Fear For Me: A Novel of the Bayou Butcher

by Cynthia Eden

  His lips tightened. Well, tough. She had a job. People who needed her. She wouldn’t let Walker destroy everything she had. “I have to go.”

  “Fine, but then Jim goes, too. So does a patrol.” He was adamant. “I won’t have you unprotected. I can’t do my job if I think you’re unsafe.”

  She nodded. “I’ll take Jim and the patrol.” She wasn’t stupid and she sure didn’t have a death wish.

  His forehead rested against hers. “I can’t get you out of my head.”

  She had more of a problem keeping him out of her heart.

  “No one else has ever been like you.” His confession could have been hers.

  She swallowed and whispered, “Go.”

  He pulled back and studied her with a guarded gaze. “Even when I catch Walker, this isn’t over.”

  The words sounded like a warning.

  He left as Jim eased into the office and gave her a weak smile. “I promise, ma’am,” he said, with a little nod, “you can count on me.”

  She was in a police precinct—the safest place on earth. She wasn’t afraid for herself right now.

  It was Anthony she was worried about.

  Her gaze slid after him.

  Come back to me.

  Walker shoved the knife hilt deep into Hamilton’s chest.

  Blood soaked Pierce Hamilton’s shirt. The life drained from his eyes, and his head hung forward, sagging toward the gaping wound in his chest.

  “One more down.”

  It was becoming something he now had to do. He walked toward the old desk, found a slip of paper, tore it in half, and made the perfect size he needed.

  “What are you doin’?” Jon’s partner asked.

  “Leaving Lauren a message.” With blood still staining his fingers, he scrawled, The blood is on you.

  If Lauren had just died like she should have yesterday, he would have left this rat hole town already. Hamilton would have gotten to keep living. Sure, he’d thought about killing the judge, and he’d sure enjoyed trashing the guy’s office, but Lauren was the one he really wanted.

  Only she’d gotten away. So he’d had to take other prey. Had to slake the thirst for vengeance that grew and grew inside of him.

  He folded the paper and stalked back toward Hamilton. The judge didn’t look so high and mighty anymore. If it took the cops a few days to find him, he’d be rotten. Stinking. Decay and garbage. Exactly the end he deserved.

  He yanked the knife from the judge’s chest. “Open wide,” he muttered and then he sliced the bastard’s throat. His fingers jammed the piece of paper into the bloody opening.

  The floor creaked behind him. His partner came closer. A hard hand landed on Jon’s shoulder and yanked him around. “That’s not how it’s done.” Rage darkened his partner’s eyes.

  “That’s how I do it.” Jon had learned from this man before. Done everything his way. For so many years. Too many.

  He’d even gone to jail, keeping his secret.

  He wasn’t going to be anyone’s little bitch anymore. Prison had taught him one thing—true power went to the strongest. He was the strongest.

  After he’d killed his cell mate, the others in Angola had stayed away from him. Rapists, robbers, murderers—they’d all feared him.

  Strength is power. I have the power now.

  Jon shook his head and offered his partner a small smile. “I do things differently now. I do what I want.” It felt good leaving the damn notes—letting them know he was the one in charge. He’d wanted to leave messages years before taking credit for what they were doing, but his partner—oh, hell, no, he’d been against that. Said messages would be traced.

  Nothing had been traced yet.

  Nothing would.

  They can’t stop me.

  “We fucking tried doing what you wanted before.” Rage snapped in the words. “I let you pick your own prey, and you got caught slicing up the teenager. If you’d listened to me, you never would have—”

  Jon lifted the bloody knife. Put it against the other man’s chest. “I’m rising.”

  “What the fuck does that mean?”

  “I don’t need you to tell me what to do anymore.” Power flushed him. Killing the judge had given him a rush. A rush nearly as good as the one he got when he sliced into his usual prey. “I know how to kill. I’m even better at it than you.”

  His partner’s rage-filled stare dropped to the knife Jon held so tightly. “You think you’re going to kill me?”

  Jon hesitated. That wasn’t part of his plan. His partner was the only one who truly knew him. His only connection.

