Before He Takes

Blake Pierce is author of the bestselling RILEY PAGE mystery series, which includes seven books (and counting). Blake Pierce is also the author of the MACKENZIE WHITE mystery series, comprising five books (and counting); of the AVERY BLACK mystery series, comprising four books (and counting); and of the new KERI LOCKE mystery series.

An avid reader and lifelong fan of the mystery and thriller genres, Blake loves to hear from you, so please feel free to visit www.blakepierceauthor.com to learn more and stay in touch.

Copyright © 2016 by Blake Pierce. All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior permission of the author. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Jacket image Copyright Bullstar, used under license from Shutterstock.com.

RILEY PAIGE MYSTERY SERIES

ONCE GONE (Book #1)

ONCE TAKEN (Book #2)

ONCE CRAVED (Book #3)

ONCE LURED (Book #4)

ONCE HUNTED (Book #5)

ONCE PINED (Book #6)

ONCE FORSAKEN (Book #7)

MACKENZIE WHITE MYSTERY SERIES

BEFORE HE KILLS (Book #1)

BEFORE HE SEES (Book #2)

BEFORE HE COVETS (Book #3)

BEFORE HE TAKES (Book #4)

BEFORE HE NEEDS (Book #5)

AVERY BLACK MYSTERY SERIES

CAUSE TO KILL (Book #1)

CAUSE TO RUN (Book #2)

CAUSE TO HIDE (Book #3)

CAUSE TO FEAR (Book #4)

KERI LOCKE MYSTERY SERIES

A TRACE OF DEATH (Book #1)

A TRACE OF MUDER (Book #2)

PROLOGUE

This would be the last time she did a book signing in some small town no one had ever heard of. She needed to speak to her publicity manager and let him know that just because a town has a bookstore, it is not a major metropolis. Sure, she might seem like a high-maintenance diva by making such a request, but she didn’t care.

It was 10:35 at night and Delores Manning was driving down a two-lane road in some long-forgotten neck of the woods in Iowa. She was well aware that she had made a wrong turn about ten miles back because it was shortly after that when her GPS had crapped out. No signal. Of course. It was just the cherry on top of what had been a miserable weekend.

Delores had been on this stretch of road for at least ten minutes. She’d seen no stop signs, no houses, nothing. Just trees and a surprisingly gorgeous night sky overhead. She was seriously thinking about just stopping in the middle of the road and pulling a U-turn.

The more she thought about it, the more that seemed like a good idea.

She was about to hit her brake pedal to come to a stop when a popping sound filled the car. Delores cried out in fear and surprise, but her scream was drowned out by the sudden thunk of the car as it seemed to drop several inches and then careened hard to the left.

She managed to jerk the car back into a somewhat straight course but realized that she could not fight against it—there was too much drag. Giving up the fight, she managed to guide the car to the side of the road, parking it a little more than half off of the pavement. She cut her hazard lights on and let out a heavy sigh.

“Shit,” she said.

That sounded like a tire, she thought to herself. And if that’s the case…hell, I don’t even remember if there’s a spare in the trunk. That’s what I get for taking this deathtrap of a car with me everywhere. You’re about to be a bigshot author, girl. Spring some money on planes and rental cars every now and then, huh?

She popped the trunk release, opened the door, and stepped out into the night. There was a nip to the air, as winter was bearing down on the Midwest, sneaking in behind fall. She pulled her coat tight to her body and then pulled her cell phone out. She was not at all surprised to see the No Service reading; she’d been seeing it continuously for the last twenty minutes or so, ever since her GPS app had stopped working.

She looked at her tires and saw that both the front and the rear on the driver’s side were flat. More than that, they were pancaked. She saw something glimmering out of the front tire and dropped to a knee to see what it was.

Glass, she thought. Really? How did glass pop my tires?

She looked to the back tire and saw several large shards of it sticking through. She glanced back down the road and could see no signs of anything. But that meant nothing because the moon was mostly hidden behind the treetops and it was dark as hell out.

She went to the trunk, already knowing that anything she found would be pointless. Even if there was a spare back there, she needed two.

Furious and a bit scared, she slammed the trunk, not even bothering to check. She grabbed her phone and, feeling like an idiot, scrambled up onto the back of the car. She held her phone up, hoping for just a single bar of service.

Nothing.

Don’t freak out, she thought. Yes, you’re in the middle of nowhere. But someone will come by eventually. All roads lead somewhere, right?

Unable to believe the way this weekend had gone, she got back in her car, where the heater was still doing its work. She angled her rearview mirror so she’d see any headlights approaching from behind and then looked ahead to keep an eye out for any coming straight ahead.

As she ruminated on the failed book signing, the small publicity mix-up, and her most recent trouble of having two blown tires on the side of the road, she saw headlights approaching from ahead. She’d only been waiting for about seven minutes, so she counted herself lucky.

