Fear For Me

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

“What the hell happened here, Voyt?” Anthony demanded as he kept his gun up and aimed at the detective.

Behind him, Lauren let out a gasp and tried to go toward the men. No way, baby. He immediately moved his body, blocking her.

Hadn’t they had this talk? She was supposed to stay behind him.

There was blood on Voyt’s hands. The detective started talking, his words tumbling out quickly. “I just walked in. I found him like this!” His fingers were shaking in the light. “I haven’t even called for help yet! We’ve got to get help!”

“We will.” Anthony didn’t drop his gun. “Lauren, get your phone out. Call for an ambulance. Then I want you to go outside and make sure Jim and Matt get their asses in here.”

“But I can—”

“Go!”

He wanted her out of the room.

He heard her dialing nine-one-one, then her footsteps rushed for the back door.

“Why do you have that gun on me?” Paul demanded. His eyes squinted against the light. “We need to help him.” He ripped part of his shirt away and tried to use the torn material to stanch the flow of Wesley’s blood.

“Is he still alive?” Anthony asked, not moving.

“Yes,” Paul hissed, “but he won’t be for long. He fucking shot himself in the head!”

“No,” Anthony said softly. “He didn’t.” Anthony stepped forward. The back door had just slammed shut. Lauren was out of the cabin. She was safe. “I want you to stand up, keep your hands where I can see them, and back the hell away from him.”

Paul stared at him. “Are you crazy? He needs my help!”

“What he needs is for you to get back. Now, I’m telling you for the last time…” His fingers tightened around the weapon. “Move the hell away from him.”

Paul shook his head. “He shot—”

“A left-handed man wouldn’t use his right hand to kill himself.”

Paul frowned, then looked down at Wesley.

“You should know which hand your friend uses,” Anthony pushed, as he aimed dead center at Paul’s forehead. “That was just sloppy. Maybe we got here too soon for you, and you had to act fast. You were so rushed that you made a mistake.”

Paul was still staring at Wesley. “He is left-handed,” he whispered. “He always threw the football with…”

“You didn’t back away.” The guy really needed to. “And I can’t see your other hand.”

Paul’s head snapped up. “You think I did this?”

Hell, yes, he did.

“I didn’t! I got a garbled phone message from him, saying to meet him out here. I just got to the cabin, and I found him like this.”

Bullshit. “You were in the cabin when the shot was fired.”

“No, I was outside, I saw you pull up. I ran in—” He lunged to his feet.

Anthony prepared to fire.

Lauren shoved open the back door. “Jim! Matt!”

They weren’t there.

She stumbled to a halt, catching herself before she fell down the back steps.

“Matt?” Lauren called again, her right hand gripping her cell phone. She’d shoved the gun into her waistband while she called for help. Now she fumbled fast, grabbing for the weapon once more.

The marshals should have been there, but they weren’t.

“Lauren…help…”

It wasn’t a voice from her nightmares. It was a real voice—weak and thready and coming from the darkness of the woods that edged toward the swamp.

“Hel—” The word ended in a garbled gasp.

Lauren jumped off the steps. “Matt!”

She ran through the dark when her legs slammed into something warm and soft. She tumbled to her knees, letting out a cry as she fell. She twisted around and yanked out her phone, using it as a flashlight. The light hit—

Jim. Bloody, unconscious—please, please, please not dead.

A twig snapped behind her. Lauren whipped her head toward the sound and saw the knife coming right at her.

She screamed.

And then felt something sharp slice across her throat.

A knife.

Anthony froze. Had that been a scream? The sound faded away as quickly as it had come, but every muscle in his body tensed.

Lauren should have been back inside by now. She should have returned with Jim and Matt.

“Why isn’t Lauren here?” Paul asked. He’d jumped to his feet, but hadn’t advanced on Anthony. The guy had finally lifted his hands—showing he had no weapon, and he stood, still as a statue, a few feet away from Anthony.

Anthony glanced toward the back door. Lauren.

“Cuff yourself,” Anthony snarled as his eyes snapped back to Paul.

Paul blinked at him. “What?”

“You’ve got your cuffs on you. I see ’em at your hip. Cuff yourself!”

Paul pulled out the cuffs. Snapped them in place as he glared at Anthony.

“Now don’t fucking move,” Anthony ordered. “Because if you run out after me, I will put a bullet in your head.” He wasn’t staying in that room any longer.

Lauren should have returned.

Where was she?

