Fear For Me

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

“We’re in the process of obtaining your sister’s dental records,” Greg said as he stood beside the carefully covered remains. “Once we have those, we’ll be able to see—”

“They’ll show it’s Jenny.” Lauren was certain Jenny was wrapped up in that bag. Lauren had never needed the icy wall she used to separate herself from others more than in that moment. On the inside, she was falling apart. No, splintering. On the outside, her hands were flat at her sides. Her body still.

Greg glanced at Anthony, then back at her. “No jewelry was found at the scene.”

“She had on a necklace when she disappeared.” Her words were quiet and calm, a direct contrast to the scream inside of her. “A cross my mom had given her.” Given them both, the last Christmas they’d had together. Lauren still had her cross, nestled in the bottom of her jewelry box at home.

The home she couldn’t enter any longer.

“We’ve still got crews searching the area,” Paul said as he slid into a nearby chair. Pain and exhaustion were etched onto his face. “They might find it.”

“Not if the killer took it,” Lauren said. Her lips twisted. “Walker took jewelry from his victims. If Cadence is right and Walker learned from his partner, then maybe he saw this man taking jewelry, too, and figured he’d keep little mementos as well.”

“Trophies,” Paul growled.

Yes, that was the perfect word.

“Are the cadaver dogs hunting?” Anthony asked.

Paul gave a grim nod.

The killer might have buried other victims close by.

“Her shirt was covered in blood,” Greg said as he backed away from the table. “Maybe we’ll get lucky. He could have left his own DNA behind.”

“He cut off her hands.” Paul’s words were as quiet as Lauren’s had been. They hit her with a brutal punch. “The guy knew how to make sure he didn’t leave DNA evidence behind. She probably scratched him, and he took the hands to make sure we wouldn’t track him.”

The kill had been so long ago. Before DNA testing had really advanced.

Lauren’s lashes swept down as the sound of her heartbeat filled her ears. “Was she still alive when he—”

“No.” Greg said quickly.

Good. Her lashes lifted. She met his stare. Anthony had stepped closer to her, and the heat from his body seemed to reach out and surround her.

“That’s actually the odd thing,” Greg added. “From what I can tell, the perp didn’t originally cut off her hands. He went back and did that…later.”

She swallowed the bile that rose in her throat.

“He got smarter,” Anthony said from beside her.

Sicker.

Anthony’s eyes were on the body. “He realized he’d left his DNA behind.”

“You think she scratched him,” Paul said, sitting at attention now.

“My sister was a fighter.” Lauren knew that when most people had looked at Jenny, they’d seen a piece of fluff. An always-smiling cheerleader. But Jenny had spent ten years in gymnastics. Five in Tae Kwon Do. She wouldn’t have gone out easily. Not easily at all.

“He figured out what he’d left behind.” Anthony’s voice was a dark rumble. “He went back to fix his mistake.”

Paul yanked a hand over his face, his frustration plain to see. “Then we aren’t finding his DNA on her clothes. The bastard wouldn’t take the hands and leave his blood behind.”

“You’d be surprised at what we can uncover today.” Greg’s jaw hardened. “All I need is one tiny hair, one microscopic drop of blood from our perp. Hell, maybe the guy was even sweating when he dug her grave—either time—I just need a little sample. If he’s in our database, we’ll have the man’s identity.”

The nightmare could be over.

Greg nodded as he focused on her. “As soon as I learn more, I’ll tell you.”

“Thank you.” She glanced down at the evidence sheet. There wasn’t much left of her sister now. There should be more to show for a life. Lauren licked her lips. She had to ask, “Have you been able to tell…what happened to her? What did he do?”

Again, Greg glanced at Anthony.

Anger pulsed through her. “Tell me.”

“There are nicks on her bones that are consistent with stab wounds. I have to study her more—”

“How many wounds?” She cut through the BS. Greg was very good at his job. He would already have a strong idea, she was certain, of exactly what the killer had done to her sister.

“Seventeen.”

The ice cracked. “So many?”

