Fear For Me: A Novel of the Bayou Butcher

  It sure looked like he had.

  The courthouse guard shifted nervously next to them.

  Hamilton rounded on him. “Who came into my office? Who was here?”

  The guard’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “Sorry, sir. I didn’t see anyone. There was a scuffle with one of the prisoners on transfer, and I had to go help. I left the area for a few minutes…”

  “Security cameras,” Lauren said, thinking quickly as she looked at the cameras discreetly perched in the corners. “There’s a system on every floor.” Had to be, thanks to a bomb threat that had emptied the courthouse a few years back.

  The cameras would have captured the intruder.

  At least, she sure hoped they had. Because maybe those cameras could tell them where Walker had gone—or even where he was right then. She motioned toward the courthouse guard. “Tell security to pull up the footage, now. Find out who was in this area, and where the hell he is now.”

  The guard nodded quickly and started talking into his radio.

  Shamus’s voice caught her attention. “Yes, sir…” He was on his phone with someone—Lauren sure hoped that someone was Paul or Anthony. “The office was trashed, sir.” The cop’s eyes rose and locked on her. “She’s right here. Yes, yes, I will.”

  As he ended the call, Shamus’s hand curled around her arm. “Sorry, ma’am, but he told me to keep you by my side until he got here.”

  “Who’s he?”

  Hamilton tried to edge around the cop to get into his office.

  Shamus moved, blocking his path. “The marshal said I had to keep her close, and he also told me not to let anyone in the room. He wants the techs in there before anyone disturbs the evidence.”

  So Anthony was leading the investigation. Edging out Paul in a pissing match for jurisdiction.

  She pulled her arm away. “You can let me go.”

  He flushed. “Ma’am, he said I was to keep a hand on you until he got here.”

  “I’m the DA, Officer Riley.” More guards hurried into the area, surrounding a still stunned-looking Judge Hamilton. “I think I’m safe now.”

  Riley slowly dropped his hand. “That’s just the thing. He said you weren’t safe. That the killer could be in the building.” He made no move to back away.

  She glanced at the wreckage of Hamilton’s office, then she looked at the judge’s haggard face. “Why did you call me, Hamilton?” Lauren demanded. “Why did you want me here?”

  Hamilton’s gaze cut to the cops. The guards. He gave a small, negative shake of his head.

  She knew he wasn’t going to tell her what she needed to know. Not with so many eyes and ears close by.

  Secrets. They didn’t have time for them. Not when the killer was this close.

  Anthony could barely contain his fury. The security cameras turned up jack shit. The guards didn’t remember seeing anyone enter or exit the judge’s chambers, and Hamilton’s secretary, a young woman who’d just graduated from college, had burst into tears when the cops started to question her. She’d left early, heading out to meet her boyfriend, and she hadn’t even realized that the judge’s chambers had been invaded.

  Anthony glanced over at Lauren. Her gaze wasn’t on him. It was on the judge, and Lauren looked damn suspicious as she studied Hamilton. Fair enough. He also knew the judge was holding back on him. With a killer hunting, no one needed to hold back.

  Time to clear the air.

  Anthony closed in on Lauren and Hamilton. “Why did you want to see her?” he demanded.

  Hamilton hunched his shoulders. He didn’t meet Anthony’s stare. “There are a number of cases that her office is working. I just needed to talk about—”

  “When you lie,” Anthony said quietly, “your gaze cuts to the floor and you rub your chin.”

  Most folks had tells like that. Only they didn’t realize what they were doing. Anthony realized. It was his job to notice.

  The judge licked his lips and his gaze slowly rose to meet Anthony’s. “It’s nothing. Really.” His hand fell away from his chin.

  “Nothing wouldn’t make you call me,” Lauren said, voice soft. “On the phone, you said it was urgent. That we had to meet.”

  Hamilton glanced over at the cops. His stare seemed to linger a moment on Detective Voyt. Then he focused back on Anthony. Hamilton edged closer and, voice even softer than Lauren’s, he said, “About two weeks ago, I got a letter from one of the Walker jurors.”

