Fear For Me: A Novel of the Bayou Butcher (For Me 2)
Insects chirped around them and her breathing seemed far too loud. She was pretty sure she heard the hiss of a snake just a few feet away.
Then Anthony froze. “Tracks.”
She could see them, too. Not from a car, but the single indention of a tire. A motorcycle?
The tracks cut through the mud and led deeper into the swamp.
Yes, some habits died very, very hard. It looked like Walker had come home again.
How many bodies would he leave in his wake this time?
The dogs were barking as they rushed through the swamp. They’d given the dogs Walker’s scent, taken from prison clothes left at Angola. Anthony kept his gun ready, the image of Sheila Long’s body too fresh in his mind.
Killers like Walker were predictable. They followed patterns—twisted patterns. After Karen’s death, Anthony had suspected that Walker might come back to his cabin. It had been the guy’s trophy shop, and sure enough, the killer had been back.
Karen Royce’s necklace was proof of that.
The dogs began to whine. Hell. Not a good sign. The green water of the bayou waited up ahead.
And the motorcycle tracks ended.
“He didn’t just take the bike into the water,” Jim burst out as he threw his hands in the air. He glared at the dogs’ handler. “Make them get the scent again.”
One of the handlers spat on the ground. “Don’t work like that.” He had on the pressed uniform of the Baton Rouge K-9 unit. “You don’t make ’em. They get what’s there for them to find.” The dogs were sniffing near the water’s edge. “This is where he went.”
Anthony nodded. “A boat.” He could see the indentions on the embankment. The bayou slipped around and branched in at least four different directions. “The SOB had a boat waiting here for him.”
A boat that was big enough to hold a motorcycle.
With every discovery they’d made, it was sure looking like Walker must have help. A man who’d been in prison for this long shouldn’t have so many resources at his fingertips so quickly.
Sure, he could have stolen the motorcycle, but the boat, too? Maybe. Doubtful. Anthony’s gaze landed on Detective Voyt’s. The guy had hauled ass to meet them. “You got any reports of a stolen boat in these parts?”
Eyes grim, Voyt said, “I’ll find out.”
They needed to find out yesterday.
He can’t be doing this alone. But according to the prison’s warden, the guy hadn’t read his mail. He hadn’t gotten any visitors, other than lawyers. How the hell had they coordinated this?
An accomplice…not just an accomplice to escape, but, with Karen’s body growing cold in the morgue, an accomplice to murder, too.
If Walker had stumbled on someone to go along with murder…fuck, are you helping him kill?
Anthony surveyed the water. A gator was drifting lazily about twenty feet away. “Locals have access to this area.” The locals were the ones they needed. “Let’s get some boats and see just where the hell he could have gone.” He’d need aerial maps, ground maps. The swamp gave Walker far too many places to hide.
It also gave him a huge advantage. Walker had buried bodies in the swamp. He’d kept his victims here—alive, for days—while he’d tortured them. And no one had realized what was happening.
Because Walker had known the area too well.
“We need someone as familiar with this area as Walker.” A guide who could help them while they hunted.
While we hunt, Walker’s hunting, too.
Which one of them would find their prey first?
When Walker had been on the loose five years ago, they’d used an agent from Fish and Wildlife to help them search. He’d need to see if the guy was still available.
Anthony glanced back over his shoulder. He didn’t see Lauren. She’d stayed behind with the uniforms. Watched him walk away with a worried gaze.
Get to her.
The instinct was there, and he found himself turning away from the others. Hurrying back toward the cabin. “Find that guide and get me those boats!” Anthony shouted back to the assembled men.
Each step was faster than the last as he rushed back to the cabin. Back to Lauren. Things were raw between them, rough. Their ending—hell, it had been screwed.
Walking away from her had been one of the hardest decisions of his life, but Lauren didn’t know the secrets he carried.
He didn’t want her to know them—or his shame.
He’d stayed away, tried to play it safe. Given her time to move on. To settle down. To have a family.
Only she hadn’t settled down. She was still single—still just as tempting, and he needed her just as desperately as he’d needed her five years ago.
He’d wanted to see her, but he’d never expected to come back and find a killer stalking her.
Lauren was supposed to be safe. Protected. Always.
He jumped around the trees. Cop cars had swarmed on the scene. Uniforms were everywhere as they searched the area.
But he didn’t see the shine of her blonde hair.
Anthony grabbed the nearest uniform. “Where’s the DA?”
The guy blinked, doing a fast impression of an owl. “She got called back to the city. Some judge needed her.”
Some judge… “Which judge?” He pulled out his phone. Hamilton hadn’t called him.
“She didn’t say. Just asked that a patrol car take her back.”
The knot in his gut was getting worse. “Get that patrol car on the radio. I want to know exactly where she’s going.”
Had he really thought he’d be able to turn over her protection to someone else?
He needed her where he could see her. Wanted her close.
That had been the problem for them. He’d wanted her too much.
Until she’d become his obsession.
He knew, better than most, just how dangerous an obsession could be.
He glanced back at the cabin. So much death was there. He could feel the darkness, hanging in the very air around them.
Lauren had asked why Walker hadn’t run for the border. Anthony knew it was because the killer hadn’t escaped in order to be free.
He’d escaped to get his vengeance.
“Sir?”
He turned back at the uniform’s voice.
“She’s headed to meet Judge Hamilton. He’s the one who called her back.” The kid hesitated—and he truly looked like a kid, barely older than twenty-one. The uniform was new for him. “Want me to have her brought back to you?”
He’d wanted her back for years. But he’d stayed away.