She realized Anthony had taken her hand. When had he done that? Both Greg and Paul noticed the move, but so what? She wanted Anthony holding her. She wanted him. Her fingers curled around his. Tightened.

Anthony squeezed her hand. “If she was his first kill, he wouldn’t have been as controlled with her. That many slices of the blade—hell, Cadence will tell you that indicates rage. Loss of control.”

The killer was angry at Jenny. Enraged.

“There’s a reason she was first,” Lauren said. She tried to breathe slowly but the stench in the room was making her light-headed. “Jenny was personal to him.” It was the way of crimes like this.

“The crazy SOB probably thought they were all personal,” Paul muttered. “Freaks like that always do.”

“First kills usually are personal.” Anthony’s voice was thick. “The first victim is often a trigger for many serials. Once they get the rush that comes from the kill, they get addicted. They want the power. The control. They want the release that they can only get from taking lives.”

All eyes were on him.

There was a grim certainty in his voice. Anthony had dealt with far too many monsters over the years.

“All signs are that Jenny was his first victim.” Anthony’s hold was strong and what she desperately needed then. “According to Cadence’s search, her disappearance dated back the longest. When we discover why Jenny was the trigger, then we understand our killer.”

“Sometimes you can’t understand crazy.” Paul was adamant as he stood near the autopsy table. “All you can do is put a bullet in the killer’s head and stop him before he can hurt anyone else.”

Lauren felt very cold. “He knew her, didn’t he?” That much rage…the loss of control…

“I think he did,” Anthony said. “I think he knew her very, very well.”

“People thought she ran away with a boyfriend. That was the story that circulated.” She rubbed her chilled arms. “Maybe she didn’t run away with him—”

“Maybe he killed her?” Anthony finished.

Lauren nodded. She was splintering apart on the inside. “The cops…they talked to all her friends. They said she wasn’t seeing anyone. She was always home. I didn’t think there was a guy.”

“He could have been her secret,” Paul murmured.

A secret that had killed her.

“I need to go back to my house,” Lauren said, her voice soft in the confines of the SUV.

Frowning, Anthony glanced over at her. She’d been too quiet after they’d talked to the ME. Too quiet. Too pale. Keeping too much in.

There were no more tears from her. Just a brittle mask.

“I didn’t think you wanted to go back there.” She’d told him that before, several times.

“There’s something I have to get. Please, take me there.”

If that was what she wanted, he’d do it. He’d take her anywhere.

He turned the SUV around, pushed the accelerator down, and cut across the dark road. Rain was falling lightly, beating against the windshield, and the wipers swiped across the glass.

They didn’t speak again, not until they were pulling into the drive that led to her house. The headlights cut across the area, and Anthony saw the yellow line of police tape still blocking her door.

He shut off the engine and turned toward her. “Tell me what you need. I’ll go inside and get it.” There was no need for Lauren to walk into that house. Her mattress had been taken away. An evidence trail would still mark her bedroom. After finding her sister’s remains, he didn’t want her dealing with that, too.

“I should go in,” she whispered, her gaze on the house lit by the headlights. “I should—”

“Fuck what you should do,” Anthony snarled. “Just let me do this for you, okay? You don’t have to face down any more ghosts. You don’t have to do a damn thing but stay here and let me take care of this for you.”

She turned her head toward him. He couldn’t see her clearly in the dark so he reached out and trailed his fingers across her cheek, trying to feel her emotions.

Her cheek was wet with a teardrop. The brittle mask wasn’t holding.

“In my closet. In the bottom of my closet, there’s an old jewelry box. My cross is in there. The cross just like Jenny’s. It’s stupid, I know, but I want it. I have to have it.”

He brought his mouth to hers. Kissed her lightly. “It’s not stupid.” She was breaking his heart.

“It’s all I have left of my family. Everyone’s gone.” Her breath blew lightly over him as she gave a ragged sigh. “I knew she was dead, I told myself, for years…” Her head shook. “But when we found her body, it was real. It was finally real. Jenny won’t ever come home again. I’m alone. They’re all gone, and I’m—”

He curled his hand around her chin and forced her to stare into his eyes. “I will never let you be alone.”

