His partner glanced toward the door. “They’re gonna find this place. I told you, it was too f**king 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 f**king 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 f**king 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.