolm the truth. You’ll go crazy otherwise.”
Crazier anyway. Pippa sighed. “I know.” Enough about her and the problems she’d created for herself. Her friend didn’t sound well. “Earlier, you said you’d been followed.”
Trixie snorted. “I see shadows in shadows. Some guy said hi to me on the street the other day, and I yelped and ran in the other direction. Seriously. I’m nuttier than a fruitcake.”
Pippa smiled. “Remember that year we made hundreds of those things and sold them in town?” She’d been twelve and hadn’t yet realized how bad things were going to get with the family. She and Trixie had spent days baking fruitcakes during the holidays.
“Yes. I was so tired of nuts, I didn’t eat any for three months.” Trixie laughed. “Those days weren’t terrible. The chores were okay, and who needs sleep at twelve?”
The terrible days came a couple of years later. Pippa sobered. “We’re survivors, Trix.”
“Hells ya,” Trixie said quietly, her voice hoarse. “I sometimes wonder about my sister.” Her older sister had been her guardian, and she’d brought Trixie to the family. “If she’s still alive. If she’s still with the family.”
Pippa tried to roll tension out of her neck. “I wonder about my mom, too. And about some of the other people.” Many had been nice to her, but they all followed Isaac. He was the law. How could so many people be so blind? She’d researched cults since leaving, so she kind of understood. But sometimes she could only shake her head and wonder why. “We have each other, Trixie.”
“You could move in with me, if you wanted,” Trixie said. “If you leave your place.”
Pippa smiled, glad for her one friend. “Ditto.” They’d lived together in Miami for a while, and it had been fun. But what bonded them also brought back horrible memories. The arrangement they had now seemed to work best for both of them.
“What are you going to do?” Trixie asked, coughing some more.
“I don’t know. But I’ll be in touch. Get some sleep.” After saying good-bye, Pippa sat in her room and listened to the rain for several long moments. Maybe Trixie was right. Was it time to trust? Even so, it wouldn’t hurt to pack her trunk, just in case. She carried the first suitcase to her car. Shoot. She needed gas. She usually got gas after seeing Trixie each month, but the shoot-out had changed her routine.
Sighing, she opened the garage door and slid into her car. Maybe she could make a decision while driving to get gas. She had almost finished packing. She turned the key, and nothing happened. She tried again.
Her car wasn’t working.
* * *
Malcolm sat in the passenger side of the van as April drove him from the fake crappy apartment to the mansion.
“You know, if you just stayed at the big house, it’d be easier,” she said, her chipper manner back. Today she wore tan pants and a low-cut, white, see-through blouse. Her breasts bounced beneath it, and she thrust out her chest several times.
Was she supposed to try to seduce him again?
The music she played the entire time had a quick beat—close to a heartbeat. Hypnotic and rhythmic. The shrink had prepared him to listen for traps like that.
April turned down the heat. “It was really cool of you to teach us self-defense yesterday. A bunch of us practiced after you left.”
He gave her a smile. “That’s fantastic. What did you practice?”
She ran him through the different exercises, and he calculated the time spent. Feigning interest, he asked her what else she’d accomplished the night before.
Her list was impressive.
It also showed she’d only had an hour or so of sleep. Another classic cult trick: keep the members too busy to think and too tired to protest. But he had her alone for a little while, so he’d be an idiot not to take advantage of it. “I appreciate the ride,” he murmured, looking out the window.
“You bet. But what about staying with us? With me?” she asked.
He watched the trees fly by. “You’re sweet, but I’ve never seen myself settling down with one woman, you know?” His fingers tapped naturally with the rhythm from the iPod.
“I totally get it.” She set her hand on his thigh. “Nobody is married in the family. The Prophet says marriage divides a family. Only being available to one person. That status is reserved only for him.”
Mal turned his head. “The Prophet is married?”
Her smile showed dimples on either side of her generous mouth. “Not yet. Soon, though.”
“Who is he marrying?” Mal asked.