  His family.

  He lowered the knife. “Of course not.” Jon tried a rough laugh.

  The other man didn’t laugh back. “You shouldn’t have brought the judge to this place. It’s too close to the abduction site. The cops are going to come out here.”

  Let ’em come.

  “They’re going to keep searching until they have you.” A hard shake of his partner’s head. “The marshal won’t just walk away from this case. He’s not giving up.”

  “Because he’s screwing her!”

  “You screwed up in front of her. You mentioned Jenny.”

  Jenny. She’d been so beautiful, covered in blood. A work of fucking art. He’d tried to make Karen look just like her in death. He tried to make all the women look like Jenny. Broken, bleeding dolls, frozen forever in time.

  “You mentioned Jenny, and now they’re gonna want to open her case again.”

  Jenny had been too good of a secret to keep any longer. “Do you still remember where she’s buried?” his partner whispered. “I do. I can find her, anytime I want.”

  Jon had learned so much since Jenny. They both had. Jenny’s death had been messy and beautiful and so fucking good. But Jenny had fought. She’d scratched his partner. “You left a part of yourself with Jenny.” That was part of his new power, too. “I could tell the marshal, I could tell the DA. If they find Jenny, they find you.”

  His partner stared back at him. “We were brothers, you and I.” Brothers born from blood. “I’ve been helping you all along,” he continued. “I’m the one who took Helen Lynch—I made the phone calls to Steve. I convinced him to contact the judge. I’m the one who told him just what the fuck would happen if he didn’t make sure you got out of prison.”

  Convinced him by putting Helen’s life on the line.

  “Don’t act like you didn’t enjoy cutting on her…” Jon said. The guy had kept Helen, played with her.

  “I let you finish her,” his partner shot back.

  He had let him. She’d been a gift. A beautiful, bloody doll for his collection.

  “When Hamilton ignored the letter, I came up with a different plan, didn’t I?” His partner snarled.

  “My plan.” The guy was trying to take credit? “I’m the one who got to the infirmary—”

  “And I’m the one who had the car waiting, just like I said I would. I had the car waiting for you. New clothes. Cash. I’m the one who made sure no one would know about the communication we had—do you even know how hard that was? I did it, for you.”

  His voice vibrated with fury, and Jon hesitated. He didn’t like to make him angry. But something was fucking bothering him. “You put that necklace where Stacy would find it. If you wanted me out, why the hell would you—”

  “The bitch wasn’t respecting you.” It was said with barely contained fury. “She needed to know who she was pissing off—and she needed to know what was going to happen to her.”

  It did happen. I cut her so deep.

  She respected him now.

  “Hell,” his partner blasted, “I’ve been doing everything for you. I even took you to Lauren Chandler’s place, and I let you kill the whore there.”

  He’d done all of that for him. Kept him hidden. Brought him food. But… “Five years—”

  The other man exploded. “You shouldn’t have fuckin’ taken the babysitter! That was stupid! They caught
you red-handed. What the hell was I supposed to do? I got you out!”

  Not soon enough. Too many days and nights had passed. Now he couldn’t stand to be confined. He’d taken to sleeping out in the open because he couldn’t bear to be in the cabins near the swamp. Not anymore. The walls closed in. He couldn’t breathe.

  “I even let you target the ones you wanted for payback, when they weren’t the prey I would have chosen.”

  He only liked to hurt women—the ones like sweet Jenny.

  I even let you…

  His partner’s words rang in his head. The anger erupted. “You don’t let me do anything.” Not anymore. I’m the leader now,” Jon said, straightening to his full height. A height that put him a good two inches shorter than his partner. “We do what I say because if the marshal gets close again, I will tell him all about Jenny. And you.”

  His partner’s face flushed dark red. “They already know about me. Lauren told the cops you were talking to me. They know.”

  Walker backed up a step, the move instinctive.

  No, don’t back down. You’re in charge.

  His partner glanced toward the door. “They’re gonna find this place. I told you, it was too fucking obvious a choice. You need to get the hell out of here before the marshal comes or before the dogs hunt you down. You need to run.”

