Fear For Me

CHAPTER TWO

“District Attorney Chandler!” a reporter shouted as Lauren paused on the steps of the courthouse. “Is it true the Bayou Butcher is hunting in the city once more?”

Anthony saw Lauren pull in a slow breath, then she pushed back her shoulders. He’d seen her do that move dozens of times in court. Bracing herself. Getting ready for the attack.

She turned slowly to face the crowd, and the sunlight glinted off her blonde hair. She’d changed clothes, put on a sleek skirt and blouse that made her look both professional and far too sexy for his weak self-control.

She’d always been too tempting for him.

“Jon Walker escaped from Angola prison, and the U.S. Marshals Service is currently conducting a manhunt for him.” Her eyes, the brightest shade of blue Anthony had ever seen, glanced his way. “I have every confidence that the marshals will have Walker back within custody in a very short time.” She gave a nod, and turned away.

“Will they have him back in custody before or after he kills again?” the same reporter fired out. A redhead, one with her hair in a twist, and one who was already trying to follow Lauren up those steps. “The Butcher did kill the woman who was found in your house last night, correct?”

Lauren glanced back. Even across the space that separated them, Anthony could feel the chill of her stare. “Sharon, you should know better. I cannot comment on an ongoing murder investigation.”

Then Lauren hurried up the steps, refusing to give any more comments. Anthony pushed through the crowd and followed her easily. They both needed to see the judge, and if this trip gave him the chance to have a few minutes alone with Lauren, he’d take those minutes.

His ID let him sweep right past security. The reporters were held back, but their questions followed him.

Lauren’s heels clicked across the marble as she closed in on the elevator. She slipped inside, turned around, and saw him. He caught the slight flare of surprise as her eyes widened. The doors began to close. He pushed his hand through the doors, triggering the sensor. Then he was inside with her. His gaze held hers.

“Hold the elevator!” a voice shouted.

Anthony glanced over his shoulder. “Get the next one,” he ordered, his voice a low rumble as he shoved against the button to send the doors closing.

The guy—older, balding—glared at him but wisely stepped back.

The elevator doors closed. Anthony glanced to the left at the control panel. She’d pushed the button for the fifth floor. Not a lot of time to talk, so…

He pulled the emergency stop knob.

“What the hell?” Lauren immediately demanded as she surged forward. “Why did you do that?”

He turned toward her. Damn. Until he’d walked into the station and seen her, he’d almost forgotten just how beautiful she was in person. Photographs had never done her justice.

Up close, he could see all the different shades of gold and blonde in her hair. Natural—he knew that fact intimately. Her face was heart shaped, her cheeks high, and her lips so lush and full. And—

“Stop looking at me that way,” she told him, backing up a step. Her forward march had sure stopped quickly enough. “And get this elevator moving.”

In due time. He cocked his head and continued to study her. Five years. He’d thought about her far too often during that time. “Back at the station, you were the one saying that we needed to talk.”

“Yes, well, I’ve got a judge waiting on me now. A very nervous judge who I’m going to have to calm down.” Her gaze flickered over him. “You didn’t find the killer’s trail at my house, did you?”

“We knew the rain would wipe away the tracks.” Mother Nature could be a real bitch when she wanted to be. “Every cop in this city is on full alert,” Anthony said. “I’ve got my men doing sweeps, and as soon as I talk to Judge Hamilton—” He broke off and gave a grim smile at the surprised expression on her face. “Yeah, I’m here to see him, too.”

Judge Pierce Hamilton. The man who had presided over Walker’s case.

The judge who was now nervous as all hell because the killer was on the loose once more. Only Anthony didn’t think the judge was the prime target for Walker. Walker hadn’t been fixated on the judge’s image, he hadn’t gone straight to the guy’s house.

No, Walker’s main attention…is on Lauren.

Lauren had been the one in that courtroom, telling the world what a monster Walker truly was. It had been her face on the TVs, in the newspapers. Hamilton had banged the gavel, but it had been Lauren who sent Walker to Angola.

