Fear For Me

CHAPTER FIVE

The next morning, Lauren, Anthony, and the rest of the team returned to the edge of the swamp, back to the desolate cabin that had starred in Lauren’s nightmare last night. Only in her dreams, when she’d opened the worn door, she’d seen Karen inside.

Karen, covered in blood, even as she asked…Why didn’t you save me, Lauren? Why?

The sunlight was too bright and hot as it burst through the faint trickle of clouds. Insects were buzzing, and at least two cop cars waited near Walker’s old cabin.

She stood by the SUV, far too aware of Anthony’s body beside hers. They hadn’t said much on the drive over. She hadn’t known what to say. She’d glanced in his eyes—once—and seen a dark need staring back at her.

Sex had never been a problem for her and Anthony. Everything else? Yes.

“Looks like our party just got bigger,” Anthony murmured as another SUV pulled up behind them. This vehicle was silver. A man exited it first, a man with light-blond hair and broad shoulders. He wore a business suit, looking incredibly out of place in the swamp.

A woman exited next. She had black hair that slid lightly over her shoulders. She was slender, around five foot five, and dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. When she walked toward them, Lauren saw the holster under her arm.

“Marshal,” the man called out as a faint grin lifted his lips. “I was told we’d find you here.”

Lauren’s gaze swept over the two once more. She didn’t need to see their IDs to realize…“You’re FBI.”

The blond male gave a quick nod. “I’m Agent Kyle McKenzie, and this is Dr. Cadence Hollow.”

Cadence’s golden gaze assessed Anthony and Lauren. “We’ve been sent down to assist with the investigation.” She offered her hand to Lauren. “You’re DA Lauren Chandler.”

She took the offered hand. “And you’re the profiler who took down the serial rapist in Iowa last spring.”

Cadence’s brows rose. “You know my work.”

Lauren gave a little nod as she dropped the woman’s hand. FBI Special Agent Cadence Hollow hadn’t just taken down the rapist—she’d taken down plenty of other serials over the years. The woman’s name had been splashed in the paper plenty of times. Intent and eerily accurate, Cadence’s insights into the minds of killers had earned her favored status in the press.

“It’s good to see you again, Tony,” Cadence said as she glanced over at Anthony. “It’s been awhile.”

Lauren didn’t let her expression alter. Of course Anthony would know her. They both tracked killers, and she knew Anthony was often pretty tight with the FBI. But…the familiarity in the other woman’s tone, the intimate Tony—just how close were they?

I told him I didn’t want to know who he’d been with. She didn’t want to know, because she didn’t want the jealousy to knot in her gut.

“Sorry about everything that went down on the Valentine case,” Kyle murmured. “Wayne told us just how close you came on that one.”

Lauren glanced at Anthony from the corner of her eye. She knew they were talking about the case of the Valentine Killer. The notorious serial killer had finally been apprehended—and killed—months before in New Orleans.

According to the news reports she’d seen, Valentine had tried to kill Anthony, but the stories hadn’t provided a whole lot of specific information.

“Less than a minute, huh?” Kyle shook his head and gave a low whistle. “That’s cutting things real close, even for you, Marshal.”

Less than a minute?

Lauren’s eyes narrowed.

Anthony gave a rough shrug. “Not like I had a lot of choice. The bomb was ticking, and I figured I was about to get a close-up look at hell.”

Her cheeks numbed. Her entire body seemed to ice. Lauren stumbled back.

Cadence caught her arm, frowning. “Are you all right?”

No, she wasn’t. Had Anthony just said he’d been a minute away from dying in a bomb’s blast?

“The swamp isn’t for everyone,” a man’s low, rumbling voice said before Lauren could reply. She glanced over her shoulder and saw that two others had joined their little party. Paul and the man speaking. Tall, dark, and definitely dressed for trekking through a swamp.

The man wasn’t a stranger to Lauren. He couldn’t be—she’d known him far too long. Wesley Hawthorne worked for Fish and Wildlife.

He’d just been starting as an agent for Fish and Wildlife five years before, when he’d been pulled in to help search the swamp for more of the Butcher’s victims. He’d been the one to lead the searches back then.

It looked like he was about to do the same now.

“You don’t need to go in with us, Lauren,” Wesley said as his dark eyes met hers. “We’ve got a day of tracking ahead of us. Your marshal wants to cover all of Walker’s old hunting grounds, and we both know this was an extensive territory.”