“Your life isn’t here. Your job takes you all across the country, and we’re—I don’t even know what we are.”

He kissed her once more. Harder. Deeper. “I’ll tell you what we are. We’re just fucking starting, got me? You’re not alone, I won’t let you be alone. You have me.” You always had me. Even when he’d been gone. Miles away. She’d been in his head.

In the shell that passed for his heart.

There would be no more miles between them. No more pain for her. Everything was changing for him.

He reached for his weapon. Handed it to her and curled her fingers around it.

“What are you doing? Why are you giving me this?”

“The last time I left you outside alone, a fucking killer took you from me.”

Not happening again.

“You keep the doors locked. You keep that gun loaded. I’ll go into the house, I’ll get your cross, and I’ll be right back.” He just needed to get the house keys from her. He’d be in and out in a flash and—

“I’m going in with you.”

“Dammit, why?”

“Because I won’t hide from my own life, no matter how horrible it is.” She handed the gun back to him. “I can’t hide from it. I can’t. I can’t let what’s happened break me.”

“You don’t have to see what’s inside—” He stopped because those were the same words he’d given to her when they’d been back in the swamp.

But she had seen.

Lauren didn’t shy away from the darkness in life. She faced it, let it hurt her, but kept going.

He wanted to protect her, but Lauren wasn’t the type to let others fight her battles.

“Let’s go,” he told her instead of arguing any more.

She turned away from him. Reached for her door.

He climbed out slowly, holstering his weapon. Lauren’s nearest neighbors were at least an acre away, judging by the distance between their yards. The night air was hot and heavy as it pressed down on him.

His body tensed as his gaze swept the area. The houses down the street were dark. It was nearing eleven o’clock, and Lauren’s neighbors had obviously turned in.

The shadows around her home seemed to stretch and twist. He hurried to her side, his body on alert.

Lauren used her key to cut the yellow police tape. It fell away, fluttering toward the window on the right. Lauren’s fingers were shaking as she shoved the key into the lock. When the door opened, the dark cavern of the house awaited them.

Lauren didn’t cross the threshold.

I can get the necklace for you. He locked his teeth to hold the words back. Lauren felt like this was something she had to do.

“It’s just a house,” she whispered and stepped into the darkness.

He followed right behind her.

Just a house.

One heavy with the memory of death and pain.

She’d gone back. He’d figured she would, sooner or later. After her sister’s remains had been found, he’d known Lauren wouldn’t be able to stay away from the house much longer.

She’d kept her own case files on Jenny over the years. Kept a memory box of her sister’s belongings. With today’s discovery, Lauren would want those items more than ever before. She’d had to go back.

So very predictable.

And the marshal was by her side. Where else would the man be?

They were the reason the investigation had continued. The reason the dead were being pulled from their sleep. If it hadn’t been for Lauren, Jenny would still be exactly where she belonged.

Pulling her from the ground had been a crime, and now he’d be sure to put Lauren in the ground.

Lauren. He’d always wanted to be close to her. Being close to Lauren, it was like being close to Jenny. They had the same eyes.

He hadn’t planned to kill Lauren. Not originally. It had been nice having her there. Seeing her—it always brought his best memories back. It had taken awhile to get close to Lauren, but he’d been patient.

Jon had been the one to want Lauren’s pain. Jon had been so angry, so determined to make her suffer.

After prison, he’d figured that Jon deserved to enjoy some vengeance. And the two of them killing Lauren—maybe it would have been as good as that first time.

Only Jon hadn’t gotten his payback. Lauren and her lover had killed him.

She’d taken Jon away. She’d dug up the past. Ruined Jenny.

Lauren had to die.

She should have paid more attention before she’d gone into the house. But Lauren had been so focused on what waited inside that she hadn’t noticed the threat all around her.

Pity.

He smiled.

She hated the darkness. Lauren’s fingers flew out and slapped against the light switch. The darkness vanished instantly, and she was staring at the familiar sight of her living room.

