by Blake Pierce
Behind her, she heard the shower turn off. She finished reading the current file she was on while the sounds of Ellington petering around in the bathroom came through the walls.
“Don’t be alarmed,” she called out. “But I’m here.”
“Welcome back,” he called from the adjoining bathroom. “Should I come out clothed or in the nude?”
“Clothed,” she said. She sensed his attempt at humor but cut it off at the knees. Truth be told, she was still not entirely sure why the suspension was still bothering her. It made her feel juvenile and out of touch with reality. She could not go back to Kingsville with that feeling. She could not allow herself to be distracted by whatever toxicity existed between her and Ellington.
He did not respond to her following her comment, apparently hearing the seriousness in her tone. He appeared out of the bathroom two minutes later just as she was closing out of her files. He was dressed in a pair of jogging shorts and a T-shirt, his hair still wet from the shower.
“How goes the case?” he asked.
“It’s still stalled,” she said. “I’m heading back to Kingsville tonight.”
“Got a lead to chase down?”
“No. I just want to be there in the morning rather than driving down early.”
“You sure?” he asked, sitting on the edge of the bed. “It sure would be nice to have you here tonight. Unless you’re still pissed at me about the suspension.”
“I don’t know what I’m pissed about,” she admitted. “There’s something off and I didn’t feel it until the accusations against you popped up. But we need to figure it out now or it’s going to get in the way of my work.”
“Well, at the risk of sounding like a jerk, I think we found the problem right there in that statement,” he said. “You’re too worried about how the sins of my past are going to affect the way you approach your work now. So my question to you is whether you’re more upset at me as your partner or me as your boyfriend.”
“I think it’s a bit of both. And quite frankly, I don’t see how my putting the job ahead of you right now is a problem. You did something stupid in your past and it’s coming back to bite you. There’s absolutely no reason I should let it affect me and my work.”
“But you are. And why is that?”
“Because I’m finding it hard to look at you the same way,” she admitted.
“And is there any way to get over that? I mean…look, I understand at this point it’s my word against hers but I hope you know me enough to know that my word is pretty solid.”
“Yes, I do know that. I don’t know…I think it’s something deeper. Something I may not be ready to face just yet.”
“And what’s that?” he asked.
She knew the answer to it, but she wasn’t ready to tell him just yet. But on the other hand, hadn’t she come here to iron all of this out?
“What is it, Mackenzie?” he asked, reaching out and taking her hand. “Despite the suspension and despite the allegations against me, I’m still here. I’m still me.”
“I know,” she said. “Look…maybe I was wrong. Maybe this needs to wait until after the case. Because the more I think about it and the more we try to hash it all out, the more I start to see that it’s all an issue with me. An issue I’m having.”
“What issue?”
She hated that he was pressing her so hard but she knew it was out of love. That was why it was easier than she expected to finally give voice to it. “That I’ve become far too reliant on you. And that’s new to me. I’ve never relied on anyone…never cared what anyone thought of me. And now so much of what I do—so much of my self-worth and my drive to be a better person—comes based on how I want you to perceive me. It’s scary, it’s borderline stupid, and it sucks.”
“Mac, come here…”
She shook her head and stood up from her desk. “I can’t. I can’t kiss you right now and I certainly can’t stay here tonight. I have to figure this out on my own.”
“I don’t see what there is to figure out,” Ellington said. “I mean…are you so frightened of this that you’re thinking of walking out?”
She had briefly considered it but to hear it from his voice was a little terrifying. It actually brought a lump to her throat and tears to her eyes—all of which she managed to push away before they got the better of her.
“No. I just…I don’t know. I need to know that you’ll be there. If I’m going to be this damned reliant on someone else and not let it wreck me, I have to know you’ll be there. And this whole suspension thing and the allegations that caused it…they shook me.”
“Of course I’ll be there,” he said. “Mac…what else can I do to show you that? You and I have been through a hell of a lot. I would hope I’ve proven myself.”
She hated herself for it, but she knew she could not get much deeper into this conversation. She didn’t trust herself to become fully vulnerable in front of him. Knowing that, she walked to him and gave him a brief embrace.
“Mac…”
“It’s okay,” she said, breaking the embrace and giving him a very casual kiss on the side of the mouth. “I need to get going back to Kingsville. I’ll keep you posted.”
“Just stay here tonight,” he pleaded.
“I can’t,” she said. “I probably shouldn’t have even left in the first place. I’ll see you later.”
Before Ellington could say anything else, she was out of the bedroom. She had a small packed bag in the trunk of her car and even though she knew she only had one more fresh change of clothes, she did not want to extend her stay by packing. Surely Kingsville had a Laundromat somewhere.
She left the apartment with only one clear certainty: that it wasn’t an issue she had with Ellington at all; the problem she had was more with herself. And it had taken Ellington’s suspension and the tension that came with it to point that out to her.
