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  Lilac’s dark gaze hardened. “I work as a waitress on the parade route Faustyna so carefully set up. No one will question my being there.”

  Heat scorched Pippa’s throat. “What are you planning?”

  “The backpacks are in the cabinet by the sliding glass door,” Isaac said to George. “Fetch them.”

  George faltered and then moved toward the cabinet, opening it and ducking down to retrieve seven very different colored backpacks. From a light beige pack to a designer pack to an obvious student pack, he hefted them out carefully, setting them down as if they weighed a significant amount. “What’s in the packs, Prophet?” he asked, finally standing.

  “God’s wrath,” Isaac replied. “Suit up, ladies.” He nodded toward a muted white bag near the door. “Bring that one over for my dear Mary.” He coughed. “Old habits die hard, don’t they? Oh well. We can call you Mary for the day.”

  She jerked away from him, fully intending to go for her gun. The sight of a shiny silver pistol in his hand stopped her. He’d been quick to grab it from his pocket. “I will not be used to harm anybody else, Isaac,” she hissed.

  He turned the gun on her mother. “Put on the backpack, Mary.”

  Pippa watched in disbelief as the other women chose backpacks, slipping their hands through the straps. “Are you people crazy? Do you understand what’s probably in those? Do you realize you’re about to hurt a lot of people?”

  They moved woodenly and yet somehow with purpose.

  Her mother chose the designer bag, oddly enough. She slipped her arms into it and secured it across her chest. “Mary. This is the only way.”

  They were lost. They were all so damn lost. The only good news here was that the police had the road covered. No cars would make it out of the forested area to get anywhere near DC.

  George settled the heavy backpack over Pippa’s shoulders. She fought him, but he yanked her arms through the straps and secured them. The weight almost pulled her backward, and she had to shift her hips to keep her balance. “At the very least, you can tell me what’s in here,” she muttered.

  Isaac smiled. “Presents in a pressure cooker. Nails, ball bearings, fireworks, gas, and powder.”

  She shut her eyes and swayed, quickly regaining her balance. “The same type of bombs as those used at the Boston Marathon years ago.”

  He nodded. “That’s where I got the idea. Except these will detonate at chest level and hit abdomens, heads, and torsos. Not legs.”

  Oh God. He really was crazy. Even if Pippa died, these things couldn’t make it to DC.

  Isaac smiled and reached for a box. “I have your detonators here and will give them to you once we’re in DC. I’d hate for one of you to accidentally press the button.” He laughed.

  Pippa turned, shock coursing through her. He really was that insane.

  He looked at George. “Burn the mansion down. Use all the gasoline we have in the kitchen pantry.”

  George’s eyes widened. “What about Malcolm and Trixie? They’re locked downstairs.”

  Pippa jerked hard. Malcolm was locked down there, too? Had Isaac figured out he was a cop? “Let me go. Please let me get them.”

  “No. Burn them all, George.” Isaac gestured toward the sliding glass door. “It’s time to go.” The women began to file out.

  Pippa tried to fight him. Why would they go into the backyard?

  Isaac grabbed her arm in a painful grip and propelled her toward the door. “You didn’t think we were taking the front road, did you?”

  She struggled against his hold, but with the bomb on her back, she couldn’t gain leverage. “There’s a back road?” The cops would have that covered, right? They’d get to Mal before George could start the fire, too.

  “Probably. But for this? We have a helicopter.”

  Chapter Forty-One

  Malcolm slowly came to, his head pounding and his torso feeling as if he’d been bashed with a wrecking ball. He was lying on a concrete floor. Wine racks surrounded him. “What the hell?” He forced himself to sit up, and the room spun crazily around him.

  “You were hit in the head,” said a soft voice over by the door. “You’ve finally stopped bleeding.”

  He turned to see Trixie sitting on the floor with her arms wrapped around her knees. Bruises mottled her face, and purple marks in the perfect shape of a man’s fingers stood out on her delicate neck. “You okay?” he asked.

  She nodded, looking small and defenseless. Her red hair only emphasized the raw purple markings and her pale skin. “Wasn’t my first beating from the Prophet.”

