Cynthia Eden - Fear For Me

Good move.

Anthony and Matt exited their SUV quickly. They drew their own weapons as they swept the scene.

“Wesley?” Anthony asked. He couldn’t see the guy.

“He went around back to block the exit.” Paul inclined his head toward the front door. “We just got here, freaking seconds before you.”

No need to wait any longer.

Anthony gave a nod. At the signal, Paul lifted his foot and kicked in the door.

The cabin wasn’t small. It wasn’t some shack. Instead it snaked and stretched back. But it didn’t take the men long to find the judge.

He was in the den, blood soaking him, duct tape still holding him trapped to the chair.

“Hell,” Paul muttered. “Too damn late.” He rushed toward the judge anyway, checking for a pulse.

With that much blood, Anthony didn’t expect Paul to find one.

“No pulse,” Paul said quietly, his voice thick, “but he’s still warm.”

A door crashed in from the back of the house. Anthony ran toward the sound and saw Wesley coming. He had a gun in his hands.

“He’s not out back,” Wesley said with a shake of his head

The body was warm, though, so he was fucking close.

“The house is clear,” Matt said, hurrying up behind them. “He must have fled before we arrived.”

Not by car. There was only one road that led to and from the cabin, and they hadn’t passed any other vehicles.

Paul called for backup, giving the person on the other end the news that the judge had been found.

“We need to split up and search,” Anthony said. There was a hell of a lot of ground to cover, and not enough time.

Paul shoved the phone back into his pocket. “They’re ten minutes out.”

They weren’t waiting ten minutes. They kept their weapons close and headed out the back.

Twisting trees met them.

“It’s a fishing cabin, so where’s the water?” Anthony demanded. Water—it was the way Walker liked to escape.

Wesley pointed. “To the north.”

Maybe he was trying a different exit strategy this time.

Good thing there were four of them. Time to split up and cover as much ground as possible.

* * *

The boat wasn’t there.

Walker staggered to a stop on the rickety dock, the bloody knife still gripped in his fist.

The boat wasn’t there.

The dock bobbed lightly as the hot summer wind tossed the waves. Lightning flashed across the sky. The storm was finally rolling in.

The storm should have helped him. It would have covered his tracks. He would have slipped away again.

But the fucking boat wasn’t there.

Snarling, Walker spun around. Shock and fury and fear battled inside of him. Fear—it had been so long since he’d felt fear. He wasn’t supposed to be afraid, not any longer. His partner had told him that, after the first kill.

We don’t have to be afraid of anything or anyone. They fear us. We’re the power. They’re the prey.

His feet thudded over the dock as he rushed back for the trees.

He partner had lied to him. Had sent him running for a boat that wasn’t there. Why? Why would he do that to me?

They were family.

Brothers of blood.

He froze, breath heaving, surrounded by gnarled trees. He’d heard footsteps. Rushing toward him.

They’re hunting me.

He was all alone. No partner. No help.

Just him. In the woods.

His fingers tightened around the knife.

He wasn’t going back to jail. He wasn’t finished. The circle wasn’t complete. Lauren wasn’t a beautiful, bloody doll.

It wasn’t over.

I have the power. He also had the big-ass knife.

* * *

The swamp seemed too quiet. Far too quiet. Even the insects had stilled. Anthony paused and glanced at Paul. The detective nodded and pointed to the left. The dock. They could both see the edge of the wood.

Anthony eased forward while Paul branched to the left a bit, still searching the line of trees. Anthony’s gaze surveyed the scene. No sign of a boat. No sign of Walker. But…

Wait. There was a sign of him. A shoe impression, just a few feet from the dock in the loose dirt. Anthony turned, body pumping with adrenaline, as he followed the impression. One step. Another. Another—

“Help!”

His head jerked up. It was Paul’s voice—Paul, who should have been close behind him. Anthony whirled and ran toward the voice.

He burst through the bushes and saw them. Paul was on the ground. Bleeding.

Walker—tricky SOB—he’d circled back and come up on Paul from behind. Paul was on the ground, blood dripping down his back as he tried to crawl for his weapon. Walker was lifting his knife once more—

“Freeze!” Anthony yelled.

Paul kept crawling.

Walker froze for an instant, his head lifted, and he locked his gaze on Anthony.

“Drop the weapon!” Anthony yelled. “Drop it now!”

Walker shook his head. “I won’t go back.”

“You don’t have a choice.” Anthony advanced on him. “Now drop it!” Or he would put a bullet in him.

Walker glanced down at Paul. “I have the power.”

He lunged for the detective.

Anthony fired his gun, sending a bullet straight at Walker’s heart. At the same moment, Paul rolled over and came up holding his weapon. He fired. His bullet hit Walker just seconds after Anthony’s.

Walker’s eyes widened as he stumbled back. The guy’s mouth dropped open and shock swept over his face.

The knife fell from his fingers. He fell back and hit the ground.

Anthony raced to him. He kicked the knife farther away. Two bullets were in the bastard’s chest, and Walker was coughing up blood as he struggled to bring in his last breaths.

Crouching and keeping his gun trained on him, Anthony said, “You aren’t going to be hurting anyone else.”

Walker tried to turn his head toward Anthony. “W-Weep…”

“What?” Anthony demanded.

“W-weepin’…wil…low…tree. T-tell…Lau…”

A gurgle ended the words. A rough rasp that was the last breath the Bayou Butcher would ever take.

“Is he dead?” Paul gasped.

Anthony’s heart slammed into his chest.

