Cynthia Eden: Fear For Me

Fear of the dark.

Fear of the monster who waited in the dark.

Jon Walker had made children—and even adults—fear the boogeyman once more. Because he truly was that monster.

“I tracked him before,” Anthony said quietly. No emotion entered his voice or his gaze. “And I can do it again.”

Without you.

Unspoken, but the words were still there, hanging between them.

She wouldn’t back down. “My office will give you any support you need. We will work together on this.” She knew the reporters were probably already swarming outside. Paul had been right on that score—a story about her, about the Bayou Butcher—hell, yes, they were talking a front-page spread.

Anthony bent toward her. His scent—rich, masculine—surrounded her. His mouth was close to her ear when he whispered. “Haven’t you already come close enough to death?”

She turned her head. Met his stare. “Haven’t you?” Because she knew the risks he took, day in and day out.

Even when he’d left her, she’d followed his career. Anthony’s cases were the darkest she’d ever encountered. Brutal killers. Sadistic criminals.

Nightmares.

“Not close enough,” he told her softly. “Not yet.” His green gaze heated as it swept over her. “ I missed you. ”

Then he was gone. Hurrying away with the other two men as they went out on the hunt. When the station’s doors opened, she heard the shouts from the reporters.

Yes, they were there.

Her hands had clenched into fists. She glanced around the room, wondering what the detectives and cops saw when they looked at her. Lauren sure hoped she didn’t look as out of control as she felt.

Because she felt like she was breaking apart on the inside.

I missed you.

But he’d sure walked away easily enough. Then, and now.

Anthony paused as the reporters swarmed around him. When a body was found right inside a DA’s house, word sure spread like wildfire.

Especially when the Bayou Butcher was on the loose.

“No comment,” Anthony snapped as he made his way through the crowd. When necessary, he knew how to use reporters to his advantage.

However, he wasn’t interested in using them at that moment. He wanted to get to Lauren’s house. To search the area himself. Every moment that passed allowed Walker to get farther away.

He went straight for Lauren.

Anthony slid into the SUV that waited on the corner. Three seconds later, he was rushing away from the scene.

When he arrived at Lauren’s house, he wasn’t surprised to see more reporters. They were standing behind the yellow line of police tape—barely behind it. Vultures, closing in.

“Go talk to the trackers,” Anthony ordered Jim O’Keith when the other marshal climbed from the second SUV and came to his side. Jim was new to his division, having transferred up just a few months back. This was the guy’s first big fugitive case, and Anthony could see the nervous tension in the man’s body.

But they didn’t have time for fear.

Matt Meadows followed behind Jim. Matt had far more seniority, and a real gift with tech. Matt didn’t talk much, but the man was one of the best guys Anthony had ever seen in the field. His ancestry was a mix of Jamaican and Cherokee Indian, and Matt had told him once that his parents had wanted him to be comfortable in any world he faced. From what Anthony had seen, Matt could more than handle himself, any place, any time.

Carefully, Anthony made his way past the police tape. He flashed his ID so he could gain access to the house. He’d be taking charge of this case—and this scene until someone with more authority came along and damn well had to kick his ass out.

He would make sure the Butcher went back to jail. And when he did, Walker would not be escaping again.

Cops were milling around. More detectives. The homicide captain was there, too. Anthony recognized him at once—he’d worked with Reginald Powers when they’d originally apprehended Jon Walker years before.

Reginald inclined his head as he came toward Anthony. “Been a long time.”

They shook hands. More gray lined Reginald’s hair than the last time Anthony had seen him, and the guy’s dark eyes looked tired.

Anthony wondered if he looked as grim. After the Valentine Killer case, there had been days when he hadn’t even wanted to look in the mirror. That SOB almost took me out. But he shoved those memories aside. “You knew I’d be the one they sent to track him.”

Reginald pulled his hand back. “You are the best, right?”

No, he was just one of the marshals who faced death too damn much.

“Come on. I’ll show you where they found the body.”

Anthony didn’t tell Reginald that he already knew exactly how to get to Lauren’s bedroom. Not many people in that town had known about their relationship. Lauren had been too good at keeping secrets.

Reginald led Anthony down a tight hallway. The house smelled of Lauren. Lilacs. He hadn’t even known what lilacs were, not until her. After her, he’d never been able to forget the scent.

They rounded a corner, and then they were heading into Lauren’s bedroom. The sheets had been stripped from the bed, and Anthony could easily see the bloodstained mattress.

“The ME estimates that our victim died at least an hour before she was found,” Reginald told him.

An hour.

“Rigor mortis had already set in, but the uniform on scene…” Another rough sigh. “Hell, it was the kid’s first body. He still tried to save her.”

Hard to save the dead.

“Lauren heard a voice,” Anthony said. “When she first came into the house, she heard someone call her name.” His gaze scanned the tidy room—tidy, except for the blood. The scent of the blood smothered the lilacs.

“You think she heard the killer?”

He did.

The killer had been there. Waiting.

Had he wanted Lauren to rush in? To find the body? If so, he would have wanted the perfect place to watch her discovery. “Have your crime scene techs been over the whole room?” He could see one tech bent down on the other side of the bed.

“They’re still working. I want them to be as thorough as they can be.”

On this case, there wouldn’t be room for slipups.

Anthony pulled on a pair of latex gloves. He headed toward the closet. It was located at the foot of the bed. The door had thin, decorative slits running its length. Slits that would allow someone inside to easily see out to the bed.

He opened the door.

“We searched there,” Reginald said from behind him as he heaved a sigh. “Didn’t find anything.”

Nothing looked disturbed inside. Lauren’s clothes hung neatly on their hangers. Her shoes were all neatly on the shelves. The scent of lilacs was stronger in the small space.

Reginald came closer to Anthony. “Someone threw the breaker at her house, that’s why she didn’t have power when she came in. The techs swept for prints there, but it had been wiped clean.”

Anthony bent, staring down at the carpet. No shoe impressions. No debris.

He headed into the closet.

Shut the door.

Anthony stared through those slits—and had a perfect view of the blood-soaked bed. His hands rose, hovering above the door.

He reached higher. Higher. The closet would have been the choice spot for anyone who wanted to hide, but if the killer had been in the dark, he would have wanted something close by so he could turn on a light and see his victims—both of them.

His fingers skimmed along the edge of the door’s top. His hand slid over the wood, searching.

He wondered if there was a small flashlight somewhere. Instead, his gloved fingers touched the handle of something. A knife. He pulled the weapon down and stepped from the closet.