  Mal tried to breathe and stopped as pain blasted through his rib cage. He pulled up his shirt to see a horribly red bruise. “Bastard broke my rib.” He gingerly felt along the damaged area and lost his breath at the pain.

  Trixie wiped dirt off her chin. “He likes to kick people when they’re on the ground. Should we bind it or something?”

  “No.” Mal grasped a rack and pulled himself up, ignoring the pain exploding behind his eyelids. “I take it we’re locked in?”

  She nodded.

  “How long have I been here?” he asked, bending his arm over his waist to keep the pain at bay. Was Pippa already in the mansion?

  “I don’t know. I was knocked out, too,” Trixie said. Then she sniffed the air. “I smell smoke.” Panic widened her eyes.

  Mal grasped her arm and pulled her to the side. His head aching, he moved to the door. Solid, with an old-fashioned keyhole. There was only one way through. “Stand back.”

  He kicked as hard as he could near the lock, and the door shimmied. Pain rippled up his leg.

  Then again.

  A third time.

  Finally, on the fourth kick, the door crashed in.

  Mal scouted the family room outside the wine cellar, looking frantically for the stairs. They were at the end of a long hallway, and smoke was pouring down. “Trixie? Get outside, now,” he bellowed, turning into the smoke and rushing upstairs and down the hall toward the burning office.

  Damn it.

  He ducked low and tried to cover his mouth. The fire was already consuming the chairs by the fireplace as well as the curtains, and it had spread across the floor to the desk. The smell of gasoline was as overpowering as the stench of burning fabric.

  Where the hell was Pippa?

  Isaac had obviously deserted the mansion. Good. There were roadblocks in both directions, so the asshole would be caught any minute. The only worry was if there were already family members in place for an attack.

  Mal leaped over a burning chair, and the second he landed, pain lashed through his rib cage. He caught his breath and fell against the desk, coughing. Pain exploded in his palms, and he yanked his hands back. The desk was burning hot. Papers were already curling across it, and he grabbed up what he could and ran from the room, slamming the door.

  Trixie met him in the hallway, soot already in her hair. “I checked upstairs; nobody is here.” She coughed. “I think we’re clear.”

  “Outside.” He coughed, and agony blew apart his side.

  She crouched low, beneath the smoke, and rushed for the door. Mal kept on her heels, stumbling down the stairs toward the van.

  George sat against one tire, his phone in his hands. “I don’t think he’s gonna call me,” he said, a snot bubble popping out of his nose.

  “What?” Trixie screamed, her hair a wild mess around her head.

  Mal skidded to a stop across the expensive bricks. The same cars were in place as when he’d arrived. He whirled around, looking at the mansion. Smoke poured from broken windows. “What the hell? They didn’t drive?”

  George sniffed loudly. “No. There was a helicopter hidden beneath some tarps in the far back. They flew. Without me.”

  Mal grabbed the moron by the collar and yanked him to his feet, ignoring the rush of agony in his rib cage. “Was Pippa with them?”

  “Pippa?” George frowned, his eyes glazed.

  “Mary. Was Mary with Isaac?
With the Prophet?” Mal shook George violently.

  “Yes. He took her with him.” George shuddered. “She doesn’t even like him. Why would Prophet take her and not me?”

  “Where? Where were they going?” Mal slammed George back against the vehicle, no longer feeling the pain. “Tell me.”

  “I don’t know.” George sobbed. “The Prophet didn’t tell me. I helped put the backpacks on them, and then they left. I would’ve worn a backpack. I’m a believer, you know?” He wiped his nose on his sleeve. “Why? Just why?”

  Mal punched George across the jaw with his good arm, seeing red at the word backpack. “What was in the backpacks?”

  “Prophet said something about pressure cookers,” George said, his voice defeated.

  Oh God. Mal grabbed the phone out of George’s hand and dropped the papers to the bricks, spreading them out. Parts were burned, and some ink had run. He quickly dialed the phone.

  “Force here.” Thank God Force had answered the call, despite the unknown number. “Who are you?”