  Lauren inhaled sharply.

  “It was from the juror foreman, Steve Lynch. He said he’d made a mistake. That he wanted to talk.” The judge shook his head. “I didn’t respond to him, haven’t—but then I got to thinking about Walker breaking out so soon after the note was sent. I wondered…”

  “You wondered if Walker had gotten a letter from Steve Lynch?” Lauren asked. “Something that might have pushed him into breaking out?”

  A grim nod. “A letter, or maybe even some help.” His voice was barely above a whisper. “The kind of help that can get you a ticket out of prison if someone feels like they owe you.” He rocked forward onto the balls of his feet. “It might sound crazy, but I’ve seen plenty of crazy during my years on the bench. If a juror starts feeling guilty, starts feeling like he sent the wrong man to prison…hell, a guy like that will do just about anything to atone.”

  Lauren was silent. A little too silent.

  Anthony had to ask, “Did this Lynch guy contact you, too?”

  “No.” Hesitation. Doubt? “At least, I don’t think he did. My assistant opens my mail, and she would have told me if a note like that had come through the office.”

  Maybe.

  Maybe not.

  He raised his hand. “Voyt.”

  The detective marched over.

  “Judge Hamilton has some intel that he needs to give you.” Anthony had his own job to do. He caught Lauren’s hand. “Come with me.”

  Her eyes widened. “Where are we going?”

  “You wanted to be in on the hunt, well, here’s your chance.” After this second attack, no way did he want her out of his sight.

  The job is to catch the killer. Fugitive apprehension. He knew exactly what he was supposed to do.

  But leaving her behind…hell, no, that didn’t seem like an option. When he’d gone back to the clearing near the cabin and she’d been gone, his heart had damn near stopped.

  It felt like he’d been coming closer and closer to death on his last few cases. Down in New Orleans, a serial killer had even managed to make him think that he was facing death. In what he’d thought were the last few minutes of his life, Anthony had closed his eyes and seen—

  Her.

  A man’s priorities could sure change quickly when he thought death was taking him.

  But he’d survived that prick Valentine’s attack. And the witness he’d been protecting for so long, the woman who’d had her life nearly destroyed by the Valentine Killer?

  I walked her down the aisle.

  The monsters didn’t always win in this world. Sometimes, good did kick the hell out evil.

  Sometimes.

  His hold tightened on Lauren’s arm. “Come with me.” Apprehending Walker was his mission, but leaving her behind? Not happening.

  “I can handle Lauren’s protection for the night,” Voyt offered as he stepped closer to them. He gave a little nod toward her. “Come on, Lauren, I’ll take you home.”

  “I can’t go back home.” Her words broke a bit but she rallied quickly. “It’s not clear yet. And with Karen’s blood…with her dying in my bedroom…” Her breath rushed out. “I’m not going there.”

  Hell, no, she wasn’t. The detective was a dumbass to even suggest she return that night.

  A muscle flexed in Voyt’s jaw. “You can stay with me.”

  Anthony’s whole body tightened. Not happening, Voyt. Not. Happening.

  “You know I have the guest room,” Voyt added as he took another step toward her. The guy needed to learn how to respect personal sp
ace. Staring into her eyes, Voyt said, “Stay at my place tonight.”

  She fucking wasn’t.

  Anthony’s gaze slid between them. He didn’t like the look he saw in Voyt’s eyes. Not one bit. The detective needed to back off and back up.

  Since the guy wasn’t moving, Anthony stepped between them. “She’s coming with me,” Anthony said, his words snapping out with a fierce force.

  Voyt blinked. Even Hamilton edged back.

  “She is?” Voyt sounded confused.

  What was so confusing?

  Anthony gritted out, “I need her to give me access to Walker’s friends and family.” Those still in the area. Most had fled, hoping to shed the image of being the killer’s kin. For those still there, Lauren knew them. She’d been the one to interview them years before. If they were going to talk, it would be to her. “I need her,” he said again as he locked stares with the detective. He wanted to make sure Voyt got the message—what he was saying and what he wasn’t.

