“Well, he’s doing it now,” was Greg’s response as he finished using his tweezers to extract the folded paper.

They all moved toward the counter where Greg slowly unfolded the bloody paper. It would be checked for fingerprints later. She knew that. The paper would be thoroughly scanned, the handwriting analyzed, but for now…

“‘Steve Lynch.’” Greg read the name on the paper, then he glanced at Lauren. “Does that name mean anything to you?”

It did. “He was the jury foreman at the trial.” The same man who’d written to Judge Hamilton, saying he’d changed his mind about Walker’s guilt.

Anthony grabbed her arm. “We need to find Lynch. Now.”

He pulled her out of the room, but the heavy stench of death followed. They rushed into the hall and nearly slammed into Paul. The detective staggered to a stop.

“What’s going on?” Paul demanded as his gaze jumped between Anthony and Lauren.

“The killer left a note in Stacy Crawford’s throat. The bastard—”

“Whoa, hold up!” He lifted his hand. “Her throat? What the hell is that shit?”

Lauren swallowed and tried to stop her knees from shaking. “He left a note in Karen’s throat, too.” What the hell did it mean? Why the throat? “The bastard must be playing some kind of game with us. Taunting us.”

“Just what did the damn note say?” Paul demanded.

“The one he left on Stacy,” Anthony’s hard voice answered. “It contained a name. Steve Lynch.” His eyes glittered. “The bastard might have just told us his next victim.”

Paul swore. “What are we waiting for? Let’s go!”

If they could get to him fast enough, Steve Lynch might survive to see another day.

* * *

Anthony stared at the dark house. No lights. No sign of movement. But Steve Lynch was supposed to be in there.

“This is my scene,” Paul said beside him, the detective’s voice low and heavy with intent. “Understand? You’re tracking Walker, but this is my city. I’m the homicide cop, and I’ll be the one taking lead here.”

If he’d been in the mood for a pissing match, Anthony would have said so. Paul had been the one to bring Lauren out there, the one to hold them all back when they wanted to rush inside and immediately find Lynch.

But Paul’s captain had given him the all clear to handle this his way, so they were following the detective’s orders.

For the moment.

Steve Lynch had no cell phone and no landline. He’d lost his job as a factory manager a little over two months ago. Divorced, childless, he lived in the last house on LeRoy Drive. The very quiet, last house.

Two police cruisers were behind them, but their lights were off. Everyone seemed to be playing the quiet game.

“Stay behind me,” Paul said as he checked his weapon. “If Walker hasn’t approached Lynch yet, this could be our chance to catch the bastard. We can put a watch on this house, wait for him, and then I’ll be the one to take him down.”

Anthony stared at the detective. Then he cleared his throat and said, “Or while we stand out here, pissing in the fucking breeze, the guy could be dying inside—”

He heard the scream. A high, wild cry. A cry coming from inside the house.

Paul’s eyes widened, then he spun and rushed toward the house, clutching his weapon.

“Baton Rouge PD!” Paul yelled as he drew closer to the house. “Baton—”

Another scream.

Paul slammed his shoulder into the door, but it didn’t give way. When he hit it again, Anthony was with him, and the door shattered beneath them.

They rushed into the heavy and complete darkness. Anthony yanked out his flashlight and kept it held over his gun. He swept the scene.

Had the scream come from the left?

The right?

A new scream broke the silence. High. Loud. Desperate.

* * *

Lauren stood behind a uniformed cop. Two other cops had been with her, but as soon as Anthony and Paul burst into the house, the cops had taken off toward the back of the house to block off the escape path of anyone inside.

Anyone being Walker.

She swallowed in an attempt to ease the desperate dryness in her throat, but it didn’t help. Nothing could help.

The cop beside her was pushing forward onto the balls of his feet. The guy was clearly desperate to get inside to the action.

He had his orders, though. He’d been told by both Anthony and Paul to stick to her like freaking glue.

Another scream shook the night. The cop spun from her and reached into his patrol car. She heard the click from his radio, the crackle of static. “This is Officer McHenry. I’m on LeRoy, and we need—”

A twig snapped. The single sound shouldn’t have been so loud, but it was.

It had come from behind her. From the narrow line of woods behind the patrol car.

