by Susan Stoker
“Okay. Inside. Lock the door.”
“Thanks for a fun night. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Yes, you will. Good night, Mack.”
The last thing Mackenzie saw when she shut the door was Daxton’s upward chin lift as he stood and watched, making sure she barricaded herself inside her apartment. She slid down with her back to the door. Her butt landed on the floor and she wrapped her arms around her drawn up knees. She smiled. Holy freaking hell she was in trouble.
Chapter Seven
“Don’t be nervous, ma’am. Just tell me what you remember seeing that afternoon.” Dax tried to sound calm and reassuring. Interviewing witnesses was a delicate balance between being sympathetic, but pushy, when it came to trying to pry the right information out of them.
“I’d gone to the cemetery to lay flowers on my dear Harold’s grave and I saw a big tractor digging a hole in the back corner of the lot. I thought it was odd because that part of the cemetery hadn’t had a funeral held in it in a long time, but what do I know about how cemeteries do business? Maybe they were starting a new plot.”
“What color was the tractor?”
“Yellow.”
“Did it look old? New? Did you see anyone?”
“Well, I don’t know my tractors, but it was very shiny. There was someone in the cab, but I couldn’t see him at all. The windows were tinted and it was so far away.”
“What time was it?”
“It was around three in the afternoon. I remember because I had a hair appointment at three thirty and I didn’t want to be late.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Sutton. You’ve been a big help.” And she had. They knew the killer used a yellow tractor and the time he buried his victim. Dax would check with the cemetery staff and see if it was theirs. If they were lucky, it wasn’t, and they could do a check of the Department of Motor Vehicles on anyone that owned a yellow tractor. He’d also be sure to tell Cruz to alert the caretakers of the local cemeteries to be on the lookout for any unusual activity in their areas. The local police agencies could also increase patrols around the rural cemeteries as well. It wasn’t full-proof, after all they hadn’t been able to catch this guy yet, but it was something. The killer hadn’t called in to brag about this victim until apparently a week after he’d put the coffin in the ground. The timeline fit what Conor had said about time of death.
“Do you think you’ll catch him? What a terrible man, to do those things.”
“Yes, ma’am. We’ll catch him. We’re doing everything possible to catch him sooner rather than later.”
“Well, thank you for what you do, young man. The world needs more people like you in it.”
Dax helped the woman out of the chair and to the door. “I advise you to keep your visits to Harold at a minimum, at least until we catch whoever this is. If you need to visit, don’t go alone.”
“I can do that. I’ll have my son, David, come with me next time.”
“You do that. Thanks again, Mrs. Sutton.” Dax nodded at the woman as she left his office. He sighed and sat back down in his chair and looked over the pictures strewn in front of him. Dax had heard back from Cruz. The FBI analysts hadn’t found anything useful on the note the killer had sent. There weren’t any usable fingerprints and the only trace evidence that had been on the note was a single hair, which seemed to have come from a cat.
So Dax had a lot of information, but it was all disjointed. Their killer was a man who owned, or had come into contact with, a cat, he either owned a yellow tractor or had the know-how to hotwire one. The coffins were a dead end because they were homemade. They could try to track the hardware used to assemble them, but that was a long shot. Fuck. They had information, but it still seemed like they were still at square one.
The phone on his desk rang; it was Quint from the San Antonio Police Department.
“Hey, Dax. Got time for lunch today?”
“Actually, Mack is supposed to come to my office today for a quick lunch, want to join us? I can ask her to pick up an extra sandwich on her way in.”
“Sure, if you don’t mind.”
“Yeah, I’ve actually been wanting you to meet her anyway. I know it’s soon, but I really like her.”
“You seem serious about this one. How long have you been seeing her?”
“I am serious about her. It’s been about two weeks.”
“Great, what time then?”
“How about twelve fifteen?”
“See you then.”
