Mackenzie felt a little out of her element in Ellington's company and oddly enough, it was a feeling that was only magnified as they sat side by side in a bar two hours later. She knew they both looked tired and a little worn, making them fade into the rest of the patrons. They were not the only ones dressed relatively nicely; people coming in off of work were also dressed slightly above casual, pulling up to the bar in the shirts and ties and pantsuits they had worn to work. Dim afternoon light spilled in from the two windows along the other side of the bar but it was the neon behind the bar and the reflection of the overheads from the shelved liquor bottles behind the bar that set the mood.
"Any idea how Pope found out about the scene so quickly?" Ellington asked her.
"None. There has to be a mole on the force."
"That's what I figure," Ellington said. "And because of that, I don't see how Nelson can be too hard on you. There's no way you could have even suspected that the movement in the woods was a journalist. Especially not when Pope took off running like that."
"Let's hope so," she said.
Mackenzie knew she'd gotten off easy. Her superior had watched her take a chubby and defenseless online journalist to the ground in a pretty harsh tackle. And while Pope had gotten nothing more than a slight gash on his temple from falling on a root, and while he had been trespassing on private property, it was still grounds for punishment. Still, she'd gotten what basically equated to a slap on the wrist. She'd seen Nelson dish out much worse for less. It made her wonder, though, just how much faith he had in her. To let her go on her merry way while Ellis Pope was likely making phone calls spoke volumes about his confidence in her.
Of course, he had also demanded that she get the hell out of his sight and go somewhere to re-orient herself before she assaulted the next poor bastard that just happened to get in her way. Sensing a small window of escape before he could think better of his decision to keep her actively on the case, she'd done exactly that.
As she was sipping as responsibly as possible on a locally brewed stout from the tap, she tried to remember the last time she had come to a bar as a means of escaping the world. She'd usually used work for that-something that was much easier to admit to herself now that Zack was out of the picture. But now that work had sent her away for a bit, it felt surreal to be sitting at a bar.
It was stranger still to be sitting next to an FBI agent she had only met yesterday. In the short span of time she'd spent with Agent Ellington, she had figured out a few things about him. First, he was an old-fashioned gentleman: he opened doors for her, always asked her opinion before making a decision, referred to those older than him as ma'am and sir, and he also seemed to be protective over her. When they had come into the bar, two men had made very little effort to hide the fact that they were checking her out. Noticing this, Ellington had stepped beside her, blocking her from their view.
"You know why the men on your force are so hateful toward you, right?" Ellington said.
"I assumed it was just the way they were raised," Mackenzie said. "If I'm not in an apron bringing them a sandwich or beer, what good am I?"
He shrugged. "That could be some of it, but no, I think it's something else. I think it's because you intimidate them. More than that, I think they sort of fear you. They're afraid you might make them look stupid and inept."
"How do you figure?"
He only smiled at her for a moment. And although there was nothing overtly romantic about the smile, it was nice to be looked at in such a way. She couldn't remember the last time Zack had looked at her like that-as something to be appreciated rather than used or tolerated.
"Well, let's get the obvious out of the way: you're young and you're female. You're essentially the brand new computer that's coming into the office to take all of the jobs. You're also a walking encyclopedia for forensics and investigation from what I hear. Throw in the way you chased down that poor journalist today, and it's the complete package. You're the new breed and they're the old dogs. That sort of thing."
"So it's a fear of progress?"
"Sure. I doubt they would ever see it like that, but that's what it boils down to."
"I'm assuming this is a compliment?" she asked.
"Of course it is. This is the third time I've been paired with a highly motivated detective and you're by far the most accomplished and driven I've seen. I'm glad we got paired up."
She only nodded because she wasn't sure how to handle his compliments and evaluations yet. On the job, he'd been very professional and by the book-not only in his approach to the job, but also in the way he had approached her. But now that he was being a little less reserved, Mackenzie was having a hard time drawing the line between where on-duty Ellington stopped and where off-duty Ellington began.
"Did you ever think about joining the Bureau?" Ellington asked.
The question stunned her so badly that she was unable to answer for a moment. Of course she had thought of it. She had once dreamed of it as a child. But even as a determined twenty-two-year-old with her sights on a career in law enforcement, the FBI had seemed like some unattainable dream.
"You have, huh?" he asked.
"Is it that obvious?"
"A little. You looked embarrassed just now. It makes me think that you have thought about it but never chased it down."
"It was a dream of sorts that I had for a while," she said.
It was embarrassing to admit it, but there was something about the way that he was reading her that made her not mind as much.
"You've got the skills," Ellington said.
"Thanks," she said. "But I think my roots here are too thick. I feel like it's too late."
"It's never too late, you know."
He looked at her, professional and intense.
"Would you like me to put in a word for you and see if it lands on any interested ears?"
She was blown away by his offer. On the one hand, she wanted to, more than anything; on the other, it brought up all her old insecurities. Who was she to qualify to work for the FBI?
Slowly, she shook her head.
"Thank you," she replied. "But no."
"Why not?" he asked. "Not to talk too badly about the men you work with, but you're being misused."
"What would I do at the FBI?" she asked.
"You'd make a stellar field agent," he said. "Hell, maybe a profiler, too."
Mackenzie looked thoughtfully into her beer, a bit taken aback. She had again been stunned to silence and now felt that she had a lot to consider. What if she could make it as an agent? How drastically would her life change? How rewarding would it be to work a job she loved without the hindrances of men like Nelson and Porter to hold her back?
"You okay?" Ellington asked.