“Yeah.” About fucking time. “The bastard is on his way to hell.” Try escaping that prison. You want hurt Lauren, you piece of shit. You won’t hurt anyone, not anymore. Anthony hurried back to Paul’s side. “Now let’s make sure you stay alive.”

Matt leaped out of the brush, breath heaving. A few moments later, Wesley appeared. They took in the bloody scene and saw Anthony working to stem the blood from Paul’s wound.

More backup arrived. Cops. EMTs. Paul was loaded into the back of an ambulance. He was lucky—the knife wound wasn’t lethal.

A survivor.

Judge Hamilton hadn’t been so lucky.

The ambulance’s siren screamed as Paul was driven away. Anthony watched the vehicle vanish, the knot in his gut still tight.

“You did it,” Matt said as the other marshal came to his side and slapped him on the back. “You caught the Bayou Butcher.”

“Killing him isn’t the same thing as catching him.” The Butcher’s last words replayed in Anthony’s head.

“It is to me.” Matt’s gaze was dark and steady. “Now he doesn’t get to torture anyone else. Our job’s done.”

The job of tracking down and apprehending Walker, yes. But what about the bastard’s partner?

The only person who knew the man’s identity was being zipped up into a body bag.

“It’s not over,” Anthony said.

Not yet. Not even close.

Anthony didn’t go back to the police station. He called Jim and was told Lauren was at her office. When he was clear, Anthony went to her. He wanted to talk to her—alone—without all of the prying eyes at the police department.

Word of the Bayou Butcher’s death had spread like wildfire. Even as he drove to Lauren’s office, he heard the DJ talking about the death on the radio.

“Folks can rest easy in Baton Rouge tonight, the Bayou Butcher is off the streets. I for one am glad the bastard is burning in hell…”

Anthony leaned forward and pushed the dial, ending the broadcast.

He should have felt relief. He’d already gotten a call from his boss congratulating him.

Yeah, he’d stopped Walker, but Hamilton had still died. Stacy Crawford had died. The doctor at Angola—dead. The guard—dead. Walker had left a bloody trail in his wake.

A trail that had finally ended.

But one that still raised questions.

He showed his ID at Lauren’s office and got a fast track to her. There were two uniforms in the lobby, both wearing big grins. Everyone seemed to be celebrating Walker’s death, but didn’t they get it?

Another killer is still out there. A killer who’d taken far more lives than Walker had. A killer who could be hunting, even as they whooped and hollered.

Jim met him outside of Lauren’s office and offered his hand. “Good job, sir.”

So he kept being told. “I should have brought him in alive.”

Jim lowered his voice. “Why? To me, it’s better this way.”

Jaw locking, Anthony passed him and entered Lauren’s office. She was sitting behind a wide desk with a slew of papers in front of her. When she saw him, Lauren jumped to her feet and hurried toward him. “I heard—”

He caught her in his arms and pulled her tightly against his chest. Her sweet scent filled his lungs, banishing the coppery stench of blood that had clung to him since he’d found the judge’s body.

Her body felt warm and soft against his. Delicate. Fragile. He thought of Walker, charging with his knife.

He’d used that knife on Lauren.

When he’d pulled the trigger, Anthony had seen Lauren in his mind’s eye. The truth—brutal, dark—was that he could have shot the knife out of the bastard’s hands. He could have done it. He was a good enough marksman to have made it work.

But he hadn’t. He hadn’t wanted to just stop Walker.

He’d wanted to kill him.

I should have kept him alive. I wasn’t thinking, just feeling. Now we don’t have a link to the other bastard.

She pulled back and stared up at him with the gaze that had always seemed to see too deeply into him. “Is Paul going to be all right? I wanted to go to the hospital, but Jim said I should stay here.”

It had been Anthony’s order to Jim. Anthony hadn’t wanted her to leave until he got to her.

“Walker killed the judge before we got there. He stabbed Hamilton in the heart.”

Her eyes widened. “Does Julia—”

“She knows.” Cadence had made sure of it.

Lauren nodded. Her hands slid away from him. “I’m glad Walker’s gone.” A stark confession.

Tell her. His jaw locked, and he couldn’t speak. She said she was glad, but it was the heat of the moment. She didn’t fully realize the stakes.

If Walker had lived, he could have taken them to Jenny’s remains. Lauren could have finally brought her sister home.

“What is it?” She stared up at him, a faint furrow between her brows.

His hands tightened around her. “The last thing he said, it was about you.”

The stark understanding sank into her eyes. “Jenny.”

Anthony nodded. “Walker said, ‘Weeping willow tree. Tell Lauren.’” His jaw locked. “He didn’t have the chance to tell me anything more.”

Her lips parted as shock slacked her face.

“He wanted you to know, so I’m thinking…” Fuck. “She’s buried near a willow.” He’d gone over those words, again and again, in his mind. That was the only thing that made since to him.

The shock slowly faded. “A willow tree? My sister?” Her face was pale.

“I think if we find that tree, we’ll find her.” One tree in a fucking huge search area.

A knock sounded at the door. Lauren stepped away from him, putting at least two feet between their bodies. He frowned at her as she said, “Come in.”

The door opened. Jim was there with a petite woman with short, red hair.

“Lauren, the reporters are already calling,” the redhead said as she shifted nervously from her left foot to her right. “You’re going to need to release a statement soon.”

“Of course, Bridgette. I’ll be out in just a moment.”

Bridgette nodded, and after a curious glance at Anthony, she slipped from the room.

Jim pulled the door closed behind them.