by Cynthia Eden
Ginger Thomas. The mom of two Walker had killed.
“It even had her initials on the back.”
They’d never found one of Ginger’s trophies at Walker’s cabin. The crime scene teams had looked and looked. “Where did you find it?” Why didn’t you turn it in?
Her lips trembled. “In the bottom of my jewelry box. I didn’t see it before. I was looking to pawn some old gold, and—” She broke off, shaking her head. “It was there.”
Walker had shouted in court that the cops had the wrong man. He’d said he went into the Peterson house because he’d heard sixteen-year-old Kathy Johnson screaming when he’d been out jogging. He’d tried to help her and become covered in her blood.
When the Petersons came inside, they’d seen him crouched over Kathy, covered in her blood, because he’d been trying to save her.
It wasn’t me! Walker’s story, over and over again.
“It was him,” Stacy whispered.
Anthony pushed closer to Lauren. “Where’s the necklace now?”
Stacy swallowed. “At the bottom of the bayou. I didn’t want that damn thing anywhere near me.”
That was called destroying evidence. “You should have turned it in,” Lauren said, her voice hardening. “We could have—”
“Jon was already locked up! What good would it have done?” She swiped away another tear. “I just wanted it over.”
“It’s not over,” Anthony said, his voice rumbling. “Walker is out. He’s hunting.”
Stacy’s face seemed to become even paler. “I never did anything to him.”
“Neither did his other victims,” Lauren said. “He’s a sociopath. He kills because he wants to.”
“I loved him. You’re the one who sent him to jail.” Her voice had risen.
Lauren kept her own voice calm. “Have you seen him, Stacy? Has he tried to contact you?”
More of the frantic head shaking.
“Are you sure?” Lauren pressed softly. “You don’t have to be afraid.” She could all but feel the woman’s fear filling the small room.
“The marshals can offer you protection,” Anthony added.
“Marshals?” Stacy’s voice cracked. “Is that what you are? A marshal?”
He nodded. “I can keep you under guard. I can—”
“Forget it. I don’t need protection.” Her hands fisted. “I’m leaving town. I got me a new boyfriend, and we’re leaving after my shift tonight. There won’t be no more people staring down their noses at me. Whispering. I’m leaving.”
Lauren didn’t blame her. She was surprised Stacy had stayed around so long. “Why haven’t you left before?”
“My boyfriend didn’t want to leave. He had a job he was doin’, but it’s over, and we can go now.” Stacy pushed back her hair. “After my shift, I’m free.”
Stacy tried to slide around Lauren. Lauren moved a few inches to block her path. “He killed two people to escape, and he’s already killed a woman since getting out.”
Stacy blanched.
“He stabbed her, sliced her, and left her body broken.” I’m so sorry, Karen. Nausea rolled in Lauren’s stomach. “So think about this. Please think about this. Has he called you? Sent you any notes? Have you seen him—maybe even seen someone who looked like him?” He would have tried to disguise himself after he got out of prison.
“No.” Stacy straightened her thin shoulders. “Now I got to get back to work. I want you both to stay away from me.” She hurried away from them.
The door slammed behind her.
Lauren slowly turned to face Anthony. “Do you think she’s lying?”
“I think she’s scared out of her mind.”
So did Lauren. “She figured he’d never get out.” She pushed back her hair. “Now she’s running scared, and she’s about to run fast and hard.” I don’t blame you, Stacy. I’d want to run, too.
A very big part of her did want to run, but she couldn’t.
“I’ll do a sweep around the bar, talk to the bartenders, the waitresses,” Anthony said as his gaze left her. “If Walker comes within a hundred feet of this place, I want to know.”
Right. Sounded like a good plan.
She stepped forward and found that Anthony’s assessing green gaze had come back to her. “You’re good at your mask,” he said.
She was very much afraid her mask was about to break.
“Good at playing it cool so no one sees what you really feel.”
It had taken years to develop that mask, but when there was no choice, she’d learned to adapt. Clearing her throat, she managed, “I’ll have to tell the cops about the necklace.” Walker had always liked to take jewelry from his victims. Necklaces seemed to be his first choice, but if the vic wasn’t wearing a necklace, then he took earrings or rings. Something small. Easy to carry. “We’ll see if we can get a team to search for it—”
“Like right now,” he cut through her words, “you’re still wearing the mask. I can’t tell if you’re angry or scared or if you don’t fucking feel a thing.”
She didn’t so much as blink. “I guess you don’t know me well.” But then, hadn’t that always been their problem? He saw her surface, nothing more. The way most people did.
The music rose again, and they swept back into the club. Lauren searched the crowd, and saw no sign of Walker. No sign at all. When they questioned the patrons, no one in Easy Street remembered seeing him.
As she walked back out into the night, a small shiver slid over Lauren’s skin. Anthony was wrong. She felt—plenty. Right then, she was feeling very afraid. She couldn’t shake the feeling that the killer was close, too close, just playing with them as he waited for his vengeance, ready to strike at any moment.
The marshal and the DA left the club. They skulked around, did their talking and questioning bit, and then they finally left. He noted the vehicle they were using because he’d be seeing it again.