She cracked her door open, providing the overhead light to join the already blinking hazards lights. She stepped out and stayed close to the car, flagging down the approaching truck. She was instantly relieved when she saw that it was slowing down. It veered over into her lane and parked nose to nose with her. The driver switched on his hazards and then stepped out.

“Hey there,” said the forty-something man who stepped out of the truck.

“Hey,” Delores said. She sized him up, still too pissed at the situation to be cautious of a random stranger who had pulled over so late at night to help her.

“Car trouble?” he asked.

“Tons of it,” Delores said, gesturing to her tires. “Two blown tires at once. Can you believe it?”

“Oh, that’s terrible,” he said. “Have you called Triple A or a garage or anything?”

“No service,” she said. She almost added I’m not exactly from around here but then decided not to.

“Well, you can use mine,” he said. “I usually get at least two bars out here.”

He stepped forward, reaching into his pocket for his phone.

Only it was not a phone he pulled out. She was actually very confused at what she was seeing. It made no sense. She couldn’t figure out what it was and—

Suddenly, it was coming at her face, very quickly. A split second before she was struck, she saw the shape and shine of what he had slipped over his fingers.

Brass knuckles.

She heard the sound of them striking her forehead, felt a flash of pain, and then a moment later her knees buckled, and she felt herself collapsing onto the hard road. The last thing she was aware of was the man reaching down for her almost caringly, his headlights shining in her eyes, before the world went black.

CHAPTER ONE

Mackenzie White stood beneath a black umbrella and watched the casket get lowered into the ground as the rain picked up to a steady downpour. The weeping of those in attendance was nearly drowned out by the raindrops on the cemetery grounds and the nearby tombstones.

She watched with a pang of sadness as her old partner spent his last moments among the world of the living.

The casket inched into the grave on the steel runners it had been sitting on during the service while those closest to Bryers stood by. Most of the procession had scattered after the pastor’s final words, but those closest to him remained.

Mackenzie stood to the side, two rows over. It occurred to her that although she and Bryers had put their lives in each other’s hands on several occasions, she really had not known him all that well. This was proven by the fact that she had no idea who the people that had stayed back to watch him lowered into the ground were. There was a man who looked to be in his thirties and two women, huddled together under the black tarp, having one last moment with him.

As Mackenzie turned away, she noticed an older woman standing another row back, holding her own umbrella. She was dressed in all black and looked quite pretty standing in the rain. Her hair was completely gray, pulled back in a bun, but she looked young somehow. Mackenzie gave her a nod as she headed past her.

“Did you know Jimmy?” the woman asked her all of a sudden.

Jimmy?

It took her a while to realize that the woman was talking about Bryers. Mackenzie had only ever heard his first name one or two times. He’d always just been Bryers to her.

Maybe we weren’t as close as I thought.

“I did,” Mackenzie said. “We worked together. How about you?”

“Ex-wife,” she said. With a shaky sigh, she added: “He was such a good man.”

Ex-wife? God, I really didn’t know him. But in the back of her head, she could recall a conversation during one of their long car rides where he had mentioned having been married in the past.

“Yes, he was,” Mackenzie said.

She wanted to tell the woman about the times Bryers had guided her in her career and even saved her life. But she figured there was a reason the woman had distanced herself rather than join the three huddled figures under the tarp.

“Were you close to him?” the ex asked.

I thought I was, Mackenzie said, looking back to the graveside with regret. Her answer was simpler, though. “Not very.”

She then turned away from the woman with a grieved smile and headed for her car. She thought about Bryers…his dry smile, the way he rarely laughed but when he did it was nearly explosive. She then thought of what work might be like now. Sure, it was selfish, but she couldn’t help but wonder how her working environment would be changed now that her partner and the man who had essentially taken her under his wing was dead. Would she get a new partner? Would her position change and have her sitting behind a desk or on some lousy beat with no real purpose?

God, stop thinking about yourself, she thought.

The rain continued to pelt down on the umbrella. It was so deafening that Mackenzie almost didn’t hear her phone ringing in her coat pocket.

She fumbled it out of her pocket as she unlocked her car door, stowed the umbrella away, and stepped inside out of the rain.

“This is White.”

“White, it’s McGrath. Are you at the graveside service?”

“Leaving just now,” she said.

“I truly am sorry about Bryers. He was a good man. A damned fine agent, too.”

“Yeah, he was,” Mackenzie said.

But when she peered back through the rain to the graveside, she felt like she hadn’t really known Bryers at all.

“I hate to interrupt, but I need you back here. Come by my office, would you?”

She felt her heart skip a beat. It sounded serious.

“What is it?” she asked.

He paused, as if debating whether to tell her, then finally said:

“A new case.”