Dax put the phone back in its cradle and leaned back with his arms behind his head. He knew Quint probably wanted to talk about the Reaper investigation, but Dax needed some Mack time before he’d be able to dive back into the horror that was the case. Burying women alive was some sick shit and Mack helped him keep everything in perspective.
The two weeks since they’d been dating had been great. They’d met up several times for dinner and had advanced their kissing at her door to kissing in his car, and even once on her couch while they were watching a movie.
Dax was trying to take things slow, but the more time he spent with Mack, the more he knew in his gut she was the woman for him. He’d been instantly attracted to her, but it wasn’t just that he wanted her sexually. She was funny. She was polite. She didn’t get riled up when something went wrong, it just rolled off her back. During one of their dinners, she’d bumped the plate the waitress was clearing from their table and a full cup of ranch had spilled down the front of Mack’s shirt. Mack had merely laughed. Dax shook his head remembering. Mack had almost bent double guffawing at herself and how clumsy she was as she dabbed at her shirt trying to mop up the mess. She’d been more concerned about the waitress, who’d been absolutely mortified. Mack had smiled and told the poor waitress it was an accident and it was fine. Of course they’d gotten their meal free, along with a complimentary T-shirt from the restaurant, but Mack hadn’t been upset in the least.
Mack also wasn’t afraid to admit when she screwed up, something Dax had rarely seen in the women he’d dated in the past. She laughed at herself when she tripped over nothing, or dropped something. She really was accident prone, but it didn’t seem to faze her. It was refreshing to be with a woman who said what she thought most of the time, but still wasn’t quite as confident in her own skin as she might try to portray to the world. It was that dichotomy that drew him to her. She also didn’t seem to be full of the drama that so many women were these days, which was a relief.
Dax had been on a lot of dates, and had even thought he’d loved a woman once or twice, not including the woman he’d almost married back in El Paso. He’d participated in a couple of one-night stands, and usually felt used. But Mack, she was different. He felt it to the very marrow of his bones.
Mackenzie hadn’t lied that first night they’d gone to dinner. She did have a habit of trying to boss him around and make him do things the way she wanted them done. They’d had dinner at her place one night and she’d spent ten minutes lecturing him on the best way to wash dishes. For the most part, Dax went along with it, because he honestly didn’t give a shit if he put the dishwasher soap on the sponge thingie or directly on the dirty dish when he was washing it, but apparently, Mack did.
However, he called her on some things. When he did, Dax could see her stop and really think about them and the times she gave in seemed to cement his feelings for her all the more. Mack wasn’t being unreasonable for the sake of being unreasonable. Dax hoped the fact that she’d occasionally back off something she wanted done her way, and let him do it however he wanted, meant she liked him and was really trying to make their relationship work.
Like the time she pulled out her credit card to pay for dinner one night. Dax had told her that as long as they were out together, whether it was at a restaurant, gas station, or a department store, she’d never pay.
Mack had puffed up like a banty rooster and had insisted and cajoled and pouted, but in the end, when he’d explaine
d that it made him feel like less of a man when she paid, she’d caved. Of course, later that night she’d told him in no uncertain terms that if he wasn’t with her, and she was buying food, or whatever, for both of them, she’d pay for it. Dax had tickled her unmercifully until giving her what she needed…his agreement. Compromise was the backbone of any relationship and Dax loved that Mack was sincerely trying to compromise for him.
Dax didn’t really mind that Mack wanted to pay her way; it was actually refreshing. His relationship with Mack was a complete one-eighty from his relationship with Kelly, the woman who refused to move to Austin with him. She’d never paid for anything, never even offered to pay for anything. She’d always expected Dax to pay for everything, from the rent and electricity to the credit cards she’d maxed out. Looking back Dax knew he’d been a sucker, but he’d honestly believed she was the woman he’d spend the rest of his life with.
