Before He Covets (A Mackenzie White Mystery—Book 3)

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Before He Covets (A Mackenzie White Mystery—Book 3) Page 11

by Blake Pierce


  But she had not thought of her father in that way in a long time. In that dream, if only for a moment, she had gotten to remember him as the kind and fun man he had been. It was a memory that the nightmare of the bedroom and her discovery of his body had robbed from her.

  Choosing not to give that line of thought any footing, she gathered up all of the case notes on the Little Hill killer and tossed them into her bag without much organization—something that was very much unlike her. As she did that, she pulled up Expedia on her phone and booked the first flight she could to Lincoln, Nebraska. The best she could do was a flight out of Dulles at 11:05 p.m. with two stops before it would put her in Lincoln at 8:35 the following morning.

  To get to Dulles, though, she’d have to have a ride. She toyed with the idea of calling a cab but that didn’t feel right. In a moment of vulnerability that she had not expected, she knew that she wanted Bryers in on this. She did not want his help per se, but she needed to share it with someone. She felt safe in knowing that he would not rat her out to McGrath and, more than that, she was starting to really trust him as a friend and confidant.

  It was just after eight o’clock when she knocked on his door. She had one change of clothes on her, in the trunk of the agency car—something she’d packed in the event they night need to stay over in Strasburg (which now seemed like brilliant preplanning on her part).

  As he came to the door, she could hear Bryers coughing. It was almost a common sound now but it still made her worry.

  He seemed surprised to see her at the door. He had also apparently gotten food delivered, as he was eating a huge slice of pizza.

  “Hey, White. What’s up?”

  “So…I think I’m going to have to ask you if we can take a little drive tonight after all,” she said.

  “I thought the whole point of staying here was to avoid that.”

  “It was,” she said. “But something…sort of came up.”

  He looked at her inquisitively for a moment and then frowned. “Are you okay?”

  She felt like she might cry at any moment but managed to bite it back. “I don’t know,” she said. “But right now, I need you to take me to DC—to Dulles. If you can’t, I’ll get a cab. It’s less than an hour and—”

  “No, no, I’ll take you,” he said. “But…Dulles? What the hell for?”

  “I just got a call from a man I worked with on the Nebraska PD. He was calling to give me a heads-up about a case…a case that looks to be linked to my father.”

  Bryers thought about this for a moment and nodded. “He called you to tip you off, didn’t he? He wanted you to know before the feds picked it back up.”

  “Yes. And Bryers…I know it’s asking a lot but I need you to keep it quiet. I sold McGrath on the idea of me going back but I wasn’t totally honest with him. I just…I can’t not check this out and—”

  “It’s okay,” Bryers said. “We’re talking about your father here. Your secret is safe with me. Just…be careful.”

  “I will. So, how about that ride?”

  “Absolutely,” he said. “Just let me get dressed.”

  ***

  Making the transition from the backwoods outside of Strasburg to the busy traffic trickling into Dulles was almost dreamlike for Mackenzie. She was distracted by the notion of her father’s case being reopened. Even after she had told Bryers everything—from her father’s death to getting the call from Porter—she found it hard to believe.

  When Bryers pulled up to the curb at the airport, he popped the trunk and stepped out with her. Mackenzie grabbed her small bag and threw it over her shoulder.

  “Thanks, Bryers,” she said.

  “Sure,” he said. “Your secret is safe with me. But if you go past that forty-eight hours McGrath has given you, I’m afraid I can’t help you.”

  “I know. I’m going to do my absolute best. And please keep me posted on any updates on the Little Hill case.”

  “I will,” he said.

  After a brief, awkward silence, Mackenzie turned and headed into the airport. She felt that her departure from Bryers had been too brief—almost rude in a way. But she was working against the clock here. She could deal with sentimentality later.

  Inside the airport, she checked in, grabbed her tickets, and headed for the restroom. She locked herself in a stall, changed into the single change of clothes in the bag, and did her best to freshen up. At the sinks, she splashed some cold water into her face, tidied up her hair, and then went searching for her gate.

  She sat down and realized that she still had an hour and a half before her plane departed. She wondered if she might be able to catch a nap in the uncomfortable seats but gave up on it after ten minutes.

  As she waited, there was one thing that kept coming to her mind…something she knew she needed to do but didn’t quite have the patience to endure. With a heavy sigh and an uneasiness in her stomach, Mackenzie took out her phone and scrolled to a name she had thought of often ever since moving to Quantico.

  Stephanie.

  To say that Mackenzie and her younger sister, Stephanie, had an estranged relationship was being far too gentle. They’d always been at odds; even before their father had died, when they had been scrambling through childhood, they had not gotten along. But it had been the years that followed their father’s death and their mother’s gradual descent into a psychotic break of sorts that had really hurt them. Stephanie had elected to let the grief and disorder of their life to define her while Mackenzie had worked extra hard to make sure she escaped it. This had eventually led Stephanie to a life of abusive relationships, meager jobs, and drama at every turn. Mackenzie, on the other hand, was currently in the midst of having achieved a goal she had set for herself after her father died.

  With all of this history heavy on her heart, Mackenzie pressed CALL.

