by Blake Pierce
That had been nearly two months ago, though. And with the way she had been feeling ever since Harrison left—alone, a little useless and, quite frankly lost—the thought felt almost justified. More than that, it felt right.
Mackenzie, what the hell are you thinking?
She sighed and set her clothes back down on the edge of the sink.
Don’t do this, some small part of her screamed. No. This could be bad. This could ruin your working relationship.
But that was followed by another thought: The way he looked at me a few seconds ago…there was something there.
She reached for the doorknob with one last thought: To hell with it.
It had been nearly a year since she had been with a man, since she had allowed herself to be not only vulnerable with a man, but to take the time to actually enjoy not just sex, but the idea of connecting with a man over something more than work.
Mackenzie opened the bathroom door. Ellington had his back to her, looking at the case files. He had helped himself to one of the beers, taking a sip and unaware of what was standing behind him.
She felt incredibly sexy and nervous all at once. It was an intoxicating feeling.
“Okay,” she said. “This better?”
He turned around and his mouth literally fell open at what he saw. He was clearly confused but he also made no attempt to look away.
“Mackenzie, what the hell are you doing?”
She stepped into the room, fully aware that she was no good at doing the sexy stuff: strutting or giving guys the come-hither stare.
“It’s okay,” she said. “And if you really want me to, I’ll explain some stuff to you later. About my day…about the case, how I’m feeling. Or I could do it now. If you really want me to talk right now while I’m standing here like this, waiting for you, I can do that. I can—”
He put his beer down and came to her in two quick strides. He wasted no time with eye-gazing or slowly leaning in. He took her in his arms and kissed her. It was a harsh kiss but the force of it seemed to translate the tension they’d both been feeling for the better part of six months now.
Mackenzie lost herself in the kiss. It was so fast and dizzying that she wasn’t fully aware that he had lowered her to the bed until she felt some of his weight on her. And after that, she lost herself again—and enjoyed every blissful second of it.
***
Afterward, they did not linger in bed, spooning or holding or staring into each other’s eyes. The good thing about Ellington was that he was just as committed to work as she was. They took turns going to the bathroom to freshen up and met at the edge of the bed. Mackenzie wore the night attire she had originally intended to wear; Ellington wore only his pants, showing toned abs and shoulders that seemed just as tense now as they had been moments ago in bed.
Mackenzie sorted through the case files as Ellington started to look at them.
“And these are the only two couples so far?” he asked.
“Yes. And the only thing I have that can be considered as any sort of motive is the hands on the couples in the pictures.”
“What about them?”
She pointed out how one spouse’s hand had been positioned to purposefully touch their partner in each picture.
“That does seem a little strange, huh?” he said.
“It does. The question is whether it’s just some strange sort of calling card for the killer or if it means the killer believes the two couples are somehow linked.”
“Do you think such a clue means that maybe these two are the only victims?”
“I don’t know,” Mackenzie answered. “With two couples involved, it’s difficult to tell. If it were just one couple, I’d be looking for a jilted lover or a jealous ex. I’ve asked about such things from the family of Julie Kurtz and it’s not looking like an option anyway.”
“Have you had any breaks?”
“Not really,” she said. She cracked her laptop back open and showed him the DCM website. “This is the only thing of interest. DCM was a listing in the Sterlings’ checkbook. And we’re still not even one hundred percent sure their DCM is this place.”
“Still, an exclusive club with a shady website…that’s always worth looking into,” Ellington pointed out.
“My thoughts exactly.”
Ellington thought things over for a bit and then said: “I don’t want to come in and assume that this is my case as much as it is yours. You’re leading this thing. McGrath just sent me out to help.”
“You didn’t request it?”
“No. He knows we work well together. It was a smart move on his part. I think he regrets lining you up with Harrison. We’re a better fit for the job, I think.”
They both let the weight of that comment sink in. The case files sat in front of them and the reality of what they had just done hung in the air. It wasn’t tense but it also seemed to carry a tinge of uneasiness.
“Okay, I’ll be the sleazy guy and drop some innuendo,” Ellington said. “Should I go ahead and get my own room for the night?”
Mackenzie considered this for a while before finally nodding. “Yes. I think you should. If for nothing else than to eliminate suspicion when the expense reports are submitted.”
“Good thinking,” he said. “I’ll go get my own room. But afterwards, I was thinking I might come back here and instigate some things.”
“While I do think you need your own room,” Mackenzie said, “I see no need to wait for the instigating.”
She smiled at him and stretched out on the bed.
“If the invitation looks like that, what I’d be doing would not be instigating,” he said. “White, it’s all in the details.”
“Oh my God,” she scoffed. “Would you shut up and just get over here?”
With a smile of his own, Ellington obliged.
CHAPTER TEN
Mackenzie made her way slowly through the house she grew up in. Her mother was asleep on the couch. She stopped and looked at her. It was her mother as she preferred to remember her, back when she still had some of her looks and probably even clung to a few of the dreams for her life that would ultimately never come true.