Yes, it had been.

And he wasn’t her marshal.

“I want to be here,” Lauren said. No ridiculous high heels for her today. Hiking boots and jeans.

She’d made arrangements to clear her schedule at the DA’s office. Her cases were being handled, her staff fully briefed. This was where she needed to be.

For Karen.

“If he’s gone back to the swamp, I want to help find him.”

If he was still there.

Wesley gave a slow nod. “We’ll be heading out in five minutes.” A ghost of a smile lifted his lips. “Always a pleasure, Lauren.”

She noticed that Anthony’s gaze assessed the other man.

Paul crept closer to her. “You doing okay?”

She nodded. “I might look like hell, but I’m hanging in there.”

“You could never look like hell.” The guy was such a liar. He caught her hand and pulled her a few feet away from the others. “I worried about you last night.”

Last night. When she’d been having nightmares and nearly giving in to her wild hunger for Anthony. She forced a calm edge to her words, using the mask that Anthony hated. “Nothing to worry about. I had the marshal for protection.” Her eyes slid to the right. To him. He was talking with Wesley and Kyle, but Anthony’s gaze flicked to her.

There was a possessive heat in his eyes that made her burn.

“We kept a uniform on the judge all night, and a patrol is staying with him today, too.” Paul’s breath heaved out. “Your house is gonna be off-limits for a while. I’m sorry, but the tech crew doesn’t want anyone in there.”

No, they wouldn’t. Not until they’d collected every single bit of evidence they could.

“The offer of a place to crash still stands,” Paul told her. Her eyes met his solemn gaze. “If you need me, I’m here.”

Her lips curved. “Thank you.”

He rolled his shoulders. “I want this bastard stopped just as much as you do, Lauren.”

Because, like Wesley, he’d worked the case before. Paul had been an officer then, not a homicide detective, but he’d been there the night Walker was arrested. The night the Petersons had come home and found Walker slicing up the babysitter. Paul hadn’t been heavily involved in the investigation so he hadn’t met Anthony back then, but he was still as tied in with the bloody past as they all were.

“We will get him, and the guy won’t escape again,” Paul promised.

Why couldn’t she believe that? Part of her was so very afraid they wouldn’t catch him.

Not until he catches me.

She nodded like she agreed, and then they were loading up. Kyle didn’t head into the woods with them. He took his fancy suit and went into the cabin with the tech crew that was still working there. But Cadence had on her hiking clothes, and she joined the group.

Lauren glanced over at her.

Lips curving, Cadence said, “Being here, seeing the things he’s seen, it helps me to understand him.”

“I didn’t think understanding killers was a problem for you.”

“It’s not.” Then, softer, she said, “That’s the part that’s more like a curse.”

Frowning, Lauren turned away from the agent. It was going to be a long, hot day, but she was ready to do anything necessary. Staying at the hotel or hanging out in her office wasn’t on her agenda. She had to do something, anything, to help in the hunt.

To get justice for Karen.

“I’m sorry about your friend,” Cadence said quietly.

Lauren knew her shoulders stiffened. “Thank you.”

“Do the cops know why she was at your house?”

“Not yet.” But after talking with Hamilton, Lauren had a pretty good idea. I pressured her to leave him. She was running to me…and now she’s dead.

Because of me.

“She had a key to your house.”

“Yes.” Take it, Karen, in case you ever need a place to crash. She’d smiled at her friend. My door’s always open to you. She’d been worried about Karen. Getting in too deep with a married man.

Lauren forced herself to breathe nice and slow. Her heart ached when she thought of Karen, and she knew it would always be that way. She’d seen enough horror to know the pain didn’t vanish. The scars always stayed behind.

“She was in my home,” Lauren said softly without glancing at the profiler. “She died in my place.”

“Maybe,” Cadence allowed, “or maybe her death was his plan all along.”

Lauren looked up.

“Walker has a serious issue with women—he likes to control them, to subjugate them, to hurt them. As far as Walker is concerned, you took his life away. You were the one there in court, day after day, telling the world he was a monster.” Cadence’s gaze held Lauren’s. “You were the one he saw, the one he could focus all of his rage on, and you are the one he wants to punish.”

“Then why is Karen dead?” Lauren snapped out the words, feeling raw. “If he wants me—”

“If you die too quickly, then you don’t get to suffer enough, do you?”

Right then, she was suffering plenty. By killing Karen, the bastard had ripped out Lauren’s heart.

