Fear For Me

CHAPTER FOUR

Anthony took Lauren back to his hotel. Her brows climbed as she glanced at the tall, well-lit building, then she looked back at him. “You’re not staying with the cop,” he said. Just so they were clear. He wanted to be very clear on that point.

“I planned to get a room of my own after I get my clothes and everything else I need.” Her voice was so cool. How did she do it? How did she always stay in such perfect control?

He jumped from the vehicle. Hurried around to her side. The valet took the keys and Anthony took her arm. “Your bags are waiting upstairs.” He’d made sure everything would be ready for her.

And that her room would connect to his.

Surprisingly, she didn’t argue as he led her through the hotel and into the elevator. He did notice that her gaze cut to the stop button on the elevator’s control panel.

His lips curved. “Don’t worry,” he told her, “we’ll head straight up.”

Her gaze came back to him. The walls of the elevator were mirrored, reflecting her image at every turn. She should have looked exhausted.

She didn’t.

“From where I stand, you’re the priority,” he told her, and it was the truth. The killer had been in her house. He’d had a picture of Lauren in his cell.

She was the one he wanted—the one Anthony would make sure Walker didn’t get. He’d stay close to Lauren, and when Walker came, the killer would have to face him.

I will take you down.

“The judge has protection,” Anthony said as the elevator rose. “And so do you.”

The elevator dinged and its doors opened. He’d actually cleared this floor for his men, and for the rest of the task force that would be arriving soon. With word of Walker’s escape, the FBI had immediately jumped in the hunt, too. They were sending two agents to join the marshals, agents who’d probably enter a pissing match with the local cops—it was the usual way of things.

He pulled out a key card and opened Lauren’s room. “You’ll be safe here.” They were on the top floor, the best for security.

She glanced around the room. Her suitcase waited at the foot of the bed. “Looks like you’ve thought of everything.” Her head tilted. “Just when did you make these plans? I don’t remember you calling anyone from the courthouse.”

When the jerk cop had offered her a room at his place.

“I made the arrangements while you were talking to some of the waitresses at Easy Street.” Covering his bases was the only smart plan.

She gave a faint nod.

He locked the main door. Made sure to put the extra bolts in place.

“What are you doing?” Lauren demanded. Her voice wasn’t so calm right then. It had definitely edged up an octave or two.

There was only one bed in the room. Big, king-size. In his fantasies, he joined her on that bed. Instead, Anthony headed for the connecting door.

The door was unlocked, linking his room to hers—again, per his instructions. “My key opens your room, and my own.”

Lauren didn’t speak. Huh. That was new. The woman always had plenty to say.

So he did the talking. “If you need me, I’ll be just a few feet away.”

She still wasn’t speaking. The woman who could tear into any defense attorney in the country at a moment’s notice wasn’t responding. He hesitated on the threshold of his room. He didn’t want to leave her.

He wanted to turn back, take her into his arms, and pretend the last five years hadn’t happened.

But he’d been the one to walk away back then. To turn away from Lauren. He glanced back at her.

For an instant, he could have sworn he saw pain in her eyes, but then her mask was back, as strong as ever.

Anger pulsed through him and he swung back to fully face her. “Why do you always do that?”

Her shoulders stiffened. “Marshal, you don’t know me well enough to say what I always—”

“Cut the marshal bullshit.” His control was too frayed. She wasn’t going to deny what they’d been to each other. “I know you. I know you drink chocolate milk for breakfast, your favorite color’s blue, and you never go to see a movie that you think might have a sad ending without Googling the damn thing first.” His breath hissed out from between his clenched teeth. “When you come, your eyes get even brighter and you make a little moan in the back of your throat.”

“Anthony—”

That was an improvement. At least he wasn’t Marshal. But it still wasn’t enough. “I know you,” he bit out as his eyes swept over her. “As well as anyone can know you. As well as you let anyone know you.”

She stepped back. “You’re not supposed to do that.” Her voice was a whisper. “You’re not supposed to make this personal.”

It was personal. Always had been. He crossed the room and curled his fingers around her shoulders. He pulled her closer, but it wasn’t enough. He wanted her flush against him. Wanted her under him. Wanted in her. Hold back. Don’t do it. “What else would it be for us?”

