by Blake Pierce
B E F O R E H E S E E S
(A MACKENZIE WHITE MYSTERY—BOOK 2)
B L A K E P I E R C E
Blake Pierce
Blake Pierce is author of the bestselling RILEY PAGE mystery series, which include the mystery suspense thrillers ONCE GONE (book #1), ONCE TAKEN (book #2), ONCE CRAVED (#3), and ONCE LURED (#4). Blake Pierce is also the author of the MACKENZIE WHITE mystery series and the AVERY BLACK mystery series.
BEFORE HE KILLS, book #1 of the Mackenzie White mystery series, is available on Amazon!
ONCE GONE (book #1), which has over 100 five star reviews, is available as a free download on Amazon!
An avid reader and lifelong fan of the mystery and thriller genres, Blake loves to hear from you, so please feel free to visit www.blakepierceauthor.com to learn more and stay in touch.
Copyright © 2016 by Blake Pierce. All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior permission of the author. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Jacket image Copyright lassedesignen, used under license from Shutterstock.com.
BOOKS BY BLAKE PIERCE
RILEY PAIGE MYSTERY SERIES
ONCE GONE (Book #1)
ONCE TAKEN (Book #2)
ONCE CRAVED (Book #3)
ONCE LURED (Book #4)
MACKENZIE WHITE MYSTERY SERIES
BEFORE HE KILLS (Book #1)
BEFORE HE SEES (Book #2)
AVERY BLACK MYSTERY SERIES
CAUSE TO KILL (Book #1)
CAUSE TO RUN (Book #2)
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR
PROLOGUE
Susan Kellerman understood the need to dress nicely. She was representing her company and trying to win over new buyers, so her appearance went a long way. What she did not understand, though, was why in God’s name she had to wear heels. She was wearing a pretty summer dress and had the perfect pair of flats to go with it. But no…corporate insisted on heels. Something about sophistication.
I doubt heels have anything to do with acquiring a sale, she thought. Especially not if the would-be client is a man. According to her sell -sheet, the person in the house she was currently approaching was a man. Given that, Susan checked the collar of her dress. She was showing some cleavage but nothing scandalous.
That, she thought, shows sophistication.
With her rather large and cumbersome display case in hand, she clomped up the steps in her heels and rang the doorbell. As she waited, she took a quick glance around the front of the house. It was a basic little house situated on the outskirts of a middle-class neighborhood. The grass had been recently cut, but the small flower beds bordering the tiny set of stairs to the front door were badly in need of weeding.
It was a quiet neighborhood, but not the kind Susan would live in. The houses were one-story little saltboxes splattered along the streets. Most, she assumed, were owned by older couples or those struggling to pay their bills. This house in particular looked about one strong storm or financial crisis away from becoming the property of the bank.
She reached out to ring the bell again but the door was answered before she could touch it. The man that answered was of average size and build. She guessed him to be about forty or so. There was something feminine about him, something she could see from the way he simply answered the door and gave her a wide, bright smile.
“Good morning,” the man said.
“Good morning,” she said.
She knew his name but had been instructed by those that trained her to never use it until the lines of communication were wide open. When you greeted them by name right away, it made them feel like targets rather than customers—even when they had scheduled the appointment ahead of time.
Not wanting to allow him a moment to ask her questions and therefore take control of the conversation, she added: “I was wondering if you might have a moment to speak with me about your current diet.”
“Diet?” the man asked with a smirk. “I’m not on much of a diet. I sort of eat what I want.”
“Oh, that must be nice,” Susan said, putting on her best charming smile and chipper tone of voice. “As I’m sure you know, not many people over the age of thirty can say that and maintain a healthy body type.”
For the first time, the man looked at the case in her left hand. He smiled again and this time it was a lazy one—the sort of smile someone might flash when they know they’ve been had.
“So what are you selling?”
It was a sarcastic comment, but at least it wasn’t a door closing in her face. She took that as the first victory toward getting inside. “Well, I’m here on behalf of A Better You University,” she said. “We offer adults over the age of thirty a very easy and methodical way to stay in shape without hitting the gym or altering their lifestyle too much.”
The man sighed and his hand went to the door. He looked bored, ready to send her packing. “And how do you do that?”
“Through a combination of protein shakes made with our very own protein powders and more than fifty healthy recipes to give your daily nutrition the boost it needs.”
“And that’s it?”
