Fear For Me

CHAPTER SIX

Lauren eased into the ME’s office, her steps quiet. As a rule, she avoided this place whenever possible. The smell, the chill in the air, the bodies stored so carefully…the place made goose bumps rise on her arms.

But some trips couldn’t be avoided. Sometimes you had to say good-bye.

She knocked lightly, and Greg Wright opened the door. Greg had been in the ME’s office for just over six months, and he’d proven to be incredibly thorough at his job. Greg was thirty-six, not much for talking, but when it came to the dead, he was a master.

“You’re here for Karen.” His gaze held a touch of sympathy. “I figured you’d be showing up soon.”

Lauren took a deep breath and could have sworn she tasted death. “I know she’s being transferred out soon. I just…I wanted to say good-bye.”

He stepped back, turning to head toward the storage area in the next room. Greg was a good-looking guy, with blond hair that curled slightly. He was called Dr. Death by some of the cops—not an insult, but a compliment because he was so good with the bodies. She didn’t know if he minded the nickname or not. It was hard to tell with Greg.

He didn’t let much show.

But then, neither do I.

Lauren followed him and waited while he pulled out Karen’s body. The sound of the locker opening had her tensing. Then the body was there. Covered in a big, black bag. Greg pulled down the zipper, and the sound of it filled the room.

Then she was staring at Karen. Lauren swallowed. Karen’s face was so pale. She could see the stitches on Karen’s chest. Karen had been so full of life, so ready to take on the world.

Now only death waited for her.

“I was about to call you and Voyt,” Greg said, a hesitant note entering his voice. “I found something else.”

Her brows rose.

His gloved fingers pointed to Karen’s throat. To the arching line that sliced across her neck. “There was…something in there.”

“What?” She couldn’t take her eyes off Karen’s neck. Off that wound. Almost like a smile, one that had been carved into her.

“It was a small, folded piece of paper.”

Lauren took an instinctive step back. “That’s not Walker’s MO.” Walker cut. He sliced. But he didn’t leave messages behind.

“Maybe it is now.” Greg walked away from the table and picked up a small, sealed bag from his desk. “He left a message for you.”

Her heart was beating hard enough to shake her whole chest. “What did the note say?” The paper was so small. So tiny. And stained with blood. Karen’s blood. In her throat.

He lifted the clear bag and she could see the careful letters…

“It’s beginning,” Greg read.

Hell. She did not want to deal with this. “He’s not going on a spree in my city.”

Greg looked steadily at her. “Two victims in Baton Rouge killed within forty-eight hours.” He took a deep sigh. “It sounds like that’s exactly what he’s doing.”

Lauren’s eyes fell back on the body bag. On Karen.

“I’ll give you a minute alone with her,” Greg murmured as he backed away.

Lauren didn’t speak. Instead, she stared at her friend and hated that a monster had stolen Karen’s life away.

Greg’s footsteps echoed through the chilled room.

The cold air from the storage area made Lauren’s goose bumps even worse. She swallowed, trying to shove back the lump in her throat. Karen was one of the few people who had gotten past Lauren’s guard. She’d known Lauren’s secrets, and she hadn’t been afraid of them.

“I’m sorry,” Lauren whispered. It was what she needed to say. This shouldn’t have happened. But I will get him.

Her gaze slid down Karen’s body. So many injuries. So much incredible rage.

Her fingers pushed back the bag as she stared at the marks the Butcher had left behind.

Greg’s footsteps returned. “There are defensive wounds there, on both arms.”

She could see them. “Karen always was a fighter.”

“We found Walker’s DNA under her nails. She made sure to leave her mark on him.”

It hadn’t been enough. “Be very, very thorough with your evidence collection. If there’s any more DNA, anything that could belong to someone other than Walker, I want to know.”

She glanced up and found Greg’s dark eyes on her. “When the second body gets in,” he told her, “I’ll check to see if—”

“If he left a note in her throat, too?”

“Yes.”