Then he remembered the way she’d cut through the courthouse. That sexy rolling stride—the way she’d been alone. Back teeth clenching, he gritted out, “I thought the cop was giving you protection.” That had been his order to the handsy cop who’d been way too close to Lauren at the station.

Her delicate brows arched. “Don’t worry, Marshal. I have a police escort here, and he’s waiting outside to take me back to my office once I’m done with the judge. I’m covered.”

Not well enough. He sure hadn’t caught sight of her escort. “Walker killed a woman in your house.”

“I’m well aware of that.”

She should be plenty aware of the danger. Lauren couldn’t pretend like most folks did. Couldn’t act like the monsters weren’t real.

Her breath whispered out as she continued. “He killed a friend, not just a woman. A friend. I’m trying to figure out why Karen was even at my house, and don’t think for a minute, not one single minute”—now she was advancing on him once more, closing the space between them as color lit her cheeks—“that I don’t feel like someone ripped into my heart. Karen was the best friend I had.”

Maybe that’s why she’s dead. He didn’t tell her that. Couldn’t. It was too brutal of a truth.

But Walker was a brutal killer. He’d suffered in jail. Locked up for five long years. Maybe he wanted Lauren to suffer now, too.

Anthony’s hand lifted and brushed across her cheek. She flinched at his touch and pulled away from him.

“Get this elevator moving,” she said, but her voice was husky, reminding him of their past. Tangled sheets. Secrets. “Now.”

No, not just yet.

Studying her carefully, he said, “We’re gonna need the DA’s office to work with my team. Full cooperation.”

She stared back at him. “Did you really think I’d give you anything less?”

With the way things were between them, he hadn’t been sure. He should have known, though. Lauren had always been good at compartmentalizing her life. Hot sex with him in private. Ice in public.

She exhaled slowly. “He killed two people at the prison. That’s what Paul told me.”

Paul. The handsy detective. Anthony nodded.

“He only killed women before.” Her voice was softer now. His hand had clenched into a fist—so he wouldn’t reach out to her again. “But this time, one of the victims was a guard?”

Another nod. “It was a fast kill. More necessity than anything else.” Cold words. They had to be. He didn’t tell her about the doctor’s body. Walker had been up to his old tricks with her. Staring into Lauren’s bright gaze he said, “I’m meeting with the judge, then I’m joining my team. We’re going to search every hangout that Walker had in this area. He’s in Baton Rouge, and he’s going to try to look for security, familiarity.”

Her lips pressed together, then she said, “I want to come with you.”

“Baby, that’s not—”

Her head jerked up. “I’m not your baby.”

Talk about a slip. He sure hadn’t meant for that to roll out.

“What I am…I’m the DA in this town. I want the people here to know we’re doing everything possible to keep the city safe, and I want justice for Karen.” She swallowed. The faint click almost seemed painful to his ears because he knew she was trying to push away the grief from her friend’s death. “I won’t get in your way, but I will be involved, and if I have to go over your head to do it, then I—”

Static crackled on the elevator’s intercom. “Ms. Chandler?”

Her head turned toward the security camera near the speaker in the left corner.

“Do you need assistance?” that crackling voice asked.

She leaned around Anthony, her body brushing lightly against his, and pressed the button to restart the elevator. “No, thank you. We’re good.”

The elevator rose. Their gazes held.

He hadn’t agreed to let her tag along on his hunt.

She hadn’t backed down.

Just like old times.

The doors slid open. “I can help you,” she said quietly as they headed toward the judge’s chambers. “I’m the one who talked to Walker’s friends before and after the trial. I’m the one who interviewed the witnesses. I know him and his habits far better than you.”

Maybe that was true, but he still wanted her away from the danger.

Not getting up close and personal with it.

