Fear For Me: A Novel of the Bayou Butcher(11)

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.

Reginald let out a low whistle.

Anthony studied the blade. No blood. The knife appeared to have been wiped clean, but the techs would be able to tell for sure.

“Sonofabitch,” Reginald muttered.

Yes, Walker was. Anthony raised a brow as he looked at the captain. “I guess your guys missed something.” A pretty big f*cking something. On a case like this, there wasn’t any room for error. No mistakes.

Mistakes meant death.





CHAPTER TWO

“District Attorney Chandler!” a reporter shouted as Lauren paused on the steps of the courthouse. “Is it true the Bayou Butcher is hunting in the city once more?”

Anthony saw Lauren pull in a slow breath, then she pushed back her shoulders. He’d seen her do that move dozens of times in court. Bracing herself. Getting ready for the attack.

She turned slowly to face the crowd, and the sunlight glinted off her blonde hair. She’d changed clothes, put on a sleek skirt and blouse that made her look both professional and far too sexy for his weak self-control.

She’d always been too tempting for him.

“Jon Walker escaped from Angola prison, and the U.S. Marshals Service is currently conducting a manhunt for him.” Her eyes, the brightest shade of blue Anthony had ever seen, glanced his way. “I have every confidence that the marshals will have Walker back within custody in a very short time.” She gave a nod, and turned away.

“Will they have him back in custody before or after he kills again?” the same reporter fired out. A redhead, one with her hair in a twist, and one who was already trying to follow Lauren up those steps. “The Butcher did kill the woman who was found in your house last night, correct?”

Lauren glanced back. Even across the space that separated them, Anthony could feel the chill of her stare. “Sharon, you should know better. I cannot comment on an ongoing murder investigation.”

Then Lauren hurried up the steps, refusing to give any more comments. Anthony pushed through the crowd and followed her easily. They both needed to see the judge, and if this trip gave him the chance to have a few minutes alone with Lauren, he’d take those minutes.

His ID let him sweep right past security. The reporters were held back, but their questions followed him.

Lauren’s heels clicked across the marble as she closed in on the elevator. She slipped inside, turned around, and saw him. He caught the slight flare of surprise as her eyes widened. The doors began to close. He pushed his hand through the doors, triggering the sensor. Then he was inside with her. His gaze held hers.

“Hold the elevator!” a voice shouted.

Anthony glanced over his shoulder. “Get the next one,” he ordered, his voice a low rumble as he shoved against the button to send the doors closing.

The guy—older, balding—glared at him but wisely stepped back.

The elevator doors closed. Anthony glanced to the left at the control panel. She’d pushed the button for the fifth floor. Not a lot of time to talk, so…

He pulled the emergency stop knob.

“What the hell?” Lauren immediately demanded as she surged forward. “Why did you do that?”

He turned toward her. Damn. Until he’d walked into the station and seen her, he’d almost forgotten just how beautiful she was in person. Photographs had never done her justice.

Up close, he could see all the different shades of gold and blonde in her hair. Natural—he knew that fact intimately. Her face was heart shaped, her cheeks high, and her lips so lush and full. And—

“Stop looking at me that way,” she told him, backing up a step. Her forward march had sure stopped quickly enough. “And get this elevator moving.”

In due time. He cocked his head and continued to study her. Five years. He’d thought about her far too often during that time. “Back at the station, you were the one saying that we needed to talk.”

“Yes, well, I’ve got a judge waiting on me now. A very nervous judge who I’m going to have to calm down.” Her gaze flickered over him. “You didn’t find the killer’s trail at my house, did you?”

“We knew the rain would wipe away the tracks.” Mother Nature could be a real bitch when she wanted to be. “Every cop in this city is on full alert,” Anthony said. “I’ve got my men doing sweeps, and as soon as I talk to Judge Hamilton—” He broke off and gave a grim smile at the surprised expression on her face. “Yeah, I’m here to see him, too.”