She was going to have nightmares for the rest of her life. I’m so sorry, Karen. So very sorry.

His stare flickered to the body. “I would’ve headed for Mexico. Run as fast as I could and not looked back. I mean, you can kill folks down there just as easily as up here, right?”

She’d thought that Walker should have gone for the border, too, but not just so he could keep killing. “Dr. Wright, sometimes you scare me,” Lauren said. Blunt. True. He seemed to have a hard time connecting with the emotional side of the victims.

He offered her a smile, even as he bent to rezip the bag. “If I wasn’t a little scary, do you really think I’d ever be able to do this job?”

No.

“The dead fascinate me. They always have.” He paused. “But what’s your excuse?”

The door opened behind him. She caught sight of Anthony.

“Someone has to make sure justice is served,” she told him.

“That someone has to be you?”

Anthony was close enough to overhear them. “Yes.”

“Why?”

The truth was tied to her past. “Someone I loved was taken, a long time ago.”

Anthony wasn’t speaking. Greg kept watching her.

“I tried to get her back,” Lauren whispered as she thought of all her desperate searches, searches that had turned up nothing. “But I never could.”

Greg swallowed. “She was—”

“Killed. Or at least, I think she was.” Lauren knew her smile was grim. “But it was hard to prove without a body.”

His eyes widened.

Anthony’s footsteps had come closer.

“Who was the victim?” Greg asked.

The case had happened long before Greg started working as the coroner. The disappearance had happened years ago, when Lauren was just thirteen. “My sister, Jenny.”

“What?” The shock was Anthony’s. His footsteps headed toward her. His fingers wrapped around her arm. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

He hadn’t exactly stuck around long enough.

She turned her head toward Greg. “Let me know when you finish the autopsy on Stacy Crawford’s body. If you do find another note…” She exhaled, trying to focus back on him. “Call me right away.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Greg murmured as he started to secure the body once more.

Lauren’s gaze dipped back to the black bag. Life could just end like that. In a big, black bag. Zipped up.

Anthony’s hands tightened around her. “Lauren…” A tight, hard edge was in his voice.

She couldn’t handle talking anymore about Jenny, not then. Not in the room made for death. Lauren pulled away from Anthony. Greg would have noted that they’d been too close—hard to miss a grab like that, but at least Greg wasn’t the type to gossip.

And why do I care? At this point—why?

Lauren cleared her throat. “Walker left a note with Karen’s body. It said, ‘It’s beginning.’”

Anthony’s jaw hardened. “No, it’s ending.”

She wanted to believe him. But the dead around her wouldn’t let her give in to that fantasy. It wasn’t ending, and it wouldn’t end, not until Walker was dead.

“He didn’t leave notes before.” It bothered her. The FBI profiler was still out in the swamp, but she wanted to talk to Cadence again.

Walker had never taunted the cops or the media. He’d just killed. Brutally. Again and again.

“He’s been locked up for five years,” Anthony said quietly, but his gaze was guarded. “A lot can change in five years.”

Her eyes held his. “And a lot can stay the same.” Before she could say anything else, there was a commotion in the hall. She heard the grind of wheels and the rumble of voices as her whole body tensed.

The swinging doors opened, and a body was wheeled in—a body covered in a zipped black bag. Another lost life. Stacy Crawford’s start in a new town was just a cold dream now.

A cold, dead dream.

When the transport team saw Anthony and her with Greg, they straightened up quickly and pulled out their paperwork for the ME to sign. Lauren barely glanced at them. Her eyes were on the bag.

She’d talked to Stacy last night. And now…

Greg had wanted to know why she was a DA—it was about justice. She wanted to bring justice to the victims. To their families.

She’d never been able to get justice for her own sister.

She wanted to stop killers and not just watch the bodies of their victims pile up.

The transport team left. Greg watched as she closed in on the body. There was one thing she had to know right away.

“Check her throat,” Lauren ordered.

Anthony had closed in on the body, too.

