Isaac’s expression formed in lines of what most people would mistake for sympathy. “I’m sorry that happened to you. When you became a cop, did you then find family?”
Mal hated this part of any undercover Op. To get, he had to give of himself, and what he gave had to hold the ring of truth. “Not really. I worked hard but didn’t do well making connections. Then I started going undercover on different Ops, and you can’t have connections to do that right.” The closest he’d ever come to a brotherhood was right now, with Angus Force and his odd gang.
“Ah, my friend. I am so truly sorry.” Isaac swirled his drink. “What about love? Women?”
The deepest feeling he’d ever had for a woman was with Pippa, and their relationship had been based on lies. From both of them. “I’m not sure what love feels like.”
“For a woman? It’s a burning obsession that you’d do anything for her,” Isaac said.
Well, Mal would do anything for Pippa. Even if she was guilty. “Then maybe I’ve felt love.” The word seemed tame for what he was currently experiencing.
“As have I,” Isaac said.
The irony that they were most likely talking about the same woman wasn’t lost on Malcolm. “What about you? Did you have a family growing up?”
“Sort of. Basic folk with no big dreams. I knew I was meant for a large life. Serving God,” Isaac said.
Right. Delusions of grandeur. “I need a mission. An Op at all times to feel useful.” There was a little too much truth in that statement, but Mal went with it anyway. He had to get inside the organization.
“I understand.” Isaac sighed. “In fact, because you mentioned it, while I hate to ask more of you tonight, is there any way you could track down Eagle and Leroy? Maybe use some of your contacts to find out where they are? I sent a lawyer to the local police station in Minuteville after the arrest at the pharmacy, and they said our men had been taken elsewhere.”
Mal feigned a frown. Just how much did Isaac know? “By whom?”
“I don’t know,” Isaac said. “Would you help?”
Mal lifted his glass to his mouth and realized it was empty. He set it down on the table between the chairs. “Of course. After tonight, I’m all in, Prophet.”
“You sure are. Welcome to the family.” Isaac’s eyes glittered. He reached into the drawer of the table between the chairs and drew out Mal’s gun to hand over. “You should have this back. Would you please now go clean up the van you used tonight and find my missing men?”
“Yes.” Mal stood and exited the room, tucking his gun at his waist. He leaned back against the closed door, his hands shaking with the need to punch right through Isaac’s face. The man had no problem with murder. What kind of a hell had Pippa’s childhood been?
Chapter Thirty-Two
Pippa had no clue where to drive. She couldn’t just leave without knowing what had happened to Trixie, but she couldn’t stay in the area either. Either the cult or the police had Trixie or none of this made sense.
One more time. She’d try one more time. Pippa pulled over on the side of the road and then remembered she’d thrown her phone out the window. She had the burner phone, but if she used it, the person who answered would have the number. If the cops had Trixie, then they’d be able to find Pippa.
Rain slashed down, and she wanted to cry. Never had she felt so alone.
The phone rang from the go-bag.
She gasped. Her heart raced. Only Trixie had that number. Thank God. Pippa scrambled to unzip the bag and slapped the phone to her ear. “Where have you been all day? I’ve been worried sick,” she answered.
Silence ticked for a second. “That’s so kind of you to say, my beautiful one,” Isaac said, his voice deeper than she remembered.
The entire world narrowed around Pippa, and her vision blurred. “Isaac,” she whispered. Her body shuddered and her stomach seemed to disappear. Bile rose so quickly up her throat that heartburn scalded her. “How did you get this number?” She already knew the answer.
“I believe she goes by Trixie now,” Isaac said calmly. “Or at least she did until about thirty minutes ago.”
Pippa let out a low sob. “If you’ve hurt her, I’ll kill you.”
“Oh, I’ve definitely hurt her,” Isaac said. “I had no choice, and you know it.” He chuckled, and icy fingers skittered down Pippa’s spine. “I had to occupy myself with something until midnight. It had to be midnight when I called you. Exactly forty-eight hours from your birthday, my love.”
She gagged. “Put Trixie on the phone. Now.”
“You forget your place, Mary. You do not give orders.” His voice sharpened like a razor, taking her instantly back to the time when she’d been a terrified, confused child in his home. “Who does give orders?”
She closed her eyes. Nausea rippled through her. “I am not playing your game. Ever again. Now tell me what you want.”