He ran for the back door. Shoved it open. No Lauren. No Matt. No—

Jim was on the ground. The glow from Anthony’s flashlight made it look like black liquid soaked Jim’s clothes, but he knew what that blackness was.

Anthony hurtled off the porch and flew to the marshal’s side. He put his fingers to his throat.

Dead.

Jim was dead. Where was Matt? Lauren?

“Help…” A low, weak plea from the line of trees to the right that led farther into the swamp. Tightening his hold on his weapon, Anthony followed the sound. His flashlight cut through the trees, both helping him to see and making him a target.

There wasn’t any choice. He needed the light.

“Help…”

Christ. The light landed on Matt. Like Jim, blood soaked Matt’s clothes, but he was still alive. Barely.

So much blood.

“He got…Lauren…” Blood dripped down Matt’s face. “Heard…him…take…”

“Who is it?” Anthony demanded. “Who the fuck has her?”

It couldn’t be Paul, he’d left him cuffed inside. Wesley Hawthorne was struggling to survive, so who the hell—

“Me,” a hard voice said from the darkness.

A hard…familiar voice.

Anthony surged to his feet and turned toward the taunting voice.

Kyle rushed into the cabin, shoving aside the already broken door, with Cadence right on his heels. Her partner had his gun ready as he swept the room.

It was too damn dark. She grabbed for the light switch, but nothing happened.

Kyle had already gotten out his flashlight. She fumbled for hers and saw—

The detective—Paul—trying to unlock a pair of handcuffs. Wesley Hawthorne was at his feet, a bloody mess.

“Freeze!” Kyle roared.

Paul’s shoulders stiffened. “Not again.” He looked up. “It’s not fucking me!” He raised his cuffed hands and pointed toward the back door. “Ross went out that way. Lauren’s missing…go find her!”

Emotion shook beneath his words. She wanted to believe the guy, but she couldn’t ignore the wounded man at his feet. Cautiously, Cadence advanced so she could check on Wesley.

When she got a good look at him, her breath hissed out. With that kind of trauma, the guy was lucky to still be breathing. Actually, she wasn’t quite sure how he was still breathing.

“Cadence?” Kyle stood protectively over her, his weapon drawn.

“It wasn’t me!” Paul screamed. “Look, Ross is out there. The other marshals should have been helping him, but something happened. If you won’t help them, I will.” He lunged forward and slammed into the barrel of Kyle’s gun.

“You aren’t going anywhere,” Kyle growled, his voice lethal. “Now you settle the hell down.”

“Know…”

The grated whisper came from Wesley.

She leaned forward, heart racing. “Stay still.” She wasn’t sure how long the guy had. He needed to be airlifted out of there, freaking ASAP. A trauma unit would have to be on standby for him. Looking up at her partner, she said, “Kyle, we need a medevac—”

“Know…shot…me…”

Wesley had a giant hole in his head, and the man was still managing to speak. Talk about a fighter.

“Was it Paul?” she asked, leaning close to see his response.

“No…”

“What did he say?” Paul shouted. “Did he say it wasn’t me?”

“Was…right…”

“Right? Who’s—” She sucked in a sharp breath, understanding. Not right. Wright. Her head snapped up. “Kyle, get out there! See if you can find Ross!”

He hesitated. His gaze slid from her to Paul. He didn’t trust the detective. Neither did she, not with this scene, no matter what a bleeding man was telling her.

She’d learned long ago not to take risks.

Cadence lifted her gun. Centered it on Paul. “I’ve got this.” She’d stay until help arrived for Wesley. She’d keep Paul covered.

Kyle gave a grim nod, then headed for the back door.

“Fuck,” Paul yelled, his body vibrating with tension. “I can help.”

“Yeah, you can. Come over here and help me to save Wesley’s life.”

Dr. Greg Wright held Lauren in front of him, his knife at her throat. Her bleeding throat.

Anthony lifted his weapon, aiming for the man’s head. He could take the shot, easily missing Lauren, but…

Would the man have time to slash her throat before Greg went down?

“You don’t want to risk it,” Greg said as he backed deeper into the swamp. “You know if you so much as tighten that finger around the trigger, I’ll kill her long before your bullet can hit me.”

Anthony walked with him, matching the killer’s steps. Lauren was dead silent, her body shaking. He kept his flashlight on them. The gun was a solid weight in his hand.

It’s okay, baby. It’s okay.