She waved to a guard, then paused near the judge’s closed chamber doors. The flush had left her cheeks. Now she studied him with a cool gaze. “Unless you don’t think you can manage to keep me safe while I’m with you and your entire team of marshals. Is that the issue? Maybe my safety is too much to ask?”

He almost smiled. Would have, if he hadn’t been so worried about the twisted killer on the loose. “I can do my job.”

“Good. And I can do mine.” She turned away from him. Knocked on the door. “Judge Hamilton!” Her voice rose.

The judge’s secretary wasn’t at her desk. Anthony wasn’t in the mood to wait around for the lady to return so that she could announce his arrival. He didn’t have time to kill. He pulled Lauren back and shoved open the door.

The judge stood just a few feet away from the door. His black robe billowed around him. His face, pale and haggard, reflected his fear.

“What took you both so damn long?” Pierce Hamilton waved his hands, motioning to hurry inside. “What the hell is going on? How did Walker get out?” He marched around to sit behind his big, antique mahogany desk.

Lauren eased into the lush leather chair across from the judge. Anthony didn’t bother sitting. “He stabbed himself with a shiv, got taken to the infirmary at Angola, then he managed to kill a guard and the doctor on duty.”

Hamilton flinched but his gaze didn’t waver. “Did he have help? Is the bastard working alone?”

Now this was the dicey part. “We haven’t found any connection to anyone else…yet.” But Anthony’s instincts were in overdrive. The guy had gotten away from the prison too quickly. Had transportation been waiting? An old friend—or even a new one—who’d been willing to help the Bayou Butcher? Anthony had someone searching through all the visitor records at the prison. If there was a link to anyone who could possibly have assisted Walker, then he would find that link.

Fuck, the last thing they needed was to discover that Walker had an accomplice out there. Someone to help the sick freak with his crimes.

“We’re going to talk to all of Walker’s acquaintances next,” Lauren said, her voice the smooth cream that lulled jurors into believing every word she said. “If he’s working with someone, we’ll find out.”

But her voice didn’t seem to be lulling Hamilton.

“I’m going to hunt Walker based on what we already know about him.” Anthony could see the judge wanted reassurance that Walker would be caught. Well, he’d do his fucking best. “Walker was always at home in the swamps. He knows that area like the back of his hand. We’re going to search there, because the swamps would be the perfect hiding spot for him. Isolated, secure. He would feel in control there.”

“And Walker was always about control,” Lauren murmured.

Yes, he had been.

“His cabin,” Hamilton said, frowning, “that damn place where he kept all of his trophies—”

Anthony saw Lauren swallow. He didn’t like remembering that place, either. “We’re going to search it. Trust me, judge, I know how to do my damn job.”

Hamilton didn’t look reassured. He looked like he was about to break apart. “We’re off the record here,” Hamilton said as he ran a hand through his graying hair. “So far off.”

Lauren glanced over at Anthony, then nodded. “All right.”

“I was sleeping with Karen.” His fingers flattened on the table as his gaze cut to Lauren. “But you knew that, didn’t you?”

It was sure news to Anthony. Karen Royce had been an investigator at the DA’s office. He’d met her a few times before, back when they’d all been working the Butcher case.

Hamilton was a married man, tied to old southern money. Had his wife known about the affair?

“That’s why you and Lauren fought at the courthouse, isn’t it?” Hamilton continued. “You think I didn’t hear about that? Hell, gossip travels like wildfire here. You found out about us…”

“I knew,” Lauren said softly.

Hamilton’s hands slapped against the desk. “And you didn’t call to tell me about her murder? A murder that happened right in your own damn home?” Anger ripped through his words. “I had to find out about it on the news. I had to—”

“Right after her body was discovered, I was taken to the precinct, surrounded by cops and reporters. Did you really think that if I stopped to call you then, it wouldn’t be noted?”

The judge’s eyes glittered, but he didn’t speak.

“Karen told me you two had broken things off. She told me that I didn’t need to worry about her because it was over with you.”