Her heart raced even faster. The cop hadn’t heard the twig snap. He was still talking on the radio. The snap, it could have been nothing. Could have been from an animal. A squirrel. A possum. She sucked in a deep breath. Then one more. She couldn’t let the fear push through her.

The threat was inside the house. That was where the screams were coming from. Inside, not out here.

The cop spun back toward her. “We’ve got more help on the way, ma’am. You should get in the car until—”

His words broke off in a desperate gurgle as the point of a knife came through the front of his shirt. It had gone into his back and come out of his chest.

His mouth hung open and under the moonlight, his whole body trembled as he staggered—then fell to the ground.

Lauren whirled away from him. Safety was in the house. She opened her mouth and screamed as loudly as she could. “Anthony!”

She was tackled from behind. Lauren hit the ground with an impact that bruised her whole body.

* * *

Anthony kicked in another door, and in the cavernous darkness, his flashlight fell on the man cowering in the corner.

“Steve Lynch?” he demanded as Paul rushed into the room behind him. It looked like the guy from the grainy photo he’d seen at the station.

The man nodded and lifted his hands before his eyes, as if trying to shield from that bright light.

Anthony kept his flashlight trained on Steve as Paul’s light swept around the room. There was no one else in that place. No damn body else, and as far as Anthony could see, there wasn’t so much as a scratch on Lynch.

“What the hell is going on?” Anthony asked as he took another step toward Lynch. The more he studied him, Anthony realized how different Lynch appeared from his driver’s license photo. Thinner, haggard. Terrified.

“I had to do what he…wanted…” Lynch whispered. “He has…Helen.”

Anthony’s gut clenched. Then he heard the thunder of footsteps coming down the hallway.

He spun away from Lynch, just in time to see two uniformed cops rush into the room.

Anger pulsed through him. “You’re supposed to be outside with the DA!”

The cops froze. “We were securing the back exit, sir!” one shouted.

There was no need to secure the back exit. Walker wasn’t here. He wasn’t…

Anthony turned back around, frowning. From Lynch’s position, he would have been able to look out the side window—a window just inches away from him—and see the cops. “You screamed to get us inside.” Shit, shit.

“I’m sorry! He made me! He said I had to scream—” Lynch’s cry followed Anthony as he raced from the room, but he didn’t stop. He was running as fast as he could toward the front door. Paul was behind him, shouting for him to stop. Did the fool not realize what was happening?

Lynch hadn’t been Walker’s target. The guy had been the fucking bait.

The target was the same one Walker had been focused on all along.

Lauren.

He burst out of the house, shouting her name. One look at the patrol car, with its door swinging open, and he knew something had happened. Something bad.

No!

He jumped off the porch. Leaped for the car. He saw the downed cop. The man had fallen face-first into the earth, a knife shoved deep into his back. “Lauren!” he yelled.

Paul’s footsteps thundered after him.

Anthony bent and put his fingers to the downed cop’s throat. A pulse still beat there, barely. Damn barely. He whirled to face Paul. “Get an ambulance!”

“Lauren?” Paul said, fear cracking her name.

He didn’t know where she was.

Not in the house.

He spun back around and faced the woods. His flashlight cut through the darkness. Near the left, it looked like two branches were bent back. As if someone had rushed through that spot.

He ran into the woods. Twigs slapped at him, but he ignored them. He had to get through the woods. He wasn’t losing Lauren.

His foot smashed down onto something. Something that cracked beneath his weight. Fuck, a phone. He froze, then bent, grabbing it quickly. The screen was broken, but the phone still worked, and he recognized the image saved there—he’d seen it on Lauren’s phone when she’d used it before.

The SOB had taken her this way. Anthony started running again. Faster, faster. The woods stretched and twisted before he hit a path that split in two directions. Which damn path? Which one? “Lauren!”

She wasn’t answering his shouts. He wouldn’t let himself imagine why she wasn’t answering. He couldn’t think about that and stay sane.

The squeal of brakes shattered the night. To the left. He clenched his gun tight and rushed to the left, moving as fast as he could go. More twigs and branches cut into him, but Anthony didn’t care. There was only one thing that mattered to him then. Just one.