  “Angus, it’s Malcolm.” Mal pored over the different maps. “Send in everyone—the mansion is on fire. Isaac is gone. So is Pippa.” Just saying her name was like a kick to the balls. He looked up at George, who was crying against the van. “When did they leave? How long ago?”

  George shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe an hour?”

  They could’ve already landed. Mal shoved the first sheet over and then paused. He recognized a street corner and peered closer, his blood humming. “They’re in DC, Angus. They’ve probably already landed.”

  “Okay. I’ll be right there to extract you,” Force said, his voice calm. “I have a helicopter on standby ten minutes away, just in case.”

  Malcolm glanced at the different diagrams on the map. “I think I can determine where the bombers are planning to stand.” Then he glanced at the clock on the phone. “What time is the parade in DC? The women’s march planned for today?”

  “Let me check.” The phone was silent. Then Angus returned, his voice dark. “It starts in thirty minutes.”

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Pippa continued arguing with the other women as a plain white van drove them toward Washington, DC. They’d ignored her on the helicopter and had continued doing so in the van. A man she didn’t know drove it, while Isaac sat in the back, on the floor with them.

  “Mom—” Pippa started.

  Isaac unsnapped her backpack and shoved it to the side.

  She blinked. That could only be good.

  Then he grabbed her and yanked her over onto his lap. She struggled, panic infusing her, but he held tight. He even locked one of his legs over hers to keep her still. “I’ve had enough. Oliver, did you bring me what I requested?”

  “Yep.” Oliver handed something back.

  “Mom, help me,” Pippa begged, shoving against Isaac as hard as she could. He was surprisingly strong. She’d forgotten how often he worked out.

  “Hold her,” Isaac ordered.

  The two nearest women grabbed on to Pippa’s shoulders and pushed them back against Isaac.

  He released his hold. “Extend her arm.”

  Pippa’s eyes widened. Her chest heated. “No.” She tried to struggle, but the three of them were too strong.

  Without any care, Isaac plunged a needle above her inner elbow and depressed the plunger.

  Heat and pain instantly sparked beneath her skin. “Wh-what?” she asked, her breath panting out so quickly her vision fuzzed. “What did you just inject me with?”

  “Release her,” Isaac ordered.

  The women moved back to their places along the sides of the van. The floor was wood, and one woman’s pants tore along the knee.

  Dizziness and euphoria swamped Pippa, and she swayed. Her muscles started to relax one by one.

  “Interesting.” Isaac removed his leg and settled her back against his chest. “I aimed for a muscle, which would take around five minutes to have an effect. Looks like I hit your vein instead.”

  What? She tried to blink. The interior of the van was warm and cozy. She didn’t feel any pain. What was happening? “Drugs?” she managed to gasp.

  “Heroin,” Isaac said, his mouth close to her ear.

  She chilled. He wasn’t like Malcolm. Mal was better. Much. Where was he? “Let-let me go.” She couldn’t move. Her body felt like dead weight, and her head lolled on her neck.

  “No.” Isaac opened his knees, and she fell down onto the floor, still enfolded by him. But now he could see over her head. “My beautiful creatures sent from God, I love you all so much.” He nodded. “April, please hand out the sustenance.”

  April opened a mint tin and took a pill before passing it on to the next woman.

  “What is that?” Pippa slurred.

  “Courage, and something to help us all relax,” Isaac said, his voice deepening in the way she remembered from childhood. “You don’t need any.” He chuckled at his own joke. “What you do today is in God’s name. You’re fighting His fight, and you will be rewarded in Heaven.”

  Her mother smiled, but the happiness didn’t quite reach her eyes.

  The van hit a pothole and jostled everyone inside. Pippa’s mom fell sideways and quickly righted herself.

  “You are my greatest accomplishments, and before the day is through, you will be angels,” Isaac said.

  Pippa couldn’t think. Thoughts moved in slow motion through her brain, and she could almost see them go. But she couldn’t grasp one. She tried harder. “This isn’t right.” Her voice sounded very far away.

  The van pulled over.

  Isaac nodded. “You all know where to go. Faustyna?”