The hiss of the zipper filled the air. Lauren’s shoulders locked as Stacy’s body was revealed. Stacy wasn’t as stark white as Karen had been. Her skin had a more ashen color, and she smelled far more heavily of death.

A fresh kill.

Lauren’s spine was stretched so taut that it ached.

Very carefully, Greg’s gloved fingers went toward Stacy’s throat. There was a slice there, a gaping hole that looked like a twisted grin. Lauren could feel the frantic thudding beat of her heart. It felt like it was trying to leap right out of her chest.

Greg’s gloved fingers pressed lightly against the wound on Stacy’s throat. He had a pair of tweezers in his left hand.

Lauren leaned forward. Then she lost her breath.

She could see the folded paper that his tweezers had just caught. Rolled up, nestled just inside of Stacy’s throat. “He didn’t do this before,” she said again. It just felt so wrong. “Not when he hunted years ago in Baton Rouge.”

“Well, he’s doing it now,” was Greg’s response as he finished using his tweezers to extract the folded paper.

They all moved toward the counter where Greg slowly unfolded the bloody paper. It would be checked for fingerprints later. She knew that. The paper would be thoroughly scanned, the handwriting analyzed, but for now…

“‘Steve Lynch.’” Greg read the name on the paper, then he glanced at Lauren. “Does that name mean anything to you?”

It did. “He was the jury foreman at the trial.” The same man who’d written to Judge Hamilton, saying he’d changed his mind about Walker’s guilt.

Anthony grabbed her arm. “We need to find Lynch. Now.”

He pulled her out of the room, but the heavy stench of death followed. They rushed into the hall and nearly slammed into Paul. The detective staggered to a stop.

“What’s going on?” Paul demanded as his gaze jumped between Anthony and Lauren.

“The killer left a note in Stacy Crawford’s throat. The bastard—”

“Whoa, hold up!” He lifted his hand. “Her throat? What the hell is that shit?”

Lauren swallowed and tried to stop her knees from shaking. “He left a note in Karen’s throat, too.” What the hell did it mean? Why the throat? “The bastard must be playing some kind of game with us. Taunting us.”

“Just what did the damn note say?” Paul demanded.

“The one he left on Stacy,” Anthony’s hard voice answered. “It contained a name. Steve Lynch.” His eyes glittered. “The bastard might have just told us his next victim.”

Paul swore. “What are we waiting for? Let’s go!”

If they could get to him fast enough, Steve Lynch might survive to see another day.

Anthony stared at the dark house. No lights. No sign of movement. But Steve Lynch was supposed to be in there.

“This is my scene,” Paul said beside him, the detective’s voice low and heavy with intent. “Understand? You’re tracking Walker, but this is my city. I’m the homicide cop, and I’ll be the one taking lead here.”

If he’d been in the mood for a pissing match, Anthony would have said so. Paul had been the one to bring Lauren out there, the one to hold them all back when they wanted to rush inside and immediately find Lynch.

But Paul’s captain had given him the all clear to handle this his way, so they were following the detective’s orders.

For the moment.

Steve Lynch had no cell phone and no landline. He’d lost his job as a factory manager a little over two months ago. Divorced, childless, he lived in the last house on LeRoy Drive. The very quiet, last house.

Two police cruisers were behind them, but their lights were off. Everyone seemed to be playing the quiet game.

“Stay behind me,” Paul said as he checked his weapon. “If Walker hasn’t approached Lynch yet, this could be our chance to catch the bastard. We can put a watch on this house, wait for him, and then I’ll be the one to take him down.”

Anthony stared at the detective. Then he cleared his throat and said, “Or while we stand out here, pissing in the fucking breeze, the guy could be dying inside—”

He heard the scream. A high, wild cry. A cry coming from inside the house.

Paul’s eyes widened, then he spun and rushed toward the house, clutching his weapon.

“Baton Rouge PD!” Paul yelled as he drew closer to the house. “Baton—”

Another scream.

