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  She glanced at the clock on her side of the bed. “It’s after midnight.”

  “Yeah.” He slid away from her to stand, taking all his heat with him. He flicked on the lamp. “I’m not sure if I’ll make it back tonight.” Ducking, he grabbed his jeans off the floor.

  She sat up, holding the sheet to her chest. What kind of midnight emergency could a guy in requisitions have? This was a man accustomed to going undercover. Was he undercover right now? What was going on?

  He’d gone on full alert, his movements economical and sure. When he tucked his gun in the back of his waist, it looked like he’d done so a million times before. His jaw was firm, his focus already somewhere else.

  There had been a gun on the table? She hadn’t even noticed. “You need a weapon to fill out forms? What exactly are you working on?”

  He didn’t pause in drawing his shirt down over his flat stomach. “I’ll always have a weapon.”

  That didn’t really answer her question. “Malcolm? I really don’t understand.” Vulnerability swept her, and she drew up her knees.

  He leaned over and pressed a hard kiss to her mouth. “We’ll talk later. I have to go, sweetheart.” Grabbing his boots, he headed out of the room, and soon the front door closed behind him.

  She stared into the darkness. Something really wasn’t right, and it wasn’t just her brain misfiring. Her emotions were as well. Hurt. Pain burrowed deep, with a warning she’d learned the hard way to heed.

  It was time to run.

  Chapter Twenty

  Malcolm shook out his wet hair as he nearly ran over Roscoe shoving his way onto the elevator next to Force. He had a Glock at his waist today, since the cult had kept his other gun. He pressed the Down button. “Why am I here?”

  Force wiped his left eye. “From an anonymous tip, local authorities found the bodies of a man and a woman in a forested area outside Boston a week ago. One stabbed to death, one strangled. News just came through. The deaths have been dated to around the time the cult worked the area.”

  Anonymous tip? That was odd. “Were the victims listed as missing?” Mal asked.

  Force nodded. “Yes, and we’re trying to find a connection between either of them and the cult. So far, no luck.” The elevator descended.

  Who would’ve called? A former cult member? Or the cult itself? This wasn’t making sense. Mal rubbed his aching temples as the elevator landed with a bounce and opened its doors.

  Dr. Zhang was waiting, sitting on a desk in yoga pants, a tank top, and a pink sweatshirt. Her dark hair was piled high on her head, and her smooth face looked pissed. Oh.

  The dog barked once and bounded to her. Her expression softened just a little, and she leaned down to pet Roscoe’s head. The dog made happy snuffling noises and sat, his tail wagging on the concrete. Then she reared back up as Force exited the elevator behind Mal. “Why are we here at this odd hour?”

  “Sorry it’s not the nine to five you’re used to. Why don’t you tell us why you’re stuck here with us, and I’ll try to be more considerate?” Angus strode by her toward his office, not bothering to look.

  She slid from the desk to her feet, her mouth opening and her chin dropping. Red flushed across her high cheekbones.

  Mal held up a hand. “Give us a second, Dr. Zhang. Please.” He followed Angus into his office and shut the door, leaning back against it. “What the hell was that?”

  Force moved around his desk and pulled out a chair. “What?” White lines cut along the sides of his mouth, and a muscle ticked visibly in his neck. His hands were steady, but fury glowed deep in his green eyes. “Have a seat.” He gestured to one of two folding chairs facing his scarred wooden desk.

  A dented file cabinet and several stacked evidence boxes were the only other furniture in the room.

  Mal didn’t move. “She’s a shrink. Our shrink on this.”

  Force blinked. “I didn’t ask her here. Even more disturbingly, I don’t know why she’s here. What’s wrong with her?” Color filled his face.

  Mal leaned his head back, amusement taking him by surprise. “Wrong with her? What? Anybody who’d want you for a friend must have something wrong with them?”

  “Everybody here has issues.” Force ground his back teeth together.

  “You should probably apologize to her.” Mal shrugged. “If there’s something wrong with her, it’d be better if she trusted us.” Man, he hated falling back on old habits, but trust was crucial in getting close.

  “I know. You’re right. I’ll talk to her.” Force glanced at his watch. “It’s three in the morning. Why don’t you take a look at the file we’ve just compiled about the bodies? The information might somehow come in handy when you go back in.”