  “I’m sick of running. I want Lauren,” The scent of blood was clogging his nostrils. Driving him wild.

  He wanted it to be her blood. When Lauren was dead, when he finished the circle that had started with Jenny, his partner would see he was the one in charge. He wasn’t the student. He didn’t need to be taught.

  This was his game.

  His power.

  In the distance, he heard the growl of an engine. Not just one engine. Two.

  “Told you,” the other man said with a sigh. “How many escapes do you think you’ve got in you?”

  “Plenty. Because you have to help me. If you don’t, I’ll send sweet Jenny home at last.”

  A muscle jerked in the man’s jaw. “Go out the back. Run through the woods on the north side. I came in that way. My boat’s still there.”

  Yes.

  He spun, gave one last glance at Hamilton. Already rotting.

  Not so high and mighty.

  Soon, Lauren would be rotting, too.

  Anthony braked his SUV, sending dust and dirt flying around his vehicle. He and Matt weren’t the first on the scene. To the right, he saw the Jeep with the Fish and Wildlife logo on the back, and he knew Wesley had already arrived—Wesley and Paul. The detective stood on the steps of the cabin, his gun held tightly in his hand.

  There was another car at the scene, too. A beat-up sedan was parked near the side of the cabin. He noticed Wesley had parked his vehicle behind the sedan, blocking it in.

  Maybe Wesley and Paul thought it was Walker’s stolen ride. They weren’t about to give the man the chance to escape in it.

  Good move.

  Anthony and Matt exited their SUV quickly. They drew their own weapons as they swept the scene.

  “Wesley?” Anthony asked. He couldn’t see the guy.

  “He went around back to block the exit.” Paul inclined his head toward the front door. “We just got here, freaking seconds before you.”

  No need to wait any longer.

  Anthony gave a nod. At the signal, Paul lifted his foot and kicked in the door.

  The cabin wasn’t small. It wasn’t some shack. Instead it snaked and stretched back. But it didn’t take the men long to find the judge.

  He was in the den, blood soaking him, duct tape still holding him trapped to the chair.

  “Hell,” Paul muttered. “Too damn late.” He rushed toward the judge anyway, checking for a pulse.

  With that much blood, Anthony didn’t expect Paul to find one.

  “No pulse,” Paul said quietly, his voice thick, “but he’s still warm.”

  A door crashed in from the back of the house. Anthony ran toward the sound and saw Wesley coming. He had a gun in his hands.

  “He’s not out back,” Wesley said with a shake of his head

  The body was warm, though, so he was fucking close.

  “The house is clear,” Matt said, hurrying up behind them. “He must have fled before we arrived.”

  Not by car. There was only one road that led to and from the cabin, and they hadn’t passed any other vehicles.

  Paul called for backup, giving the person on the other end the news that the judge had been found.

  “We need to split up and search,” Anthony said. There was a hell of a lot of ground to cover, and not enough time.

  Paul shoved the phone back into his pocket. “They’re ten minutes out.”

  They weren’t waiting ten minutes. They kept their weapons close and headed out the back.

  Twisting trees met them.

  “It’s a fishing cabin, so where’s the water?” Anthony demanded. Water—it was the way Walker liked to escape.

  Wesley pointed. “To the north.”

  Maybe he was trying a different exit strategy this time.

  Good thing there were four of them. Time to split up and cover as much ground as possible.

  The boat wasn’t there.

  Walker staggered to a stop on the rickety dock, the bloody knife still gripped in his fist.

  The boat wasn’t there.

  The dock bobbed lightly as the hot summer wind tossed the waves. Lightning flashed across the sky. The storm was finally rolling in.

  The storm should have helped him. It would have covered his tracks. He would have slipped away again.

  But the fucking boat wasn’t there.

  Snarling, Walker spun around. Shock and fury and fear battled inside of him. Fear—it had been so long since he’d felt fear. He wasn’t supposed to be afraid, not any longer. His partner had told him that, after the first kill.