Paul slammed his shoulder into the door, but it didn’t give way. When he hit it again, Anthony was with him, and the door shattered beneath them.

They rushed into the heavy and complete darkness. Anthony yanked out his flashlight and kept it held over his gun. He swept the scene.

Had the scream come from the left?

The right?

A new scream broke the silence. High. Loud. Desperate.

Lauren stood behind a uniformed cop. Two other cops had been with her, but as soon as Anthony and Paul burst into the house, the cops had taken off toward the back of the house to block off the escape path of anyone inside.

Anyone being Walker.

She swallowed in an attempt to ease the desperate dryness in her throat, but it didn’t help. Nothing could help.

The cop beside her was pushing forward onto the balls of his feet. The guy was clearly desperate to get inside to the action.

He had his orders, though. He’d been told by both Anthony and Paul to stick to her like freaking glue.

Another scream shook the night. The cop spun from her and reached into his patrol car. She heard the click from his radio, the crackle of static. “This is Officer McHenry. I’m on LeRoy, and we need—”

A twig snapped. The single sound shouldn’t have been so loud, but it was.

It had come from behind her. From the narrow line of woods behind the patrol car.

Her heart raced even faster. The cop hadn’t heard the twig snap. He was still talking on the radio. The snap, it could have been nothing. Could have been from an animal. A squirrel. A possum. She sucked in a deep breath. Then one more. She couldn’t let the fear push through her.

The threat was inside the house. That was where the screams were coming from. Inside, not out here.

The cop spun back toward her. “We’ve got more help on the way, ma’am. You should get in the car until—”

His words broke off in a desperate gurgle as the point of a knife came through the front of his shirt. It had gone into his back and come out of his chest.

His mouth hung open and under the moonlight, his whole body trembled as he staggered—then fell to the ground.

Lauren whirled away from him. Safety was in the house. She opened her mouth and screamed as loudly as she could. “Anthony!”

She was tackled from behind. Lauren hit the ground with an impact that bruised her whole body.

Anthony kicked in another door, and in the cavernous darkness, his flashlight fell on the man cowering in the corner.

“Steve Lynch?” he demanded as Paul rushed into the room behind him. It looked like the guy from the grainy photo he’d seen at the station.

The man nodded and lifted his hands before his eyes, as if trying to shield from that bright light.

Anthony kept his flashlight trained on Steve as Paul’s light swept around the room. There was no one else in that place. No damn body else, and as far as Anthony could see, there wasn’t so much as a scratch on Lynch.

“What the hell is going on?” Anthony asked as he took another step toward Lynch. The more he studied him, Anthony realized how different Lynch appeared from his driver’s license photo. Thinner, haggard. Terrified.

“I had to do what he…wanted…” Lynch whispered. “He has…Helen.”

Anthony’s gut clenched. Then he heard the thunder of footsteps coming down the hallway.

He spun away from Lynch, just in time to see two uniformed cops rush into the room.

Anger pulsed through him. “You’re supposed to be outside with the DA!”

The cops froze. “We were securing the back exit, sir!” one shouted.

There was no need to secure the back exit. Walker wasn’t here. He wasn’t…

Anthony turned back around, frowning. From Lynch’s position, he would have been able to look out the side window—a window just inches away from him—and see the cops. “You screamed to get us inside.” Shit, shit.

“I’m sorry! He made me! He said I had to scream—” Lynch’s cry followed Anthony as he raced from the room, but he didn’t stop. He was running as fast as he could toward the front door. Paul was behind him, shouting for him to stop. Did the fool not realize what was happening?

Lynch hadn’t been Walker’s target. The guy had been the fucking bait.

The target was the same one Walker had been focused on all along.

Lauren.

He burst out of the house, shouting her name. One look at the patrol car, with its door swinging open, and he knew something had happened. Something bad.

No!

He jumped off the porch. Leaped for the car. He saw the downed cop. The man had fallen face-first into the earth, a knife shoved deep into his back. “Lauren!” he yelled.

