Fear For Me: A Novel of the Bayou Butcher (For Me 2)

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 f**king 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.