  “I’m heading back to the cult in the morning,” Mal said, his chest aching a little bit. “The family has made me feel all welcome and needed.”

  Force’s eyes sharpened. “Have they, now?”

  Mal nodded. “Yeah. I have pictures and an idea of the hierarchy. There are two men I’d like to take out. Clear a path in the upper echelons for a screwed-up ex-cop who knows how to shoot.”

  “Okay.” Force stood. “Let’s talk strategy the second Wolfe gets here. I called him when I called you. Where is he?”

  Mal opened the door and let Force move past him. “Apologize to her,” he whispered, sucking in air when Force elbowed him in the gut. “Butthead.”

  The elevator dinged, and they crossed the bull pen to where Nari was still petting a nearly purring Roscoe.

  Mal looked up, expecting to see Wolfe. Instead, a man and a woman stepped off. He stilled. The guy was in his early thirties, with a dark jacket, a pressed shirt with tie, black hair, and perfect posture. The woman had wild reddish-blond hair, green eyes, and was wearing a peach-colored prison jumpsuit. Interesting.

  Force moved forward. “It’s about time.” He nodded. “Special Agent Raider Tanaka and consultant Brigid Banaghan, please meet Dr. Nari Zhang and Special Agent Malcolm West.”

  Tanaka nodded his head.

  The woman just looked around, her shoulders straight. “This isn’t much better than a prison cell.” Her soft voice held the faintest lilt of Ireland in it.

  Force chuckled. “That’s where you’re wrong. Wait until you see the computer room.”

  Banaghan’s eyes started to gleam. “Computer room?” The dog turned around, viewed the duo, and then went nuts. He snarled and barked, leaping toward them, spittle flying from his mouth.

  Tanaka shoved the woman behind him. “What the hell?” He reached for a weapon at his waist.

  “Wait,” Force snapped. “Roscoe. Down, damn it. Down.” The agent jumped between the dog and Tanaka, blocking the other man with his body. “Your tie. Give me your tie.”

  Tanaka kept his gaze on the dog. “What?” he snapped.

  “Your tie. Hand it over,” Angus ordered urgently.

  West came up on the other side in case the dog made a move on Nari. What was it with the tie? It was blue with a red crisscross design on it. Pretty boring.

  Tanaka loosened his tie and jerked it over his head, tossing it at Force.

  “Here.” Force handed the tie to Roscoe. Snarling and growling, the dog took it over to the corner, where he started ripping it apart.

  Tension edged with fear permeated the room. Adrenaline flowed freely.

  Force eyed his calming dog. “I thought we were doing better with that. Hmm. Okay.”

  Banaghan angled her neck to look around Tanaka. “I thought dogs were color blind.”

  Force nodded. “Yeah. It isn’t the color. No argyle prints for anybody. On shirts, on ties, and especially on sweater vests.” He gave a shudder. “The last guy with a vest nearly lost his jugular.”

  Mal winced. “Maybe you should tell us all his quirks now. Just in case.”

  “We don’t have that kind of time.” Force grimaced. “Agent Tanaka, I apologize.”

  Tanaka held up a hand. “Raider. Please. Call me either Raider or Raid.�
� His black eyes continued to track the dog. “What happened to him? It obviously has something to do with the design.”

  “He got blown up by an enemy combatant with that crisscross design on his tac vest,” Angus said.

  Mal scratched his head. “There are a lot of windows with that design.”

  Angus’s face tightened. “I know. Roscoe goes right through those. It isn’t pretty.” He turned toward Nari. “Dr. Zhang, maybe you could work with him.”

  Her intelligent eyes widened. “You want me to counsel a canine?”

  “Sure. If you’re as good as they say, maybe you could help.” Force’s smile lacked charm.

  Her gaze darkened. “Not a problem. I’ll make you a deal: If I help the pooch, you come in for a session or two as well.”

  Force visibly retreated, his face losing all expression. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

  “That’s what I thought,” Nari murmured. “And while we’re getting informal, I wish everyone would call me Nari instead of doctor.”

  The pretty name fit her.

  The elevator door dinged, and Wolfe stepped out, sprinkle-and-whipped-cream-topped coffees in his hands. He looked around. “I didn’t buy enough.”