Her couch.

Her photos. Her TV and the stack of DVDs she kept handy for the nights she couldn’t sleep.

Her grandmother’s afghan was still tossed over the back of her couch. The home looked just as it had days before.

But the chill in the air was new. So very new. With the Baton Rouge summer blaring down on them, the cold should have been the last thing she felt.

Squaring her shoulders, she strode down her hallway, turning on every light she passed. She wanted the darkness gone.

By the time she reached her bedroom, her palms were sweating. The door was shut, and she hesitated.

Anthony didn’t speak. She knew he didn’t want her in there, but she had to do this.

She wouldn’t let fear control her.

Her fingers curled around the knob. She turned it and pushed open the door.

The lights had flooded on inside the house. He could see the shadows moving—the bodies of Lauren and the marshal—as they went down the hallway. He had to hurry.

It was a good thing he’d learned to be so quiet and careful over the years. One had to be careful when stalking precious prey.

He grabbed his weapon—not the weapon he would have preferred, but one that was going to have to work in this case—and slipped close to the house.

The front door was locked, but that didn’t matter.

He had his own key.

The bedroom door squeaked open. More darkness. And the scent of death. Lauren’s breath was coming out harder now as she fumbled with the light. When it was on, she saw her room.

The mattress was gone, just as Anthony had said. The sheets, the covers—everything was gone from the bed. There were bloodstains on the floor. Spatter on the walls.

Karen’s blood.

Anthony swore behind her.

She wanted to do more than swear. “He’s burning in hell.” Walker had gotten exactly what he deserved.

Karen hadn’t, though. She’d never deserved this.

Lauren tore her gaze off the bed and hurried to her closet.

The hardwood floor creaked beneath her feet.

Lauren…

The whisper seemed to be in the air, but it was just a memory. Her memory. It had never been Karen’s voice. It had been Walker, trying to lure her to the spot he wanted her. The perfect kill.

But she’d gotten away.

She was nearly at the closet. When she’d bought the house, she’d fallen in love with the closet. Walk-in heaven. A paradise for her shoes.

Now she just wanted her necklace.

Lauren opened the closet door.

She lost her breath. The closet had been trashed. Boxes were everywhere. Her clothes slashed. “Anthony…”

He was already there. Pulling her against him. Holding her tight.

“It wasn’t like this before.” The house hadn’t been ransacked by Walker. Paul had told her he’d checked the house.

Where’s my jewelry box?

She heard the creak of wood.

Only the sound hadn’t come from their steps.

It had come from outside the bedroom.

She knew the nightmare was happening again.

Lauren…

Before they could leap for the bedroom door, the light went out, thrusting them into darkness.

This time, Lauren didn’t imagine what she heard…

Laughter.

Come out, come out…I’m waiting for you.

He’d prepared so well. They were going to be such easy prey.

It had been easy enough to throw the breaker switch and plunge the house into darkness. He liked to hunt in the dark. He’d spent so many nights in the darkness of the swamp. First as a child, wandering deep and far to get away from the prying eyes of his family. Then, later, with Jon on their hunts.

Unlike others, his night vision was strong. So very strong.

Sometimes, he even let his prey run from him in the swamp. He hunted on the darkest nights, when the moon was gone, when the stars were clouded. He could see his prey easily in the swamp. See the shadows as they fled.

He would see Lauren and her marshal just as easily in the darkened house. Shadows that would be targeted.

He lifted his weapon. It wasn’t his weapon of choice—he always preferred the intimate touch of a knife. Tonight, a gun would have to get the job done.

Brutal. Cold.

I like the knife better.

The knife let him feel his victim’s pain. It cut right through the skin. So gentle. So much better than the brutality of the gun.

He’d lured his prey just where he wanted them. Made the wreckage of the closet to pull them in even deeper, so he’d have the chance to get to the breaker box.

And now…

Come out, come out…

The marshal would be first. He knew it. He’d wait for the marshal’s shadow, wait to hear the telltale creak of wood, then he’d shoot. When he went down, Lauren would be desperate. She’d try to save the marshal, because she cared for him. She’d pull him back into the bedroom.