Paul’s footsteps thundered after him.

Anthony bent and put his fingers to the downed cop’s throat. A pulse still beat there, barely. Damn barely. He whirled to face Paul. “Get an ambulance!”

“Lauren?” Paul said, fear cracking her name.

He didn’t know where she was.

Not in the house.

He spun back around and faced the woods. His flashlight cut through the darkness. Near the left, it looked like two branches were bent back. As if someone had rushed through that spot.

He ran into the woods. Twigs slapped at him, but he ignored them. He had to get through the woods. He wasn’t losing Lauren.

His foot smashed down onto something. Something that cracked beneath his weight. Fuck, a phone. He froze, then bent, grabbing it quickly. The screen was broken, but the phone still worked, and he recognized the image saved there—he’d seen it on Lauren’s phone when she’d used it before.

The SOB had taken her this way. Anthony started running again. Faster, faster. The woods stretched and twisted before he hit a path that split in two directions. Which damn path? Which one? “Lauren!”

She wasn’t answering his shouts. He wouldn’t let himself imagine why she wasn’t answering. He couldn’t think about that and stay sane.

The squeal of brakes shattered the night. To the left. He clenched his gun tight and rushed to the left, moving as fast as he could go. More twigs and branches cut into him, but Anthony didn’t care. There was only one thing that mattered to him then. Just one.

He would get her back.

Anthony burst from the woods just as a pair of taillights raced down an old, two-lane highway. The car was fishtailing and shooting up gravel in its rush to get away.

You won’t get away. Anthony lifted his weapon, preparing to fire.

“No!” Paul’s voice. The detective burst out of the woods behind him. “Are you fucking crazy?” Paul demanded. “Lauren could be in that car!”

Could be? She was—and Walker was taking her away. If Walker took her to a second location—

Anthony’s eyes narrowed as he took aim at the back tire.

Then Paul jumped in front of him. “You aren’t shooting! I don’t know how the hell you marshals normally handle things, but you aren’t shooting at her!”

The car vanished around the bend.

Fuck, fuck. Anthony shoved his gun into its holster, dropped his flashlight, and yanked out his cell phone. Two seconds later, he had Matt on the phone. “Get a roadblock up at the end of—of—” Where the hell were they? He tried to picture the map he’d studied earlier, one that showed Lynch’s property. The images flew through his head. “Lincoln Road.” That was the road he was on—it was also a road that was surrounded by woods on the north and west. “Walker’s out there. He has Lauren—”

“You don’t know—” Paul began behind him.

Anthony rounded on him and froze him with a glare. If it hadn’t been for Paul, then Walker wouldn’t have gotten away. Anthony would have killed the bastard.

Lauren would be safe.

Anthony returned to his call. “He was driving an old-model sedan, one with a busted taillight on the right. The car’s color looked dark.” His words were tumbling out quickly as the adrenaline coursed through his veins. “Get that car. Stop that car.” Then he ended the call. His fingers clenched around the phone, nearly smashing it to pieces. “You’re not fucking in charge anymore, Voyt,” he snarled.

Paul clenched his fists. “I’m the lead detective here, I—”

“Lauren is a district attorney, a person of special interest in the Walker case, and she’s mine.” Guttural. “She’s my responsibility from here on out. I’m getting her back.” He grabbed the guy because he couldn’t control his rage. “And if you ever get in my way again, I’ll fucking shoot through you.”

Under the moonlight, he could see Paul’s glare. Was he supposed to give a shit about it? He’s been warned. I will shoot his ass.

Anthony tossed him aside. As much as he wanted to chase after the car on foot, it wouldn’t do him any good. He’d never be fast enough. So he raced back through the woods to Lynch’s house.

Lynch…

At the station, he’d seen a grainy photo of Lynch, courtesy of the DMV. DMV. He’d scanned the photo and also learned that…shit, the guy was registered to drive a ’92 Oldsmobile sedan.