“We would have worked it out. We would have—”

“You’re married.” Her voice was flat. “Karen told me she didn’t want to be involved with you anymore. She was done—she hated that she’d been with you. Hated that she’d let you use her.” Anger flashed across Lauren’s face. “Dammit, Hamilton, you have a ring on your finger. It’s supposed to mean something.”

The ring gleamed dully. The judge’s eyes narrowed. “My wife knew about Karen. She didn’t care—”

“Maybe Karen deserved better than to be your dirty little secret.”

He surged to his feet. “Maybe she deserved better than to die in your place!”

Fuck that. Anthony jumped between them. “Judge, you need to calm the hell down.”

The judge sucked in a deep breath. “He went after Lauren, didn’t he? Her house, her bedroom. Karen was just in the wrong place. I called her—told her I was coming over to her house…” His words tumbled out. “I wanted to talk. I was willing to do anything to get her back.” His body trembled. “She told me she wouldn’t be home. Karen left—went to her place, and she died in her—”

“If it was Walker, then he knew exactly who Karen Royce was,” Anthony cut in before the judge could say anything else. “If he was the one who killed her, then it was deliberate. Maybe he was trying to send a message with her death.”

The judge suddenly looked much older as the lines on his face appeared to deepen. “What message?”

Payback.

As he stared at the other man, Anthony saw that the judge understood. The knowledge was in his eyes.

“The DA’s getting protection,” Anthony said without glancing back at Lauren. “We’ll work with the police and make sure you have a guard, too.”

“Are you sure that’s necessary?” Then Hamilton gave a rough laugh. “Do you know how many killers have told me they were coming after me? How many threats I’ve received over the years?”

“Walker won’t just threaten. He’ll slice you apart.”

Hamilton shook his head. “Only women. That’s his target. That’s what all the shrinks and profilers said on the stand. He only targeted women because of need for control and fixation on the female form and—”

“The prison guard was male. He’s just as dead as the others.”

The judge shut up.

“You’re getting protection.” The last thing Anthony wanted was another body turning up.

If they didn’t find Walker soon, that was exactly what would happen.

The judge was nervous when he walked into the courtroom. His steps were too fast, his movements too abrupt.

Good. The bastard should be nervous. He should be shaking. Running.

Dying.

He would be dying, soon enough.

The judge slammed down his gavel. Called everyone to order. The lawyers stood and started preening for the jury.

The judge’s eyes were darkened with fear as they swept around the courtroom.

Looking for a killer he wouldn’t find. Disguises were always easy enough to manage. Most folks saw only what they wanted to see.

The guy had no clue.

He’d been in this courtroom before. So many times. Waiting. Watching.

He’d lost something very important in this same room. He would be getting it back.

As for the judge—as for the self-righteous jurors and the slick lawyers—maybe it was time for them to see what it felt like to lose.

To lose everything, including their lives.

He stood and made his way to the back of the courtroom. This wasn’t the place, but the time was close. So very close. The next target waited.

He had a list, and he’d be crossing the names off.

One by one.

He paused at the door and glanced back at the judge. The oblivious fool.

I’ll be seeing you.

Maybe he’d let the bastard die with the robe still on. Seemed fitting. The robe—the job—would be what killed him.

The SUV braked just outside of the small cabin that sat on the edge of the swamp. Lauren climbed out of the vehicle, and her heels immediately sank into the mud.

Gritting her teeth, she trudged forward, or, rather, she went as far forward as Anthony would allow. He threw up his hand, blocking her, while the two other marshals he’d introduced her to earlier, Jim O’Keith and Matt Meadows, made their way toward the cabin.

“It looks abandoned,” she whispered. It looked that way because it was. Once upon a time, the cabin had belonged to Jon Walker. After his arrest, the place had been left to rot…and rot it had. The wood was falling down and the windows were smashed in.

The word BUTCHER had been spray painted across the front door—a door that swung open. She could see bricks and rocks strewn across the sagging front porch.

