Before He Preys

by Blake Pierce

  This time, she heard nothing.

  And with every second that passed, she knew that the killer gained more and more of an advantage. Given that, she knew what she had to do. And it ate at her insides like acid.

  She was going to have to call Tate and get assistance. She’d likely had the killer right in front of her, pinned to the side of the water tower, and he’d gotten away.

  Swallowing down the bitterest humble pie she’d ever tasted, she pulled out her cell phone and placed the call.

  CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

  Mackenzie stood her ground by the water tower until she saw the first glare of headlights coming forward, breaking through the thin grove of forest between the field where she had parked and the water tower clearing. It had taken less than three minutes after her call for the first car to arrive. When the man came through the forest, she saw without surprise that it was the officer she had passed at the entrance road. As he came tearing through the brush, more headlights came crawling toward them from behind him.

  Ten minutes later, the area was abuzz with activity. Sheriff Tate and Officer Roberts stayed huddled around her while Deputy Andrews and eight other officers scoured the field for footprints or any signs of passage.

  Tate in particular had wasted no time in grilling her. He wasn’t meaning to be aggressive or over the top; Mackenzie knew this but was still a little put off by his in-your-face demeanor. It was a side of him she had not seen yet.

  “Did you get a look at the guy?” he asked no more than ten seconds after arriving on the scene.

  “Sort of. I’m guessing average height—no more than six feet tall. He was wearing a hooded sweatshirt. Black, I think. Not quite a beard on him…just a noticeable five o’clock shadow.

  “Young or old?” Tate asked.

  “I don’t know. Older than twenty, probably no older than forty.”

  Tate nodded but he looked just as frustrated as Mackenzie felt. With his hands on his hips, he looked around the clearing. It was illuminated by headlights, throwing their shadows out an impossible distance until they were swallowed up by the forest.

  “How much of a head start does he have on us?” Roberts asked. He seemed to be a little more clear-headed, doing his best to remain rational and logical.

  “No more than five minutes passed between my call to you and the first officer getting here.”

  “And you have no idea which direction he headed?”

  “I think he headed that way,” she said, pointing slightly to the right and behind them.

  “Shit,” Tate said. “There’s a maze of old logging roads and ATV paths back there. If he knows them well, we’ll be looking forever.”

  “But there are no houses back there,” Roberts pointed out. “He’d have nowhere to hide except in the woods.”

  A hundred different thoughts went racing through Mackenzie’s mind. She figured that a call to the State Police could maybe get a canine unit out here by morning. But morning would be too late and by then, the killer could easily be holed up somewhere, hiding. Although Kingsville was a small backwoods town, it was also the kind of town that made it very easy to hide if you knew the layout well.

  Beyond all of that, there was something else. Something about the killer. The fact that he was here and had attacked her right away—that meant something. It pulled at the edge of her deductive logic but there was no way she’d tease out the thread while standing in the headlights and chaos of the water tower clearing.

  “Excuse me,” she said. “I need to call this in to my director.”

  Tate again only gave one of his frustrated nods as he marched off to join another bunch of officers over near the edge of the trees.

  Mackenzie headed back through the edging of trees, hurrying to her car. She had no idea how McGrath was going to react to this sudden turn of events—that she’d had the asshole right in her grasp and he’s managed to get away. And her excuse? That she was battling with her own fear of heights at the time? That she was distracted by Ellington? That she was beginning to question her real motivations now that she had started to understand what life might be like without Ellington?

  All of those were shit excuses and she knew it. So she could only call McGrath with one thing: the truth.

  She placed the call, stared up into the flawless country night sky, and waited.

  “Yeah?” McGrath answered.

  “I’m here in Kingsville,” she said, hating the way she felt. “And there have been some pretty drastic developments.”

  ***

  McGrath had handled it much better than Mackenzie had been expecting. He’d expressed concern over her injuries (which she was already beginning to feel were superficial at best) and then mentioned sending Harrison down to assist.

  “I don’t think that’s necessary,” Mackenzie said. “This is a local guy, used to the forests and the back roads. It’s going to be the local guys that provide the most help, not another suit and tie from DC.”

  “Did you see enough of him to give the local PD anything to go on?”

  “Everything I saw was generic,” she said. She went through the same description she had given Tate—the five o’clock shadow, the age range, and so on.

  “That really isn’t much, is it?” he said. “Well, I’m sure I don’t have to say this but I will anyway. If he gets that close to you again, you damn well better not let him escape again.”

  “Roger that,” she said and killed the call.

  She remained in her car, thinking back over the scene on the water tower. She played the scuffle over in her mind, looking for some detail she might have missed. The punch had caught her off guard and, if he had been punching from the other direction, that blow alone might have sent her over the edge of the platform.

  But it hadn’t. She had been struck from the left, which had sent her toward the tank at the top of the tower.

  He hit me with his left hand, she thought. He’s a leftie.

  It was a small detail but in a town the size of Kingsville, she thought it might actually narrow down the pool of suspects substantially.