He had plans. So many plans.
While he’d sat in prison, he’d had nothing but time on his hands. Plenty of time to figure out just what he’d do when he got out.
He hung back, waiting in the shadows. And when midnight finally came, he rode his motorcycle closer to Easy Street. Not too close. He figured the marshal and his cop friends had probably ordered some undercover patrols in the place. He wasn’t stupid.
Stacy was.
She burst from the back of the club, rushing fast, nearly falling in her high heels. Then she was there with him, jumping on the motorcycle. His helmet hid his face from her, but Stacy—she’d always trusted him.
Stupid.
Her arms locked around him. “Let’s get out of here!”
He revved the bike. Didn’t take her toward the main road. He took her back along the twisting trails near the bayou. The trails that only a few knew.
The marshal didn’t know about them.
Neither did the DA.
“Where are we going?” Stacy’s voice shouted in his ear. He hated her voice. It grated every time she spoke. Had her drawl always been so thick? “I thought we were hittin’ the interstate.”
He kept driving. They weren’t far enough away, not yet.
Her hold tightened. “Ben? Ben, stop the bike!”
He didn’t stop.
Because he wasn’t fucking Ben.
CHAPTER FOUR
Anthony took Lauren back to his hotel. Her brows climbed as she glanced at the tall, well-lit building, then she looked back at him. “You’re not staying with the cop,” he said. Just so they were clear. He wanted to be very clear on that point.
“I planned to get a room of my own after I get my clothes and everything else I need.” Her voice was so cool. How did she do it? How did she always stay in such perfect control?
He jumped from the vehicle. Hurried around to her side. The valet took the keys and Anthony took her arm. “Your bags are waiting upstairs.” He’d made sure everything would be ready for her.
And that her room would connect to his.<
br />
Surprisingly, she didn’t argue as he led her through the hotel and into the elevator. He did notice that her gaze cut to the stop button on the elevator’s control panel.
His lips curved. “Don’t worry,” he told her, “we’ll head straight up.”
Her gaze came back to him. The walls of the elevator were mirrored, reflecting her image at every turn. She should have looked exhausted.
She didn’t.
“From where I stand, you’re the priority,” he told her, and it was the truth. The killer had been in her house. He’d had a picture of Lauren in his cell.
She was the one he wanted—the one Anthony would make sure Walker didn’t get. He’d stay close to Lauren, and when Walker came, the killer would have to face him.
I will take you down.
“The judge has protection,” Anthony said as the elevator rose. “And so do you.”
The elevator dinged and its doors opened. He’d actually cleared this floor for his men, and for the rest of the task force that would be arriving soon. With word of Walker’s escape, the FBI had immediately jumped in the hunt, too. They were sending two agents to join the marshals, agents who’d probably enter a pissing match with the local cops—it was the usual way of things.
He pulled out a key card and opened Lauren’s room. “You’ll be safe here.” They were on the top floor, the best for security.
She glanced around the room. Her suitcase waited at the foot of the bed. “Looks like you’ve thought of everything.” Her head tilted. “Just when did you make these plans? I don’t remember you calling anyone from the courthouse.”
When the jerk cop had offered her a room at his place.
“I made the arrangements while you were talking to some of the waitresses at Easy Street.” Covering his bases was the only smart plan.
She gave a faint nod.
He locked the main door. Made sure to put the extra bolts in place.
“What are you doing?” Lauren demanded. Her voice wasn’t so calm right then. It had definitely edged up an octave or two.
There was only one bed in the room. Big, king-size. In his fantasies, he joined her on that bed. Instead, Anthony headed for the connecting door.
The door was unlocked, linking his room to hers—again, per his instructions. “My key opens your room, and my own.”
Lauren didn’t speak. Huh. That was new. The woman always had plenty to say.
So he did the talking. “If you need me, I’ll be just a few feet away.”
She still wasn’t speaking. The woman who could tear into any defense attorney in the country at a moment’s notice wasn’t responding. He hesitated on the threshold of his room. He didn’t want to leave her.
He wanted to turn back, take her into his arms, and pretend the last five years hadn’t happened.
But he’d been the one to walk away back then. To turn away from Lauren. He glanced back at her.
For an instant, he could have sworn he saw pain in her eyes, but then her mask was back, as strong as ever.
Anger pulsed through him and he swung back to fully face her. “Why do you always do that?”
Her shoulders stiffened. “Marshal, you don’t know me well enough to say what I always—”
“Cut the marshal bullshit.” His control was too frayed. She wasn’t going to deny what they’d been to each other. “I know you. I know you drink chocolate milk for breakfast, your favorite color’s blue, and you never go to see a movie that you think might have a sad ending without Googling the damn thing first.” His breath hissed out from between his clenched teeth. “When you come, your eyes get even brighter and you make a little moan in the back of your throat.”
“Anthony—”
That was an improvement. At least he wasn’t Marshal. But it still wasn’t enough. “I know you,” he bit out as his eyes swept over her. “As well as anyone can know you. As well as you let anyone know you.”
She stepped back. “You’re not supposed to do that.” Her voice was a whisper. “You’re not supposed to make this personal.”