Dax quickly texted Mack and told her Quint would be joining them for lunch and asked her to pick up a third sandwich. She texted back immediately—another thing Dax loved about Mack, she never made him wait and wonder if she got his message—and agreed without a fuss. She was text crazy, as she’d warned. But it kept the communication open between them, and even Dax had to admit it made him feel good inside to know she was thinking about him when she sent random silly texts just to say hi.
An hour later, Dax heard a knock on the door.
“Come in.”
Mack sauntered into his office with a smile on her face and two large bags in her hand.
“Hey, Daxton. How’s your day been?”
“Better now that you’re here. Come here, sweetheart.”
Mack plopped the bags on the little table off to the right of Dax’s desk and went to his side, shrieking when he pulled her into his arms in the chair.
Mackenzie immediately straddled Daxton’s lap, fitting her knees into the small spaces next to his hips.
“How come you never wear a skirt?”
Mackenzie scrunched up her nose in disgust. “Ugh. I hate them.”
“Why?” Even as Dax asked, he knew he’d get an earful. Sometimes he purposefully asked her things that he knew she’d ramble on about because he loved to hear her talk.
“Because they’re sexist. I mean really. Back in the dark ages, it was the men who wore skirts…or togas or kilts, or whatever they were called. Their legs were sticking out, showing off their knees, exposing their backsides if they fell over. Sometime in the last thousand years, some man came to his senses and decided he’d rather see a woman’s knees and backside.”
“Thanks for the history lesson, Mack. Now…why do you really not wear skirts?”
Mackenzie smirked at Daxton. “Do you know, I actually like this position. I can look you in the eye and don’t have to worry about you getting a crick in your back from leaning down to me, and I don’t have to worry about getting a cramp from looking up at you.”
At his raised eyebrow, Mackenzie sighed, knowing she’d been trying to avoid answering his question. “So there was this one time right after I graduated from college and had my first job. I was extremely proud of myself and felt very professional. I bought myself a bunch of new suits to wear to work. I thought I looked very sharp. The first day of work, there were three men who, when they met me, looked me up and down and their eyes stayed fixated on my legs. The second day, I had a woman tell me, politely, that if I needed help shopping for professional clothes she’d be happy to go to the mall with me to pick out more appropriate clothes. On the third day, when I was wearing my favorite of the three skirt sets I’d bought especially for my new job, I slipped in the lobby. My legs went flying out from under me and my skirt came up around my waist as I fell and gave everyone standing around a cooter shot. I heard the security team had it on the security cameras and passed it around to everyone in the company. That was the last time I wore a skirt to work.”
“That shit is illegal.”
Mackenzie put her hand on Daxton’s cheek, not in the least perturbed at her story, or at his ire. “I know. I turned them in and HR fired everyone who they could prove participated in the sharing of the video.”
“I should’ve known you wouldn’t have let that pass.”
“Of course not. Assholes. That was the last time I wore a skirt to work. I’m just too clumsy to risk it again. Not to mention I don’t need anyone making me the butt of their jokes because they don’t think I’ve got the right kind of body to wear a short skirt.”
“Wrong,” Dax rebutted immediately.
“Huh?”
“You’re wrong, Mack.” Dax’s hands went from resting at her waist down to her ass and he hauled her closer to him. Close enough that he knew she could feel his erection up against her woman bits. “You have the perfect body for wearing a skirt. Imagine if you were wearing one now. Think about what we could do during our lunches together if you wore one every day.”
Mackenzie didn’t hesitate, but shoved her hands next to Daxton’s body until they were resting over his shirt under his arms. She leaned in and whispered, “Daxton, you think a pair of pants would really prevent me from taking you in this chair and riding you until we were both piles of goo if I really wanted to?”
“Hello!”
Dax and Mackenzie both jerked in surprise and turned to the door. Quint stood there, one hand on the doorjamb, smiling at them.
Mackenzie laughed and moved her arms out from Daxton’s sides. Dax reluctantly eased Mack back a bit so she wasn’t pressed up against him and took his hands off her ass. “We’ll continue this conversation later,” Dax whispered before returning Quint’s greeting.