When she arrived outside of McGrath’s office, Mackenzie saw Lee Harrison sitting in the waiting area. She remembered him as the agent who had been assigned as her temporary partner when Bryers had fallen ill. They had gotten to know one another over the last several weeks but had not really had the chance to work together yet. He seemed like an okay agent—maybe a little too cautious for Mackenzie’s tastes.

“He called you, too?” Mackenzie asked.

“Yeah,” he said. “It looks like we might get our first case together. I figured I’d wait for you before I knocked.”

Mackenzie wasn’t sure if he had done this out of respect for her or fear of McGrath. Either way, she thought it was a smart decision.

She knocked on the door and was greeted by a quick “Come in” from the other side. She waved Harrison on and they walked into the room together. McGrath was sitting behind his desk, typing something into his laptop. There were two folders sitting to his left, as if waiting to be claimed.

“Have a seat, Agents,” he said.

Mackenzie and Harrison each took one of the chairs in front of McGrath’s desk. Mackenzie saw that Harrison was sitting rigid and his eyes were wide…not quite with fear but certainly filled with a nervous excitement.

“We’ve got a case from rural Iowa,” he began. “Being that it’s where you grew up, I thought you’d be good for this one, White.”

She cleared her throat, embarrassed.

“I grew up in Nebraska, sir,” she corrected.

“All the same, isn’t it?” he said.

She shook her head; those who weren’t from the Midwest would just never get it.

Iowa, she thought. Sure, it wasn’t Nebraska, but it was close enough, and the mere idea of heading back out that way made her uneasy. She knew she had no reason to fear the place; after all, she had made it to Quantico and made something of herself. She had achieved her dream of landing a role in the FBI. So why did the idea of traveling back there for a case unnerve her so quickly?

Because everything bad in your life is back there, she thought. Your childhood, your old colleagues, the mysteries surrounding your father’s death…

“There has been a string of disappearances, all women,” McGrath went on. “And so far it seems that they are being taken right off the road on these lonely little stretches of highway. The latest one was taken last night. Her car was found on the side of the road with two busted tires. There was a ridiculous amount of glass on the road, making the local PD assume there was foul play.”

He slid one of the folders over to Mackenzie and she took a look. There were several photos of the car, especially the tires. She also saw that the stretch of road was indeed isolated, surrounded by tall trees on both sides. One of the pictures also showed the contents of the latest victim’s car. Inside there was a coat, a small toolbox bolted to the side, and a box of books.

“What’s with the books?” Mackenzie asked.

“The latest victim was an author. Delores Manning. Google tells me she just had her second book published. One of those trashy romance deals. She’s not a big-time author by any means so we shouldn’t get any media interference…yet. The road has been closed off and detours set up by the state transportation department. So, White, I need you on a plane as soon as possible to get out there. Rural or not, the state obviously doesn’t want the road closed down for very long.”

McGrath then turned his attention to Harrison.

“Agent Harrison, I want you to understand something. Agent White has ties to the Midwest, so she was a no-brainer for this case. And while I have assigned you as her partner, I want you to stay here for this one. I want you here at headquarters to work behind the scenes. If Agent White calls with a research request, I want you on it. Not only that, but Delores Manning has an agent and publicist and all of that. So if this is not wrapped up quickly, the media will hop on it. I want you to handle that side of things. Keep things smooth and calm here at headquarters if the shit hits the fan. No offense, but I want a more experienced agent on this.”

Harrison nodded, but the disappointment in his eyes was impossible to miss. “No offense taken, sir. I’m happy to assist however I can.”

Oh no, Mackenzie thought. Not a brown-noser.

“So am I going solo on this?” Mackenzie asked.

McGrath grinned at her and shook his head. It was almost a playful kind of gesture that showed her that she had come a long way with McGrath since their first awkward and borderline hostile meetings.

“No way am I sending you out there by yourself,” he said. “I’ve arranged to have Agent Ellington work this one with you.”

“Oh,” she said, a bit stunned.

She wasn’t sure how to feel about this. There was a weird sort of chemistry between her and Ellington—there had been ever since she had first met him while working as a detective out of rural Nebraska. She had enjoyed working with him for that short span but now that things were different…well, it would make for an interesting case to say the least. But there was nothing to worry about. She felt confident that she could easily divide whatever personal feelings she had for him from the professional ones.

“Might I ask why?” Mackenzie asked.

“He’s got a brief history of working with the local field agents out there, as you know. He’s also got an impressive record when it comes to missing persons cases. Why?”

“Just asking, sir,” she said, easily recalling the first time she and Ellington had met when he had come out to assist with the Scarecrow Killer case when she was still working for the PD out there. “Did he…well, did he ask to work with me on this?”

“No,” McGrath said. “It just so happens that you’re both perfect for this case—him with his connections and you with your past.”

McGrath stood up from his chair, effectively ending the conversation. “You should be getting e-mails about your flight within a few minutes,” McGrath said. “I believe you’ll be flying out at eleven fifty-five.”

