Not her.

But he knew that face. Knew it too well. It haunted most of his dreams.

Lauren Chandler. District Attorney Lauren Chandler. The woman who’d sent Jon Walker to Angola. The woman who’d pushed for the guy to get a needle in his arm so that Walker would never kill again.

Lauren.

Of course, when he’d known her, she’d still been the ADA. She’d gotten her promotional bump right after Walker’s conviction. She’d made her career on his case.

And once upon a time, she’d been Anthony’s lover.

A lot could change in five years.

He pulled out his phone. Dialed the number he still remembered so easily.

No longer in service.

Fuck.

He glanced up at the sound of footsteps. Finally—the two other marshals under his command had just rushed into the tiny cell. He shoved the phone into his pocket even as he held tight to that photo. It was a Saturday, so the DA’s office would be closed.

It had taken the warden twelve hours to notice that Walker was gone. Then it had taken Anthony and his team too many hours to get to the prison.

“We need to find Lauren Chandler.” He tried to keep his voice steady as he said, “She’s the DA in Baton Rouge. We need to get her on the phone and alert her to the prisoner’s escape.”

The marshals—Jim O’Keith and Matt Meadows—nodded in near unison.

He glanced back at the photo. Just getting her on the phone wasn’t good enough. Not with Lauren’s safety at stake. “Meadows, contact the Baton Rouge PD. I want them sending a patrol unit to her house.” The photograph was so worn. Walker had stared at it, touched it, for how many nights? He’d been fixating on her for who the hell knew how long.

Rage burned within Anthony. That bastard was not getting his hands on Lauren.

But the guy had screamed that last day in court, shouted that Lauren would pay. As the judge had handed down sentencing, four guards had been needed to subdue Walker as he lunged for Lauren.

Are you trying to keep your promise, you SOB?

He would see the Bayou Butcher in hell first.

* * *

Lauren juggled her groceries as she used her foot to prop open her back door. The milk was sliding, and she was about 90 percent sure the bread was going to hit the floor and end up a smushed mess. She should have waited, carried less inside in one haul, but the dark clouds promised a downpour that wouldn’t wait long.

Her phone was ringing in her back pocket, a vibration that was stubbornly persistent, but there was no way she could answer the call then.

She tried to hit the lights with her elbow. They didn’t turn on. Just darkness. Great. Fabulous. She hit the lights again, aiming harder with her elbow. Still nothing.

Had the storm already knocked out power? Sometimes the rough wind could do that in this area. She loved her neighborhood, with its sprawling yards, but the pine trees drew the lightning like crazy.

Her phone stopped vibrating.

Stumbling, weaving, she made her way to the counter and dropped her bags just before the milk could slide free.

“Lauren…”

She tensed. Had someone just whispered her name?

The call had been so faint, she wasn’t even sure that she’d actually heard it.

The wind was starting to howl outside, and her shutters banged against the side of her house.

It was so dark. She edged back carefully, and her fingers went to the light switch once more. Her fingers jerked the switch quickly. Up and down, up and down.

Darkness.

The lights weren’t coming on. Her heart was thudding far too rapidly in her chest.

Had she heard her name being whispered?

Fumbling, she reached into the drawer on the right and pulled out a knife. A very sharp butcher knife. “Is someone there?” Lauren asked, her voice a little weak. One hand clutched the knife. The other reached for her cell phone as she yanked it out of her pocket. No one should be in her house. She didn’t have a live-in boyfriend. Didn’t have a boyfriend at all.

“Is someone there?” Her call was louder.

Silence was her answer.

No whispers. No creaks.

Then the shutters started to bang again. She jumped.

Her heartbeat wouldn’t slow down.

She’d check the house. Every room. Just to be sure it was safe.

Her job had given her an up-close and far too personal look at the darker side of life. She wasn’t about to take any crazy chances. She knew what happened when those chances were taken.

But she also knew that a girl didn’t get to call the cops on a storm-filled night just because she thought she’d heard a whisper. That was a surefire way to get a not-so-stellar reputation at the prosecutor’s office.

