Shock had seemed to encase Lauren when Cadence spoke to her. A brittle veneer of ice that had looked like it might crack at any moment. Lauren hadn’t just learned about her sister’s fate—she’d faced death, too.
When the shock wore off, Lauren would have a hard fall.
Good thing that it appeared Anthony would be there to catch her.
She pushed her hands into her pockets. “Walker told Lauren he watched her sister die.”
“Twisted f**k.”
“But he didn’t actually say he killed her.” That was the point they all seemed to be missing. She’d have to talk to Lauren again to be sure. Cadence planned to analyze all of the old Bayou Butcher files again. “Are you sure the Butcher was just one killer?”
Paul blinked. “One killer is who we convicted, ma’am.”
She waved that away. “The crimes, the abductions…are you certain only one killer could do all of that?” She wasn’t. She was convinced it had been two men all along. “If he just watched Jennifer Chandler’s death, then that means someone else was there to do the actual killing.”
Paul shook his head. “No, ma’am. You’re wrong on this. The old ME checked over all the Butcher’s victims. Based on their injuries, she said they were all killed by a left-handed man, approximately six foot two, one hundred eighty pounds—Walker.”
“Yes, but—”
“When that poor babysitter was being carved up, the Petersons only saw Walker in their house. Nobody else.”
“Maybe the other killer wasn’t killing them.” Anger beat through her words. She knew killers, and she understood just how deadly some relationships could be. “Maybe it was his turn to watch.”
Two killers. It would sure explain how Walker seemed to be moving so easily between the city and the swamp. Maybe he wasn’t doing the moving. Maybe he was hiding out in the swamp, where he was most comfortable, while someone else hunted in the city.
“Walker’s blood was found on Karen Royce,” Paul said. His lips thinned. “I know the FBI likes to run with their theories, but what we’ve got here is just one sick prick of a killer.”
“I actually hope you’re right about that.” She’d only handled an alpha team once before.
Alpha team.
The term she used for two serial killers—two brutal, incredibly dangerous killers, who just happened to pair up because they recognized the same monster in each other.
In such a team, one man would always be the dominant, the alpha, the one who issued the orders.
The second man—or woman—would be willing to do anything, go to any lengths, to please the alpha.
Separate, they were dangerous. Lethal to society.
Together, they were a walking nightmare.
“I need to talk to Steve Lynch.”
“The bastard should have known he couldn’t deal with Walker.” Anger tightened Paul’s face. “We could’ve helped him. If he’d just come to us…”
The cop wouldn’t have been attacked. Lauren wouldn’t have been taken. As for Helen Lynch? Would she still be alive?
Maybe.
“Walker doesn’t trade,” Paul said with a slow, hard shake of his head. “He just kills.”
It was time for her to talk with Steve. To let him know that the dawn meeting hadn’t gone as he’d hoped. Time to tell him he would never be seeing his Helen again.
She straightened her shoulders.
I hate this part of my job.
The hotel room door had been repaired. Lauren stared at the door, her body bone tired, as Anthony secured her room.
“I thought about moving you to a new location, but with the other agents here, this is the safest place for you right now,” he said. “I’m working on getting another place for you, but I didn’t want you to wait any longer. You need your rest.” He glanced toward the door connecting their rooms. He followed her stare. “Sorry, baby, but that’s not happening tonight.”
He’d called her baby before. She turned her head. His voice deepened when he used the word.
His gaze was on her now. “I’m staying in here with you. The doctor said I need to stay as close as possible.”
He’d had her naked less than thirty minutes before. There wasn’t much that was closer than that.
“You aren’t supposed to sleep yet, so I’m just going to stay here. If you want to talk, then talk to me. Or don’t say a word. Just sit there, and let me watch you so I know you’re safe.”
He sounded…afraid.
She’d never heard quite that note in his voice before. He was the big, bad marshal. Anthony wasn’t supposed to fear anything. “I need to shower.” To wash away the blood that was still on her. To wash away the memories.
Like anything could wash those away.
He gave a small nod, a jerky move of his head. “I can help you. I’ll just—”
“No.” The word was harsher than she’d meant, but she couldn’t stand his hands on her body right then. She was too raw. Too scared. Too needy—too desperate to stop the pain. “I can make it.”
His jaw locked. “Fine. I’ll wait here.” His gaze streaked down her body, then flicked away. “But if you need me, just say the word and I’ll come running.”
Lauren headed for the bathroom door. On the threshold, she paused. “This isn’t your fault.”
A rough laugh. “I was supposed to protect you.”
“I’m the one who wanted to go to the scene. With my job, I go to plenty of dangerous spots.” She looked over her shoulder at him as she braced her hand on the door frame. “This isn’t on you. I took the risk. I walked right in, knowing what waited for me.” Not what, who.
Walker.
“The cop who was hurt…” Talk about an image she’d never be able to get out of her mind. That blade, bursting from his chest. “McHenry is going to pull through, that’s what you said, right?”
Another jerky nod.
Thank you, God. She’d been so afraid the man would die.
“And you’re still alive,” Anthony said, his voice getting harder, stronger. “The cop is alive. Walker didn’t win this time.”
“He got away.” If he hadn’t gotten the call and run, she would be dead. Lauren knew it.
“For the moment,” Anthony agreed. “But he can’t run forever. No one can.”
Lauren shook her head. Her temples throbbed. So did the giant knot on the back of her head. She couldn’t stand the feel of the dried blood on her for another second. She walked into the bathroom.