  We don’t have to be afraid of anything or anyone. They fear us. We’re the power. They’re the prey.

  His feet thudded over the dock as he rushed back for the trees.

  He partner had lied to him. Had sent him running for a boat that wasn’t there. Why? Why would he do that to me?

  They were family.

  Brothers of blood.

  He froze, breath heaving, surrounded by gnarled trees. He’d heard footsteps. Rushing toward him.

  They’re hunting me.

  He was all alone. No partner. No help.

  Just him. In the woods.

  His fingers tightened around the knife.

  He wasn’t going back to jail. He wasn’t finished. The circle wasn’t complete. Lauren wasn’t a beautiful, bloody doll.

  It wasn’t over.

  I have the power. He also had the big-ass knife.

  The swamp seemed too quiet. Far too quiet. Even the insects had stilled. Anthony paused and glanced at Paul. The detective nodded and pointed to the left. The dock. They could both see the edge of the wood.

  Anthony eased forward while Paul branched to the left a bit, still searching the line of trees. Anthony’s gaze surveyed the scene. No sign of a boat. No sign of Walker. But…

  Wait. There was a sign of him. A shoe impression, just a few feet from the dock in the loose dirt. Anthony turned, body pumping with adrenaline, as he followed the impression. One step. Another. Another—

  “Help!”

  His head jerked up. It was Paul’s voice—Paul, who should have been close behind him. Anthony whirled and ran toward the voice.

  He burst through the bushes and saw them. Paul was on the ground. Bleeding.

  Walker—tricky SOB—he’d circled back and come up on Paul from behind. Paul was on the ground, blood dripping down his back as he tried to crawl for his weapon. Walker was lifting his knife once more—

  “Freeze!” Anthony yelled.

  Paul kept crawling.

  Walker froze for an instant, his head lifted, and he locked his gaze on Anthony.

  “Drop the weapon!” Anthony yel
led. “Drop it now!”

  Walker shook his head. “I won’t go back.”

  “You don’t have a choice.” Anthony advanced on him. “Now drop it!” Or he would put a bullet in him.

  Walker glanced down at Paul. “I have the power.”

  He lunged for the detective.

  Anthony fired his gun, sending a bullet straight at Walker’s heart. At the same moment, Paul rolled over and came up holding his weapon. He fired. His bullet hit Walker just seconds after Anthony’s.

  Walker’s eyes widened as he stumbled back. The guy’s mouth dropped open and shock swept over his face.

  The knife fell from his fingers. He fell back and hit the ground.

  Anthony raced to him. He kicked the knife farther away. Two bullets were in the bastard’s chest, and Walker was coughing up blood as he struggled to bring in his last breaths.

  Crouching and keeping his gun trained on him, Anthony said, “You aren’t going to be hurting anyone else.”

  Walker tried to turn his head toward Anthony. “W-Weep…”

  “What?” Anthony demanded.

  “W-weepin’…wil…low…tree. T-tell…Lau…”

  A gurgle ended the words. A rough rasp that was the last breath the Bayou Butcher would ever take.

  “Is he dead?” Paul gasped.

  Anthony’s heart slammed into his chest.

  “Yeah.” About fucking time. “The bastard is on his way to hell.” Try escaping that prison. You want hurt Lauren, you piece of shit. You won’t hurt anyone, not anymore. Anthony hurried back to Paul’s side. “Now let’s make sure you stay alive.”

  Matt leaped out of the brush, breath heaving. A few moments later, Wesley appeared. They took in the bloody scene and saw Anthony working to stem the blood from Paul’s wound.

  More backup arrived. Cops. EMTs. Paul was loaded into the back of an ambulance. He was lucky—the knife wound wasn’t lethal.

  A survivor.

  Judge Hamilton hadn’t been so lucky.

  The ambulance’s siren screamed as Paul was driven away. Anthony watched the vehicle vanish, the knot in his gut still tight.

  “You did it,” Matt said as the other marshal came to his side and slapped him on the back. “You caught the Bayou Butcher.”