Anthony shoved his way through the last of the bushes and was back at Lynch’s house. One cop was bent near the fallen officer as another shoved Lynch into the patrol car. Anthony locked his gaze on Lynch. The guy was sobbing. He’d give Lynch something to sob about.

Anthony yanked the cop out of his way. In the distance, he heard the shriek of a siren. Still faint and too far away, but coming.

He grabbed Lynch. His hands fisted in the material of Lynch’s shirt. “You gave the bastard your car.”

Lynch nodded miserably. His gaze was on the ground.

“You lured us into that house so he could get her.” He wanted to rip the guy apart. Lynch had been screaming, yelling so loudly. Had Lauren been outside, crying for help then? And they hadn’t heard her over Lynch’s screams? “Why?”

Paul moved behind Anthony then. Anthony heard the detective speaking into his phone and ordering an APB on Lynch’s car.

“He has Helen!” Lynch whispered as his gaze lifted. “You have to understand. I didn’t have a choice.”

“Helen’s his ex-wife,” Paul muttered as he stalked closer. Then his voice rose as he snapped into his phone, “Yes, dammit, a ninety-two sedan! Stop the car and approach it with extreme caution because we think the DA is his prisoner.”

“I still love her,” Lynch said, swallowing thickly. “I couldn’t let Helen die.”

The wounded cop on the ground was gasping for air. Anthony hauled Lynch toward him. “But you could let that guy die?”

The uniform next to the fallen man looked up, the pain clear on his face in the weak moonlight. “McHenry’s got a wife, a baby on the way…”

“I’m sorry!” Lynch cried. “So sorry!”

“Fuck sorry,” Anthony said. Sorry wouldn’t change anything. He was trying not to picture Lauren at that moment. Trying so hard not to imagine her fear, but—

A killer had taken him as a hostage once, too. Anthony had been tied up and left to die. He’d been so sure death would come for him. Hope had bled away, moment by moment.

He didn’t want Lauren to feel the same way he had.

But while the Valentine Killer had toyed with him, the guy hadn’t tortured Anthony with his knife.

The Bayou Butcher was all about torture.

“Tell us every damn thing you know about Walker,” he snarled as the rage threatened to burst free. “Where the hell is he going?”

“I don’t know anything!”

Anthony’s back teeth ground together. “He told you that if you pulled us in, you’d get your wife back.”

A miserable nod. The shrieks from the ambulance were closer now. “I’m sorry about the cop. I didn’t think…”

No, he fucking hadn’t. If he had, he would have gone to the authorities for help and they could have sprung a trap on Walker.

“How were you getting Helen back? Where were you supposed to go?”

Lynch’s tongue swiped over his lips. “The old fishing pier on Rattlesnake Bayou. He said to go there at dawn.”

The ambulance was pulling onto the road. The flashing lights lit up the scene. Anthony shoved Lynch away. “Take him to the station,” he ordered to the other cop. “Stay with him. Don’t let the bastard out of your sight!”

“I’m sorry!” Lynch cried out. “I didn’t have a choice!”

Same damn song. The guy didn’t even know what sorry was, not yet. If Anthony didn’t get Lauren back, he’d make sure the guy knew.

He jumped into his SUV. Revved the engine.

Paul yanked open the passenger side door. “You aren’t going without me!”

Anthony wasn’t wasting time arguing. He wheeled the vehicle to the left and headed as fast as he could for the old highway.

Her head hurt like a bitch. Something wet and sticky was in her left eye. She reached up her hand—blood. Her blood.

Darkness surrounded her. The kind of thick, total darkness that made her think of tombs and death.

The Bayou Butcher has me.

A scream built in her throat and burst from her, but the scream didn’t do any good. She could tell that the car was moving. There was a grinding sound, like wheels, and she was bumping every few moments.

Lauren lifted her hands and her fingers pressed into a hard surface, one just inches from her face. The trunk. He put me in a trunk.

He’d put her in the trunk, and now he was trying to take her someplace. He hadn’t killed her at the scene, the way he’d done to poor Officer McHenry. Walker had taken her.