Still peering into the dark beer in front of her, she sighed. She thought about Zack for a moment and could not recall the last meaningful conversation they'd had. When was the last time he'd built her up in the same way Ellington was right now? For that matter, when was the last time any man had spoken so highly of her directly in front of her?
"I'm fine," she said. "I appreciate everything you're saying. You've given me a lot to think about."
"Good," Ellington said softly, not missing a beat. "But let me ask you: do you have a history of holding yourself back?"
"I don't think it's my self," she said. "I think it's just…I don't know. My past, maybe?"
"Your dad's death?"
She nodded.
"That's some of it," she said.
There's also my string of failed relationships, she thought, but didn't think it was appropriate to say. And as she dwelled on it, she suddenly wondered if the two were related-her dad's death and her relationships. Maybe the source of all of it was, after all, the death.
Would she ever recover from it? She didn't see how she could. No matter how many bad guys she put behind bars, nothing ever seemed to help.
He nodded as if he understood perfectly.
"I understand," he said.
Then, flashing him a smile so he'd know she was joking, she asked: "Are you psychoanalyzing me, Agent Ellington?"
"No, I'm talking to you. I'm listening. Nothing more."
Mackenzie finished her beer and slid the glass to the edge of the bar. The bartender grabbed it right away and filled it again, placing it back in front of her.
"I know that's why this case has me shaken so badly," she added. "A man is using women. Maybe it's not for sex, but he's inflicting pain and shame on them as a way to express some deranged point."
"And this is the first case you've had like this?"
"Yes. I mean, I've been to domestic dispute calls where a husband roughed up his wife, and I've questioned two women after they were raped. But nothing like this."
She drank from her beer, realizing that it was going down far too easily. She had never been a big drinker and this beer-her third of the night-was pushing her to a line that she had tried to avoid crossing ever since college.
"I don't know if my hunches mean anything to you," Ellington said, "but this guy will be caught within a few days. I'm pretty sure of it. He's getting too cocky and one of these leads we keep accumulating will eventually pay off. Plus, the fact that you're heading it all up is a big plus."
"How can you be so sure?" she asked. "About my performance, I mean? And why are you being so nice?"
He was filling her with confidence and, at the same time, reinforcing a trait she possessed that she knew was one of the worst things about her. She knew she tended to get defensive around men that complimented her, mainly because it always meant they wanted one thing. Looking at Ellington as he smiled her, she didn't think it would be too bad if he was looking for that one specific thing. In fact, she was starting to think she might enjoy the hell out of it. Of course, he was going back tomorrow and the chances were very good that she'd never see him again.
Maybe that's exactly what I need, she thought. One night. No emotion, no expectations, just the dark and this too-good-to-be-true FBI agent that seems to know all the right things to say and-
She shut the thought down because, quite frankly, it was far too enticing. She then realized that Ellington had still not answered her question: Why are you being so nice?
He bit back his smile and finally answered.
"Because," he replied, "you deserve a break. I got my position because a friend knew a friend who knew a deputy chief. And I can guarantee you that half of the cavemen on your force can say the same thing or something similar."
She laughed, and the sound of it made her realize that she was just about to tip over that line. As she tried to recall the last time she had gotten drunk, she tipped back the rest of her beer and slid the glass to the edge of the bar. When the bartender came for it, she shook her head.
"Can you drive?" she asked. "I'm a bit of a lightweight. Sorry."
"Yeah, that's fine."
When the bartender came over with their tabs, Ellington quickly picked hers up before she could lay a hand on it. Watching him do that, she decided that she was going to find out what one emotionless night with a man straight out of a dream might be like. After all, she now had her house and her bed all to herself. What could it hurt?
They walked outside to the car and she noticed that Ellington was walking extremely close to her. He opened her car door for her, furthering his charm in her eyes. When he closed the door and walked around to the driver's side, Mackenzie rested her head against the headrest and took a deep breath. From an abandoned house with a dead woman on a pole to here, on the verge of propositioning a man she had only met yesterday-had this really all happened in the course of less than twelve hours?
"Your car is at the station, right?" Ellington asked.
"It is," she said. And then, her heart beating, she hesitantly added, "But we pass my place on the way-we could just stop there if you want."
He gave her a perplexed look and the corners of his mouth seemed to battle between a smile and a frown. It was clear that he knew what she was suggesting; she didn't doubt he'd had similar offers before.
"Ah, Jesus," he said, rubbing at his head. "To further show you my strong will and character, this is the part where I tell you I'm married."
Mackenzie looked to his left hand-the same hand she had glanced at several times in the bar just to make sure. There was no ring there.
"I know," he said. "I never wear it when I'm working. I hate the way it feels when I have to go for my gun."
"Oh my God," Mackenzie said. "I'm-"
"No, it's okay," he said. "And believe me, I'm beyond flattered. I meant everything I said in there. And while I'm sure the primal male in me will mentally kick my ass for this for the rest of my life, I love my wife and my daughter very much. I think I-"
"Can you just take me to my car?" Mackenzie asked, embarrassed. She looked out of the window and felt like screaming.
"I'm sorry," Ellington said.
"Don't be. It's my fault. I should have known better."
He started the car and pulled out of the lot. "Better than what?" he asked as they headed back for the station.
"Nothing," she said, still refusing to look at him.
But in the silence that hung heavy on the way to the station, she thought: I should have known better than to believe in something too good to be true.
As they drove home in the silence, she wanted to curl up in a ball and die, hating herself, wondering if she had just blown the best opportunity to come along in her life in a long, long time.