Folks in the area hadn’t exactly taken kindly to finding out that a serial killer had been using their swamp. Right after Walker’s arrest, the place had even been set on fire. The wood in the back and near the roof was charred, and maybe it was her imagination, but she could almost swear she still smelled ash.

Jim and Matt slid inside the open door.

Her gaze darted to the left. To the right. Trees twisted and concealed, hiding the murky green water that she knew wasn’t very far away.

“No sign of any other vehicles, at least, not since the rain,” she murmured as her gaze slid over the muddy stretch that passed for a dirt road. The only tire tracks she saw were from the marshals’ SUVs.

So Walker hadn’t returned to his little home away from home.

I’m surprised someone didn’t come back and finish burning this place to the ground.

The victims’ families had sure been angry enough to do it.

And the little cabin—the dark husk that remained of it—was eerie. Dark.

Dangerous.

“Clear!” Jim’s voice came from inside, and Anthony finally stepped back so that they could head toward the cabin.

Jim met them on the porch. “There’s no sign of anyone inside.” He was young, probably in his midtwenties, with dark-blond hair and eyes that seemed a bit nervous.

Behind him, Matt Meadows was still doing a sweep of the area. She’d met Matt a time or two over the years. Quiet, intense, the African American marshal seemed the exact opposite of Jim. There wasn’t anything nervous about Matt—the guy was too controlled for nerves.

“We’ll start a sweep of the perimeter,” Matt said as he turned toward the bald cypress trees that dipped toward the murky water. Heavy moss hung from the trees, drooping toward the dank earth.

Anthony nodded. “I’ll finish the search in here.”

The others slid past them.

There wasn’t much to search in the charred remains. Two rooms. No furniture. Dirt. Mold. Decay.

“This is where it started,” Lauren whispered as she crept carefully around the cabin. This place. With its wooden walls and small rooms. They’d found Walker’s tools in this cabin. The sharpened knives.

The trophies.

Walker had kept trophies from his kills.

Her gaze lit on a heavy chunk of wood that had fallen near the left wall.

“No,” Anthony said, “it didn’t start here.”

The certainty in Anthony’s voice had her glancing over at him.

“This is just where it ended. Where it should have ended.” His eyes narrowed, but his gaze wasn’t on her. It was on the wood near her feet. “Where did that come from?”

“It must have fallen—” But she broke off because she’d just looked up and realized that there weren’t any missing roof slats from above them, and the wall beside her was charred, but not broken. The wood was broken to the left, way across on the other wall, not in that spot.

His hand closed around her arm and Anthony pulled her back. Then he bent and carefully slid the wood, maneuvering it so he could see underneath it.

She peered over his shoulder.

Something gold glinted in the light.

Gold…

“We’re gonna need Detective Voyt and his men out here,” Anthony said as his fingers tightened around the wood.

“A necklace.” She could see it clearly now. Thin, delicate. A woman’s necklace.

“Maybe it’s nothing, just something left by some kid, but—”

“It’s not.” Her voice was sad and certain. She could see the locket on the end. A locket with a rose in the center. Karen’s locket. “It’s hers.”

His head whipped up, his eyes blazing. “Karen’s?”

A nod.

“You’re sure about that?”

Dead sure. “She was wearing it the last time I saw her alive.”

In the next instant, he was pulling her from the cabin. “Don’t touch anything else!”

She knew the drill. Evidence was there—evidence they didn’t want to contaminate because the cabin wasn’t nearly as abandoned as it looked.

Before, Walker had kept his trophies there.

Now that he was back in town, it seemed he was back to his old tricks. He’d killed Karen, then brought his trophy back to the cabin.

It looked like some habits died very hard.

As soon as they exited the cabin, Anthony had his phone out. She listened to him make the call. He was asking for a tech team and telling Paul to get there ASAP.

Then he broke off.

She looked at him, and saw that his gaze had turned back toward the trees that led to the lake.

“We need you now,” he snapped into the phone and ended the call. His gaze lit on her. “Stay behind me.”