“That’s it,” she said.
The man considered it for a moment, looking to Susan and then to the large pack in her hands. He then looked at his watch and gave a shrug.
“I’ll tell you what,” he said. “I have to leave in ten minutes. If you can convince me in that amount of time, you’ve got a customer. Anything to keep me from going back to the gym.”
“Splendid,” Susan said, cringing internally at the fake cheer in her voice.
The man stepped aside and waved her into the house. “Come on in,” he said.
She stepped inside and entered a small living room. An ancient-looking television sat on a scarred entertainment center. A few dusty old chairs sat in the corners
of the room along with a crumpled sofa. There were ceramic figurines and doilies everywhere. It looked more like some old woman’s house than a forty-something single man’s.
For reasons she did not know, she heard internal alarms going off. But then she tried to thwart her fear with shaky logic. So he’s either incredibly off or this isn’t his house. Maybe he lives with his mother.
“Is here okay?” she asked, pointing to the coffee table in front of the couch.
“Yes, right there is fine,” the man said. He smiled at her as he closed the door.
The moment the door was closed, Susan felt something stir in her gut. It felt like the room had grown cold and all of her senses were responding to it. Something was wrong. It was a bizarre feeling. She looked at the nearest ceramic figure—a little boy pulling a wagon—as if for some sort of answer.
She busied herself by opening up her case. She took out a few packs of the A Better You University Protein Powder and the complimentary mini-blender (a retail value of $35 but yours absolutely free with your first purchase!) to distract herself.
“Now,” she said, trying to remain calm and ignore the chill she still felt. “Are you more interested in weight loss, weight gain, or maintaining your current body type?”
“I’m not sure,” the man said, standing over the coffee table and looking at the goods. “What would you say?”
Susan found it hard to talk. She felt scared now and for no real reason.
She looked over at the door. Her heart thumped in her chest. Had he locked the door when he closed it? She couldn’t tell from where she sat.
She then realized that the man was still waiting for a response. She shook the cobwebs away and tried to slip back into presenter mode.
“Well, I don’t know,” she said.
She wanted to look to the door again. Suddenly the fake eyes of every porcelain figure in the room seemed to be staring at her—leering at her like a predator.
“I don’t eat too bad,” the man said. “But I do have a soft spot for key lime pie. Would I still be able to eat key lime pie on your program?”
“Possibly,” she said. She sifted through her materials, pulling the case closer to her. Ten minutes, she thought, getting more and more uneasy with the passing of each second. He said he had ten minutes. I can make it that long.
She found the small pamphlet that showed what the man would be able to eat on the program and looked up to him to hand it over. He took it and when he did, his hand brushed hers for just a moment.
Again, alarms sounded in her head. She had to get out of there. She’d never had such a reaction from stepping into a potential client’s house but this was so overpowering that it was all she could think about.
“I’m sorry,” she said, gathering the case and her materials back up. “But I just now remembered that I have a meeting to attend in less than an hour, and it’s all the way on the other side of town.”
“Oh,” he said, looking at the pamphlet she had just handed him. “Well, I understand. Sure. I hope you can make it on time.”
“Thanks,” she said quickly.
He offered her the pamphlet and she took it with a trembling hand. She put it into the case and started for the front door.
It was locked.
“Excuse me,” the man said.
Susan turned, still reaching for the doorknob.
She barely saw the punch coming. All she saw was a blinding white fist as it slammed into her mouth. She felt blood flowing right away and tasted it on her tongue. She fell directly back onto the couch.
She opened her mouth to scream and felt like the right side of her jaw was locked up. As she tried getting to her feet, the man was there again, this time driving a knee into her stomach. The wind rushed out of her and she could do nothing but curl up, fighting for breath. As she did, she was dimly aware of the man picking her up and throwing her over his shoulder as if she was some helpless cavewoman that he was dragging back to his cave.
She tried fighting against him, but she still could not draw any breath into her lungs. It was like being paralyzed, like drowning. Her whole body felt limp, including her head. She was dripping blood onto the back of the man’s shirt and this was all she saw as he took her through the house.
At some point, she realized that he had taken her into another house—a house that was somehow attached to the one she had been in just moments ago. She was dropped to the floor like a sack of rocks, striking her head on a scarred linoleum floor. Bright dots of pain flared across her eyes as she was finally able to take in the smallest of breaths. She rolled over but when she managed to get to her feet, he was there again.