  There was something else, too. That thought that had teased her out in the field moments ago. It pertained to why the killer had been there in the first place. And, she thought, it pretty much eliminated the idea that the killer was scared of heights. Even if he’d wanted to somehow recapture the murders, to relive them from the murder scenes, a legitimate fear of heights would not have made it very enjoyable.

  Not only that, but he’d fought well from that height.

  He isn’t scared of heights. And I have no real indications that any of the victims were, either. This guy was here tonight to revel in his work, not to continue to fight off a fear. He’s not afraid—and he probably never was.

  In other words, she was going about this all wrong. She had been from the start, or so it seemed.

  She got back out of the car and hurried back out to the clearing. She found Tate easily enough, as he was pacing back and forth between two clusters of officers that were beginning to walk into the forests, flashlights aimed into the tangle of trees ahead of them.

  “One more detail,” she said as she approached him. “This guy…he’s left-handed. When he punched me, it was with his left hand.”

  “You positive?”

  “Nearly one hundred percent.”

  “Any other small details coming to you?” he asked. Again, he wasn’t trying to come off as a dick but apparently, that’s just how he behaved when under intense pressure.

  “No,” she said. “But I do think I’ve been coming at this all wrong.”

  “That’s bad, right?”

  “No. It means now I can start from scratch. And sometimes, that’s the best way to gain perspective.”

  She’d heard that in some class during her time at Quantico. She just hoped to hell it proved to be true in this case.

  ***

  Three and a half hours later, a suspect had still not been found. Tate, though, seemed to han
g on the left-handed detail and told her he’d let her know if anything came up. Mackenzie then took advice from both Tate and McGrath. She left the site, giving up the search, and went back to her motel room.

  It was a little before one o’clock before she was showered and getting into bed. With the lights out, she feared that she might have that dream again, of falling forever off of some nameless bridge while corn husks slapped at her from all sides.

  She drifted off for only a while before she stirred awake. Something had woken her up. She looked at the bedside clock and saw that it was 1:22. She hadn’t been sleeping long at all. But what had woken her up?

  The sound came again. A knocking at the room’s door.

  Tate? she wondered. But if so, why didn’t he just call like he said he would?

  She got out of bed slowly, grabbing her Glock as she did so. She slowly peered through the little glass peephole. Confused at what she saw, she opened the door immediately.

  Ellington stood on the other side.

  “Hey,” he said sheepishly. “I heard about what happened.”

  She stepped aside, allowing him in. “How?”

  “McGrath called. He asked if I thought you were okay to handle this on your own. Something about the suspect being in your grasp. He said there was a fight.”

  “There was,” she said. “And yeah, he got away.”

  He looked at her in the light, tilting his head slightly to look at where she had been punched in the face. She knew that it had swollen a bit but the pain wasn’t that bad.

  “You okay?” Ellington asked.

  “Yes. Well…I don’t know. Aren’t you going to get an ass-chewing for being here?”

  “Well, I was sort of hoping you wouldn’t tell anyone.”

  “This is dumb. You could get into a lot of trouble.”

  He sat on the edge of the bed as Mackenzie closed the door. “I know,” he said. “But I’ve been thinking a lot about some of the things you said at the apartment. About how it scares you to rely on someone that you don’t know for sure will always be there.”

  “Yeah, it’s unfair for me to burden you with that and—”

  “It’s not a burden,” Ellington said. “And I guess that’s why I’m here.” He reached out for her hand, which she offered without much resistance. “I heard you’d been attacked and that things were getting out of control down here and I had to be here with you. There wasn’t even a question. It’s why I honestly don’t really care if I get my hand slapped for it. Shit…I’m already suspended. What else could happen?”

  “For starters, you could lose your job.”

  “Doubtful. You don’t think McGrath has at least some sort of an idea that I came directly to Kingsville when he told me you had been attacked? Anyway…what I’m saying is the way that relying on me scares you, the sense of protectiveness I have for you scares me, too. I’ve been in love before so I won’t even try that line on you. But I can honestly say I’ve never cared so much about the well-being and safety of someone. Maybe it has to do with being partners at work. I don’t know. But I heard you were in danger and my heart hurt because I couldn’t be with you right then, that very second. And maybe that’s why these allegations against me are wedging between us so hard. We’re both scared in our own way and something like this sort of serves as bait. If we want a way out, here it is.”

  “And do you?” she asked.

  “Hell no. If I did, I wouldn’t have sped down here to see you. In fact, I’m here for something else. Look…I love that you rely on me. And I also sort of love that I’m so protective of you. So let’s just gel those two together.”

  “How?”

  He shrugged, stood up, and drew her close. “Marry me.”

  The words Are you crazy? were on her tongue, but she swallowed them back. She’d wanted some sign of consistency and safety from him and he was delivering. And while she was not quite ready to give a yes or no response to his request, the absolute sincerity in his eyes when he said those two words told her all that she needed to know.

