“Oh, you are.” He gently turned her toward Raider. “Go with my friend. He’ll get you a safe place to stay and some help.”
“What about you?” she asked, her lip trembling.
He looked at the deathly silent man on the bottom of the van floor. “I have to pretend to bury a body, and hopefully, wake this guy up. Then, back to the mansion.”
God, he hated that place.
* * *
Pippa slowly drove around Trixie’s neighborhood, looking for anything or anybody who seemed out of place. Her head hurt as bad as her heart. Mal had betrayed her, but Trixie never would. Bone-deep fear made Pippa’s hands shake.
After scouting the area for a couple of hours, she settled down in her car where she could see the entrance to Trixie’s apartment, clearly lit by overhead lights. What else could she do? She’d called repeatedly, and there had been no answer.
Rain started to patter on her windshield. Good. Maybe it would fog up a little bit. Her phone rang, and she jumped. “Hello?”
“Hi,” Malcolm said.
Her chest compressed. Why couldn’t it have been Trixie? “Um, hi.” Crap. Was he at his house, wondering where she was?
“I’m sorry I didn’t make it home for dinner,” he said, as if it were expected that they’d eat together. He sounded slightly out of breath. “This case is taking longer than I’d hoped.”
“Which one? You said there were two,” she reminded him, settling her head back against the seat.
He was quiet for a moment. “Both of them, actually.”
“I imagine that’s a hazard in your line of work.” Her body felt as if she was trying to swim in Jell-O without oxygen. Was it possible Malcolm had Trixie? He’d met her at the shooting the other day, and surely he’d gotten her address.
Much as she hated to admit it, she’d prefer for Mal to have Trixie than Isaac. “Have you made any progress on either case?” she asked.
“Not nearly enough,” he said grimly, sounding as if he was telling the truth. “But hearing your voice helps. I want you to know that I’m glad we met. The closest thing to peace I’ve felt in a long time has been with you.”
Tears pricked her eyes. God, he was good. If only he were telling the truth. How much more would those words have meant to her yesterday? “You made me believe,” she murmured.
“In what?” His voice deepened.
“That I could maybe have a normal life.” It was wrong, of course. She’d never have a normal life. “With you, I thought that I could have a chance.”
Rain could be heard over his phone, as well as windshield wipers. “Baby, you sound sad.”
That tone shot right through her, spreading warmth. How screwed up was that? “I am. I’ve been calling my friend Trixie all day, and she hasn’t answered. That’s not like her.”
Mal was quiet for a moment. “How not like her?”
“Not at all. Do you think maybe the feds wanted to talk to her about the shooting again?” Pippa gave him the perfect out. If he jumped on it, then he probably actually did know where Trixie was.
“No. There’s no reason they’d talk to her without contacting me first,” he said.
God. What did that mean? Was he so good undercover that he could second-guess what she was thinking? Or did that mean that he really didn’t have Trixie? If she had run, she would’ve taken her go-bag. So that only left Isaac. Even so, Pippa couldn’t help hoping Trixie had gone off for a weekend with a hot guy and forgotten to charge her phone.
Right. Just yeah . . . right.
Mal cleared his throat. “Pippa? What’s going on?”
It was the soft tone that broke her. “I can’t do it,” she burst out. “I can’t play this idiot game with you. I’m not good at it. It’s over. We’re done.”
Silence ticked for two beats. “What are you talking about? I’m not playing games. This is real.” He sounded pained.
“You dickhead,” she spat, anger and hurt all but spewing out of her. “I know this isn’t real.”
