“Perfect,” George said, his voice a little too high. “We took care of your problem.”
Isaac studied George and then Malcolm. “Which one of you did?”
“We both did,” George said, his smile not quite working right.
Mal stayed silent.
“I see.” Isaac nodded. “It’s almost midnight. Get some sleep, George. Malcolm, I’d like to speak with you.”
George’s sigh sounded relieved as he hustled out of the room.
Isaac gestured toward the chairs near the fireplace. “Sit with me.” He walked gracefully to the bar and poured two generous glasses of Scotch before returning and handing one over. “Tell me. Does George have what it takes?”
Mal took the glass and sipped, almost humming in pleasure. “Yeah. George has no problem killing.”
“Did he kill Orchid?” Isaac sat and took a drink.
“No. I did,” Mal said, swirling the liquid in his glass. “Made a bit of a mess but will clean it up.” He glanced around and then stood as if uncomfortable. “It’s not who I want to be,” he murmured.
“We’re who we need to be,” Isaac countered.
Mal moved toward the mantel, his eye caught by a picture of Pippa. He hadn’t gotten close enough to see the pictures yet. She must’ve been around twelve years old. She looked innocent and young, and his heart hurt for her. “Your daughter?” Mal asked.
Isaac scoffed. “No. My bride. That was her as a child. She’s an adult now.”
“Oh.” Mal turned and looked him over, then retook his seat, his instincts humming. “I hadn’t realized you were married.”
“Sometimes the right woman captures your heart,” Isaac said, lifting his glass. “To the right woman.”
Mal lifted his glass, every primal instinct he had pushing him to snap this guy’s neck. Now. “To your bride.”
They both drank, and Isaac refilled their glasses.
“If you don’t mind my asking, where is your wife? I haven’t seen her,” Mal said, the liquid starting to warm his stomach.
“She’s not here right now,” Isaac murmured. “But she’s with me at heart. The woman is doing very important work. It matters, and so does she.”
That was such a nonanswer. But it did sound like Pippa was in touch with Isaac, though the guy was a born liar. Mal mulled over the situation. He didn’t want to give himself away, but he had to get more details about the attack coming on Friday. “It must be nice to be married.” He looked around. “I feel like this place may be a little complacent for me.”
“You just buried a body about two hours ago. How is that complacent?” Isaac asked.
Mal shrugged. “She was a threat to you. Threats go down.” He took another drink of the potent brew. “But what do you stand for? Just peace and love and sex?” He rolled his shoulders.
“No. We’re a guide for the rest of the world. And we’re also God’s wrath if necessary,” Isaac said.
There it was. All right. “What does that mean?” Mal asked, trying for boredom.
“All in good time, my brother.” Isaac sat back, his linen pants stretching over long legs.
There wasn’t enough fucking time, damn it. Mal winced. “I’m not good at being in the dark, Prophet. Never have been.” He scraped at dirt he’d put beneath his fingertips while pretending to dig a grave. “There’s a tension in the air, in the people scurrying around, that I don’t like. Something’s up with your family, and it’s not working for me.”
Isaac nodded. “You are very astute, my friend. This is your family, too. Family comes with trust, no?”
Mal barked out a laugh. “No. Not in my experience. Definitely . . . no.”
Isaac’s eyes gleamed. “Trust goes both ways. Yet what you just said, I don’t understand. Did you not have the gift of a family like this growing up?”
Mal’s smile felt painful. “No. My folks died in a car crash when I was young, and I went to live with my grandfather, who was a steel worker in Detroit. The guy drank a lot.” Mal rubbed the scar over his right eye. “A bottle to the head can knock a kid out for more than a day. Not many people know that fact.” He tipped his head and finished his glass, the memories burning through him.