  But Voyt was proving to be oblivious. “Lauren needs a place to crash.” The guy wasn’t backing down. He did step to the side, though, just so he could look around Anthony and tell Lauren, “When you’re done helping the marshal, come to me, Lauren.”

  Anthony’s back teeth were about to grind down to dust. She won’t be coming to you. Whatever was going on between Lauren and this dick detective, it would be ending.

  “I’ll keep her safe,” Anthony growled, and then he was turning away from the cop and pulling Lauren with him. They rushed through the nearly deserted courthouse and burst outside into the thick, hot night air.

  Jim had stayed back at the swamp, to work more with the trackers. Matt had gone to the precinct to run down more leads.

  And Anthony…he’d run to Lauren.

  As soon as he’d learned there was a threat at the courthouse, he’d been desperate to get to her. So desperate that he’d dropped everything else.

  She was fucking with his head already, and he’d only been in town for a few hours.

  It was edging close to eight p.m. The Butcher had always killed at night. It had been just over forty-eight hours since the guy’s escape. Forty-eight hours. That timeline was cutting through Anthony.

  It had taken the warden far too long to notice Walker’s absence and to contact Anthony’s office. Then, by the time he’d gotten to the prison—hell, Walker had already been given a huge edge.

  Anthony opened the passenger-side door of his rented SUV. Lauren swept by him, her body brushing against his. Memories swept through him at her touch, but he shoved them back.

  He had a job to do. A job he would do.

  Anthony climbed into the driver’s seat. His hands tightened around the wheel. “Most of Walker’s family left the city.”

  From the corner of his eye, he caught her nod.

  “The guy wasn’t exactly social, so there’s not a trail of friends in the area.”

  Not a trail, no, but there’d been one person in particular who had always stood by Walker during the trial. His girlfriend. “Stacy Crawford is still here,” she said, turning in the seat to glance at him.

  He nodded. His own intel had already told him that Walker’s girlfriend—ex-girlfriend—was in town, and he knew exactly where she would be.

  “Let’s go have a little chat with her.” That chat would take them on a visit to another of Walker’s favorite spots in the area, a rundown bar called Easy Street.

  He pulled away from the curb. The interior of the SUV seemed too small. Maybe it was because Lauren was so close. Close enough to touch.

  “Stacy wasn’t exactly the most cooperative witness five years ago,” Lauren murmured.

  Her voice was cool, low. She could have been talking to a stranger.

  Not to the man who’d once fucked her every way he could imagine—and even thought of some new ways. She was that damn good.

  “She believed Walker was innocent,” Lauren continued. “Stacy wanted to help him, not lock him up.”

  He pushed down on the accelerator. “Let’s go see if she’s still trying to help him.” Help him escape prison.

  Maybe help him kill.

  Anthony was growing more and more convinced Walker wasn’t acting alone. Not this time.

  Easy Street was far from the hustle and bustle of Baton Rouge. The bar was near the swamp, nestled on a rough patch of land. Despite its off-the-beaten-path location, the small club boasted a packed parking lot, one full of trucks, motorcycles, and a few tricked-out cars. Music blared from inside the club, seeming to reverberate from the slanting roof that covered the place.

  Anthony was beside Lauren, his hand light on her arm. He kept getting too close to her. Touching her far too often. His touch made her nervous, and with Walker out there, she was already nervous enough.

  They edged toward the entrance. The bouncer gave them a bored look and waved them inside.

  Only Anthony didn’t go inside. Instead, he pulled out a prison photo of Walker and held it in front of the bouncer. “You seen him?”

  Another bored glance. “No.”

  “Look at the photo.” Anthony’s voice snapped with command. “Have you seen this guy?”

  The bouncer stood. Maybe that move was meant to intimidate, but since Anthony was an inch taller, it didn’t exactly work. “You a cop?” the guy demanded.

  “Marshal.” Anthony kept holding the picture. “And this man enjoys slicing apart women.”

  The bouncer’s gaze snapped back to the photo. This time, he looked. Under the flickering fluorescent light, he seemed to pale. “Nah, I ain’t seen that freak here.”