Whatever it was, it was still not at the top of her priority list. And maybe that was the problem. While she was still in the midst of an open case with a killer who had accumulated three bodies in the course of a week, she had no time for drama or emotion—even when it involved Ellington.
Sure, she knew it was something she needed to work on if she ever hoped to have a normal, stable relationship. But first, she had to tend to her business. First, she had to find this killer.
Of course, now that she was back to zero leads, that was looking to be harder than ever.
It made her realize something that made her heart go cold for a moment.
If she was going to catch this killer, she had to get into his head. And since he was still on the run, she was going to have to find out how he thought, how he felt.
She was going to have to explore her own fear of heights if she hoped to know the killer better.
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
She started at the Miller Moon Bridge. As she made her way toward the gravel road, she passed a patrol car at the edge of the place where the road was no longer paved. She slowed long enough to show the policeman her badge and ID and then rolled on down the road. When she came to the old iron bridge, she left her car running, the headlights pointed toward it.
She took her small flashlight from the glove compartment and got out. She walked onto the bridge easily enough. While old, the bridge was still steady and firm, resolute beneath her feet.
When she reached the halfway point, she shined the flashlight ahead of her. The barricaded end sat down there like a mass of darkness in the night. She traced the safety rails all the way back to her and stepped closer to them, looking out from the spot where she felt certain Malory Thomas had clung for dear life about a week or so ago.
Shining the light down toward the water, Mackenzie felt the first true pang of fear. She tried to recall when she’d discovered her fear of heights. It had never been a very strong one, even after almost falling out of a tree as a kid. There was no trauma from her past, no horrific accident; she had simply always been uneasy in high places.
Would the killer have chosen this bridge if there was water down there?
The question was an intriguing one. She wondered for a moment if perhaps the height of these places wasn’t affecting the killer in a fearful way. Maybe he was some sort of a thrill seeker, the type who loved to be in high places. But if that were true, why taint a source of enjoyment with those he planned on killing?
Maybe it’s all part of the rush, she thought.
She stayed there for a few more moments, until the fear dissolved away into nothing more than a gradual unease. She went back to her car and left Miller Moon Bridge, waving at the officer at the end of the road as she passed him by.
She wondered if there would be any cars stationed out by the state-maintained road that led to the water tower. It came down to a mental game of cat and mouse, really. If there were cops patrolling the road leading to the bridge, why not the water tower? The killer would likely assume this was the case, wouldn’t he? So really, it might make sense to not post a car by the road to the water tower. It was a crapshoot anyway, since the water tower could be accessed through the forest.
Still, as Mackenzie neared the back road that led to the land the water tower sat on, she did in fact see a patrol car. She extended the same courtesy she had at the bridge, pulling up to the car and showing her ID.
The cop in the car rolled down his window, basically asking Mackenzie to do the same.
“It’s been quiet,” he said. “Just one truck came through and that was two teenagers just out riding around. Probably looking for a place to make out.”
“Are there any cars on the dirt road that leads to the access out in the woods?”
“No. I’ve kind of been swapping back and forth between the two.”
“Okay. Maybe make a call to the station and let them know I’ll be going in from that way.”
“Will do. Everything okay?”
“Yes,” Mackenzie said. “Just doing some routine check-up work.”
The cop nodded, waved his thanks, and rolled the window back up. Mackenzie continued on her way, driving to the dirt road that led to the field Maureen Hanks and Bob Tully had frequented for their trysts. She parked her car at the edge of the field, retrieved her flashlight again, and went walking out into the woods.
She walked as quietly as she could, figuring that if the killer had, for some reason or another, revisited the scene of the crime by way of the forest, she would not alert him. She made her way through the trees and came out at the weeded clearing. The water tower stood in front of her and in the darkness, it seemed larger than she remembered.
She came to the ladder at the backside of the tower and looked up. With a heavy sigh, she pocketed the flashlight, still on with the bulb facing skyward, and started climbing up the ladder. She ascended with nothing more than the quiet of the night around her. The sounds of the night escorted her, tree frogs and whippoorwills singing. While these sounds were usually welcome and even pleasant to her, they seemed ominous as she made her way to the platform.
It was the final rung that made her panic a bit—the moment where she had to grab the edges of the support railings and take that one final step up onto the platform, where her foot dangled out into open air for a single moment.
When she was finally standing on the platform with both feet securely grounded, her heart settled a bit but then seemed to remember that she was still a good distance in the air. How high had Deputy Andrews told her it was?
About one hundred and thirty feet…
She took a deep breath. It was harder to handle this without someone there with her. The other night, she’d had Andrews and Tate. Before she could let the thought of Ellington assault her, Mackenzie started walking. She walked toward the front of the water tower, where Maureen Hanks had fallen from.
