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

Now only death waited for her.

“I was about to call you and Voyt,” Greg said, a hesitant note entering his voice. “I found something else.”

Her brows rose.

His gloved fingers pointed to Karen’s throat. To the arching line that sliced across her neck. “There was…something in there.”

“What?” She couldn’t take her eyes off Karen’s neck. Off that wound. Almost like a smile, one that had been carved into her.

“It was a small, folded piece of paper.”

Lauren took an instinctive step back. “That’s not Walker’s MO.” Walker cut. He sliced. But he didn’t leave messages behind.

“Maybe it is now.” Greg walked away from the table and picked up a small, sealed bag from his desk. “He left a message for you.”

Her heart was beating hard enough to shake her whole chest. “What did the note say?” The paper was so small. So tiny. And stained with blood. Karen’s blood. In her throat.

He lifted the clear bag and she could see the careful letters…

“It’s beginning,” Greg read.

Hell. She did not want to deal with this. “He’s not going on a spree in my city.”

Greg looked steadily at her. “Two victims in Baton Rouge killed within forty-eight hours.” He took a deep sigh. “It sounds like that’s exactly what he’s doing.”

Lauren’s eyes fell back on the body bag. On Karen.

“I’ll give you a minute alone with her,” Greg murmured as he backed away.

Lauren didn’t speak. Instead, she stared at her friend and hated that a monster had stolen Karen’s life away.

Greg’s footsteps echoed through the chilled room.

The cold air from the storage area made Lauren’s goose bumps even worse. She swallowed, trying to shove back the lump in her throat. Karen was one of the few people who had gotten past Lauren’s guard. She’d known Lauren’s secrets, and she hadn’t been afraid of them.

“I’m sorry,” Lauren whispered. It was what she needed to say. This shouldn’t have happened. But I will get him.

Her gaze slid down Karen’s body. So many injuries. So much incredible rage.

Her fingers pushed back the bag as she stared at the marks the Butcher had left behind.

Greg’s footsteps returned. “There are defensive wounds there, on both arms.”

She could see them. “Karen always was a fighter.”

“We found Walker’s DNA under her nails. She made sure to leave her mark on him.”

It hadn’t been enough. “Be very, very thorough with your evidence collection. If there’s any more DNA, anything that could belong to someone other than Walker, I want to know.”

She glanced up and found Greg’s dark eyes on her. “When the second body gets in,” he told her, “I’ll check to see if—”

“If he left a note in her throat, too?”

“Yes.”

She was going to have nightmares for the rest of her life. I’m so sorry, Karen. So very sorry.

His stare flickered to the body. “I would’ve headed for Mexico. Run as fast as I could and not looked back. I mean, you can kill folks down there just as easily as up here, right?”

She’d thought that Walker should have gone for the border, too, but not just so he could keep killing. “Dr. Wright, sometimes you scare me,” Lauren said. Blunt. True. He seemed to have a hard time connecting with the emotional side of the victims.

He offered her a smile, even as he bent to rezip the bag. “If I wasn’t a little scary, do you really think I’d ever be able to do this job?”

No.

“The dead fascinate me. They always have.” He paused. “But what’s your excuse?”

The door opened behind him. She caught sight of Anthony.

“Someone has to make sure justice is served,” she told him.

“That someone has to be you?”

Anthony was close enough to overhear them. “Yes.”

“Why?”

The truth was tied to her past. “Someone I loved was taken, a long time ago.”

Anthony wasn’t speaking. Greg kept watching her.

“I tried to get her back,” Lauren whispered as she thought of all her desperate searches, searches that had turned up nothing. “But I never could.”

Greg swallowed. “She was—”

“Killed. Or at least, I think she was.” Lauren knew her smile was grim. “But it was hard to prove without a body.”

His eyes widened.

Anthony’s footsteps had come closer.

“Who was the victim?” Greg asked.

The case had happened long before Greg started working as the coroner. The disappearance had happened years ago, when Lauren was just thirteen. “My sister, Jenny.”

“What?” The shock was Anthony’s. His footsteps headed toward her. His fingers wrapped around her arm. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

He hadn’t exactly stuck around long enough.

She turned her head toward Greg. “Let me know when you finish the autopsy on Stacy Crawford’s body. If you do find another note…” She exhaled, trying to focus back on him. “Call me right away.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Greg murmured as he started to secure the body once more.

Lauren’s gaze dipped back to the black bag. Life could just end like that. In a big, black bag. Zipped up.

Anthony’s hands tightened around her. “Lauren…” A tight, hard edge was in his voice.

She couldn’t handle talking anymore about Jenny, not then. Not in the room made for death. Lauren pulled away from Anthony. Greg would have noted that they’d been too close—hard to miss a grab like that, but at least Greg wasn’t the type to gossip.

And why do I care? At this point—why?

Lauren cleared her throat. “Walker left a note with Karen’s body. It said, ‘It’s beginning.’”

Anthony’s jaw hardened. “No, it’s ending.”

She wanted to believe him. But the dead around her wouldn’t let her give in to that fantasy. It wasn’t ending, and it wouldn’t end, not until Walker was dead.

“He didn’t leave notes before.” It bothered her. The FBI profiler was still out in the swamp, but she wanted to talk to Cadence again.

Walker had never taunted the cops or the media. He’d just killed. Brutally. Again and again.

“He’s been locked up for five years,” Anthony said quietly, but his gaze was guarded. “A lot can change in five years.”