He pulled out his gun.

“The killer could still be here.”

Her heart slammed into her chest. She crept behind him as they edged toward the line of twisting trees.

“There are old paths all through this place,” Anthony muttered. “If you’re coming by car, you have to take the dirt road. But you don’t have to get here by car.”

He slid through the trees. One hand locked around her wrist while his other hand remained tight around his weapon.

The trees bent overhead, blocking out the sky and sending faint streams of sunlight trickling over them. It was summer in Louisiana, which meant that it was already hell hot. Sweat began to bead on Lauren’s skin. Every foot or so, her dang shoes got stuck in the mud, so she jerked them off and held them in her free hand.

Insects chirped around them and her breathing seemed far too loud. She was pretty sure she heard the hiss of a snake just a few feet away.

Then Anthony froze. “Tracks.”

She could see them, too. Not from a car, but the single indention of a tire. A motorcycle?

The tracks cut through the mud and led deeper into the swamp.

Yes, some habits died very, very hard. It looked like Walker had come home again.

How many bodies would he leave in his wake this time?

The dogs were barking as they rushed through the swamp. They’d given the dogs Walker’s scent, taken from prison clothes left at Angola. Anthony kept his gun ready, the image of Sheila Long’s body too fresh in his mind.

Killers like Walker were predictable. They followed patterns—twisted patterns. After Karen’s death, Anthony had suspected that Walker might come back to his cabin. It had been the guy’s trophy shop, and sure enough, the killer had been back.

Karen Royce’s necklace was proof of that.

The dogs began to whine. Hell. Not a good sign. The green water of the bayou waited up ahead.

And the motorcycle tracks ended.

“He didn’t just take the bike into the water,” Jim burst out as he threw his hands in the air. He glared at the dogs’ handler. “Make them get the scent again.”

One of the handlers spat on the ground. “Don’t work like that.” He had on the pressed uniform of the Baton Rouge K-9 unit. “You don’t make ’em. They get what’s there for them to find.” The dogs were sniffing near the water’s edge. “This is where he went.”

Anthony nodded. “A boat.” He could see the indentions on the embankment. The bayou slipped around and branched in at least four different directions. “The SOB had a boat waiting here for him.”

A boat that was big enough to hold a motorcycle.

With every discovery they’d made, it was sure looking like Walker must have help. A man who’d been in prison for this long shouldn’t have so many resources at his fingertips so quickly.

Sure, he could have stolen the motorcycle, but the boat, too? Maybe. Doubtful. Anthony’s gaze landed on Detective Voyt’s. The guy had hauled ass to meet them. “You got any reports of a stolen boat in these parts?”

Eyes grim, Voyt said, “I’ll find out.”

They needed to find out yesterday.

He can’t be doing this alone. But according to the prison’s warden, the guy hadn’t read his mail. He hadn’t gotten any visitors, other than lawyers. How the hell had they coordinated this?

An accomplice…not just an accomplice to escape, but, with Karen’s body growing cold in the morgue, an accomplice to murder, too.

If Walker had stumbled on someone to go along with murder…fuck, are you helping him kill?

Anthony surveyed the water. A gator was drifting lazily about twenty feet away. “Locals have access to this area.” The locals were the ones they needed. “Let’s get some boats and see just where the hell he could have gone.” He’d need aerial maps, ground maps. The swamp gave Walker far too many places to hide.

It also gave him a huge advantage. Walker had buried bodies in the swamp. He’d kept his victims here—alive, for days—while he’d tortured them. And no one had realized what was happening.

Because Walker had known the area too well.

“We need someone as familiar with this area as Walker.” A guide who could help them while they hunted.

While we hunt, Walker’s hunting, too.

Which one of them would find their prey first?

When Walker had been on the loose five years ago, they’d used an agent from Fish and Wildlife to help them search. He’d need to see if the guy was still available.

Anthony glanced back over his shoulder. He didn’t see Lauren. She’d stayed behind with the uniforms. Watched him walk away with a worried gaze.