“For a man who’s been isolated the last five years of his life,” Cadence said, her voice thoughtful, “he sure was able to gain access to transportation and supplies fast enough.”

“Anthony thinks someone has been helping him.” So did she. But—who?

“Helping him, yes.” Cadence gave a slow nod. “But for how long?” Her head tilted as she seemed to consider her own question. “I’ll need to see all the evidence from the earlier cases. Every piece of information you had on Walker.”

Lauren’s heart was beating faster. “The original kills were only on Walker. There was never any sign of someone else—”

“Maybe,” Cadence said quietly. “Or maybe you just didn’t know what to look for. Who to look for.” Cadence’s lips thinned. “I’ve been tracking killers for years. I know how they work, and I also know that sometimes, they don’t work alone.” Her breath whispered out. “We might be looking at an alpha team.”

“Excuse me?” Lauren thought her heart was going to burst from her chest.

“An alpha team—two brutal, efficient serials working together. But alpha teams are so rare.” Cadence lifted her hand, as if waving the thought away. “I need to see all the evidence,” she said again. “Before I can work up any additional profile on Walker, I need those files.”

Two serials. Lauren swallowed the thick lump in her throat. “It’s just Jon.”

It had to be.

It’s just Jon.

Cadence’s eyes were veiled, guarded, and the fear in Lauren’s gut thickened.

It was close to noon when Anthony spotted the tire tracks. He and Wesley both stopped at the same time. Sweat had slickened their shirts, and the heat was just getting started.

The tracks—

“They’re fresh,” Wesley muttered as he bent. His left hand hovered above the tracks.

Yes, they were fresh. Grooves left in the mud, tracks that had been made after the last rain.

“Looks like a motorcycle,” Paul said as he closed in behind them. “My Harley leaves tracks about an inch wider.”

Anthony frowned at him.

Paul shrugged. “If you’re going off-road up here, bikes can come in handy.”

So the killer was finding out.

The small group picked up more steam as they began to follow the tracks. One of Walker’s victims had been found in this vicinity. Well, what had been left of her. She’d been tossed aside and discovered by a local fisherman.

It had taken the ME weeks to make a full ID.

As they drew closer to the old dump site, the tire tracks remained steady.

Anthony glanced over his shoulder. Lauren was just a few feet behind him. Her cheeks were flushed, her hair pulled back into a ponytail. She hadn’t talked much during the trek, except for her quiet conversation with Cadence. A conversation that had pissed him off.

He wants to kill me.

Screw what Walker wanted.

He inhaled, turning away from her. The scent of vegetation was thick in the area, but there was something else hanging in the air, too. A harsh odor that grew stronger with every step they took.

A familiar, coppery scent.

He grabbed Wesley’s arm. The guy turned toward him, the same knowledge in his eyes.

They pushed through the brush and saw the small clearing.

He’s used the same site to dump a body again.

Anthony heard the sharp inhalation that came from Lauren, but he didn’t look back at her. He was too busy staring straight ahead, and fighting to keep his fury in check.

A woman lay on the ground, spread-eagle, with her hands thrown out at her sides. Blood soaked her. So much blood. Her head was turned away from him, but he recognized the bright-blonde hair. Recognized the short skirt and the discarded high heels that were just inches from her body.

Stacy Crawford hadn’t made it out of the city. She hadn’t made it far at all from Easy Street.

“She was supposed to get away,” Lauren whispered. “She was leaving…”

But Walker had gotten to her before she could get away.

He heard Paul call for backup. Carefully, Anthony walked around the body. He wasn’t about to contaminate the scene, but he needed to see—

Fuck. Her body had been sliced, deeper, harder, than the other victims’. And, unlike with Karen, Walker had sliced Stacy’s face. Again and again…

“Betrayal.” The word came from Cadence. She’d followed Anthony’s footsteps, moving in the exact same way because he knew she wouldn’t be risking crime scene contamination, either. “This attack was personal.”

Anthony turned his head to study Cadence. He’d had plenty of experience with profilers—some who knew their shit, some who tossed guesses into the wind. He’d worked with Cadence twice before, and the woman fell into the knowing-her-shit category. “Why betrayal?”

“Because there’s anger in the cuts. They’re deep, wild. He usually slices cleanly, and to go after her face so intently…” An exhale. “He was punishing her. You punish for a betrayal.”

She told us about the necklace.