His leg brushed against the gas container at his feet. He was counting on Lauren saving her marshal.

Lauren was always trying to save the world.

It was time for her to watch the world burn away.

Then he heard it. The faint creak of the wooden floor. Then the dark bulk of a body, trying to move from the room.

Fabric whispered. Another soft creak.

He stood there in the darkness. Waiting. Needing the marshal to come just a bit closer.

Light. Fucking light.

The marshal had a flashlight in his hand, and he was shining it right at him.

Fuck.

He fired. The bullet missed the marshal, hitting right above him on the wall, but it made the marshal duck back.

He fired again. Again.

He heard the thud of his bullets and—was that Ross’s groan?

Hurry, have to hurry.

He grabbed the gas can. Poured it down the hallway. Tossed the can toward Lauren’s room.

He jumped back, trying to put distance between himself and the fire that was about to come.

His smile stretched as he grabbed for the matches and lit the whole damn place up.

Only…gasoline was on him, too, on his fingers, and he screamed when his hand caught fire.

The whoosh of sound that came from the sudden eruption of flames—the giant whoosh that rocked the house and sent him flying back—drowned out his cry.

Blood dripped down Anthony’s arm as he grabbed Lauren and pulled her into the bedroom. The flames were white-hot, scorching and destructive as they moved toward him.

He and Lauren hit the floor. The fire was in the doorway, blocking them, burning red and gold as it lit up the room.

The bastard had followed them to the house, and he was trying to make sure they never got out again.

Think again, asshole.

Smoke was filling the room fast. The flames spreading too rapidly. Gasoline. He’d caught the scent of gasoline just in time to jerk Lauren to safety.

Gasoline would burn fast, especially when the freak had used a whole damn can to drench the place.

“The window!” he barked. There was no way they were getting through those flames. They wouldn’t get to the killer that way, but at least they could escape.

Lauren pulled away from him. She ran not to the window, but to the closet.

“Lauren!”

The smoke was getting too thick. They needed fresh air.

He raced to the window. Shoved the curtains out of his way and realized—

I’m a perfect target. Standing there, silhouetted by the flames, he would be easy to take out. The killer had made it so they only had one way to freedom. If he was waiting out there now, he could make sure both Anthony and Lauren died.

No choice.

Anthony yanked on the window. Only it didn’t open. He yanked again, harder.

Then his fingers found the nails.

The killer had nailed the window shut.

Screw that. There was still an easy way to get that window open.

He used his gun to break the glass. It rained down on him, the ground, and sweet, clean air drifted inside.

Anthony glanced back, but didn’t see Lauren. “Lauren!”

The closet door was still open. He hurried to the door and found Lauren on her hands and knees, searching through the wreckage.

“No, baby, we don’t have time for this.” The fire was spreading too quickly. “We have to get out! Come on!”

She wasn’t listening to him. She was shoving clothes and boxes out of her way. “It’s here!” Lauren said. “I know it is!”

The fire was there. It was the thing they needed to worry about. If she wasn’t coming willingly, then he’d have to carry her out. He locked his hands around her hips.

“I’ve got it!”

She scrambled around to face him. Her hands were clutching a small, black box. She jerked open the box.

It was empty.

“Where’s the necklace?” she said. It was hard to hear her over the crackle of the flames. “Where is it?”

The killer had taken it, just like he was trying to take their lives.

Anthony lifted Lauren into his arms and rushed toward the window.

Smoke billowed around them as he shoved away the rest of the broken glass.

The killer could be out there.

If they stayed inside, they were definitely dead.

“Stay low, and run as fast as you can toward the SUV.” He pushed her through the window and followed right behind her, trying to use his body as a shield for her.

But no gunfire erupted. No bullets tore into him.

He heard a siren in the distance. The wail was long and mournful.

“Over here!” a woman’s voice called. Anthony’s head jerked up, and he saw an older woman and man, both wearing robes and slippers, hurrying toward them. The man had a blanket in his hands.