She lifted her chin, exposing the pale column of her throat. He knew her, all right. Knew she’d always liked it when he kissed her throat. The sensitive spot right over her racing pulse.

“There isn’t an us anymore. There hasn’t been. Not since you walked away.”

She’d been an ever-growing obsession for him. He’d needed her, day and fucking night, and she—she’d been so controlled. Holding all of her emotions in check.

Except when they were in bed. That was the only time she let go.

“I asked you to stay, but you didn’t.”

His eyes narrowed. There was anger in her voice. “You didn’t give me a reason to stay.”

“I wasn’t reason enough?” Then she shook her head and jerked against his hold. “Let me go, Tony.”

Tony. She’d called him that, years ago. Her voice whispering with desire.

“You were right about us,” she said, “it was just sex. The sex ended. We both moved on.”

He’d left town, but he’d never been able to move on. Not really. Every place he’d gone, she’d been with him. In his memories. Fucking always. When he’d seen that picture in Walker’s cell…

I carry a picture of her, too. Does it make me as fucking twisted and obsessed as Walker?

Judging by his past, yeah, it did.

“Who I’m with shouldn’t matter to you,” Lauren said.

Maybe if he kept telling himself that another hundred times or so… “I think about you.” A confession that was torn from him. “Too damn much.” He turned away, and this time, he did cross the threshold that would take him to his cold, empty room. “But that was always one of our problems.”

She didn’t call out to stop him. He shut the door behind him. Held himself still.

Lauren didn’t know about his family. Few people did. Those secrets were buried, just like his parents were.

The father who’d been too obsessed. The mother who’d just wanted to get away.

Death had been his mother’s only escape.

I won’t ever be like him.

Yet when he was near Lauren, those needs—too strong—rose within him.

From the other side of the door, he heard the floor creaking. Lauren, coming toward him. Coming after him?

His heart began to beat faster. He turned and flattened his palm on the door.

Then he heard the lock click.

His smile was grim. He should have damn well seen that one coming.

The motorcycle braked in the woods. The only light was from the moon and stars, glittering faintly in the sky.

Stacy jumped from the bike. Scurried back. “Ben, this isn’t funny.”

He climbed from the bike. Took off his helmet. Tossed it to the ground as he faced her. “No, it isn’t.”

Her breath rushed out. Her eyes widened. She stumbled back. Her eyes were wide as she stared up at him. “Jon?” Then she shook her head. “Y-you shouldn’t be here. The cops—a marshal—was just looking for you!” Her voice trembled with fear.

She was right to be afraid.

Then her gaze dropped to the motorcycle. “That’s Ben’s bike.”

It was. The streak of yellow-and-gold fire rushing down the side was rather distinctive. The fire was set to reflect in the darkness—a rather interesting touch, he had to admit.

“Where’s Ben?”

The insects had quieted down. Her stark whisper carried so easily in the night.

“Ben let me borrow his bike,” he said, unable to stop the smile that slid across his face. This was gonna be so much fun. “But don’t worry about him right now. This is about us, just us.”

Terror was stamped on her face. She’d never looked at him that way before. Stacy had been the one to get dragged from the courtroom as she shouted his innocence. She’d been the one to tell him, again and again, that the truth would come out eventually.

The truth had come out. She’d been too blind to see it.

“What changed?” he asked, actually curious. It wouldn’t alter his plans, nothing would change them, but he did want to know when she’d lost her faith in him.

Her hand rose to her neck. Fumbled with the small gold chain there. “I found it.”

“Found what?”

“That woman’s necklace. Ginger Thomas! You put her necklace in my jewelry box!” She screamed the last at him. There was no one around to hear her screams, but he wouldn’t let her scream for long.

He shook his head. “I didn’t put the necklace in your box.”

She shook her head. “You did! You killed those women and you—”

“I didn’t put the necklace in your box,” he said once more as he closed in on her. Stacy didn’t even try to run. Maybe it was shock. Maybe it was fear. His hands locked around her, and he jerked her up against him. “But just so you know, I did kill those women.”

Her mouth dropped in surprise.

“And I’m going to kill you.”

She tried to scream. No time for that. His knife sliced across her throat.