“Hey, Quint, it’s good to see you.”
“Uh-huh, sure.”
Dax smiled at his friend and helped Mack to her feet, steading her when she stumbled. “Come over here and let me introduce you to Mack, otherwise known as Mackenzie.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Quint,” Mackenzie said politely, holding out her hand.
“I think the pleasure’s all mine.” Quint brought Mackenzie’s hand up to his mouth and kissed the back of it.
Daxton reached up and took Mackenzie’s hand out of Quint’s. “Enough, Quint.”
Quint laughed. “It’s just too easy. So…how did you guys meet again?”
Dax opened his mouth to give his friend the short version when Mackenzie piped in.
“Well, I saw him for the first time at that charity event over a month ago. We didn’t really meet there though, we just talked briefly. Then I was speeding because I had a crap day, and Daxton’s friend pulled me over. But he was nice enough to ignore the fact I’d had a crap day and was crying my eyes out, and gave me a warning instead.”
“I don’t know what that story has to do with meeting Dax here,” Quint said in confusion.
“Oh, well, apparently they were on their way to dinner when I zoomed past them and Daxton was in the car with the Highway Patrol guy and he saw my license, realized he’d met me at the charity thing, called to make sure I was all right after being pulled over and then demanded I go to dinner with him. He came over, I embarrassed myself, as usual, and we went out. He kissed the hell out of me on my doorstep and now here we are.”
Quint smiled in amusement and looked at Dax. “How come I didn’t see her at the charity thing? Dammit, you Rangers always get the good ones.”
Dax laughed and pulled Mack over to him and kissed the side of her head, refusing to rise to Quint’s bait. “Hungry, sweetheart?”
“Starved.”
Dax loved that Mack wasn’t afraid to show that she was human and hungry. Too many women he’d been around tried to pretend that a leaf or two every other day was enough to live on. “What’d you get us?”
“I got you a turkey and cheese sandwich with all the trimmings—yes, including jalapenos. I still don’t know how you can eat those, but whatever. I got myself a BLT, minus the mayo and double the T, easy on the B. And I didn’t kno
w what your friend would want, so I got both a ham and cheese with the normal condiments, and I also went outside the box, in case he was like you, and ordered a meat-lover’s sandwich with every kind of meat and topping they had. Chips for all of us and waters as well.”
“Will you marry me?” Quint asked with a smile and his hand over his heart.
Mackenzie giggled at him and rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”
The trio settled themselves at the small table and Mackenzie passed out the sandwiches, smiling when Quint chose the meat-lover’s sandwich. She knew Daxton would eat the ham and cheese later. It seemed as if he had a bottomless stomach; he could always eat.
After they’d made small talk for a bit, Quint broke the lighthearted mood.
“The Lone Star Reaper stuck again.”
Mackenzie gasped and Dax put down his sandwich abruptly. “What the fuck, Quint? Not in front of Mack.”
Mackenzie put her hand over Daxton’s on the table. “It’s okay, really. I’m actually interested.”
Dax looked at Mack closely, seeing she was serious, and didn’t seem concerned at all. He looked back at Quint and warned, “Nothing deep, got it?”
“Yeah.” Quint understood what Dax meant. He’d keep the talk general and not share any of the extreme details until he could talk to Dax alone. “He called it in again, he didn’t write a note. She was found on the north side of the city, again in a small rural cemetery. She was buried off to the side as usual, not in the main part of the lot.”
Mackenzie interrupted, her curiosity overcoming her reticence to butt into the conversation when she didn’t really know Quint. “So this guy kidnaps women, then buries them alive? Right?”
“Right.”
“Why?” Her question was short and to the point.
“What do you mean, why?” Quint asked seriously.
“I mean, what does he get out of it? Are the women raped?”
If Quint was surprised at Mackenzie’s question, he didn’t show it. “No, not as far as the medical examiner can tell.”