Get to her.

The instinct was there, and he found himself turning away from the others. Hurrying back toward the cabin. “Find that guide and get me those boats!” Anthony shouted back to the assembled men.

Each step was faster than the last as he rushed back to the cabin. Back to Lauren. Things were raw between them, rough. Their ending—hell, it had been screwed.

Walking away from her had been one of the hardest decisions of his life, but Lauren didn’t know the secrets he carried.

He didn’t want her to know them—or his shame.

He’d stayed away, tried to play it safe. Given her time to move on. To settle down. To have a family.

Only she hadn’t settled down. She was still single—still just as tempting, and he needed her just as desperately as he’d needed her five years ago.

He’d wanted to see her, but he’d never expected to come back and find a killer stalking her.

Lauren was supposed to be safe. Protected. Always.

He jumped around the trees. Cop cars had swarmed on the scene. Uniforms were everywhere as they searched the area.

But he didn’t see the shine of her blonde hair.

Anthony grabbed the nearest uniform. “Where’s the DA?”

The guy blinked, doing a fast impression of an owl. “She got called back to the city. Some judge needed her.”

Some judge… “Which judge?” He pulled out his phone. Hamilton hadn’t called him.

“She didn’t say. Just asked that a patrol car take her back.”

The knot in his gut was getting worse. “Get that patrol car on the radio. I want to know exactly where she’s going.”

Had he really thought he’d be able to turn over her protection to someone else?

He needed her where he could see her. Wanted her close.

That had been the problem for them. He’d wanted her too much.

Until she’d become his obsession.

He knew, better than most, just how dangerous an obsession could be.

He glanced back at the cabin. So much death was there. He could feel the darkness, hanging in the very air around them.

Lauren had asked why Walker hadn’t run for the border. Anthony knew it was because the killer hadn’t escaped in order to be free.

He’d escaped to get his vengeance.

“Sir?”

He turned back at the uniform’s voice.

“She’s headed to meet Judge Hamilton. He’s the one who called her back.” The kid hesitated—and he truly looked like a kid, barely older than twenty-one. The uniform was new for him. “Want me to have her brought back to you?”

He’d wanted her back for years. But he’d stayed away.

He forced himself to unclench his jaw and say, “Tell the uniform to stay with her. Every single minute.” He didn’t like having her away from him. He wanted Walker back in his cage and as for Lauren…

Lauren with the lips made for sin and the eyes that, even after all she’d seen and done, still glinted with innocence.

He wanted Lauren back in his bed.

Too bad he couldn’t always get just what he wanted.

“You can stay here,” Lauren said as she turned and gave the police officer a weak smile. He’d been shadowing her the entire time she’d been in the courthouse. But she was at Hamilton’s office door now. Safe, with plenty of guards close by. And Hamilton’s message had said that the judge needed to see her—alone.

She rapped lightly on the door.

The secretary was gone from her desk again. But it was long past five now—past time for everyone to go home.

I can’t go home. I don’t want to remember Karen. I don’t want to see the image of her body.

She’d already talked to Karen’s parents twice that day. The grief in their voices had ripped through her.

Grief, rage…it had just made her guilt worse.

Hamilton didn’t answer the door.

She frowned. He’d called her less than forty-five minutes ago. Told her it was urgent. That he had to talk to her about Walker.

Her fingers curled around the doorknob. If Hamilton wasn’t there, it would be locked. Standard protocol at the courthouse.

“Ma’am?” The uniform came closer to her. Officer Shamus Riley. As far as shadows went, he was a good guy. “Is there a problem?”

She shook her head. “Just give me a minute.” She twisted the knob and it turned easily beneath her fingers, but the door ran into something as she pushed. As she leaned against it and opened a space wide enough to enter, Lauren was expecting—hoping—to see Hamilton rush toward her in his billowing black robe.

But Hamilton wasn’t there.

And his office had been wrecked.