  Mal waved his hand. “Somebody can have mine.” He couldn’t deal with that much sugar right now.

  “Me.” Banaghan turned and made a beeline for Wolfe, taking the first cup he offered. She took a sip and hummed with pure happiness. Her eyes closed in bliss, and she drank several swallows. “No lattes in lockup.”

  Wolfe looked over her prison garb. “We’re springing convicts now?”

  Force nodded. “Miss Banaghan is our new computer expert. Raider Tanaka is her handler and our chief investigator. He’s also our liaison with the HDD in general.”

  Wolfe snorted. “What did you do wrong to get bounced to the basement?”

  Raider winced. “Slept with my boss’s wife.”

  Wolfe grinned. “That was stupid.”

  “No shit,” Raider muttered. “Though I didn’t know she was his wife when I took her home. Found out the next day.”

  “Right,” Brigid Banaghan said. “And I didn’t break any laws to end up in prison. Not a one. I was railroaded, man.”

  “Miss Banaghan,” Force said, “you help us, you get the pardon. It’s that simple.”

  She turned surprisingly clear green eyes toward Force. “Brigid. Informal, remember?”

  “We’re going informal?” Wolfe asked. “Cool. Call me Wolfe. First guy who calls me Clarence gets hit in the face.”

  Brigid chuckled, the sound lilting and somehow sweet. “Clarence? Like the angel?”

  “Exactly,” Wolfe said, craning his neck across the bull pen. “Why is the dog eating a tie?”

  Mal leaned back against the far wall. Why did he feel like he was caught in the middle of the most macabre comedy ever? His head pounded and grit irritated his eyes. Maybe he would take a coffee. “We have to get serious, gang. Enough with the fun.”

  “None of this is fun,” Force said quietly. “But your point is well made. We have work to do.”

  Malcolm studied the group. “Is this the entire team?” He pointed to the nearest desk, which was just as beat up as the rest of them but had all the knobs still in place on the drawers. “If so, I’ll take that one.”

  “We have one additional member, but he’s unavailable until later in the week,” Force said.

  “Another investigator?” Mal asked. They could use one more, probably.

  Force shook his head. “No. Philosopher. Need his help with the serial killer case.” He glanced at the sad walls. “All right. Two cases, so let’s split up into two teams. Mal, Wolfe, and Brigid, you work on identifying the two guys Mal wants out of the cult. Come up with a plan by morning.” He gestured toward the case rooms. “Raider and Nari, let’s start the investigation into these bodies who might’ve been cult members. Then we’ll all meet up in a few hours, before Mal has to leave.”

  Brigid stepped closer to Wolfe. “Is that a kitten in your pocket?”

  Raider cut her a sharp look.

  Mal sighed. There had to be a punch line in there somewhere, but he was too tired to worry about it.

  Wolfe nodded. “Yeah. That’s Kat.”

  Brigid sighed. “Oh, I love kittens. Can I hold him?”

  “No.” Wolfe turned and strode in his big boots toward the computer room.

  “Huh.” Brigid glared at his back. “Not nice.” Then she brightened. “A wolf with a kitten. It is kind of cute.”

  Yeah. That was Wolfe. Cute. Mal caught Angus’s eye. “I need a minute before we get to work.” His mind wouldn’t stop churning, so he let problems flash through in order. There were too many.

  Force gestured toward his office and moved to walk into it. “You got it.”

  Mal followed and shut the door once inside.

  Force held up a hand. “Don’t give me a hard time about Brigid. She’s a brilliant hacker, and we need her.”

  “Don’t care.” Mal faced him. “You can hire anybody you want. My concern is Pippa. She’s not stupid, and I left in the middle of the night to go push papers. We have to think about my telling her the truth.”

  Force rubbed his chin. “You think you’ve gotten all you can from her undercover?”

  All he could get from her? Like multiple orgasms and cuddling after nightmares? Mal kept his expression unreadable even as irritation clawed down his neck. “You’re just fine with me nailing her, aren’t you?”

  Force lifted his chin. “Yeah. I’m absolutely fine with that.” He waited expectantly.

  “You’re a prick,” Mal said, heat flushing along his skin.

  Force nodded. “I’m also fine with that fact. And you’ve gotten emotionally involved.”