She stared at him, her eyes desperate and wild, as a faint, keening gurgle came from her throat.

“You shouldn’t have fucked around on me, baby. When I told you that you were mine forever, I meant it.”

He yanked the knife away and watched her knees buckle. She hit the ground even as her hand rose and tried to stop the blood flow.

Nothing was going to stop that. While she couldn’t scream any longer, he bent over her.

He’d known he’d come back for Stacy. To punish her. She’d promised him forever, but she hadn’t even come to visit him in prison. Not once.

The knife sliced over her arm.

Not one single visit…

Another slice.

Tears poured from her. So did blood.

It was her cry that woke him. Soft, but scared, it penetrated the light layer of sleep that surrounded Anthony and his eyes flew open. In the next instant, he was on his feet and running for Lauren’s door.

The sound came again. A gasp, a sob. Hard to tell. He just knew one thing for certain. It was coming from her.

“Lauren?” He raised his voice. Pounded on the door. “Lauren, open the door.”

There were no creaks of the floor. No sign that she was coming toward him.

Another gasp. So weak and whispery.

He grabbed his gun. Tension had tightened his body. He lifted his foot, and he kicked in the damn door.

The lock shattered, chunks of wood near the door frame went flying, and the door swung back beneath the blow.

The room was dark inside, but he could make out Lauren’s form in the bed. She lurched up, breath heaving, and screamed.

He was on the bed two seconds later. “It’s okay!”

She’d yanked the sheet up to her chest. Moonlight spilled through the curtains, revealing and concealing her, but he was close enough to see her eyes, and when he lifted his hand, he felt the wet tear tracks on her cheeks.

“You’re safe, baby.”

Her head turned. Her gaze fell on the gun in his hands. “Hard to believe…” Her voice was husky, and he shouldn’t have found it sexy right then, shouldn’t have found her sexy when she was scared, but he did. He always found her sexy. “Hard to believe I’m safe…” she said again, her voice getting a little stronger. “With the gun so close to me.”

Right. Carefully, he put the gun down on the nightstand. He turned on the small lamp so he could see her better. He wiped her tears away.

She flinched. “I’m okay.”

“You didn’t sound okay.” He knew fear when he heard it.

Her grip tightened on the sheet. “It was just a nightmare.”

He stared at her.

“Karen was my friend. I can’t get what he did to her out of my head.” Her head tilted down, and the curtain of her hair fell around her, concealing her expression from him. “I know she had to be so afraid. In so much pain, and…no one was there to help her.”

He pulled her against his chest. Wrapped his arms around her. Held her. “She’s not in pain anymore.”

Lauren shuddered. “That doesn’t make me feel better. I close my eyes, and I hear her. Begging me to help. But I can’t. I can’t do a damn thing.”

He tightened his hold on her. “Yes, you can. We can catch the bastard.”

“Before he comes to butcher me, too?”

The question was there, heavy between them, and her words burned right through him. “That’s not happening.”

Her laugh was bitter. Broken. “Tony, we know how these cases go. Criminals want payback against the DA. Against the judge—against the cops who arrested them. We get threats all the time.” Her head lifted. She stared up at him. “Walker’s different. He likes killing. He likes hurting. And since his victims tend to be women, he’s locking on me.”

“I won’t let him get to you.”

“You can’t be my shield twenty-four hours a day.”

No, but he’d like to be.

He brushed her hair back. The bed carried her sweet scent, tempting him. No, she tempted. Always her.

“You ran to the rescue,” she murmured. “But that door’s gonna cost you.”

Screw the door.

His fingers slid down her arm. Her shoulders were bare. What was she wearing beneath the sheet?

“When we were alone”—the words came from him, growling out as tension and need hardened his body even more—“you always burned so hot.”

Her skin was like silk beneath his fingers. He bent his head and pressed a kiss to her shoulder.

“Tony…”

That was it. The breathy catch in her voice. The way she said his name with need shaking in the one word. “I missed that.”

His fingers rose. Slid through the softness of her hair so that he could turn her head toward him. “I missed you.” A guttural truth.

They were alone. No prying eyes.

She always burned so hot when they were alone…

“You said that before,” she whispered. “Am I really supposed to believe you? You stayed away—for five years.”