He couldn’t say those words because they weren’t true. Instead, Anthony said, “It’s over, Greg. Cops are going to swarm this place any minute. There’s no place for you to go.”

Greg’s laughter cut through his words. “I know this swamp. I can disappear in five minutes, and your damn dogs and your cops won’t be able to catch me. I can vanish.”

“You’ll be a wanted man. Hunted.”

Lauren sucked in a sharp breath when the knife pressed deeper into her skin. Blood slid from the wound.

“They shouldn’t have known about me!” Rage bit through Greg’s words. “Walker screwed up the deal. No one was supposed to know.”

Anthony’s shoulders and arms had locked as he took his aim. He would not drop the gun. “You were the silent partner, right? The one always pulling the strings.”

Greg backed up a few more steps. The trees were twisting around them, blocking out even more of the faint light. The murky water of the swamp waited just yards away.

“I taught him,” Greg said, the words little more than a whisper. “He knew nothing until I showed him. He couldn’t even kill without vomiting everywhere!”

Lauren’s hands lifted. She curled her fingers around Greg’s arm and yanked. “Let me go!”

He held her tighter. “I knew he was like me.” Greg’s eyes were on Anthony. “I could tell the first time we met…I could tell.”

“Tell what?” Anthony demanded, fighting to keep his own rage and fear under control. “That he was another sick freak?”

“That he had the need! We were meant to be more than fucking cattle, like everyone else in those schools. We weren’t meant to shuffle down the hallways. We were meant to be more.”

Lauren stopped struggling. Just froze. “Did you become more when you killed my sister?”

Another low, chilling laugh came from Greg. “She liked me, did you know that? Liked the boy who couldn’t play football and who wasn’t the fucking class president. She’d meet me after school. Let me kiss her. Touch her.” He gave a hard shake of his head. “Then she tried to leave me!”

“And you killed her?” Pain broke Lauren’s words.”

“Jenny was mine. She should have known. I was never going to let her go.” More steps backward. A gator’s eyes gleamed from the dark water. “When you love someone, you want that person to stay with you forever.” He laughed once more, and it was a taunting sound. “Don’t you feel that way about her, Ross? I’ve seen the way you look at Lauren. Don’t you want to be with her forever?”

“Yes,” Anthony gritted.

“I showed Jenny just how strong I was. In the end,” Greg’s voice whispered, sliding through the night. “She knew.”

She knew you were a fucking killer.

“But the DA didn’t know,” Greg said, his mouth brushing over Lauren’s cheek. “I was beside you, Lauren, for so many days—and you never knew.” Rough laughter. “It felt so good to be that close, and now…now you’ll finally see what I can do.”

“No!” Anthony shouted back at him. He huffed out a hard breath. “I’ll drop my gun, if you let her go.”

Even in the darkness, he could see Greg shake his head. “It was supposed to be so easy. I had it all planned. Hawthorne was the killer, it was him.”

“Hawthorne’s still alive, and he’s going to tell the world what you did.” Maybe. The guy hadn’t exactly been showing a whole lot of life thanks to the fucking bullet in the head.

Another frantic shake of Greg’s head. “He shot himself! He shot—”

“He’s left-handed.” Anthony took a slow, gliding step toward Greg and Lauren. He hated the smell of her blood. Hated her pain and fear. “That was a stupid mistake for someone like you to make.”

“Left-handed?”

“Yeah, if he’d wanted to blow out his own brains, I think he would have used his dominant hand, don’t you?”

Rage twisted Greg’s face. “Voyt was coming! I heard his motorcycle! I had to hurry—”

Another gliding step forward. “You panicked and screwed up. There’s no escaping now. No pinning the crimes on someone else.”

The night was thick with fury, but eerily silent. So silent.

Greg was clinging tightly to Lauren, backing her up even more, moving them toward the rickety dock. Toward the boat that waited there.

Just like Walker. Greg thought he’d get away on the boat. But then, Greg had admitted he’d taught Walker everything.

Including how to escape.

“You let me get on the boat,” Greg spoke feverishly. “When I’m clear, I’ll let her go.”

“No, he won’t! He’ll…kill…me!” Lauren gasped the words out against his hold.

Anthony didn’t buy for a minute that Greg would just let Lauren walk away from this night.

“You aren’t getting her on that boat.” He couldn’t let it happen. If Greg got Lauren on that boat, she was dead.

Greg was just a few feet from it.

“There’s no escape for you,” Anthony told him. “Not this time.”