Taking a deep breath, she edged forward. She kept her hold on the knife. She took one step. Two—

A scream cut through the night. No, not a scream, a siren. The flash of red-and-blue lights lit up her kitchen. Her heart beat faster. She lunged for the back door, clutching her knife as she shoved her phone into her back pocket once more. As she rushed outside, Lauren saw the cops, already jumping from their vehicle. Her body was on high alert, and something was very wrong.

Her feet thundered down the stairs of her back porch. Rain began to pelt her even as the bright light of a flashlight locked on her. No, not just one flashlight.

Two.

“Lauren Chandler?” one of the officers shouted.

Lauren froze. Crap. She still had the knife. Instinct. But she knew better than to approach a cop with a weapon, so she let the blade drop from her fingers. In the glare of the flashlights, she knew the cops would see the weapon fall. “Yes, yes, I’m Lauren Chandler.” She kept her hands up. “What’s going on?”

The cop on the right took a step toward her. “Why do you have the weapon, Ms. Chandler?”

“I thought I heard something inside.” If they’d only witnessed what she had. Hell, if they’d been privy to all the details of her cases, most folks wouldn’t even be able to sleep at night.

She’d sure been through her own share of sleepless nights. Sometimes, she’d only made it through after late-night phone calls with her best friend, Karen. Karen knew all about the darkness, too. She never thought Lauren’s fears were crazy—not when Karen shared them.

We’ve seen the monsters out there. Karen’s voice, the low drawl that dipped beneath it, whispered through Lauren’s mind. Seen ’em plenty, and we’re smart enough to be afraid. The rest of the world—maybe they’re better off not knowing. Hell, sometimes, I wish I didn’t know.

But Karen’s job was to know. Just like mine is.

What would Karen think if she’d seen how scared Lauren had been in that dark house?

She’d probably tell me I need a drink to calm down…and that next time, I should immediately get my ass out of the house.

“Is there anyone else in the house?” the cop asked as he took another step toward her.

“There shouldn’t be.” She wasn’t even sure she’d heard the whisper. Lauren glanced over her shoulder at her dark house.

That was when she realized lights glowed from the homes of her few neighbors. The lots were big and private, but she could clearly see illumination coming from those houses. Hers was the only house with a power outage. The only dark house on the road.

Lauren crept toward the cops. “Why are you here? What’s happening?”

“We’re under orders to take you back to the station, Ms. Chandler.”

“Is this about one of my cases?” This wasn’t standard operating procedure. The rain kept falling onto her.

“The order came from the U.S. Marshals’ office, ma’am.”

Her racing heart stopped. U.S. Marshal. “Why?”

“We got word that a prisoner escaped from Angola, and the marshal wanted you to have protection.”

“Jon Walker,” she whispered through numb lips.

The cop replied, but the rumble of thunder swallowed his answer.

She hurried toward them, her fear making her move faster. Her feet slipped in the slick grass, but she didn’t slow down. In the middle of the storm, the uniformed cops looked like the safest port she’d ever seen.

The taller of the two opened the back of his patrol car. “Ma’am, why don’t you get out of the rain?”

Grateful, Lauren slid inside. But the cops didn’t follow her. They were staring over at her house, and she knew suspicion when she saw it.

“Why aren’t your lights on?” the cop nearest her asked. His face was round, his shoulders stooped just slightly.

“The power didn’t work,” she confessed. Her hands pressed over her jeans as she tried to wipe the moisture from her palms. Part rain and part plain old sweat and fear.

The cops had their guns drawn. She saw the quick nod they exchanged. The taller cop ran toward her house while his partner took up a position near Lauren.

Guarding her.

“We’re just gonna do a quick sweep,” he told her, flashing a grin that she was able to see in the glow of the patrol car’s interior lights. “To make sure that the area is secure.”

Right. Goose bumps had risen on her arms. It was an early summer night, warm despite the rain, and she was shivering.

A few moments later, the cop’s partner made it into her house. She could see the glow from his flashlight.

“I’m Officer Hank Lane,” the man standing near the open car door said. “And you don’t have anything to worry about, understand? You’re—”

The radio on his hip crackled. They both tensed as Hank picked up the radio.