Mal glanced in the rearview mirror. George was still out cold, and the back of the van looked beyond creepy with all the blood. Stay on Op? How was he supposed to stay on Op when Pippa was out there by herself thinking he’d betrayed her?
Well, hadn’t he?
His stomach rolled over and bile rose in his throat. He had to find her.
His phone buzzed. “Where is she?”
“No clue,” Force said. “The GPS on her phone is disengaged. If she really knows the truth, then the phone isn’t with her any longer, Malcolm. You know that as well as I do. It’ll take time to ping where she’s been all day. Where was she the last time you talked to her?”
“She didn’t say.” Hell. She could’ve been three states over by the time they talked tonight. “But she did mention that Trixie hadn’t picked up her phone all day. Can you try to find her?” Mal asked.
“Of course. I’ll have Brigid start a grid search for both of them. All traffic cams, street cams, facial recognition everywhere. Don’t worry. We’ll find them.” Force shuffled some papers. “For now, stay on Op. There’s nothing else for you to do.”
He hated this. “Anything on the bug I planted in Isaac’s office?”
“Not yet. He had sex with somebody and it was loud, but I can’t tell you who. There wasn’t a lot of talking.” Disgust coated Force’s voice. “Wolfe got information from the two guys we have here. The attack will take place on Friday, but that’s all they know. Eagle’s guess was New York, while the other guy thought Boston. I have Brigid looking for activities and large gatherings on Friday, but there are a lot. We need more info.”
Mal breathed in, moving his chest. Focus. He had to focus, damn it. “Okay. I’ll be in touch.” He clicked off and slid his phone into his pocket.
He pulled the van over about a mile from the mansion and jumped back to shake George the hell up.
“What?” George sat up, his eyes blinking rapidly. He looked around, and his eyes widened at the blood spatter, as well as the dirt covering the shovel. Mal had dug into dirt for about two minutes to coat the stupid thing.
George gingerly touched the back of his head. “What happened?” he slurred.
“Orchid beat the crap out of you,” Mal said without sympathy. “She tased you and then jumped on you, smashing your head into the side of the van. You’ve been unconscious for about four hours.”
George turned even paler. “Did you tell Prophet?”
“Of course not. Why would I?” Mal helped the guy out of the back of the van and into the passenger seat, then slammed the door a little loudly. He crossed around and jumped into his seat, his hand on the key. “If you want, I can tell Prophet that you and I took care of Orchid together. We don’t have to let him know she knocked you out.”
George wiped his eyes. “Thank you, Brother.”
“No problem.” Mal started the ignition and pulled out onto the deserted road. “We wouldn’t want you to miss out on the fun Friday, would we?”
“You know about Friday?” George asked.
Mal nodded. Part of running a successful cult was keeping members in the dark about who knew what. “Sure. Don’t you know?”
“Just that it all happens Friday. I don’t know where or when. Or exactly what.” George kicked out his boots. “Just fire and cleansing. Do you know more than that?”
“No.” Unfortunately. It looked like his good buddy George wasn’t going to be much help.
George looked back at the carnage. “How did we kill her?”
“Ultimately, I strangled her,” Mal said easily. “She put up a fight first, as you can see. We buried her in the forest near Minuteville. Her body will probably never be found.”
George scratched his chin. “That sucks. I wanted to have her one more time.” He sounded like a petulant child.
Mal’s fingers folded into a fist. Rage caught him so sharply, he couldn’t speak for a moment.
They reached the entrance to the mansion, and Malcolm parked the van. “I’ll take care of cleanup after we report in to Isaac. My guess is you have a concussion.”
George clapped him on the arm. “You’re a good guy, Mal. Thanks.”
It was all Malcom could do to keep from crushing the guy’s larynx. His hands were shaking as he got out of the van, so he shoved them in his pockets and made his way through the front door and down to Isaac’s office.
Isaac sat at his desk, pouring over what looked like a map. He quickly covered it with his desk calendar. “How did it go?”