“What are you gonna do?” Greg taunted. “Shoot me? Shoot her? You’re the hero. The hero doesn’t get to shoot the victim!”

The hero didn’t let the woman he loved die.

“I won’t be shooting the victim.” Anthony’s voice was calm and certain.

Then it happened. The moment he’d been waiting for, praying for. Greg stumbled on the dock, on a loose piece of wood, and his grip on Lauren slackened. Lauren lunged away.

Anthony fired. The bullet slammed into Greg’s chest. The ME stumbled back. He hit the edge of the rickety dock, and tumbled into the water.

Anthony jumped forward and grabbed Lauren. “Baby, are you okay?” His fingers rose, checking the wound on her throat.

She gave a weak nod. “Anthony…”

She’d just scared twenty years of his life way.

The wound on her neck was still bleeding, but it wasn’t too deep, thank Christ. He pulled her against his chest. Held her tight.

Then he heard the rustle of water. Anthony immediately hauled Lauren behind him, shielding her with his body. But the rustle hadn’t come from Greg. It had come from a gator sliding from the bank and sinking beneath the water.

“Where is he?” Lauren asked, her fingers tight on Anthony’s arm. “Where is he?”

Anthony flashed his light across the area. The surface of the water was black. The gator had vanished, and there was barely even a ripple of movement in that water.

“I hit him.” He knew he had. He’d heard the thud of impact. “But I don’t think I killed him.”

His hold tightened on his weapon.

You have to come up for air sometime, bastard. The guy would come up for air, and he’d try to go for his boat. His escape.

There would be no more escapes.

Anthony gave Lauren his flashlight. He kept one hand on her, and the other stayed securely around his weapon. He slid back one step, and another, wanting to get her off the dock.

The dock.

Greg would have needed to come up for a gasp of breath by then. If you want air, without anyone seeing you take it, you go under the damn dock to get it.

Anthony stilled. He aimed his gun at the small gaps between the slats of wood of the dock. He waited…waited…

“Anthony?” Lauren asked quietly, fear roughening her voice.

He saw a glint of light below. A glint that would come from the knife Greg had held. Kept your weapon, huh? That’s not gonna help you.

He fired even as he pushed Lauren back. Once, twice, he fired his weapon, wanting to make Greg move, wanting to draw the bastard out so he could finish him.

But nothing happened. No jostling of water. No cries of pain.

Silence.

His gaze slid to the boat. That was Greg’s escape. He’d need to disable it, and then they could—

“Ross!” It was the FBI agent, Kyle, breaking through the brush and running toward them. “What the hell is happening? Where’s—”

A motor roared to life. The boat. Shit. Anthony spun around just as the boat began to lurch away from the dock.

No escape.

He rushed forward and jumped off the dock, flying through the air as he chased after his prey. His prey wouldn’t kill again.

Behind him, Lauren screamed.

“Is he gonna make it?” Paul’s voice was a low whisper, as if he was afraid Wesley would hear his words.

Wesley wasn’t going to hear anything else.

“No.” His blood covered her hands. She’d tried, but there had been nothing she could do. She hadn’t even been able to ease his pain.

Wesley wasn’t struggling to speak anymore. No more gasping breaths.

No more pain now.

“Shit, he’s dead?”

Cadence glanced up at Paul. She nodded even as she tried to shove down the ball of impotent fury in her throat.

Kyle hadn’t come back. Fear was snaking in her heart. Everywhere she looked, she seemed to see the dead.

Not Kyle. The man knew how to handle himself better than any other agent she’d met. Hell, he’d saved her ass more than a few times.

I need to be out there. With him.

“The key to the cuffs—I dropped it on the floor over there.”

She stared back at Paul.

“Dammit, trust me, I’m your backup, I—”

Cadence bent and grabbed the key. “We find Kyle, we find Ross, and we stop Greg Wright.”

Then she heard it—the blast of a gunshot. She scrambled with the key, hurrying to unlock the cuffs. The second the cuffs dropped to the floor, she and Paul ran through the back door.

Another gunshot thundered.

She saw the marshal. Jim. Down. Her fingers pressed to his pulse.

Dead, dammit. Another dead.

They ran through the woods. They found Matt—still alive.

Who else was alive?

Who else was dead?

Kyle…not him. Please not him. Kyle had to live. She needed him.

An engine kicked to life. Cadence had to leave the wounded marshal as she ran desperately toward the sound.