Before He Sees (A Mackenzie White Mystery—Book 2)

by Blake Pierce

  She walked to the bar they’d agreed upon, as she didn’t want to go through the awkwardness of having Harry drive her home if she had too much to drink. It was just a four-block walk and she took that time to try to slip back into the dating mindset. The last guy she’d seriously dated had been Zack and the courting aspect of their relationship had not lasted very long at all. They’d been living together five months after they met—a decision Mackenzie looked back on with deep regret. She wondered if she still even knew how to date. She’d never been great at conversations with men, much less flirting…not that she needed to flirt with Harry. She knew that he was into her and that made tonight’s date at least a little less intimidating.

  When she arrived, it was just after six and he was already sitting at a small back booth with a beer in front of him. When he saw her meandering through the small crowd toward him, he flashed her a shy smile.

  “You’re early,” Mackenzie said as she sat down across from him.

  “I am,” Harry said. “What can I say? I was excited.”

  “So how are you, Harry?” Mackenzie asked.

  He looked perplexed at the question but the smile remained on his face. “Me? I’m good,” he said. “This last half of the Academy is sort of trickling by—going way too slow, you know? But I’m enjoying it. Not as much as you, apparently. How goes the case? Or…can you not tell me?”

  She shrugged and nearly started telling him everything that had happened in the course of that day. But rather than bring his mood down, she figured it was wisest to keep it vague. “It’s a learning process for sure,” she said. “High and lows all coming at me within the space of just a few days.”

  “Were you not ready for it?” Harry asked.

  “I don’t know,” she said.

  “I thought the Scarecrow Killer thing would have been a pretty good learning experience.”

  She rolled her eyes. “It was. But I’m starting to learn that one stupid case is quickly starting to define me.”

  “Oh,” he said, clearly embarrassed.

  “No, it’s okay. I guess most normal people would be thrilled to get that kind of attention.”

  “You’re not normal?”

  “Far from it.”

  They shared an awkward laugh as the waitress came by to take their drink orders. Mackenzie took that time to give Harry a quick once-over. He was good-looking but in a very subtle way. But she already knew this from spending so much time with him at the Academy. She was pretty sure he had been the toddler that had been the cutest in his pre-school class, only to grow into an awkward teen that wouldn’t develop the least bit of sex appeal until midway through college. Thinking of sex appeal and Harry within the same thought was a little weird and it was then and there that Mackenzie was relatively sure that there would be no romance blossoming between them. She hoped he felt it too, so she wouldn’t have to be the one to spell it out.

  The conversation between them was pleasant enough. She learned that Harry had grown up in Michigan and had turned down a baseball scholarship at MSU to pursue his dream of being an FBI agent. His parents had moved to California when he’d graduated high school and he had a dog. In turn, Mackenzie didn’t offer much about herself. She kept information about her childhood to a minimum, refusing to venture anywhere near what it had been like to grow up with a father that had died suspiciously. Vaguely, she wondered if she was being as vague as Bryers had been to her and, if so, how it made Harry feel.

  She did respect Harry quite a bit for not badgering her with questions about the Scarecrow Killer or her very brief stint in helping Bryers. It made her think that he was genuinely interested in her and maybe even as smitten as Colby joked about. He certainly looked at her in a way that indicated that he had more in mind than just a friendship.

  “So what happens with you after the Academy?” Harry asked her.

  “I’d like to go into Profiling,” she said.

  “Ah, so you must love McClarren’s class.”

  “I do. I have my last session in that class tomorrow, as a matter of fact.”

  “So does it feel real to you yet?”

  “Does what feel real?”

  “The fact that we’re almost there….almost done with the Academy part to all of this.”

  It actually did seem real to Mackenzie, mostly because of how she had spent the last two days. She was still tired and upset about how McGrath had dismissed her earlier in the day, so it was very hard to separate her Academy life from what she had caught a glimpse of over those two days. Still, she didn’t want to move Harry into that discussion.

  “Not really,” she lied. “But I’m getting there.”

  Silence fell across the table and she did her best to return Harry’s gaze without seeming too uncomfortable. There were three empty glasses in front of her—the third having just been emptied of its contents of a rum and Coke. She was feeling buzzed but not anywhere close to drunk. And that was good…if she had anything else to drink, there was no telling what she might end up telling Harry.

  “Another?” he asked.

  “No, sorry,” she said. “Three is my limit. Actually, it’s usually two. I made a special exception for you.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. I gave you short notice and you still came.”

  “Of course I did. Are you okay to drive?”

  “I walked,” she said.

  “Well, can we pay up and I’ll walk you home?”

  She spent a few seconds trying to think of a polite way to decline the gesture but could come up with nothing. She gave him a half-hearted smile and nodded. “That sounds fine,” she said.

  After a bit of friendly bickering, Harry convinced her to let him pay for her drinks. She only gave up when he demanded that he would likely one day owe it to her because based on the way training with her in Hogan’s Alley was going, he’d one day owe her his life. So drinks as a mortgage on the future was a decent trade, he joked.