So he could play with her.

She wasn’t in the mood to be his plaything.

Lauren twisted her body, shaking and maneuvering so that she could try to search the area for some kind of tool. Her fingers fumbled in the dark. At least he hadn’t tied her hands—that would make it easier for her to escape or to fight back. Her nails shoved into the trunk’s walls, but she kept searching. The drumming of her heartbeat filled her ears. She was so afraid that, at any moment, the vehicle would stop and Walker would come for her.

Then I’ll be dead.

Her fingers swiped over something sharp. She stopped, breath heaving, and her fingers slid over the object. She could tell by its shape that she’d found a screwdriver.

Thank you, God.

Her right hand held it tight, while her left started to run along the trunk’s wall. She had to locate the rear of the car, had to find the spot where the trunk locked. Once she found the actual lock, she could try to use the screwdriver to pry it open. If the trunk had a separate release latch, she could try to find that. She would find something.

Because she would get out of there. Lauren wasn’t going to give up. No matter what.

She had a tool now, one that she could use to escape. If Walker came for her before she got her freedom, she’d damn well use the screwdriver as a weapon.

The car bounced, hit a deep hard hole, then jerked forward.

Lauren tensed. It didn’t feel like they were on a road anymore. No, the vehicle had turned, and Walker was taking her away from civilization. That was the way he worked, right? Take the prey into the swamp to torture for hours.

They were on a bumpy road. A dirt road?

Her fingers were sweating around the screwdriver as she frantically went to work.

There was a roadblock up ahead. Anthony saw the flashing lights of two patrol cars at the end of Lincoln Road before the road branched and led back to the city.

He slammed on the brakes and jumped from the vehicle. He’d just gone all the way down the road, and hadn’t seen a sign of the sedan. “Where the hell is he?” Anthony demanded.

Matt rushed toward him. “No one’s come this way. We were on scene as fast as we could be, but no one’s passed our way.”

No. No fucking way.

“He got out before you were here,” Paul said as he climbed from the car. His voice was flat. “The bastard took her out before the roadblock could be set up.”

The road was old, and from what Anthony had learned on his one-hundred-mile-an-hour drive there, not well traveled at all. “He likes the swamp.” There was plenty of swamp around. They’d flown by the twisting cypress trees, and he’d seen the black edge of the bayou water gleaming in the moonlight.

Matt took a few more steps toward them. “He could have driven through before we got here. We hauled ass, man, but it still took us twenty minutes to get here. The cop”—he pointed behind him to one of the patrol cars—“beat me by a bit, but not much.”

It had taken Anthony ten minutes to get there from Steve’s house, going hell fast. Matt and Paul were right—Walker could have gotten away and gone back to town.

But that just wasn’t the way he liked to play.

He’s changed the rules. The guy had busted out of prison like some kind of alpha dog, and instead of hiding in the shadows like he’d done in the past, had attacked Karen right away with a brutal in-your-face kill directed to hurt Lauren. The guy thinks he is in charge, so he’s trying to make us dance to his damn tune. Anthony looked at the dark mass of swamp and woods. “Get Wesley Hawthorne out here.” If they had to search the woods, he wanted the tracker.

“Walker keeps his prey out there, he plays with them…he is in the area.” He just had to find out where. His eyes narrowed as he glanced back at Paul. “We passed a little road, didn’t we? A dirt road…” It had been but a blur at the time, but now…

Walker could have taken her down that little road. He never would have made it to the roadblock then.

Paul shook his head. “If we focus our efforts on searching the swamp, and she’s not there”—Paul sighed, his face grim—“we could be fucking killing her.”

Anthony’s back teeth were about to grind to dust. “Then let’s divide our efforts. You go to town.” He pointed to the darkness behind him. “And I’ll search here for her.” His gaze flew to Matt. “Get the tracker, and tell him I need him with me, now.”

Every minute that passed would bring Lauren closer to death.