It was personal. Always had been. He crossed the room and curled his fingers around her shoulders. He pulled her closer, but it wasn’t enough. He wanted her flush against him. Wanted her under him. Wanted in her. Hold back. Don’t do it. “What else would it be for us?”
She lifted her chin, exposing the pale column of her throat. He knew her, all right. Knew she’d always liked it when he kissed her throat. The sensitive spot right over her racing pulse.
“There isn’t an us anymore. There hasn’t been. Not since you walked away.”
She’d been an ever-growing obsession for him. He’d needed her, day and fucking night, and she—she’d been so controlled. Holding all of her emotions in check.
Except when they were in bed. That was the only time she let go.
“I asked you to stay, but you didn’t.”
His eyes narrowed. There was anger in her voice. “You didn’t give me a reason to stay.”
“I wasn’t reason enough?” Then she shook her head and jerked against his hold. “Let me go, Tony.”
Tony. She’d called him that, years ago. Her voice whispering with desire.
“You were right about us,” she said, “it was just sex. The sex ended. We both moved on.”
He’d left town, but he’d never been able to move on. Not really. Every place he’d gone, she’d been with him. In his memories. Fucking always. When he’d seen that picture in Walker’s cell…
I carry a picture of her, too. Does it make me as fucking twisted and obsessed as Walker?
Judging by his past, yeah, it did.
“Who I’m with shouldn’t matter to you,” Lauren said.
Maybe if he kept telling himself that another hundred times or so… “I think about you.” A confession that was torn from him. “Too damn much.” He turned away, and this time, he did cross the threshold that would take him to his cold, empty room. “But that was always one of our problems.”
She didn’t call out to stop him. He shut the door behind him. Held himself still.
Lauren didn’t know about his family. Few people did. Those secrets were buried, just like his parents were.
The father who’d been too obsessed. The mother who’d just wanted to get away.
Death had been his mother’s only escape.
I won’t ever be like him.
Yet when he was near Lauren, those needs—too strong—rose within him.
From the other side of the door, he heard the floor creaking. Lauren, coming toward him. Coming after him?
His heart began to beat faster. He turned and flattened his palm on the door.
Then he heard the lock click.
His smile was grim. He should have damn well seen that one coming.
The motorcycle braked in the woods. The only light was from the moon and stars, glittering faintly in the sky.
Stacy jumped from the bike. Scurried back. “Ben, this isn’t funny.”
He climbed from the bike. Took off his helmet. Tossed it to the ground as he faced her. “No, it isn’t.”
Her breath rushed out. Her eyes widened. She stumbled back. Her eyes were wide as she stared up at him. “Jon?” Then she shook her head. “Y-you shouldn’t be here. The cops—a marshal—was just looking for you!” Her voice trembled with fear.
She was right to be afraid.
Then her gaze dropped to the motorcycle. “That’s Ben’s bike.”
It was. The streak of yellow-and-gold fire rushing down the side was rather distinctive. The fire was set to reflect in the darkness—a rather interesting touch, he had to admit.
“Where’s Ben?”
The insects had quieted down. Her stark whisper carried so easily in the night.
“Ben let me borrow his bike,” he said, unable to stop the smile that slid across his face. This was gonna be so much fun. “But don’t worry about him right now. This is about us, just us.”
Terror was stamped on her fac
e. She’d never looked at him that way before. Stacy had been the one to get dragged from the courtroom as she shouted his innocence. She’d been the one to tell him, again and again, that the truth would come out eventually.
The truth had come out. She’d been too blind to see it.
“What changed?” he asked, actually curious. It wouldn’t alter his plans, nothing would change them, but he did want to know when she’d lost her faith in him.
Her hand rose to her neck. Fumbled with the small gold chain there. “I found it.”
“Found what?”
“That woman’s necklace. Ginger Thomas! You put her necklace in my jewelry box!” She screamed the last at him. There was no one around to hear her screams, but he wouldn’t let her scream for long.
He shook his head. “I didn’t put the necklace in your box.”
She shook her head. “You did! You killed those women and you—”
“I didn’t put the necklace in your box,” he said once more as he closed in on her. Stacy didn’t even try to run. Maybe it was shock. Maybe it was fear. His hands locked around her, and he jerked her up against him. “But just so you know, I did kill those women.”
Her mouth dropped in surprise.
“And I’m going to kill you.”
She tried to scream. No time for that. His knife sliced across her throat.
She stared at him, her eyes desperate and wild, as a faint, keening gurgle came from her throat.
“You shouldn’t have fucked around on me, baby. When I told you that you were mine forever, I meant it.”
He yanked the knife away and watched her knees buckle. She hit the ground even as her hand rose and tried to stop the blood flow.
Nothing was going to stop that. While she couldn’t scream any longer, he bent over her.
He’d known he’d come back for Stacy. To punish her. She’d promised him forever, but she hadn’t even come to visit him in prison. Not once.
The knife sliced over her arm.
Not one single visit…
Another slice.
Tears poured from her. So did blood.
It was her cry that woke him. Soft, but scared, it penetrated the light layer of sleep that surrounded Anthony and his eyes flew open. In the next instant, he was on his feet and running for Lauren’s door.