  Outside, night had fallen and the city was mostly quiet. The air was just a few degrees away from being chilly and the slight buzz was making Mackenzie feel pleasant. It did not, however, make her unobservant. She noticed right away that Harry was walking incredibly close to her; every few steps, their arms would brush each other.

  “You asked me earlier how I was doing,” Harry said. “But let’s be real here….how are you? And please don’t bullshit me. You can trust me. I’m not going to spread any rumors or gossip.”

  She was so surprised by his bluntness that she nearly stopped walking and turned to look at him. But she wanted the walk home to be as quick and painless as possible. She was already pretty sure she was going to have to explain to him that she didn’t want anything more than a friendship with him. So she kept walking, having already covered two blocks. Then, given the stern approach of the question, she rewarded him with the most honesty she’d shown him all night.

  “I’m confused and a little out of my depth,” she admitted. “The things we’re picking up in the Academy certain apply to everything I’ve seen over the last few days but…I don’t know. There’s nothing to really prepare you for how it’s all handled.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “It’s all very machinelike. Sure, finding a solution is at the end of the process but everything before that is more rigid than I was expecting. Of course, that might be because I’m not even supposed to be on the damn case anyway.”

  She sensed that she had said too much, the words propelled by a tongue loosened by liquor. But still, it felt good to get even that little bit of frustration out.

  “Do you regret it?” he asked.

  “No,” she said right away, surprising even herself with the answer.

  “Well, I guess that’s the important thing.”

  They fell into silence as they crossed the last block. Harry still walked extremely close to her, making her feel both comforted and claustrophobic all at once. When her apartment came into view, Mackenzie stopped and nodded ahead.


  “This is me,” she said.

  Harry looked to the building with mild interest. He looked nervous and a little uncertain. As Mackenzie walked the rest of the way to the door, Harry followed—now with a little distance between them.

  “Thanks for calling me and asking me out,” Harry said, almost as shy as a grade school boy.

  “I thought it was time we saw each other outside of simulated real-life scenarios where our lives fictionally hang in the balance,” she joked, trying to keep it light.

  “You think we could do it again?” Harry asked.

  The question hung in the air in a way that Mackenzie felt like she could maybe reach out and flick it. “Maybe,” she said.

  No sooner had the answer come out of her mouth than Harry was leaning forward. His eyes were closing and his hand was suddenly on her hip. She froze for a moment, not sure how to prevent the kiss from happening without seeming hostile. But it was suddenly too late. His lips were on hers and his hand was drawing her forward.

  Call it instinct or the simple need to feel connected to someone, but Mackenzie allowed it to happen. She even placed her hand on his shoulder and pulled him closer to her, adding a sense of urgency to the kiss. His lips were firm and his hand on her hip was soft but eager. He was hesitant, a true gentlemen, she supposed, so it was she who extended things by parting her lips and touching his tongue with her own.

  She wasn’t sure how long the kiss lasted but all she knew was that whether she was attracted to him or not, she could not let things continue out of the impulse of inviting him to her apartment. The kiss was a good one despite the lack of a strong attraction and she feared her unrealized terror of being alone would prompt her to much more than just a kiss.

  So finally, she broke the kiss and took a step back. “Good night,” she said abruptly.

  “Was that…are you okay?” Harry asked.

  “I’m fine. It’s just…I need to head up. I’ll call you sometime later, though.”

  “Okay,” Harry said, clearly wanting to ask more questions or extend the conversation.

  Mackenzie didn’t allow that to happen, though. She turned for the door, not looking back to Harry a single time. She did not slow her pace until she was inside the building and heading up the stairs to her apartment.

  What the hell was that?

  It was a good question. Why had she even allowed Harry to kiss her? Beyond that, why had she given in so easily and let him buy the drinks?

  Was she that desperate for company? Was she that in need of some sort of acceptance after getting the boot from McGrath?

  She slowly walked back to her apartment, feeling like she was unsure of everything. She’d failed at the task set before her by Bryers and Ellington (albeit an impossible task) and now had apparently forgotten how to interact with men that were attracted to her.

  Worse than all of that, a very distant part of her brain could hear the ghosts of Nebraska calling her back home, luring her with the moans and cries of moments that had not only defined her past, but seemed to be ruining her future as well.

  CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

  A restless night’s sleep had Mackenzie trudging into McClarren’s course the following morning with puffy eyes and a cheerless disposition. She’d downed three cups of coffee so far but all that seemed to do was make her stomach upset. Any more caffeine anytime soon and she’d have the jitters. So she did her best to pay attention, a bit saddened that she wasn’t able to fully absorb the lecture.

  As she took notes, she wondered what sorts of things someone like McClarren had endured in the course of his career. She watched him idly as she jotted down her notes, wondering how someone who had seen so much in his career could seem so normal and logical. Sure, his age showed (he was only sixty-six but looked closer to eighty) but the man was brilliant and, at the same time, seemed no different than anyone else.