  Anthony tucked the photo back into his pocket and pulled out a small, white card. “If you see him, you call me.”

  The card disappeared in the bouncer’s fist.

  Then they were inside. The music was even louder and the alcohol was flowing freely. The scent of stale beer and sweat filled the air. Bodies were smashed together in the dark spaces—and Lauren noticed that there were plenty of dark spaces.

  When she’d come to Easy Street before, it had been during the daytime. She’d interviewed the staff, talked with Stacy Crawford—all when the bright lights were on.

  Now, the place seemed so different. With the dark bayou waiting just beyond the small windows, the club held an air of menace.

  “How many times did you talk to Stacy Crawford?” Anthony asked.

  “Too many to count.”

  “Then when we see her, you get things started. Maybe she’ll respond better to you.”

  Highly doubtful, but she’d sure give it a try. Since Stacy had actually threatened to kill Lauren at one point, she didn’t particularly think they were headed for bosom-buddy territory.

  You bitch! You ruined my life!

  It hadn’t been the first time Lauren had been called a bitch. Not the last either. Not with her job.

  Her gaze scanned the crowd and lit on the familiar figure of Stacy Crawford. Stacy’s hair color had changed since Lauren had last seen her. Instead of the blue black, Stacy’s hair was now an almost white blonde and she seemed thinner, paler.

  Lauren pushed her way through the crowd. The waitress was leaning over the bar, slapping her hand on the counter as she tried to get the bartender’s attention.

  “Stacy?”

  Without looking back, Stacy said, “Be with ya in a minute—”

  “It’s Lauren Chandler.” She had to raise her voice to be heard over the blare of music. “I’m the—”

  Stacy whirled toward her. “I know who the hell you are.”

  Stacy’s hair color had changed, but the hate in her brown eyes hadn’t.

  Lauren cleared her throat. “Is there some place we can go to talk?”

  “I don’t have a damn thing to say to you!” Stacy tried to shove past her.

  Lauren caught her arm, her grip light. Anthony was silent, watching. “Walker escaped. He’s in the area.” Killing. She didn’t say that. Stacy had never believed Walker was a killer.
br />   A tremble ran over Stacy, but she locked her jaw and gritted, “I know. The damn cops called me and I told them just what I’m telling you—fuck off.” Then she yanked her arm away and stormed toward a door marked STAFF.

  Lauren stared after her. That had pretty much gone as expected.

  “So much for you getting witnesses to cooperate,” Anthony murmured.

  He had not just said that. Lauren knew her eyes had just narrowed to slits. “Who said I was done?” She wasn’t some piece of fluff who couldn’t get a job done, even though this was way past just being a job.

  This was about Karen. About a friend who hadn’t deserved to die in agony.

  So much blood…

  Lauren slammed the door on the image and took off after Stacy. The doorknob twisted easily beneath her hand. Anthony was right behind her, shadowing her steps.

  Stacy was on her knees, crying, her arms wrapped around her stomach.

  As Lauren approached, Stacy’s head whipped up. Her stare locked on Lauren. “Get out of here!”

  Lauren didn’t move. She stood in the doorway, the light coming in behind her and Anthony, and she hurt for the woman.

  Stacy might have shouted her support for Walker years ago, but this woman, broken on the floor, looked terrified.

  Stacy swiped her hands over her cheeks and lurched to her feet. “This room is for staff only. You can’t—”

  “You know he killed them all.” Lauren’s words were soft.

  Stacy’s shoulders slumped.

  “When did you start believing it?” Lauren asked. Stacy had been so solidly behind Walker during the trial. Lauren actually thought that Stacy was one of the main reasons he hadn’t gotten the death penalty. She’d kept telling the jury what a good man he was.

  He’s so good to me. He’s never hurt me, never.

  A tear leaked from Stacy’s eye. “I knew when I found the necklace.”

  Lauren kept her expression blank. “What necklace?”

  “The one with the twined hearts.” Stacy’s smile was broken. “The one I saw Ginger Thomas wearing in that damn picture that was always on the news.”