  Instead of responding with words, she responded with a kiss. Within seconds it had evolved into a melting heat, a kiss that was slow and lingering but, at the same time, communicated one thousand things to the rest of their bodies. Her jaw ached a bit from the punch she had taken as she opened her mouth to him but that ache was gone as he slowly laid her down on the bed and expertly removed her shirt.

  She lost herself then, somehow allowing vulnerability. She allowed herself to fall and, for a moment, did not fear the heights she had peered down from earlier in the night. If all falling was like this, certainly there were ways to overcome such a fear.

  Something about this clicked in her mind and she stored it away for a moment as she and Ellington fell into a familiar rhythm—a rhythm that even then, she knew she could live with for the rest of her life.

  CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

  Mackenzie was about to get into the shower the next morning when her cell phone rang. It was just after six in the morning, the time of day when any call coming to an agent likely meant something big…or discouraging. Ellington, still asleep in bed, jerked awake at the sound. Still naked from the night’s activities, Mackenzie grabbed her phone and saw Tate’s number of the display.

  “Good morning, Sheriff,” she said.

  “Agent White, we’re pretty certain we’ve got a guy that fits your description. And I think you’re right. I think we were all coming at it from the wrong angle right from the start.”

  “Who’s the suspect?”

  “A local guy named Jimmy Gibbons. Twenty-nine years old, a noted left-handed guy. He also has a reputation for dressing sort of grungy. Has a preference for black hooded sweatshirts.”

  “That all seems pretty generic.”

  “That’s what we thought, too. But there’s more. Look, come on down to the station as soon as you can. I’ll bring you in on what we’ve got and unless you have any objection, it’s looking like we might raid his home.”

  “Why not just pay him a friendly visit?” Mackenzie asked. She decided she’d have to skip her shower, already slipping her pants on.

  “Well, there’s a little more to it. Come on down and we’ll fill you in.”

  Mackenzie ended the call and continued to get dressed. It was a little strange to be in such a better place this morning, primarily because Ellington had showed up and made the grandest of gestures.

  “A break in the case?” Ellington asked, sitting up in bed.

  “The local PD thinks so. I’m heading down there now to check on things.”

  “I’d love to ride along,” he said. “But you and I both know that might not be the smartest idea. Anything I can do for you from here?”

  “Yes, actually. It’ll be monotonous, though.”

  He shrugged as he also slid out of bed and started to collect his clothes. “Might as well put me to use. I sure as hell didn’t come to Kingsville for a vacation.”

  “Use my laptop to get into the bureau database and see if you can find any other cases in the last three years or so where suicides from jumping had some big question marks…maybe not everyone was convinced they were suicides. Don’t stray too far from the Virginia, DC, Maryland area.”

  “Yeah, I can do that. Keep me posted on how things play out.”

  “I will,” she said. She fixed her hair quickly, barely even glancing at it in the mirror. She then turned around and kissed Ellington, a lingering kiss that served as an aftershock of what had happened last night.

  “Be careful out there,” Ellington said. “And please try not to climb up on anything high again.”

  “I make no promises,” she said with a wink as she opened the door and stepped outside.

  ***

  Tate had assembled his small team in the conference room and they all regarded Mackenzie with enthusiasm and respect when she came into the room. The room was thick with the smell of coffee and the unmistakable feeling of excited tension among men with a similar
goal in mind.

  Andrews and Roberts were at the table, neither of them sitting. They both stood, looking like bulls about to be released from their gates at a rodeo.

  “Just in time,” Tate said. “I was about to brief Officer Roberts on what we’ve got. As I told you on the phone, Agent White, the suspect’s name is Jimmy Gibbons. He’s a twenty-nine-year-old local and we’ve got it confirmed that he is left-handed. He works at a small engine repair shop on the edge of town, one of only four employees, including the owner. Black hoodies are basically his thing—wears them constantly, even when most people have switched over to T-shirts for warmer weather.”

  “Again, though,” Mackenzie said, “while that’s a huge connection, it’s also very coincidental.”

  “Not in Kingsville. Seems that Jimmy Gibbons hasn’t reported in for work in about a week. I got that directly from his supervisor. It’s also telling that Jimmy has a record. Punched his girlfriend a few years ago. No damage, but still. He did three months behind bars for it. He’s also the type that seemed to spawn rumors about himself. Rumors that, in a town like this, usually tend to be true.”

  “What kind of rumors?” she asked.

  “That Jimmy was that awkward teen that shot stray cats with a slingshot,” Andrews said. “The type that set small fires just to watch bugs burn.”

  “And while his record only has the one incident with an ex-girlfriend,” Tate said, “he’s been reported twice for suspicious activity: slowly stalking across people’s front yards and trespassing.”

  “Is that his record?” she asked, pointing to a thin folder in front of Tate.

  Tate nodded and slid the folder over toward her. Mackenzie opened it up and skimmed it. She was more interested in the small photo of Jimmy Gibbons. She tilted her head and then placed her hand over the top quarter of his head. The photo only showed a very thin growth of hair on his face, so she did her best to imagine a five o’clock shadow like the one she had seen on the chin and jaws of the man from last night.