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

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 f**king 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.

“Your job’s done,” Lauren said softy as her eyes found his. “Walker’s gone. No more fugitive apprehension needed.” Her gaze was carefully shielded, showing no signs of emotion.

Anthony could already feel the walls coming up between them. He could damn near see them. Not happening this time. “I told you before, this isn’t over.” He couldn’t keep his hands off her and didn’t want to try. He closed the space between them once more, his fingers curled over her shoulders, and he pulled her against him. They had a few precious moments alone, without any threat from a crazed killer. “The case may be over for me, but you and I aren’t done.”

He pressed his mouth to hers.

As soon as his lips touched hers, a wildfire of lust seemed to explode between them.

The heat was always there for him, simmering just beneath the surface. No woman had ever made him want the way she did. Her body slid closer to his. Her lips parted, and her tongue thrust against his.

He’d seen too much death in his days and nights as a marshal. When he was with Lauren, she made him think of life. Passion. Hope. Every damn thing he’d ever wanted.

Right then, what he wanted most was her. His c**k stretched, thrusting toward her. In his mind, she was already naked. They were on the big desk. He was in her.

His heart was a drumbeat pounding in his ears. Her scent seduced him, her body tempted him, and her tongue, her lips—they made him so hard.

The kiss stopped being gentle. It became rougher. Wilder. Her taste was all he knew. All he craved.

But someone was f**king knocking at the door again.

Growling, he pulled away from her and spun to face the door.

“Don’t,” she whispered.

He glanced back at her. Lauren’s cheeks were flushed, her eyes shining, her lips red and full from the press of his own.

“It’s my assistant again, trying to get me out so I can talk to the press.”

He sucked in a deep breath. Tried to calm the fury within him.

“The briefing won’t take long, then I’ll be done here for the day.” She slid her tongue over her lower lip, as if still tasting him, and his back teeth ground together as his c**k ached for her. “Will you still be here then?”

Still be here? “We’ve covered this.” He said it slowly. Deliberately. “We aren’t done.”

He didn’t know that they ever would be.

Lauren gave a small nod. “I was told I could go back to my house today.” Her fingers brushed over the edge of her desk. “But I can’t do it. I can’t stay there. I don’t know that I’ll ever be able to go back, knowing what happened to Karen there.”

“You can stay with me.” As if he’d want her anywhere else.

“In the hotel?”

Tonight, he’d do something different. He’d gotten a call the new location was finally ready. With Walker dead, it would be the perfect time for the move. “Trust me.”

She smoothed back her hair. Straightened her clothes. “I always have, Tony.”

He was surprised by the truth he heard in her voice.

Lauren headed for the door. Sure enough, Bridgette’s nervous face was waiting when the door opened. Jim was there, too, with a few uniforms scattered behind him.

Time for the big press briefing. Time to say the Bayou Butcher would never kill again.

He was too busy already roasting in hell.

“Jon Walker, the man once dubbed the Bayou Butcher by the press in Baton Rouge, was killed today.” Lauren’s words were flat and cold as she stared from the television set.

He watched her, rage twisting through him. This wasn’t the way things should have ended for Jon.

This wasn’t the way things would end for him.

“Walker was tracked by a task force consisting of local Baton Rouge PD, U.S. marshals, and FBI agents. Working together, this team hunted Walker, and a few hours ago, U.S. Marshal Anthony Ross fatally shot Walker.”

The TV flashed a rotating headline beneath Lauren’s somber picture: Bayou Butcher Killed by U.S. Marshal.

“My sympathies go out to all of the families who lost loved ones as a result of Walker’s actions…”

Fuck them. Fuck her. She was standing up there, all but gloating, and the marshal was right behind her. He was always right behind her. From the instant that bastard had come into town, he’d been sniffing at her.

She’d fallen right back into the guy’s bed. He knew because he’d been watching them very closely.

She was still talking about the families. About the pain they’d felt. About how it was time for healing.

Blah. Fucking blah.

He glared at her. It felt as if someone had shoved a knife into his chest and cut out his heart. Something was gone, missing, and he didn’t know what the hell to do.

Jon had been with him for so long. Someone who understood the darkness. Someone who knew what it was like to want the blood and the screams.

Jon had been there for the first kill. They’d stalked their prey together. Planned every moment. Every single detail. Getting caught hadn’t been an option.

His Jenny had been so perfect. His first.