Her legs were surprisingly steady as she walked around to the front. She kept one hand on the smooth surface of the tower face and another on the rail to her right. Just as she started to gradually peer over the rail, a sudden motion in front of her caught her attention.
Her heart hammered in her chest and for some strange reason, she thought the motion was the water tower—she feared that somehow, she was falling.
But then a fist collided with her face and she recognized the movement as an attacker.
But why the hell are they up here? she wondered as she staggered to the left from the impact of the blow.
She felt the attacker on her, trying to pin her to the tank surface of the tower. Before he could get a firm grip on her, Mackenzie slipped quickly downward and slid around behind
him, partially tripping him as she did so. As he stumbled forward, she threw her shoulder into his back. He slammed into the tower, sending a hollow thunk sound out into the night as she kept her weight and momentum against his back.
Mackenzie scrambled for her handcuffs and it only took that single moment for the attacker to surprise her with a very primitive move. He lifted up his left foot and just as Mackenzie braced herself to dodge a poorly aimed kick, he instead brought it down hard on her left foot.
Taken by surprise (and fearing that at least two of her toes were bow broken), Mackenzie let her weight come momentarily free of the attacker. He took this moment to wheel around, striking her in the chest with his elbow.
She tumbled backward and when the small of her back struck the protective rail, her heart seemed like it was trying to jump right out of her chest. She used it to support herself, throwing out a kick that landed along the guy’s hip.
“Who are you?” he bellowed as he staggered back.
The question itself and the way he asked it made Mackenzie aware that this was the killer. Not only was he attacking her without cause, but the manner in which he asked this question made her feel as if she had interrupted something very private. Perhaps he had come back to revisit the scene of the crime—to test his fear or to relive the death of Maureen Hanks most likely.
She didn’t bother answering him. She very seriously doubted hearing that she was from the FBI would cause him to stop the attack. Already, he was coming for her again as she tried to draw in breath from his last attack. He threw a punch that she easily blocked but still, she was fighting up against the rail with nothing but open space and one hundred and thirty feet to the ground behind her.
He seemed to sense this and came surging forward with his hands open toward her. It was the first time she had seen his face clearly and she did her best to commit it to memory. He was wearing a hooded sweatshirt, the hood covering most of the top of his face, his eyes almost covered.
She acted on impulse, jabbing a hard right hand toward him. It landed squarely in his throat. He started gagging immediately but his extended arms still struck her. Mackenzie felt her back arching, her legs losing their fight with his force. As he finally backed away, she feared that it was too late. She was falling backward, starting to totter over the edge of the rail as her feet came up.
She quickly wrapped her left arm around the rail, catching it in the crook her elbow. This stopped her momentum as the upper half of her body dangled precariously over the rail, out into open space.
With her right hand, she reached for her sidearm. The attacker, still clutching his throat as he staggered back against the tower, saw this. He let out a garbled curse through his gagging and hacking and made a run for it back toward the ladder.
Mackenzie finally managed to right herself, her feet once again firmly on the platform. She drew her gun and tried to give chase but her legs were wobbly and her heart felt like it might burst. Adrenaline spiked through her, making her lightheaded as she tried to follow after him.
“FBI!” she screamed as she reached the ladder. When she looked down, she saw that the suspect was over halfway down.
She thought about taking a shot, maybe taking him in the arm, but it was too damn dark and the last thing she wanted to do was accidentally blow the guy’s brains out. She’d dropped the flashlight somewhere in the skirmish and simply could not see him.
With the Glock still in her hand, she started to make her way down the ladder. She still felt disoriented from nearly having been shoved off the water tower so she had to truly focus on each rung. She was disoriented for a moment, making the act of climbing down very dangerous. She pulled herself toward the ladder, bracing herself and willing her nerves and pain to calm the fuck down.
She started down again, this time pushed by sheer determination more than anything else. When her feet touched the ground, she resented the way she had behaved for the last twenty or so seconds. Her face was aching from the punch and she was pretty sure she’d have a bruise right across her breasts tomorrow from the elbow blow. More than that, she felt like a scared little girl who had just come out of a dark room.
She strode across the field slowly with the Glock held out in front of her. She listened closely, willing the suspect to snap a twig or branch somewhere, anything to give away his location. The hell of it was that she had no idea where he had fled to. She’d been so preoccupied with not falling off of the ladder that she’d lost track of him.
She stopped moving altogether, even going so far as to hold her breath. She closed her eyes and listened as intently as she could.
Something moved far off to her right, in the opposite direction of where she had parked her car. She turned her head that way and saw nothing but the rugged tree line. Still, she ran as quietly as she could in that direction. She stopped when she reached the edge of the forest, again putting all of her focus on listening.