  The beautiful redhead drew a cigar box off her lap and handed out what looked like garage door openers. She read the sticker on each carefully before handing it to one of the women. “These are the buttons to heaven.”

  Buttons to heaven? Pippa snorted. Talk about crazy. Her eyelids closed, and she had to fight to reopen them.

  The door opened, and the women all climbed out. Her mother paused at the last moment and turned to her. “Mary, I hope you understand. You were made for this. Always.” She smiled and shut the door. Then quiet. Just Pippa and Isaac and the driver.

  “Go,” Isaac said.

  The van pulled out into what sounded like a busy street.

  Pippa shook her head against his chest. He sighed and pushed her off him. She struggled to sit and then barely was able to balance herself, her skirt lifting to her knees. She tried to pull it down, and he grasped her hands.

  “Let go,” she slurred, swaying with the effort.

  “No.” He slapped her face, and the echo repeated through her head several times. A pain in the far distance pricked her face, but she couldn’t quite grasp it. “Concentrate, Mary.”

  She blinked, staring into those amber eyes that had haunted her for so long. “You’re just a man,” she murmured.

  He smiled. “We both know I’m more than that.”

  “I don’t like your smile,” she blurted out in slow motion. “Never have.” She waved her hand, and then dropped it to the floor. Not like Malcolm. He had a great smile. So handsome. But she shouldn’t say his name. She knew she shouldn’t. Why? Huh. Why was that?

  Isaac slapped her again, and this time her face hurt.

  She tried to focus on him.

  “I made you. Everything you are right now, I made,” he said, leaning toward her.

  His claim struck her as funny, and she laughed. Oh, it might be the drugs, but who cared? “You’ve never meant anything to me,” she whispered, knowing there was no way that could be the full truth. But she’d never give him the satisfaction of knowing that for years she’d feared the sound of branches against windows was him coming to find her. “You don’t matter, Isaac. You never have and you never will.”

  He punched her in the mouth this time, and her head rocked back. Pain flared for just a second and then was forgotten. Score one for the drugs. She tasted blood. �
��Why me?” She’d never understood.

  “You know why,” he said, his smile a tad lopsided. “You’ve always known why.”

  She shook her head. “No. I haven’t. Blue eyes and brown hair? That’s what Mary is to you? And the numbers? Those silly numbers of seven, eighteen, and twenty-five? They don’t mean anything.”

  “I hope my face is the last thing you remember,” he muttered, retrieving the backpack and forcing her arms through it. When he attached the front this time, he clicked a lock into a ring. “I had this made especially for you. There’s no taking it off.”

  Man, it was heavy. She tried to shrug out of it, her mind spinning again.

  He held a garage door opener in front of her eyes. “I can’t wait to push this. What a disappointment you’ve been. I’ve been searching for you for almost seven years. For what?”

  She smiled and felt blood dribble down her chin. “I didn’t think of you once. Not once.” Her head lolled forward again.

  “I’m making the sacrifice of you to God.” His grip on her arm hurt. “You’re dying in hellfire today, Mary.” He dragged her across the wooden floor, and the gun at her thigh scraped her. Oh yeah. The gun. She had to get to it. “And you’re going to take a lot of sinners with you.”

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Mal hit the ground the second the police car lurched to a stop. They’d landed the helicopter outside of DC and had instantly been picked up. He spread the map over the hood of the car and pointed out potential bomb locations.

  Force spoke into a radio, sending directions for HDD teams and bomb squads while also pointing out positions for the team. “Wolfe go here, Raider go here,” he ordered. “I’ll go to this one, and West? I’m assuming you want the big intersection right here?”

  Malcolm nodded. “That’s my guess. He’ll want something big and special for Pippa.” The intersection was right in the middle of the parade route, covered on both sides by storefronts. There was nowhere to run or hide.

  “Be careful, and try for containment as much as possible,” Force ordered. “We don’t know anything about these bombs. There could be a dead man’s trigger, so if you shoot the person holding the remote, the bomb may explode. Use extreme caution.” He zipped his jacket to hide his gun.