She ran a hand softly over her mother’s face. She left a thin trail of wet blood.
She made her way through the small living room, down the hallway and toward her parents’ bedroom. She slowly opened the door and saw her father. He was sleeping, one leg kicked out from under the covers. He did not stir as she entered the room. He was deeply asleep.
She lifted her hand and saw that she was carrying a gun—a basic pistol of some kind, the make and model of which she could not determine in the dream.
She tiptoed to her father, placed the gun to his head.
She pulled the trigger.
Mackenzie awoke at 5:22, breathing hard.
She rolled over and groaned, and willed herself to go back to sleep, to push it from her head.
She managed to barely drift off again for a bit. The next time she was stirred awake, it was by the alarm on her phone at 6:15. Beside her, the bed was empty.
It was a decision they had come to shortly before midnight. While they didn’t regret the sex (yet), they realized that there was something a little more intimate about sleeping in the same bed. It was an amicable decision and as she got out of bed, Mackenzie was refreshed and surprised to see that she had zero regrets about her actions last night.
She showered again, having worked up a bit of a sweat last night. A small part of her was a bit ashamed of how brazen she had been. While she’d had two one-night stands in college, they had been the result of too much drinking and a need to be rebellious. She had never done something as blatant as she had last night…and something about it felt almost revolutionary. It was more than simple growth—it was confidence. And that confidence had very little to do with her appearance. It was more about how she felt about herself…a sense of control and self-reliance that she was only now starting to understand.
When she
stepped out of the shower, she heard her phone ringing from the other room. For the second time in less than twelve hours, she found herself rushing out of the bathroom wrapped only in a towel. On the display of her phone, she saw an unfamiliar number with a Miami area code.
“This is Agent White,” she answered.
“Agent White, this is Joey Nestler. The chief wanted me to call you.”
“Is everything okay?”
“No,” Nestler said. “We’ve found another murdered couple.”
Her heart skipped a beat in dread.
“Text me the address,” she said.
Mackenzie hung up and got dressed quickly. As she closed the door behind her, she saw Ellington coming back from the front office carrying two cups of coffee. He was dressed for the day and looked content. She wondered how he was feeling about last night but shut such thoughts down quickly. She could not let last night’s fling get in the way of the case.
“Glad to see you’re up and at ’em,” Mackenzie said. “I just got a call from one of the officers involved with the case. They found another murdered couple.”
The good mood that had been painted on his face drooped a bit. He nodded and offered her one of the coffees, which she took graciously.
“Well then, let’s get to work,” he said.
And just like that, they were working together again. And she realized that Ellington had been right about last night. Something about it felt natural. They were indeed a good fit…now, apparently, in more ways than one.
***
The third couple lived not too far away from the Kurtzes’ townhouse. It was a modest little house tucked away behind a well-to-do subdivision, owned by Stephen and Toni Carlson. Palm trees lined the streets in a generic sort of way. The lawns were beautiful and evenly mowed, perfectly symmetrical as were the edging and flowerbeds. Inside the couple’s house, though, things weren’t quite so idyllic.
Mackenzie entered with Ellington, Rodriguez, and Nestler. The front door opened onto a spacious living room that wasn’t really messy, but was in need of a clean. Books were scattered here and there, a stray plate remained on the coffee table, and two blankets were balled into messy piles on the couch.
As Mackenzie studied the condition of the living room, the smell hit her for the first time.
She’d smelled it only once before but knew quite well what it was.
It was the smell of something dead. Something that had been dead for quite some time.
“Jesus,” Rodriguez said, angling to the front of the room.
“The officer on duty said the master bedroom is in the back,” Nestler said. “He warned us that it was pretty fucking gruesome. Dispatch said he was damn near in tears.”
“How did he learn about the bodies in the first place?” Mackenzie asked, lowering her head in an attempt to cut down on the stench.
“The husband’s boss called the police yesterday after he was unable to get him on the phone or via text or email over the last five days.”
“His boss?” Ellington asked. “That seems weird.”
“He was apparently a workaholic,” Nestler explained. “He was in charge of business development with this military-funded telecommunications company. For him to miss one day without calling in beforehand was weird enough. After the fifth day with no word at all, the boss got worried. Even drove over here last night and knocked on the door but no one answered. He saw both cars in the driveway and placed the call.”
That was all Mackenzie needed to hear. Still holding her head down against the smell, she forged on. She also noticed that the house was quite humid, which obviously did nothing to help the smell. She spied the thermostat on the living room wall and saw that it was currently eighty-two degrees inside. She placed the air down to seventy degrees and heard the air conditioning kick on elsewhere in the house.
They exited the living room, walking through a large kitchen and then into the only hallway in the house. As they passed through the kitchen, the smell intensified. Behind her, Nestler coughed and let out a little moan.
