Before He Sins. Блейк Пирс
Читать онлайн.| Название | Before He Sins |
|---|---|
| Автор произведения | Блейк Пирс |
| Жанр | Политические детективы |
| Серия | A Mackenzie White Mystery |
| Издательство | Политические детективы |
| Год выпуска | 2017 |
| isbn | 9781640291577 |
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PROLOGUE
The sun had cracked the horizon but had not yet burned off the last chills of night – Christy’s favorite time of day. Seeing the sun come up over the city was a stark reminder for her that every night had its end, something she needed to know, as she had started to feel further and further away from God. Seeing the sun coming up over the buildings of Washington, DC, and pushing away the night reminded her of the lyrics to a worship song: Although there’s pain in the night, the sun comes in the morning…
She recited that line over and over as she walked up the street toward the church. She’d been trying to talk herself into doing this for weeks now. Her faith had been challenged, as she had given in to sin and temptation. The idea of confession had come to her right away but it was also hard. It was never easy to confess one’s sins. But she knew she had to. The longer a sin existed between her and God, the harder it would be to correct that imbalance. The sooner she could confess that sin, the better chance she had of regaining her footing and reestablishing her faith – a faith that had defined her life ever since the age of ten.
As she saw the edges of the church come into view, her heart sagged. Can I really do this? Can I really confess this?
The familiar edges and shape of Blessed Heart Catholic Church seemed to tell her that yes, she could.
Christy started to tremble. She wasn’t sure she’d call what she had been doing an affair or not. She’d only kissed the man once and had called it out for what it was then. But she had continued to see him, had continued to let herself be lifted up by his words of praise and adoration – words her own husband had stopped uttering to her years ago.
She could almost feel that sin burned away from her as the sun rose higher in the sky, casting golds and soft oranges around the edges of Blessed Heart. If she needed any further sign that she was supposed to be confessing her sins to a priest on this particular morning, that was it.
She came to the steps of Blessed Heart with a heaviness on her shoulders. But she knew that within moments, it would be gone. She could return home, her sins confessed, her heart unburdened, and her mind —
When she reached the front doors, Christy screamed.
She backed away, still screaming. She nearly fell down the concrete stairs as she stumbled back. Her hands went to her mouth, doing very little to muffle the scream.
Father Costas was hanging from the doors. He had been stripped down to his underwear and there was a long horizontal cut on his brow. His head hung down, looking toward his bare feet, which were dangling two feet above the concrete stoop. Little tendrils of blood dripped from his toes, collecting in a dingy pool on the stoop.
Crucified, Christy thought. Father Costas has been crucified.
CHAPTER ONE
Following her last case, Mackenzie White had done something she had never once done before as a working woman: she had asked for a vacation.
She’d requested a two-week vacation for a number of reasons and within just a single day, she knew she had made the right decision. She’d wasted no time in bolstering her reputation when she had come to the FBI. By no design of her own, she had ended up handling high-profile cases that seemed to come looking for her. Not only that, but she had excelled at them and had impressed all of the right people in Quantico and DC. After successfully wrapping up numerous cases and putting her life on the line on a monthly basis, she thought two weeks of paid vacation wasn’t too much to ask.
Her superiors had agreed – and even encouraged it. She was sure they’d get a kick out of knowing how she had been spending most of that time – in numerous gyms and workout facilities, getting her body into better shape, sharpening her instincts and skills. She had a solid base for all of the important things. She was adept at hand-to-hand combat. She was eerily good with a firearm. She was much stronger than most other women she had gone through the academy with.
But Mackenzie White was always wanting to improve upon herself.
That’s why, eight days into her two-week vacation, she was working up a sweat and a multitude of sore muscles at a private gym. She was pushing herself away from the corner of one of several boxing rings, giving her sparring partner a nod of gratitude. She was stepping into a second practice round and was fully expecting to get defeated. And that was okay.
She’d only been practicing Muay Thai for a little over a month now. She had gotten good enough at it that she was comfortable introducing another, lesser known, fighting style with it. With the help of a private instructor and a hell of a lot of determination, Mackenzie had also started training in Yaw-Yan, a Filipino style of kickboxing. Mixing the two was rather unorthodox but she and her trainer had worked on a way to utilize them both. It pushed Mackenzie physically, to the point where her shoulders and calves felt like slabs of brick.
She felt those muscles responding now as she stepped to her partner. They touched gloves and resumed their session. She immediately dodged a jab and countered with a low jab of her own.
It was, in a way, like learning a new style of dance. Mackenzie had taken part in dance classes as a girl and had never forgotten the importance of footwork and focus. They were disciplines she carried with her into her first job as a street cop, then into her job as a detective out in Nebraska. Those basic disciplines had also helped her immensely as an FBI agent, saving her life on more than one occasion.
They also came rushing back to her as she sparred. She tried out her new moves and instruction, using a series of downward kicks and elbow attacks combined with more traditional kickboxing attacks. She used the surprised expression of her sparring partner as fuel, motivating her. Sure, it was just practice, but she felt the need to excel there as well.
It also helped to clear her mind. She always associated each punch, kick, or elbow strike with something from her past. A left jab was directed at years of neglect with the Nebraska PD. A back-handed attack with her right swatted away the fear the Scarecrow Killer case had instilled in her. A pivot and jab was a blow to the heart of the endless stream of mysteries coming out of her father’s old case.
If she was being honest with herself, it was that case that had pushed her to learn these new fighting disciplines – to make sure she continued to evolve as a fighter. She had received a note from someone involved…someone in the shadows who apparently knew who she was.
She still