Locking his jaw, he turned to Paul. “We need impressions made of these motorcycle tracks.” But he knew the tracks would match the others they’d found before. He knew it. “Stacy Crawford was alive less than twelve hours ago, so the bastard is still in this area.”

Still hunting. Screwing with them.

I’m hunting you.

With the increased media coverage, the bastard would be staying away from the busier places, sticking to the deserted swamps and back roads on his motorcycle, perfect for easy maneuverability. Anthony had already given orders to put extra patrols on the back roads.

The bastard would have to come out soon enough, and when he did…

We’ve got you.

While the others had come closer to the body, Lauren had backed away. Anthony focused on her now, noting with alarm the ashen color of her face. Hell, this scene had to remind her far too much of Karen’s murder.

He took a step toward her.

And saw her retreat again.

He wanted to put his arms around her. Hold her.

But Lauren had made it clear she didn’t want his touch.

Crime scene. Focus on the victim. Not Lauren.

“Looks like he went north,” Wesley murmured as he studied the direction of the tracks. “Buckhead Road is two miles north of here. He could have hit it and then made his way back to the city.”

Or he could still be in the swamp. Hiding. Waiting.

“It doesn’t look like anyone is here,” Lauren said quietly as she stared at the small home located on the end of Azalea Lane. A neat house, with a trimmed lawn and white shutters on the front windows.

The home of Ben Fort—Stacy Crawford’s boyfriend.

My boyfriend didn’t want to leave. He had a job he was doin’, but it’s over, and we can go now…After my shift, I’m free.

There would be no going then. Lauren felt sadness weighing in her heart. Stacy had been so close to getting away.

Just hours from freedom.

“He was supposed to leave with her last night.” Anthony drummed his fingers lightly against the steering wheel. “So why the hell didn’t he call the cops when she didn’t come home?”

The house was dark. No car sat in the narrow driveway. “Maybe he doesn’t know,” Lauren murmured. She’d had to break the news to families before, and it always tore at her guts to see their grief.

Anthony turned his head to look at her. “You think he didn’t notice that his girlfriend wasn’t in bed with him when he woke up this morning? It’s pretty damn hard to miss something like that.”

Ben Fort was a thirty-four-year-old mechanic who’d just gotten a new job in Jackson, Mississippi. Paul had pulled up the guy’s record for them. Fort had a few drunk-driving charges, and an assault charge that had landed him in jail for six months.

Ben Fort was also the owner of a 2003 Harley motorcycle.

Anthony checked his weapon. “Stay in the vehicle.”

She grabbed his hand. “Why? Because you think he’s a victim…or a killer?”

Paul and a team of cops were working the crime scene in the swamp. Anthony had wanted to get to Fort ASAP, especially when the check on the guy had revealed that he owned a motorcycle.

Lauren hadn’t wanted to stay in the swamp—more death, more blood—so she’d jumped in the SUV with Anthony. But now…

“I think he could be either one, and I’m not about to risk you as I find out what the answer is.” He reached into the glove box and pulled out a second, smaller handgun. “Keep this close, and keep the doors locked.”

Her fingers curled around the gun. “Be careful.”

His smile held a reckless edge. “Always.”

Then he was gone. Heading toward the house with a confident, hard march. She didn’t take her eyes off him, couldn’t. He went to the door and pounded his fist. They didn’t have a search warrant. There wasn’t enough evidence for that.

Her gaze swept to the property. There were no cars in the drive, but she could see the back of the bike, peeking out from beneath a big, blue tarp near the carport.

Her heart beat faster.

Anthony pounded the door once more.

Ben Fort was home—at least, his ride was there—so why wasn’t he answering?

She sat up straighter, her gaze searching the area. If Walker had gone after Stacy, then maybe he’d also gone after Stacy’s lover. Maybe Ben wasn’t answering the door because he couldn’t answer.

Was he inside, already dead?

Or…dying?

From the corner of her eye, she saw a flash of movement. Near the carport. Metal glinted, shining in the sunlight. The bike wasn’t under the tarp any longer. Because someone was there, tossing the cover away, trying to sneak away.

Victim…

Killer?

Anthony didn’t see him. He was on the front porch, peering in the nearby window. The man was rolling the bike away, not cranking it, so Anthony wouldn’t hear his movements.

He’d told her to stay in the vehicle, but she wasn’t about to let Fort get away.

She shoved open her door and jumped out. “Anthony! The garage!”