“But that’s only an hour and a half away,” she said.

“Then I suggest you get moving.”

She exited the office quickly, looking back only once to see Agent Harrison still sitting in his seat like a lost puppy, unsure of what to do or where to go. But she had no time to worry about his potentially hurt feelings. She had to figure out how to pack and get to the airport in less than an hour and a half.

And on top of that, she had to figure out why she dreaded the idea of working a case with Ellington.

CHAPTER TWO

Mackenzie arrived at the airport running, with barely enough time to reach her gate. She rushed onto the plane five minutes after the flight had started to board and ambled down the aisle slightly out of breath, frustrated and thrown off. She briefly wondered if Ellington had made it on time but, quite frankly, was just glad she had not missed the flight. Ellington was a big boy—he could take care of himself.

Her question was answered when she located her seat. Ellington was already on the plane, sitting comfortably in the seat beside hers. He smiled at her from his place by the window seat, giving her a little wave. She shook her head and sighed heavily.

“Bad day?” he asked.

“Well, it started with a funeral and then a meeting with McGrath,” Mackenzie said. “I then had to rush home to pack a bag and run through Dulles to barely make the flight. And it’s not even noon yet.”

“So things can only get better then,” Ellington joked.

Shoving her carry-on into the overhead compartment, Mackenzie said: “We’ll see. Say, doesn’t the FBI have private planes?”

“Yes, but only for extremely time-sensitive cases. And for superstar employees. This case is not time sensitive and we are most certainly not star employees.”

When she was finally in her seat, she took a moment to relax. She peered over at Ellington and saw that he was thumbing through a folder that was identical to the one she had seen in McGrath’s office.

“What do you think of this case?” Ellington asked.

“I think it’s too soon to speculate,” she said.

He gave her a roll of his eyes and a playful frown. “You’ve got to have some sort of first reaction. What is it?”

While she didn’t want to offer her thoughts only to be proven wrong later on, she appreciated the effort of jumping on things right away. It showed that he was indeed the hard worker and committed agent McGrath painted him to be—the same kind of worker she had kind of hoped he was.

“I think the fact that these are being called disappearances rather than murders gives us some hope,” she said. “But given that the victims are all being taken from rural roads also tells me that this guy is a local that knows the lay of the land. He could be kidnapping the women and then killing them, hiding their bodies somewhere in the forests or some other hiding spot only he knows about.”

“You read deep into this yet?” he asked, nodding at the folder.

“No. I haven’t had time.”

“Help yourself,” Ellington said, handing it over.

Mackenzie read over the scant information as the flight attendants walked through the safety lecture. She was still studying it moments later when the plane took off toward Des Moines. There wasn’t much information in the file, but enough for Mackenzie to map out an approach to take when they got there.

Delores Manning was the third woman to be reported missing in the past nine days. The first woman was a local, reported missing by her daughter. Naomi Nyles, forty-seven years of age, also taken from the side of the road. The second was a Des Moines woman named Crystal Hall. She had a slight record, mostly promiscuous stuff in her youth, but nothing serious. When she was abducted, she had been visiting a local cattle farm in the area. The first case had shown no traces of foul play—just an abandoned car on the side of the road. The second abandoned vehicle had been a small pickup truck with a busted tire. The truck had been discovered in the midst of having its tire changed, the jack still under the axle and the flat propped against the side of the truck.

All three instances appeared to have occurred during the night, sometime between 10 p.m. and 3 a.m. So far, nine days after the first abduction, there was not a single shred of evidence and absolutely zero clues.

As she usually did, Mackenzie scanned the information several times, committing it to memory. It wasn’t hard in this case, as there wasn’t much to take in. She kept going back to the pictures of the rural settings—the back roads that wound through the forests like a massive snake with nowhere to go.

She also allowed herself to slip into the mind of a killer using those roads and the night as cover. He had to be patient. And because of the darkness, he had to be used to being by himself. Darkness would not concern him. He may even prefer to work in the darkness, not only for the cover but for the sense of solitude and isolation. This guy was probably a loner of some sort. He was taking them from the road, apparently in different stressful situations. Car repair, busted tires. That meant he was probably not in this for the sport of killing. He just wanted the women. But why?

And how about the latest victim, Delores Manning? Maybe she was a local with a past history of the area, Mackenzie thought. Either that or just brave as hell to travel those back roads at such an hour…I don’t care how good a shortcut it is, that’s pretty reckless.

She hoped this was the case. She hoped the woman was brave. Because bravery, no matter how staged, could often help people deal with tense situations. It was more than just a badge of honor, but a deep psychological trait that helped people cope. She tried to envision Delores Manning, the up-and-coming writer, winding down those roads at night. Brave or not, it simply wasn’t a pretty picture.