“We never found any indication that Walker had committed other murders. We thought we’d found all of his kills,” Paul said as he came up behind Cadence. The detective sounded frustrated, confused, and pissed.

She glanced over at him. “Maybe you did find all of his kills.”

Paul’s brows climbed.

“Did you miss that whole part from Lauren about her sister?”

He gave a low whistle. “Jennifer Chandler. I remember when that story made headlines around here. She was sixteen, captain of the cheerleading squad, class president—you know those kids, the popular ones everyone misses the instant they’re gone.”

“Her murderer was never caught?” Cadence asked.

“Her body was never found. Police weren’t even sure it was a murder.”

Lauren was at the end of the hallway now. Anthony glanced back at them. Cadence noted that he’d schooled his expression this time. Too late, Anthony. She’d seen, and she was pretty sure the cop had, too.

“The detectives back then thought that maybe she’d run away, but her family never bought that story.” He rolled his shoulders, as if pushing away a bad memory. “I caught Jenny’s file as a cold case a few years ago. That’s how Lauren and I got together.”

Only they weren’t together any longer, and Cadence knew if Anthony had his way, they wouldn’t be again.

A rough sigh broke from him. “Lauren has spent her whole life trying to find her big sister, and to discover that Walker was the one—hell, I can’t even imagine what she’s feeling right now.”

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 fuck.”

“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.

And left Anthony behind.

* * *

Jon tied his boat to the small dock. The red and gold colors of dawn were streaking across the sky. He’d barely slipped out in time last night. With so many patrols sweeping, he’d needed to alternate between using the boat’s motor and paddling with the oars as he made his way to this spot. Whenever he’d gotten a little too close to civilization—even if civilization was a run-down cabin—he’d cut the motor.

He was so much smarter than the cops realized.

The dock groaned behind him.

Walker swore even as he grabbed for the knife he’d strapped to his hip.

“You don’t need that with me,” a familiar voice drawled.

The tension eased from his shoulders as Walker let go of his knife. He turned to face his partner. “You beat me here.”

“Course I did. I didn’t have to look over my shoulder every second while I was traveling. The cops aren’t after me.”

Walker swallowed. The guy was still pissed. “I did five fucking years for you. Five years—so don’t use that shit tone with me!” He took a hard step forward.

The guy didn’t back up a step. He never did. “You did that damn time for yourself. Because you got sloppy. You weren’t supposed to go after the girl that night. You were supposed to wait for me.”

But the girl had been perfect. She’d smelled so sweet, and looked so good. He could still remember when he’d first seen her at the gas station. She’d run in, her phone glued to her ear, and he’d heard her talking about her babysitting gig. She’d stood in front of him in the line, gabbing on her phone, and she’d said she would be alone.

The girl had even rattled off her address to the friend on the other end of the line.