No, he hadn’t stayed away. He’d come back. Had to see her.

She’d been with someone else.

Anger coiled within him, but he kept a death grip on his control. “Believe this.” Then his mouth was on hers. Finally. Fucking finally.

She tasted just like he remembered. Soft, rich, sweet wine with an edge of spice that made him feel drunk almost from the first taste.

Drunk, and wild for her.

Five years.

His mouth hardened on hers. His tongue thrust past her lips, desperate for more of her taste. She was kissing him back. Instead of grabbing the sheet, she was grabbing him. Her nails raked over his shoulders as she pulled him closer.

Closer was exactly where he wanted to be.

His cock was hard, full for her. Just looking at her made him hard. Touching her, kissing her—that made him feel like a volcano. He burned for her, needed her more than anyone or anything else.

The sheet was in his way. He yanked it aside so that he could caress more of her, and he immediately discovered she wasn’t wearing anything beneath the sheet.

Christ, not a damn thing.

The longing hit him like a blow. Anthony pushed her back on the bed. The sheets were tangled around them, and he didn’t care. He wanted her tangled around him. He wanted to thrust into her so deeply that the rest of the world melted away.

Only her.

Sex had never been the problem between them. It had been part of his addiction.

His hands slid to her breasts. Perfect breasts. Full, round, with pink tips that he loved to have in his mouth. When he kissed them, when he sucked them, she went wild for him.

In so many ways, no one knew her better than he did.

So many.

He tore his mouth from hers. Began to kiss her neck. Right there, over her pulse. Her heart was racing so fast, pounding and pounding in a frantic beat that matched his own desperate heart. He had her back where he wanted her. Beneath him, in bed. With him.

This was where she belonged.

His fingers slid over her breasts. Stroking the nipples.

This was—

“I—I can’t…”

Her voice. The husky timbre rolled right through him, but her words…his back teeth clenched as he glanced up at her face.

Her breath came in fast pants. Her nipples were tight with arousal, but the woman was saying—

“Let me go, Anthony.”

No. Never.

That wasn’t what the good guy was supposed to do. His eyes closed and he gulped in deep breaths. Then he forced himself to let her go. To bend and pull the sheet up, over her, concealing the flesh he wanted so very badly.

The sound of his heaving breaths seemed far too loud in the small hotel room. Lauren was too close, but she’d never seemed farther away.

“I won’t apologize.” Not for kissing her. Touching her. He caught her blue gaze. So damn blue. “You wanted me, too. Want me.” It wasn’t past tense, not for either of them.

“Just because you want something…” She shook her head, sending her hair feathering over her shoulders. “It doesn’t mean it’s good for you.”

No, they’d never been good for each other. Too hot. Too intense.

“I’m not ready to get hurt again by you.”

Her words sliced right through him. Was that what she thought? That he’d hurt her?

“Maybe I should find somewhere else to stay.” She tucked the sheet under her arms, making sure to keep her breasts covered. “Until the team is done with my house, I can stay—”

“You’re not staying with the cop.” The words were snarled. His nostrils flared as he drank in her scent.

She stared at him, then whispered, “No.”

He shouldn’t ask. He shouldn’t. “You had sex with him.” It wasn’t asking. It was confirming. The jealousy was back, knifing him in the gut.

She flinched. She was there, naked, everything he’d ever wanted just inches away. But he couldn’t touch her.

Lauren had said no.

“What I do…who I do it with, that’s my business.”

Lauren’s mistake had been that she never realized exactly how dangerous he truly was—or how much he wanted her. “How many fucking times?” He surged to his feet. He had to put distance between them.

“I’m not asking who you’ve been with!” Lauren threw at him. “I don’t want to know.”

His hands tightened into fists. “That’s the difference between us.” He looked back at her. In bed. So sexy that his cock ached. “I want to know every damn thing about you.”

“You don’t have a right to know—”

“Two more minutes, and I would have been in you.”

Her breath sucked in on a sharp gasp. “Go back to your room.”

He was screwing this up. He always screwed things up with her. Never said the right thing. Never did the right thing.

He headed for the door.

Stopped.

Confessed. “The women I’ve been with…they were you.”

