by Cynthia Eden
“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 on
e 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—a
nd 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…