At her yell, the motorcycle’s engine flared to life with a growl. Anthony immediately jumped over the porch’s railing and raced for the motorcycle. So did Lauren. While Anthony was coming from the side, Lauren was in front, trying to block Fort’s path.

She had a fast impression of a big, hulking guy, a buzz cut, and hard eyes—and the motorcycle. Bearing right down on her.

She lifted the gun. “Stop!”

The motorcycle swerved and kicked up gravel. The man wheeled the bike around, trying to find another path.

Only he didn’t find another path. He lost control. The motorcycle slid onto its side, slipping and twisting away from him. The man flew onto the pavement, hitting with a thudding impact.

Lauren’s breath sawed from her lungs.

The guy leaped back to his feet and started to run. Anthony threw out his arm, clotheslining the man right around the neck. Buzz cut fell back, slamming once more into the pavement. This time when he tried to get up, he found himself staring down the barrel of Anthony’s gun.

“Benjamin Fort?” Anthony snapped the name.

Lauren tightened her grip on her weapon and slowly advanced.

The guy on the ground spat out a mouthful of blood. “Yeah, and who the fuck are you?”

“U.S. Marshal.” Anthony didn’t lower his gun. “And that woman you nearly ran down, that’s the fucking DA. Asshole, you just stepped into a whole world of hurt.” There was a deadly promise in his voice.

A promise that made Lauren tense because it was so dark, so dangerous, and so very certain.

Anthony stood with his arms crossed, his control held tight, as he stared down at Ben Fort.

The guy had bloody scratches and scrapes running along his face and arms, but that wasn’t even close to the amount of damage Anthony wanted to do.

He’d been aiming that motorcycle at Lauren.

If the SOB had hurt her…

Paul came into the interrogation room, swept his gaze over Fort, then raised a brow as he looked back at Anthony.

“The guy fell off his bike,” Anthony said.

At his words, Fort jerked his head toward them. “Because you and that DA were in my way! You come to my house, and I didn’t even see no warrant and—”

“They didn’t need a warrant to come and tell you about your girlfriend’s murder.”

Fort’s mouth hung open. “Murder?” He gave a rough bark of laughter, one that held an uncertain edge. “What’re you talkin’ about?”

Paul took the seat across from Fort. Anthony was playing by the rules—this time—and letting the detective have a crack at the guy first. But he wasn’t about to leave the room. He would stick close to Fort until he got the answers he wanted.

Anthony leaned back against the two-way mirror—he knew Lauren was watching on the other side—and waited for his moment.

If the detective didn’t break the guy, Anthony would.

Paul opened up a manila file and pushed a crime scene picture toward Fort. “Do you recognize this woman?”

Fort peered forward. “Yeah, man, that’s—” He jumped to his feet even as the color drained from his face. “Fuck! What the fuck happened to Stacy?”

Anthony moved in an instant, grabbing the guy’s shoulder and shoving him back down in his seat.

“Stacy is your girlfriend, correct?” Paul asked quietly.

A rough nod. Fort’s fingers snaked out, edging toward the photo almost helplessly. “Her face…”

“Stacy Crawford told the marshal here…” Paul slanted a fast glance toward Anthony. “That the two of you were heading out of town last night.”

“Got a job in Jackson,” he mumbled. His eyes were on the photo. His shoulders slumped. “Her face.”

Paul’s eyes were on Fort’s face. “Why didn’t you report that your girlfriend was missing?”

“’Cause she wasn’t!” Spittle flew from his mouth.

“If you were supposed to leave with her—”

Fort slapped his hand over the picture, covering Stacy’s face. “She sent me a text. Told me that she had to pull an extra shift—wanted the cash since it was her last night. She told me that she would be late gettin’ in.”

“But she didn’t get in at all.”

Fort’s breath was coming in fast heaves. “When I got her text, I went out for some beers with friends. I got in and passed out. I’d just woken up when—”

“When you heard the marshal banging at the door?”

A nod.

Now Anthony spoke. “Do you always run when you hear a knock at your door?”

He hesitated, then slowly shook his head.

“Then I guess today was special, huh?” Paul asked as he pulled the photo from beneath Fort’s hand. “But not so special for her.”

Did you help the Butcher kill your girlfriend?

Lauren had watched hundreds of interrogations over the years. She knew all the tricks detectives used in order to get a suspect to confess. She’d seen men crumble in an instant, and she’d seen cold-blooded killers refuse to break after hours of questioning.

