Read Online Before he Kills (A Mackenzie White Mystery—Book 1) by Blake Pierce - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Blake Pierce
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the morning, and they had been clearly drunk.
Standing on the landing, he had seen her
car pull up and he now watched as she got out. Even dressed in street clothes,
she seemed to flaunt her legs. And what had she been doing all night? Showing
those legs, making men yearn.
She approached the stairwell and he
brought the phone to his ear. A few more steps and she’d be right in front of
him. He felt his calf muscles tightening, waiting to spring, and he once again
thought of his childhood cat.
Hearing the light sounds of her
footfalls below, he started pretending to talk. He spoke quietly but not in a
conspiratorial way. He thought he might even give her a smile when she showed
up.
And then she was there, coming up around
the landing, heading for the second flight of stairs. She glanced at him, saw
that he was occupied and looked harmless, and gave him a little nod. He nodded
back, smiling.
When her back was to him, he acted
quickly.
His right hand went into his jacket
pocket, pulling out a rag that he had soaked in chloroform seconds before
getting out of the car. He used his other arm to wrap around her neck, dragging
her backwards and off of her feet. She was only able to let out a tiny little
yelp of surprise before the rag was pressed against her mouth.
She struggled immediately, biting down
and somehow managing to dig into his pinky. Her bite was hard and he was sure
she had bitten clean through his finger at first. He pulled back for just a
moment, but it was enough for her to get away from him, wrenching away from the
grip he had applied around her neck with the crook of his left arm.
She started up the stairs and let out a
whimper. This whimper, he knew, would evolve into a scream in no time. He dove
forward, reaching out and grabbing that silken bare leg. The stairs struck him
in the chest and stomach, knocking the wind from him, but he was still able to
pull hard at her leg. With a desperate little cry, she went falling to the
ground. There was a shuddering crack as her face struck the stairs.
She went limp and he instantly crawled
up the stairs to get a closer look. She’d struck her temple on the stair.
Surprisingly, there was no blood, but even in the weak light, he could tell
that a knot was already starting to form.
Moving quickly, he put the cloth back
into his pocket, finding that she had gnawed into his pinky pretty good. He
then picked her up and found that there was no sturdiness in her legs. She had
been knocked out cold.
But he’d dealt with this before, too. He
picked her up from the side the knot was forming on and leaned all of her
weight on that side. He then dragged her down the stairs with one arm around
her waist, her feet dragging uselessly behind her. With his other hand, he
brought the dead phone up to his other ear just in case they passed someone in
the fifteen feet or so that separated them from his car. He had his lines prepared
just in case that happened: I don’t know what to tell you, man. She’s
drunk—like passed out drunk. I figured it was best to take her back to her
house.
But the late hour didn’t necessitate
that bit of acting. The stairs and the parking lot were absolutely dead. He got
her into his car without incident, never seeing anyone.
He cranked his car and pulled out of the
parking lot, heading east.
Ten minutes later, as her head knocked
softly against the passenger window, she muttered something that he could not
understand.
He reached over and patted her hand.
“It’s okay,” he said. “It’s all going to
be okay.”
CHAPTER NINE
Mackenzie was reading over the final
report on Clive Traylor, wondering where she went wrong, when Porter stepped
into her office. He still looked a little disgruntled from the morning. Mackenzie
knew he’d been sure Traylor had been their guy and he hated being wrong.
But his constant irritable mood was something Mackenzie had gotten used to a
long time ago.
“Nancy said you were looking for me,”
Porter
Standing on the landing, he had seen her
car pull up and he now watched as she got out. Even dressed in street clothes,
she seemed to flaunt her legs. And what had she been doing all night? Showing
those legs, making men yearn.
She approached the stairwell and he
brought the phone to his ear. A few more steps and she’d be right in front of
him. He felt his calf muscles tightening, waiting to spring, and he once again
thought of his childhood cat.
Hearing the light sounds of her
footfalls below, he started pretending to talk. He spoke quietly but not in a
conspiratorial way. He thought he might even give her a smile when she showed
up.
And then she was there, coming up around
the landing, heading for the second flight of stairs. She glanced at him, saw
that he was occupied and looked harmless, and gave him a little nod. He nodded
back, smiling.
When her back was to him, he acted
quickly.
His right hand went into his jacket
pocket, pulling out a rag that he had soaked in chloroform seconds before
getting out of the car. He used his other arm to wrap around her neck, dragging
her backwards and off of her feet. She was only able to let out a tiny little
yelp of surprise before the rag was pressed against her mouth.
She struggled immediately, biting down
and somehow managing to dig into his pinky. Her bite was hard and he was sure
she had bitten clean through his finger at first. He pulled back for just a
moment, but it was enough for her to get away from him, wrenching away from the
grip he had applied around her neck with the crook of his left arm.
She started up the stairs and let out a
whimper. This whimper, he knew, would evolve into a scream in no time. He dove
forward, reaching out and grabbing that silken bare leg. The stairs struck him
in the chest and stomach, knocking the wind from him, but he was still able to
pull hard at her leg. With a desperate little cry, she went falling to the
ground. There was a shuddering crack as her face struck the stairs.
She went limp and he instantly crawled
up the stairs to get a closer look. She’d struck her temple on the stair.
Surprisingly, there was no blood, but even in the weak light, he could tell
that a knot was already starting to form.
Moving quickly, he put the cloth back
into his pocket, finding that she had gnawed into his pinky pretty good. He
then picked her up and found that there was no sturdiness in her legs. She had
been knocked out cold.
But he’d dealt with this before, too. He
picked her up from the side the knot was forming on and leaned all of her
weight on that side. He then dragged her down the stairs with one arm around
her waist, her feet dragging uselessly behind her. With his other hand, he
brought the dead phone up to his other ear just in case they passed someone in
the fifteen feet or so that separated them from his car. He had his lines prepared
just in case that happened: I don’t know what to tell you, man. She’s
drunk—like passed out drunk. I figured it was best to take her back to her
house.
But the late hour didn’t necessitate
that bit of acting. The stairs and the parking lot were absolutely dead. He got
her into his car without incident, never seeing anyone.
He cranked his car and pulled out of the
parking lot, heading east.
Ten minutes later, as her head knocked
softly against the passenger window, she muttered something that he could not
understand.
He reached over and patted her hand.
“It’s okay,” he said. “It’s all going to
be okay.”
CHAPTER NINE
Mackenzie was reading over the final
report on Clive Traylor, wondering where she went wrong, when Porter stepped
into her office. He still looked a little disgruntled from the morning. Mackenzie
knew he’d been sure Traylor had been their guy and he hated being wrong.
But his constant irritable mood was something Mackenzie had gotten used to a
long time ago.
“Nancy said you were looking for me,”
Porter
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