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

He gave a nod.

More cops were pulling in behind the roadblock. Backup that she didn’t think was necessary, not there anyway.

“Marshal, we need to get out to that dirt road.”

That was a whole lot of land out there, and once Walker started cutting on Lauren, he wouldn’t stop.

Not even when she begged him to. Especially then.

The latch snicked.

It snicked. Finally. The screwdriver had slipped in her hand dozens of times, cutting her again and again, but Lauren hadn’t given up. When she heard that snick, she couldn’t remember a more beautiful sound. She shoved against the hood and the trunk popped open. The car was still moving, but Lauren didn’t care. She’d take whatever scrapes came her way if it meant freedom. She jerked upright in the trunk. The car jostled, going too fast, bumping along the rough terrain. Do it. Lauren swallowed back her fear, then leaped.

Her palms hit the ground first, then her knees, her shoulders, her head. The impact stunned her for a moment, but the sudden screech of brakes got her moving again.

Walker must have seen the trunk fly up, or maybe he’d seen her swan dive. Either way, she wasn’t sticking around. She grabbed for her screwdriver a few feet away and surged back to her feet. Then she was running. Running as hard as she could away from the car. Footsteps thundered behind her.

She opened her mouth and screamed, “Help me!”

His footsteps thundered faster. Much faster than her own. The bastard must have spent time doing cardio in prison. He’d come out even stronger than he’d gone in.

She risked a fast glance over her shoulder, and saw Walker closing in. He was a big, hulking shadow in the night. One lunge, and he’d have her.

One lunge…

She twisted her body to face him as he came at her.

He lunged, all right, and when he did, she shoved her screwdriver into his side.

He was the one to cry out then. A bellow of fury and pain.

Yes, bastard, that’s what pain feels like. He’d made sure his victims hurt over the years. Now it was his turn to feel pain.

She left that screwdriver shoved deep in his side. Then she spun and ran as fast as her legs would carry her.

But soon there were footsteps racing behind her.

He should have been down. The attack should have bought her some time.

A hand grabbed her shoulder. He yanked her back. Caged her between him and the heavy trunk of a tree.

“Your aim is shit, DA,” Walker snarled at her as his body shoved against hers. “Fucking shit.”

She tried to yank away from him, tried to kick, but he blocked her attacks.

He laughed.

“You’re not getting away from me.”

His breath was hot as it blew over her face.

“I’ve planned for this moment, dreamed of it, for too long.”

Terror was closing her throat. Choking her. She couldn’t get away from him. His grip was about to shatter her wrists. Anthony wasn’t there, Paul wasn’t there, no one was coming to save her.

I have to save myself. Have to get away.

Have to live.

Was that what his other victims had thought, too? When Walker had them under his knife, had they been desperate to live just a little bit longer?

“You stole my life,” he whispered as his mouth came close to her ear. “Now I’m going to steal yours.”

It was so damn dark that they could hardly see any tracks along the dirt road. It sure didn’t help that the road had split into three sections as it snaked into the woods and headed for the swamp.

Three sections—three ways for Walker to have vanished.

But Walker had been there. Anthony had met up with Wesley Hawthorne, and they’d gotten their lights out and scanned in the darkness. They’d found signs of a vehicle headed this way, a vehicle that had left tire tracks that were consistent with a midsize sedan.

Walker hadn’t returned to the city. He’d taken Lauren and headed for the swamp, the way he seemed to so enjoy when he killed.

Don’t kill her.

“There’s a cabin about two miles up ahead,” Wesley said. The guy wasn’t talking much, and that was a good thing. It was all Anthony could do to control the rage and fear twisting through him.

He’d told Lauren he would keep her safe. Instead, he’d just delivered her to Walker. Fucking delivered her.

“There’s water behind the cabin. The bayou snakes and twists all the way back here.”

Anthony’s hands tightened around the steering wheel. “If our guy has a boat, then that’s how he was able to get from that damn cabin to here.”

He pushed the accelerator down even more. He swung the vehicle around some trees, then slammed on the brakes.

The sedan was abandoned, its trunk up, not ten feet away.

Anthony jumped from his SUV. His vehicle’s headlights lit up the scene as he advanced toward the Oldsmobile. His gun was gripped tightly in his right hand.

If he’d seen Walker right then, Anthony thought he might have shot the bastard on sight.

But Walker wasn’t there. Neither was Lauren.

The car was empty so that meant Walker had left on foot—with Lauren. Both Wesley and Anthony began to search the ground with their flashlights. The dark made it harder to notice any telltale tracks on the ground. Anthony yanked out his phone, calling Matt and ordering that the K-9 unit be brought into the area. They needed the tracking dogs.

To rush off on foot, Walker had to be close.

“Blood!” Wesley called out.

Anthony’s body tensed. His flashlight lit on the same spot Wesley had found. Sure enough, he saw the spray of red in the illumination from his light.

Lauren was hurt.

“The blood goes to the left.” Wesley was already following the faint trail. He had his gun gripped in his left hand. “The cabin is back that way.”

“Then let’s get the hell there, now.” He couldn’t stand the thought of her suffering. I’m coming, baby. I’m coming.

Their feet thudded over the earth as they followed the blood trail toward the cabin.

She’s alive. She’s alive. The words played through Anthony’s head again and again. Lauren had to be alive. For him, there wasn’t any alternative. Because if he burst through that cabin door and she was dead—

He didn’t know what he would do.

She’s alive. She has to be alive…

He’d handcuffed her. The cabin was stocked with duct tape, handcuffs, and knives. Walker had planned out this moment, and now she knew he was going to kill her.

He’d thrust her into a chair, yanked her handcuffed hands behind her, and duct-taped her ankles to the wobbly chair legs. The only light in the old cabin came from a lantern near his feet. His shirt had a dark shadow sweeping over it—his blood, not that he seemed to care he was bleeding.