  The phone rang four times before it was answered. Before she heard Stephanie’s voice, there was a loud abrasive banging from the other end. Loud music pulsed through Mackenzie’s phone from Stephanie’s end.

  “Hello?” Mackenzie said.

  “Yeah?” Stephanie asked. “Who’s this?”

  “It’s Mackenzie.”

  Again, she could only hear the blaring music in the background. Mackenzie assumed that Stephanie was out somewhere partying and drinking. She was pretty sure that’s where about half of her sister’s weekly paycheck went.

  “Oh,” Stephanie said, either simply confused or disappointed. “What’s up?”

  “I wanted to call to let you know that I’m going back to Nebraska for a while. I was wondering if you maybe wanted to meet for lunch or something.”

  “DC not doing it for you anymore?” Stephanie asked.

  The tone of her voice and the edge of annoyance confirmed what Mackenzie had thought: Stephanie was out drinking.

  “Well, I’m only going to be out that way for a day or so.”

  “Okay,” Stephanie said, clearly not caring.

  It’s going to have to be this way, then, Mackenzie thought. “I’m coming back out there for Dad’s case,” she said. “Something came up in a state PD case that raised enough questions to have them take another look at the case.”

  Stephanie went silent again. The music continued to blare in her ear. It was some terrible current country-pop song. “Steph?”

  “What the hell reason is there to open the case again?” Stephanie said.

  “I’m not sure yet,” Mackenzie said. “That’s why I’m coming down there.”

  “And you’re telling me why?” Stephanie asked.

  “Because I thought you’d want to know. I thought you’d want—”

  “No, Mackenzie. Fuck! Why can’t you just leave this alone? He’s dead. Nothing will change it. And whatever guilt has pushed you forever is wasting your time and energy.”

  “It’s not guilt,” Mackenzie said. Although, when the nightmares had been at their worst, she would often wake up with an emotion very much like guilt stabbing her in the heart.r />
  “I don’t care what it is,” Stephanie said. “Look…thanks for thinking of me. But no. Leave me out of this.”

  Before Mackenzie could get out another word, Stephanie hung up.

  Mackenzie slowly set her phone aside, wanting to scream, wanting to cry, wanting to punch a hole in the airport wall.

  But she did none of those things. Instead, she found the closest coffee shop along the airport and sat silently as she waited for her plane to board as a dreary sort of anticipation swept through her. Her father’s case was on the verge of being reopened.

  And all of her worst nightmares were about to come to life.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Brian Woerner had no idea what was going on in Little Hill State Park, but he intended to find out. He’d first seen the drone flying over the property when he had stepped out of his house to check his mail. He worked from home so anything out of the ordinary that happened outside was of great interest to him—even when someone did something as mundane as simple landscaping on his street.

  He lived half a mile from the entrance to the park, so he had also noticed the police presence coming in and out of the park. That, added to the fact that he had seen the drone sweeping over the tree tops, made him think that there was something up.

  Working from home as a blogger and non-fiction editor, Brian sometimes found himself researching interesting and often controversial things. Perhaps it was this facet of his work that gave him a particular bent toward a distrust of the government and favor toward conspiracies. And while there had been no unmarked black helicopters in the area, Brian found himself very interested in what might be attracting the police to Little Hill State Park. He was pretty sure the local PD didn’t have the need or the budget for drone technology so that made him wonder of the feds were involved.

  And that’s what made him decide to do some research on his own. His blog usually centered on government conspiracies, from rigged presidential elections to grassroots UFO disclosure efforts. If there was something shady going on in Little Hill State Park, it would fit right in with his usual content. And he might even be the first to break the news.

  Of course, a cursory drive into the park and by the visitor’s center showed him that the park was closed down. There was no reason given, just a sign at the guard shack that stated that Little Hill State Park would be closed to the public until further notice.

  The evidence of something fishy was just piling up more and more. And that’s why he found himself taking a back road to the rear entrance of Little Hill State Park less than an hour after being turned away at the guard shack. As a twenty-five-year-old who had spent his teen years having lots of sex in the backs of cars and beds of trucks in these woods, he knew every nook and cranny of the park. He had, in fact, spent most of his free time as a fifteen- and sixteen-year-old purposefully walking the park in search of places to bring girls.

  So when he saw a park ranger Jeep blocking the rear entrance to the park, Brian didn’t despair. He knew of at least four other avenues into the park—at least two of which he was pretty sure the park rangers wouldn’t bother blocking off.

  He wound back through the back roads again, this time parking his car at the mouth of what had once been a dirt road used by hunters back when he’d been a small child. He locked up his car, took his phone and camera with him, and started walking.

  Several feet up the old entrance to the dirt track, an old chain hung between two wooden poles. A simple No Trespassing sign sat in the middle of the chain, riddled with bullet holes. Brian ignored this sign (as he had done as a teenager) and walked a few yards further up the road before banking off into the forest. The thick woods were everywhere but he chose the thicker woods to the right.

  He knew that right away, there would be a significant hill that would lead him down to flatter land. Because of his teenage wanderings, he had gotten to know these forests well. He never understood why people who claimed to love nature would stick to the paved walkways of a park when there was so much wilderness to be explored all around them.

