Fear For Me: A Novel of the Bayou Butcher

by Cynthia Eden

  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.