  Mal lunged for him, standing an inch apart from the agent. “You can’t go undercover without doing so. Trust me.” Then he forced a smile. “Don’t tell me for one second that you’re not emotionally involved in the Lassiter case.” Even if Lassiter was dead. A half-finished bottle of whiskey peeked out of the file cabinet.

  “Again, I’m all about self-acceptance.” Force’s lip twisted. “You’ve stepped awfully close to me. Either kiss me or hit me, West. I have work to do.”

  Amusement grabbed him, and Mal barked out a laugh. “You’re the last guy in the world I’d kiss.” He took a step back.

  “I’m genuinely relieved to hear that.” Force tucked his thumbs in his jeans, his gaze remaining direct. “But here’s the deal. If you bring Pippa in, you do it both literally and figuratively. I’ll want to interrogate her, and I can’t go easy. You understand how this works.”

  The memory of her shuddering body after her nightmare caught Mal. “She’s innocent. I know it.”

  “She can be both innocent and planning an attack in the name of her lord.” Force’s voice remained reasonable and somehow gentle. “You know that, too.”

  Now the question remained, what would he do with that information?

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Pippa waited until first light to start packing. Everything in her hurt. Why had she let herself get emotionally involved with Mal? She’d known better. But she wouldn’t trade the last couple of nights for anything. She called Trixie around five in the morning.

  “What in the world?” Trixie answered the phone, her voice groggy.

  “I’m taking off,” Pippa said without preamble. She finished stuffing her socks into a large suitcase.

  Trixie gasped. “Why? What happened?” Movement sounded across the line. “Do I need to run? I knew it. I’ve been followed. They have found us. This is terrible. Want to meet up?”

  “Hold on. I don’t think they’ve found us.” Pippa sat next to the suitcase on the floor, her heart hurting.

  “Oh.” Trixie seemed to pause in her frantic movements. “Then why are you going?”

  Pippa swallowed over a huge lump in her throat and told Trixie the whole story about Malcolm and his so-called job.
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br />   Trixie listened quietly until Pippa wound down. “All right. Let’s look at this. He’s definitely lied and isn’t a governmental paper pusher.”

  Definitely. Pippa dropped her forehead to her knees. She had to get back to packing. “Right.”

  “And his job, before this one, was as an undercover cop.”

  Yeah. The guy lied for a living. Though she couldn’t exactly throw stones there. “Yes.”

  “Chances are, he’s undercover again. But isn’t that supposed to be secret? I mean, he couldn’t just tell his girlfriend all about a current case, right?” Trixie asked.

  Pippa straightened enough to lean her head back against the wall. “Well, yes. I suppose so.”

  “What do you care if he’s a current cop or an ex-cop? Either way, he’ll probably want to enforce the law.” Trixie coughed away from the phone and then returned. “But as far as I can tell, there’s no crime for him to find out about. What we did? It was never reported. We don’t even know what we did. Not really.”

  “That doesn’t matter. The Prophet has me, and you know it.” Pippa set a hand on her stomach as it started to ache. Isaac was a genius, and he’d set her up perfectly.

  Trixie swallowed audibly. “I know,” she whispered. “But Isaac is crazy, and he thinks he’s in love with you. That you’re soul mates. He won’t really use that evidence and turn you in.”

  “He will if he can’t have me.” It was a fact Pippa had reconciled herself to years ago. If she could just make it to her twenty-fifth birthday, then maybe Isaac would give up on getting her back; his so-called prophecy would no longer be valid to him. In the meantime, he was obviously gearing up to find her with the new website. “I should run. If not for me, then for Malcolm. Even though he’s good, Isaac has enough people doing his bidding that somebody could get a shot off if Isaac ever finds out I care about Mal.”

  “You do, don’t you?” Trixie asked, her voice soft. “You care about him a lot.”

  Pippa’s shoulders slumped. “Yeah. He’s tough and sweet.”

  “Maybe you should just tell him the truth. If he cares about you, he’ll believe you,” Trixie said.

  “I almost did last night. But even if he believes me, if Isaac turns me in, there’s probably nothing Mal can do. Evidence is evidence, you know? And then Mal would probably go after Isaac.” He would have no idea how evil Isaac could be or how strong his influence was over the family. “He’s strong, but . . .”