“That doesn’t make any—”

“At first, it was because I was pissed at losing you. I didn’t even realize why I was with the blonde.” He glanced over his shoulder. “When I called her by your name, then I knew.”

There was shock on her face.

“In the dark, they’re always you.” He knew it was screwed up. He was screwed up. His jaw locked. He’d pushed enough, and if he didn’t get out of there right then, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to walk away from her. He grabbed for the door and left.

Pierce Hamilton stared out at the darkness just beyond his bedroom window. His wife was behind him, sleeping deeply, the sound of her even breathing filling the room.

There was no sleep for him.

A cop was downstairs. The patrol car was parked right in front of his house. Protection.

Only there were some things you couldn’t be protected from in this world.

He’d seen so many murderers step into his courtroom over the years. Seen rapists, child molesters, abusers. He’d done his job. He’d put them behind bars. Some of the cases—they stayed with him. They kept a tight hold on him no matter what he did.

When he’d been with Karen, he’d been able to forget some of the darkness. He’d been able to live, to breathe.

Karen.

Beautiful Karen, with her wide smile and gorgeous, golden skin.

Gone.

He glanced back at the bed. His wife was still sleeping. Did he love her? Had he ever?

Her family’s money had made things easier. His law school. His time in the DA’s office. Money and connections could make anything easier.

But they couldn’t stop the nightmares.

So many killers. So many cases. For fifteen years, he’d been on the bench.

He glanced away from his wife. Stared into the darkness.

He hadn’t been able to get near Karen’s body, not once it had been transferred to the ME’s office. He would see her, though. Once more. He knew just the strings to pull. Just the connections to work.

The attack on Karen had been personal. A dig at Lauren? No, at me.

Because Karen was the one thing that had mattered to him in this world. The only thing.

That SOB Walker had known that. He’d told Pierce, that last day in court…I’ll take away everything you love.

Another threat. He got plenty of those. As he’d banged his gavel and sentenced Walker to an eternity behind bars, he hadn’t cared much about threats.

After all, what could the guy do while he was locked up? But he wasn’t locked up anymore.

And Karen was gone.

“Hamilton?” His wife’s voice. She never called him Pierce. Just Hamilton. “Come back to bed.”

He stared into the darkness.

Wondered how much longer it would be before it was his turn to die.

He forced himself to turn and face her. So very different from Karen. Julia was poised and perfect, even when she should have been rumpled from sleep.

Always so perfect.

Ice-cold.

But the killer hadn’t come for her.

My Karen.

“The woman who was killed…”

Julia reached out and turned on the bedside lamp. “She was the one you were screwing.” Her words were flat. The light fell on the right side of her face. “This time.”

He locked his shoulders. “I was leaving you, Julia.”

She laughed. “No, you weren’t.” Her eyes met his. “Come back to bed, Hamilton.”

He didn’t want to go back.

Karen was gone.

Julia shook her head. “At least Walker saved us the trouble of having to deal with her.”

The rage burned in him then, so hot and dark that he felt like it would consume him.

Walker should have killed you, Julia. It should have been you.

“Now we can get back to the way things were.” She turned the light back off with a flick of her fingers. Cold. That was Julia. She didn’t love him. Never had.

He didn’t love her.

Never had.

It should have been you.

He headed slowly toward the bed.

Stacy Crawford wasn’t moaning. Wasn’t crying. Wasn’t doing anything at all.

Except bleeding.

The life had drained from her eyes. That moment—that one instant—was always so amazing to watch. Like a switch was being turned off, and all that she’d been faded away.

Because of him. Because he had that power.

He bent over her and pressed a quick kiss to her lips. He would leave her just where she was. The swamp had a way of taking care of prey for him.

His fingers slid over the earring that he’d taken from her. He tucked it into his pocket, keeping it close to his heart. Stacy had told him so many times she wanted to be special to him.

She was special now.

In death, they were all special. He’d learned that.

He turned away from her. Bent to pick up his knife.

There were more plans in place. Others who would soon find their way beneath his knife.

The Butcher had work to do.

The phone in his pocket began to vibrate. He smiled. Only one person had his number.

He lifted the phone to his ear. “Figured you’d call…just when I was having fun…”