When she’d had Walker in the interrogation room, he hadn’t broken. He’d just sat there, smiling at her the whole time.

Fort was already sweating. Sometimes, the guilty sweated. They sweated plenty. Their eyes darted around the interrogation room—just like Fort’s were doing. Their fingers tapped on the table, their shoes kept up a steady pounding rhythm on the floor.

Again, just like Fort.

Nervousness? Fear? A guilty conscience?

We’ll find out.

The door squeaked open behind her. She glanced over and saw a uniformed cop hurry into the room.

“Ms. Chandler?”

She waited.

The guy licked his lips. “The cops on scene were searching Fort’s home…” It had been easy enough to get the right to enter his home after the motorcycle incident. You didn’t get to nearly run down a DA without repercussions. “One of them found a stash of stolen electronics in the back. The serial numbers match a string of recent robberies in his neighborhood.”

She glanced back at the interrogation room. Anthony and Paul had wanted to know why the guy ran…

He’d been afraid he was about to get busted. That could explain the nervousness—and the guilty conscience. But was there more?

“Thank you,” she said as she headed toward the door.

He raised a hand to stop her. “We also got the report back for the marshal.” Another nervous swipe of his tongue over his lips. “The bike’s tires—they were a match to the ones at the Crawford scene, to the ones we found at Walker’s old cabin.”

Lauren glanced through the two-way glass. She hadn’t just watched interviews over the years. She understood exactly how to push and bargain with suspects.

“Thank you,” she told the cop once more, and headed for interrogation.

My turn.

“You knew about Stacy Crawford’s ex-boyfriend,” Anthony said as he stared at Fort. “And you knew how desperate she was to get out of town.”

Fort was sweating. His feet nervously tapped against the cheap linoleum floor. “Stacy hated this town. Hated the way folks always looked at her. Like she was the freak.”

Fort’s eyes were on the manila folder. The folder with Stacy’s photo.

“But you wouldn’t leave town with her,” Anthony pointed out. “You made her stay.”

The guy’s jaw locked. “I had a job here. We were plannin’ to leave—”

“Your plan was a little too slow,” Paul drawled.

The door creaked open behind them. Anthony’s gaze shot to the door, to Lauren.

Still dressed in her hiking clothes, she walked into the small interrogation room with determined steps. Her gaze cut to him, to Paul, then to Fort. “Mr. Fort, do you know who I am?” Lauren asked.

Fort’s fingers were tapping against the tabletop now. “The DA. I seen your picture in the paper.” Then his lips twisted. “And Stacy fuckin’ hated you, so I heard about you plenty.”

Her head cocked as she studied him. “Shouldn’t you be more upset?” Curiosity had leaked into her voice. A trick, Anthony was sure of it. Lauren never revealed any emotion she didn’t want revealed, especially during an interrogation or in the courtroom. “I mean, you just found out your girlfriend is dead—that she was tortured and sliced, and you sit here calmly saying she ‘fucking hated’ me.” She shook her head. “That’s not the response I usually get from grieving boyfriends.” Then she walked to Paul’s side.

Fort’s gaze followed her every move.

“Detective Voyt here works homicide, but did you know he also used to handle B and Es? He spent several years working burglaries…”

Fort’s eyelids flickered.

She leaned over the table toward him. “The cops found your stash of stolen goods, Fort. That’s why you were running from your place, right? You thought you were busted?” She waited a beat. “Guess what? You are.”

Fort rocked back, nearly falling from his chair. “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about!”

“I’m taking about the laptops, the TVs, the phones—all the little items you had stashed in your bedroom.” She tapped her lower lip with her index finger, as if considering. “Were you trying to make some getaway cash? For the big move to Jackson? Is that why you—”

“It was Stacy!”

The guy sure gave up his dead girlfriend fast.

“She wanted out of this town in the worst way. Ever since she found that damn necklace in her jewelry box. She said we had to leave. Hell, the robberies were all her! She took the stuff!” He raised his hands in the air. “I’m clean, it’s her, and—”

“Hard to charge a dead woman with theft,” Anthony said. What a piece of work. No grief and all too eager to pin the crimes on Stacy.

Fort’s head jerked toward him. “It was her. I’m telling you, she freaked when she found the necklace.”

Lauren was frowning. “Just when did she find the necklace?”