As they made their way down the hall toward the bedroom, Rodriguez stepped aside for a moment to allow Mackenzie and Ellington to go ahead of him. As she approached the door the smell was worse than ever and it was then that she noticed just how stuffy and stagnant the house felt. It felt like walking in a tomb.
The bedroom door was closed. Mackenzie pushed it slowly open and the first thing she saw were the maroon streaks on the walls.
Then, of course, there was the murdered couple in the bed—the Carlsons.
Like the previous couples, they were lying on their backs. They had been borderline butchered, with several large gashes in their stomachs and chests. Stephen Carlson had also had his throat slashed. Toni Carlson was wearing a silk nightie, soaked in blood. Stephen wore a pair of boxers.
The blood was dried, congealed in some places. It was all over the carpet on Toni’s side of the room. The definite shape of a footprint could be seen.
“A potential struggle,” Mackenzie said, pointing to the area.
She got nods in response. It seemed like everyone was afraid to speak, not wanting to take in the stench of the place any more than was absolutely necessary.
The smell was thick here, almost like another wall within the room. Rigor mortis had most definitely set in. The skin on both of them was pale, nearly white in some areas.
“I think it’s safe to say the Carlsons were killed before the Sterlings or Kurtzes,” Rodriguez said in a thin and choked voice.
“But not too long beforehand,” Mackenzie said. “Maybe by two days. Three at most. That means that this guy has killed six people in the span of six or seven days.”
Willing herself forward, Mackenzie walked closer to the bed. She eyed the cuts and gashes. It was quite clear that a knife had been used. But this realization was almost secondary. What her eyes were focused on was Toni Carlson’s left hand. It was resting on her husband’s thigh.
Just like the other two crime scenes.
“What the hell is going on?” Rodriguez asked. “This can’t just be home invasion shit, right?”
“Definitely not,” Mackenzie said. “I’m betting this is just like the other cases. We’ll have a look around the house and I guarantee you there will be no signs of forced entry. Just like the Kurtzes and Sterlings, I bet the killer just walked right in. Probably invited.”
“Nestler, can you start looking for signs of a break-in?” Rodriguez asked.
“Gladly,” Nestler said, making his way quickly out of the room.
Mackenzie turned away from the bed. She glanced around the room, very tidy with the exception of the blood on the walls and carpet. She checked Stephen’s bedside table. There were a pair of reading glasses and a biography on John Kennedy. Toni’s held a glass of water and a tacky romance novel.
She then made her way into their closet. Like the bedroom it was mess-free. Stephen’s clothes were hung on the right wall, Toni’s on the left. A shelf along the back wall held a few decorative bags. A small handheld video camera sat among the bags. On a shelf beneath the bags were about a dozen small cartridge-like cassettes. Upon closer inspection, Mackenzie saw that these were mini-tapes…likely created with the handheld recorder. On the front label of each tape was a date. Some dated back as far as seven years. The most recent was from two years ago.
Tapes located in a bedroom closet, she thought. Pretty sure what that means. Might be worth looking into for clues, though.
To test her theory, she unzipped one of the bags and peered inside. She saw handcuffs lined with velvet, various sex toys, and a few blindfolds.
Yeah…I was right.
A little embarrassed, she zipped the bag back up and walked back out into the room. “There are a few videos in there,” she said. “Pretty sure they’re homemade sex movies. They might warrant a look. If they willingly invited someone in and they were as sexually adventurous as their closet indicates, there could be a link there.”
“I’ll get someone on it,” Rodriguez said.
Mackenzie stood at the end of the bed again, looking for something she might have missed here or at the other scenes. But there was nothing. Just a world of red and the overwhelming stench of death.
She exited the room with Ellington behind her. Rodriguez came out third and they walked to the next doorway down the hall. It was a small study of sorts, a room split between an office and a makeshift library. A single desk sat against the near wall while four bookshelves lined the back wall.
Mackenzie glanced at some of the titles along the shelves, getting a further peek into the life of the Carlsons. Erotica in the 1500s, Sex and Enlightenment, Tantric Secrets, Sexual Exploration in Marriage.
On one of the shelves, she saw a small box. She recognized it right away as the sort of box that business cards came in. She looked inside and saw roughly one hundred business cards, all adorned with Stephen Carlson’s name and the contact information for what she assumed was a home-based business called Carlson Accounting.
She thumbed through them and saw that the stack differed in the back. The last nine business cards were for other businesses—ones Stephen Carlson had apparently collected over the years. There was one for a plumber, one for a party planner, two different cards for auto shops in the area, one for an accountant…and then one that made Mackenzie stop.
“Ellington, look at this,” she said, plucking one of the last cards out of the box.
He came over and they looked at it together.
DCM. Invite Only. There was an address and then, beneath that, Gloria: 786-555-0951.
“That’s a different number than what we saw on the site, isn’t it?” Ellington asked.
“Yes, it is. And it’s also our first real lead.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
When Gloria Benitez answered Mackenzie’s call, she sounded cheerful and very pleasant. She had a voice fit for marketing, particularly cold calls.