  She’d only gotten the briefest taste of what it was like to delve into the darker parts of the human psyche while chasing down the Scarecrow Killer and that alone had been a bit too close to touching the darkness than she would ever care to get. McClarren, on the other hand, had been there many times—had, in fact, studied, analyzed, and tried his best to sympathize with and understand some of the most hardened murderers in American history. And yet here he was standing in front of a classroom, earning a paycheck and paying taxes just like anyone else.

  She spent most of the class in this analytical daze, so enthralled and burdened by it that she was genuinely surprised when McClarren called the time and dismissed them. Mackenzie even checked her watch to see if he had dismissed them early but saw that it was indeed eleven o’clock, the usual ending time for the class.

  She gathered up her things slowly, hating to admit that the best thing for her would not be her usual trip to the firing range or the gym, but back to her apartment to sleep. But as she headed for the doors, she heard her name spoken loudly over the slight commotion of Academy students filing out.

  “Ms. White?”

  She stopped and turned back toward the class. Down on the lecture floor, McClarren was looking directly at her.

  She took a few steps back into the room and said, “Yes, sir?”

  “Could you stick around for a bit?” he asked.

  “Sure,” she said, walking down to the floor where he still stood by his lectern. He had no desk, just a simple little podium which he rarely stood behind, as he preferred to pace the floor.

  As the last of the students filed out of the room, McClarren observed them, making sure there were no stragglers. When he seemed satisfied that no one was slowing down or staying behind, he looked to Mackenzie and gave her a contemplative look.

  “Would you consider yourself reliable?” he asked.

  Confused, she bit back a startled smile. “I suppose I would,” she answered.

  “Good. Because I’m going to rely on you to keep the next five minutes or so a secret. I want no one to know that we ever had the discussion we are about to have. Do you understand me, Ms. White?”

  “Yes, sir,” she said. It was intimidating to be standing so close to him and to have him looking directly at her. Knowing the sorts of men he had worked with and the ways he had figured them out made her feel as if he could reach right into her head and pick out each and every one of her thoughts.

  “From time to time, I still hear things,” McClarren said. “Foolish men within the Bureau still consider me a confidant, I suppose. And one of the things I’m hearing lately is that you’ve been inserted into what has become quite the nasty dilemma. Is that correct?”

  Mackenzie wasn’t sure how to respond. Was this a test? Was he maybe prodding her at the request of McGrath or one of the men that worked under him?

  “I don’t know that I’m at liberty to say,” she said.

  “Ah, the expected answer from someone that has been pulled to and fro by the powers that be,” he said with a satisfied smile. “Well then, let me see if this story sounds familiar to you. Let’s say a young, promising lady comes through the Academy—so good and with such an impressive background that some of the directors and big wigs within the Bureau take notice. And let’s also say they need to fill an empty slot suddenly left behind by a seasoned agent’s partner.” He stopped, smiled at her, and added: “Is this starting to sound familiar?”

  “I might have heard of such a thing,” Mackenzie said.

  McClarren dropped the charade like an actor switching characters. “Listen,” he said. “I know what was asked of you and I know that you were pulled away from it yesterday. I understand the thinking behind the idea but, quite frankly, I personally feel that the way you were discarded was a travesty. If they’re going to put you in the game, they need to leave you there until the game is done. But that’s just my feeling.”

  “Thank you, sir. I appreciate that.”

  “And I appreciate your situation,” McClarren said. “That’s why I’d like to help if I can. Under the radar, of course.”


  “Of course,” Mackenzie repeated.

  “Now, I know enough about the case to offer the merest of insights. But from what I can gather, the suspect is likely a man. He’s discarding the victims like trash, but because the victims are both male and female, there are elements that must be considered that would not be considered in a typical case involving a sexual motive. So as of right now, I say you don’t even consider motive. I say you focus on the sort of man these people might know. You see, more often than not, a repeated crime scene indicates a sort of familiarity. I believe the killer either knows these people or there is something about these people that seems familiar to him. Perhaps there is a link among the people he has killed and not between the victims and the killer. Have you considered that?”

  “I have,” she said. “But there’s no obvious link. There’s someone at the Bureau looking at genealogical aspects, but—”

  “Oh, it’s not family related,” McClarren interrupted. “If it was, it would have been much clearer by the killer. There’s intent there, a need for other family members to see what he has done. No…I believe what you are dealing with is a methodical man….a man that plans his killings.”

  “And that insight is based on the fact that he dumps the bodies at the same locations?” she asked.

  “Yes. So if I were you, I’d ignore the man himself for now. Just study the victims.”

  “Well, like you said…I’ve been removed from the case.”

  “And?” he said. “If you just happen to come up with an idea that is far too good to be ignored, it’s on the shoulders of the men currently ignoring you. I can guarantee you that they’d listen because if you suggest something that they ignore but turns out to be right…things could get very bad for them. Of course, I never suggested a thing to you because, as we summed up earlier, we are not having this conversation.”