“Last month. I was with her, we were heading to a party and she pulled out the box, and the freakin’ thing was there.” Another hard shake of his head. “Wasn’t there the week before, I tell you, it wasn’t.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because I would have pawned it! I’d been through her box looking already, but nothin’ good was there.” He was back to tapping his fingers. Moving almost constantly. “Not then.”

Anthony closed in on him. “How long has it been since you got your last fix?”

Fort flinched.

“You’re shaking, sweating, your affect is off, and your pupils are dilated.” Anthony had seen plenty of guys like him. Anthony’s eyes noted the blemishes on the man’s arms, on his face—the ones that weren’t hidden by the scratches. “You’re an addict—meth, judging by the marks on your face and arms—and you stole that stuff to feed your habit.”

“I would’ve pawned that necklace!” Fort snapped. “I’m tellin’ you, it wasn’t there when I looked! It wasn’t!” He looked quickly back at Lauren. “Lady DA, I’m helpin’ you, I’m tellin’ you everything I know.” He licked his lips—another sign of his habit. Dehydration. “Let’s work a deal. Come on…” he wheedled.

“The motorcycle you were on earlier, that is your bike, isn’t it?” Lauren asked.

Anthony was surprised the guy hadn’t sold it for drugs.

“Yeah, it’s mine.”

Lauren nodded. Her stare touched briefly on Anthony, then she was looking back at Fort. “The tires from that motorcycle were compared to the tracks left at Stacy’s murder scene.”

Fort’s brow furrowed. “So?”

“So they were a match.” Her head tilted. “So that bike—your bike—was out there where Stacy was killed.”

“No! That’s not—”

“You said you went out with friends.” It was Paul’s turn to go at the guy. Anthony understood the strategy. Fire questions from multiple sources to distract the perp. It worked sometimes. “Who drove? Did you take the bike?”

“No, my buddy Joe picked me up. Took me to Winders.” He raked a shaking hand over his face. “I left the bike at home. Left it, and it was there when I got back.”

“You expect us to buy that story?” Paul muttered. “Come on, you can do better than that.”

Fort’s fists slammed into the table. “It’s the truth!”

Anthony tensed, taking a step forward. “Settle down.” A snapped order.

But Fort glared over at him. “Or what? You’ll shove me into the pavement again?”

I’ll do more than that.

“No,” Lauren said, her voice calm and quiet. “We’ll just shove you into a cell, and you won’t get out anytime soon. Murder has quite a long sentence.”

“I didn’t murder nobody! Stacy texted—told me she was workin’ late!”

Same story. More anger.

“So I went out with my friends! We got ass drunk, but I never saw Stacy! I never saw her!”

“That’s a pity,” Lauren whispered. “Because maybe if you had seen her, maybe if you had been there to pick her up, Stacy Crawford would still be alive.”

Her gaze slid to Voyt. He gave a small nod. Anthony knew they’d be checking the guy’s phone. Would the text be there?

If it was, would it truly have been from Stacy?

She hadn’t mentioned anything about working a double shift when they’d talked to her. She’d been too intent on freedom.

She was free now, just not the way she’d wanted to be.

Everyone was free in death.

Lauren headed for the interrogation room door. Anthony followed her, glancing back as Paul continued his questions. He hadn’t been looking to pin Stacy’s murder on Fort, but now, hell, he wasn’t sure what was happening.

The door closed quietly behind them. “You think he’s telling the truth?” Anthony asked.

“Yes.” She sighed and rubbed the back of her neck. “No cell phone was found near Stacy’s body. So either the killer took it, or it was dumped somewhere in the swamp.”

Yeah, and good luck finding it if it had been dumped. “We need the motorcycle checked for prints,” Anthony said. “If Walker took it, then maybe we can get a print confirmation.” Then Fort’s story would be a little more believable to him.

Lauren was frowning and he could practically see the wheels turning in her head. “It’s so much for one man to do.”

His gut clenched. He’d thought the same thing as soon as he realized how easily Walker had vanished from prison.

“Dr. Hollow—Cadence—is going through the old case files. She thinks we might have missed…someone.”

A partner, back then? Fuck. He’d been so consumed by Lauren during those days, had he missed another killer, one right in the same damn town?

I’m just as consumed by her now. That obsession was leading to mistakes.

To death.

“He’s working with someone.” Lauren’s voice was definite now. “That person—he must have planted the necklace for Stacy to find. Walker was in prison then, it couldn’t have been him.”

Their gazes held.

“Two killers,” Lauren whispered.

Two killers would bring twice as much carnage to the city.