Her eyes were growing hazy but she could make out enough to see that he had opened some sort of small door in the side of a wall—hidden behind some sort of false paneling. It was dark in there, layered with dust and some sort of puffy insulation that hung down in torn tatters. Her heart slammed against her chest as if trying to break through her breastbone when she realized that he was taking her in there.
“You’ll be safe here,” the man told her as he hunched over and dragged her into the crawlspace.
She found herself in the dark, lying down on stiff boards that served as the floor. All she could smell was dust and her own blood, still trickling from her busted nose. The man…she knew his name but could not recall it. The word was blood and pain and a tight pain in her chest as she still fought for breath.
She finally drew one in and wanted to use it to scream. But instead, she let it fill her lungs, relieving her body. In that moment of brief relief, she heard the crawlspace door close somewhere behind her and then she was stranded in the darkness.
The last thing she heard before her world went black was his laughter, just outside the door.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “This will all be over soon.”
CHAPTER ONE
The rain was coming down steadily, just hard enough so that Mackenzie White could not hear her own footfalls. This was good. It meant that the man she was chasing down would not be able to hear them, either.
Still, she had to advance with caution. Not only was it raining, but it was late at night. The suspect could easily use the darkness to his advantage just like she could. And the weak flickering streetlights were doing her no favors.
With her hair nearly soaked and her rain coat so wet that it was basically plastered to her, Mackenzie crossed the deserted street in a near march. Ahead of her, her partner was already at the targeted building. She could see his shape crouching low by the side of the old concrete structure. As she neared him, illuminated only by the moonlight and a single streetlight a block away, she tightened her slick grip on the Academy-issued Glock she carried in her hands.
She was starting to like the feel of a gun in her hands. It was more than a sense of security but something closer to a relationship. When she held a gun in her hands and knew that she was going to shoot it, she felt an intimate connection to it. She had never felt this while working as an underappreciated detective in Nebraska; it was something new that the FBI Academy had chiseled out of her.
She reached the building and huddled up along the side of it with her partner. Here, at least, the rain was no longer pelting her.
Her partner’s name was Harry Dougan. He was twenty-two, well-built, and cocky in a subtle and almost respectable way. She was relieved to see that he looked a little unnerved, too.
“Did you get a visual?” Mackenzie asked him.
“No. But the front room is clear. You can see that much through the window,” he said, pointing ahead of them. There was a single window there, broken and jagged.
“How many rooms?” she asked.
“Three that I know of for sure.”
“Let me lead,” she said. She made sure it did not sound like a question. Even here in Quantico, women had to be assertive to be taken seriously.
He gestured for her to go ahead. As she dashed in front of him, she slid to the front of the building. She pe
ered around and saw that the coast was clear. These streets were eerily empty and everything looked dead.
She gave a quick motion for Harry to come forward and he did without hesitation. He was holding his own Glock steady in his hands, holding it low to the ground in their pursuit, just like they had been trained to do. Together, they crept toward the front door of the building. It was an abandoned concrete slab of a place—maybe an old warehouse or storage place—and the door showed its age. It also made it obvious that it was open, a dark crack revealing a sliver of the building’s interior.
Mackenzie looked at Harry and counted down with her fingers. Three, two…one!
She pressed her back tight against the concrete wall as Harry went low, pushed the door open, and strafed inside. She wheeled in behind him, the two of them operating like a well-oiled machine. However, once inside the building, there was almost no light. She quickly went for her flashlight at her side. Just as she was about to click it on, she stopped herself. A flashlight beam would be a dead giveaway for their location. The suspect would see them far in advance and could likely escape them…again.
She replaced the flashlight and reclaimed the lead again, creeping in front of Harry with the Glock now trained ahead to the door on her right. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she could see more details of the place. It was mostly barren. A few soggy cardboard boxes were pressed against a far wall. A sawhorse and several old cables lay discarded near the back corner of the room. Other than that, the central room was empty.
Mackenzie walked toward the door to her right. It was really just a doorway, the actual door having long been removed. Inside, shadows concealed nearly everything. Other than a broken glass bottle and what looked to be several rat droppings, the room was empty.
She stopped and started to turn around when she realized that Harry was following far too close behind her. She nearly stepped on his feet as she backed away from the room.
“Sorry,” he whispered in the dark. “I thought it—”