“My neighbors,” Lauren managed to gasp. “Jim and Suzy Baker…”

When Jim and Suzy Baker got a good look at Anthony and the gun clutched in his hands, they stopped rushing to the rescue.

They both froze, and Suzy looked like she might pass out.

“I’m a marshal,” he called out. He was not putting that gun away. “There’s a killer here. He was in the house.”

“We saw a man run…” Jim pointed to the right. “That way. He was in a Jeep, and we yelled for him to stop.”

A Jeep?

“But he didn’t.” Suzy was creeping closer again, holding out the blanket to wrap around Lauren. “He just revved the engine and drove even faster.”

The fire truck was coming closer, the siren wailing louder.

Behind them, Lauren’s house burned. The heat of the flames was hot against his skin.

He brushed Lauren’s arm, trying to get her to step farther away from the fire.

The flames were crackling. The wood collapsing. The house that had known death was burning to the ground.

They could have burned with it.

Was that the killer’s plan? To shoot them, then burn their bodies? When the fire spread too fast and the neighbors had come running, he’d been forced to flee.

The fire truck raced around the corner. The lights swept over the scene.

“Did you see a tag number?” Anthony demanded of the Bakers.

Jim shook his head. “Too dark. He didn’t turn on any lights when he rushed away.”

“Anthony!” Lauren had just lifted her hand. He could see the dark liquid staining her fingers. “You’re hurt!”

He didn’t know if the blood came from the bullet that had scraped across his arm or from the glass that had still lined the window. He’d made sure the glass cut into him, not her, as they fled. “It’s nothing.” He could handle a little blood.

He caught her hands in his and held them tight. He was so sick of killers screwing with them.

His gaze darted from Jim to Suzy. “Did you see anything that could identify the driver? Any specific details about the Jeep?”

Jim straightened his shoulders. The house was still burning. Lauren was staring at the flames.

Jim was staring at him. “It…looked like a Jeep Wrangler, the top was off, the color was…dark…” He shook his head. “I was so worried about Lauren, about who might be inside, I didn’t look long enough…”

Jeep Wrangler.

Wesley had a Jeep Wrangler.

Coincidence?

I don’t believe in them.

Wesley knew the swamp. Wesley had been in the area at the time of Jenny’s disappearance. Wesley was the one who’d said he’d help them locate Walker in the woods…only they’d never located Walker when Wesley had taken them out. And when they’d been searching so desperately for Lauren, it had been Wesley who’d mistakenly led him down the wrong path, though Wesley swore he knew the area better than anyone else.

The wrong way…

Because he purposely led us the wrong way?

The firefighters leaped into action. Patrol cars rushed to the scene. An ambulance raced up the road.

“Help!” Lauren called out when she saw the EMTs. “He’s hurt!”

Anthony tightened his hold on her. “Forget that.” He’d deal with the scratch later. He grabbed the first cop he saw. “We need to put out an alert for a Jeep Wrangler that left the scene.”

The fire reflected in the uniform’s wide eyes.

“The driver of that Jeep just tried to kill us.”

Could the driver be Wesley?

One way to find out.

“Get Detective Voyt on the radio. Tell him to head out to Wesley Hawthorne’s house.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to make sure the man’s not a fucking killer.”

He raced from the scene as quickly as he could. The fucking fire shouldn’t have burned him. He’d tried to keep the gas off him, but the shit had splashed back.

Now his fingers were blistered, red, and that was a condition he couldn’t easily explain away.

Shit, shit, shit!

He slammed his hands into the steering wheel. They throbbed even more at the impact. Stupid. He’d planned this so perfectly. Even let the neighbors catch sight of his vehicle…all so he could have his end game.

The DA wanted Walker’s killer stopped. The marshal wasn’t giving up the hunt until he had a body. Well, he’d intended to give them that body.

I still will.

He just had to find a way around his injury. He could make this work.

There was still time.

He could do this.

His fingers fucking hurt.

The pain fueled his rage, and he couldn’t wait to get back to the victim waiting for him. He was so ready to kill.