  At the bottom of the hill, a thin creek traced its way through the woods. He took a large step over it and when he was on the other side, he saw the line of wooden markers topped with red paint. The markers were about two feet high and, he knew, served as the physical border of where the Little Hill State Park eastern edge began. About a mile further through the forest, he knew he’d come to a dirt trail—a secondary footpath that would eventually come alongside the creek he had just crossed. It was much more scenic that the official trails in Little Hill but was also more of an adventure.

  He was headed for that trail, pretty certain that he could use it to get close enough to the central paved trails. From there, maybe he’d be able to get a good read on what was going on. He walked quietly and kept looking to the sky. If the drone came by and he was spotted, he wasn’t sure how much trouble he’d be in for managing to get around the park’s public closing as well as the thin security set up at the secondary entrances.

  It was during one of his sky checks that he heard the footsteps coming from out of the woods to his left.

  Damn, Brian thought. Did they have officers out here canvassing the place?

  He started to back slowly away, ready to run back the way he had come, hoping he could make it back up the hill without getting winded. But just as he was about to start sprinting, he saw a man emerge from the thickness of the forest to his left. He was certainly not a cop and likely not a ranger, either. He was dressed in a black T-shirt and a pair of faded jeans. He looked like he might be confused—perhaps lost or turned around in the woods.

  He was carrying something in his hands, hiding it behind his back. Brian couldn’t tell what it was but he was pretty sure it was long. A rifle, maybe?

  “Hey there,” Brian said. “You sort of gave me a scare.”

  “Yeah?” the man asked. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

  The man came closer and closer, walking slowly. The closer he got, the more Brian could see that the expression on his face wasn’t one of confusion. He wasn’t sure what it was, exactly. The man’s eyes were wide and he wore a thin smile on his face.

  Instinctively, Brian took a step away.

  “What brings you out to the woods on a day like this?” the man asked.

  “Just sort of walking around, you know?” Brian said. “I was going to go the park but the cops seem to have that shut down.”

  Brian hoped the mention of the cops might startle the man. Still, the man came closer. It was then that Brian finally got a glimpse of what he was holding behind his back. It was an old battered axe.

  “Yeah, the cops like to fuck around in places they aren’t wanted,” the man said. He looked around at the forest and then finally brought the axe out from behind him. “What good would they do in a beautiful place like this?”

  Maybe it was the man’s tone…or maybe the look on his face. Whatever it was, Brian did not like it. He started ambling backward without turning away from the man. Turning his back to this man suddenly seemed like a very bad idea.

  Brian chuckled nervously in response to the man’s comment about cops, mainly because he had no idea what else to do.

  “You seem to have found a way into the park, though,” the man said. “That’s pretty resourceful.”

  “Well, I know these woods very well,” Brian said.

  “Yeah, I do too,” the man said. “I know them very well.”

  Slowly, he reached into his pocket and withdrew his phone. He had the feeling that calling 911 very soon might be a good idea.

  But just as he thumbed the lock screen on, the man came forward in a mad dash. He moved so suddenly and so fast that Brian barely had time to react. He let out a little yell of surprise and then turned around to run.

  He made it three steps before the man caught up to him.

  Something hard struck him from behind, colliding squarely with the back of his head.

  Before the world went black a
nd his head seemed to explode, Brian had just enough time to think: He didn’t get me with the sharp end of the axe, but the flat end. I’m not dead.

  I’m not dead yet.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Mackenzie had managed to fall asleep on the final stretch of flight to Lincoln after ping-ponging sleepily through the stops and brief layovers in between. She awoke to the sound of the captain announcing that they would be landing in ten minutes and when the wheels hit the ground, it would be 8:07 Nebraska time.

  She wasted very little time, only stopping at a little pastry shop within the airport to grab a muffin and a coffee before heading to the rental car desk. It wasn’t until she was behind the wheel of her rental that she realized she had never even bothered coming up with any sort of plan. It had been intentional, though. As much as she hated to admit it to herself, she hadn’t wanted to go into this with any sort of plan. She didn’t want to overthink it—especially when she now had less than forty hours to be back in Strasburg.

  Before pulling out of the rental car lot, Mackenzie opened up the text Porter had sent her. She didn’t hesitate at all as she tapped on Kirk Peterson’s number. He answered on the first ring, as if he had been waiting for her call all morning.

  “Hello?” he said.

  “Kirk Peterson?”

  “Speaking,” he said.

  “This is Mackenzie White. I’m with the—”

  “I know who you are,” he said with a hint of slyness in his voice. “Your friend Walt Porter told me you’d probably be calling.”

  “Well, I was hoping you’d have the time to meet with me.”

  “You’re in Nebraska?” he asked, surprised.

  “Yes. Lincoln.”

  “In that case, yes, I’d be happy to meet with you. Do you drink coffee?”

  She looked to her cup she’d gotten in the airport, sitting mostly empty in the cup holder of the console. “Yes.”

  “Let’s meet for coffee, then,” he said. “I can meet you in half an hour.”

 

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