“When you lose hope, you think about the things that mattered. In those last few moments, all I could do was remember.”

In those last moments when she’d been so sure that Walker was going to kill her, she’d remembered, too.

Anthony.

“You were the woman in my mind. The woman I would die thinking about—wishing I’d been able to see you one more time.”

She swallowed down the hard ball of fear.

“I thought about the things I could have done differently, what I should have done.”

Lauren pushed back her hair. Her fingers wanted to shake.

“Once I got back here to you, everything just went to hell once more.” His hands had fisted. “I want to be with you, but the last thing I ever want is for you to hurt.”

“You’re not the threat to me.” He had to see that.

His gaze raked over her body. “You were attacked. You’ve got bruises on you, stitches, a concussion, and I still want to fuck you until you can’t move.”

Her breath caught.

“Trust me”—his words were little more than an angry growl—“I’m a threat, and I’m doing my damn best to keep my control.”

The control she’d wanted to see shatter.

The phone rang, breaking the stark silence that had fallen between them. Anthony turned away to answer the call.

Lauren tried to breathe.

“What?” Anthony barked. The shock in his voice had her head jerking up. “You’re sure? Shit. Right. Yeah, I’ll be right there.”

His hand clenched around the phone as he whirled to face her.

Not again. She understood what those deep lines on his face had to mean. “Walker.”

A grim nod. “Judge Hamilton’s missing. The guy ditched the guards on him—he’s gone.”

* * *

Paul met Anthony and Lauren at Hamilton’s home. The detective was waiting outside on the wide, wraparound porch. When he saw them arrive, he waved them over.

Anthony slanted a worried glance Lauren’s way. He should have kept his hands off her. Denying her anything, though, was beyond him. She’d looked at him, with tears gleaming in her big, blue eyes, and he’d been a goner.

The minute he’d actually tasted her, he’d known there was no hope of stopping.

“Are you sure—” he began, his voice low.

“Do not ask me if I’m okay again. I’m the DA, a judge is missing—I am staying with you. This is my job, Anthony.”

He wasn’t going to argue, mostly because he wanted her with him. He only felt secure about her when she was within sight.

They quickly closed the distance between them and the detective.

Paul yanked a hand through his already tousled hair. “This is so screwed,” he muttered.

“You think Walker has the judge?” Lauren asked, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear when it blew with the gusting wind. A summer storm was coming, the kind that would flare with lightning across the sky, erupting hard and fast.

“At first, I did.” Paul glanced over his shoulder toward the house. “But then the wife checked her bank account and realized Walker had cleared out twenty thousand dollars, cash.”

Anthony whistled. “And there was no sign of an abduction at the courthouse?”

“The cops said Hamilton dodged them. Deliberately slipped out a back exit. His car’s missing, and I’ve got cops looking for it but…” He gave a shake of his head. “My money says the guy decided to cut and run.”

Anthony wasn’t so sure, not yet anyway. “His office was trashed. He was the one who sent Walker to prison.”

“He was also the one who gave the guy a life sentence instead of death. From the way I figure it,” Paul said, “Walker owes the fellow a big-ass thank-you. Not any payback.”

Lauren cleared her throat. “But Paul, Judge Walker has a career here, a family—”

“He also has a dead mistress and a serial killer stalking the streets. He would have seen coverage of your attack on the news.”

“Was there video of him leaving the courthouse?” Anthony asked. A video would let them know whether or not the judge had left on his own.

“There was some security footage, yeah. It showed Hamilton looking over his shoulder a few times, running fast for his ride, but the cameras didn’t catch anyone else with him.”

It was sure looking like Walker had fled, not been abducted.

Anthony still wanted to talk to the wife. He wanted to follow every piece of evidence, any trail that might lead him to Walker. And the judge—well, Walker had already showed a marked interest in the guy.

Anthony and Lauren followed Paul into the house. When Mrs. Pierce Hamilton came into view, Lauren crossed to her side.

“Julia,” Lauren said, her voice soft, “I’m very sorry for—”

“He left me.” The words seemed lost. So shocked. “He took the money and he left me.”

“We don’t know for—”

Julia, a thin woman with carefully streaked blonde hair, gave a bitter laugh. “Don’t lie to me, Lauren. I know what’s been going on. I know about the girl he was screwing, I always know about the girls…” Her sentence trailed away as her fingers clenched around a white handkerchief. “I don’t usually care. We have an arrangement, you see.”

Anthony didn’t see and he didn’t exactly want to.

“He was never supposed to leave. What will people say?” The handkerchief was about to rip apart in her hands. “What will I do?”

What could they do? The judge was an adult. If he wanted to cut town and run, he could. He’d broken no laws, so they had no legal reason to hold him or to hunt him.

Julia’s red-rimmed eyes locked on Paul. “Can you find him, Detective? Can you ask him why?”

Sympathy slid over Paul’s face. “Ms. Hamilton, you know Judge Hamilton convicted Jon Walker—”

“This isn’t about Walker!” She jumped to her feet. “My husband isn’t in danger! He’s leaving me! I can’t let him do that! I can’t let—”

“We’re going to search for signs of foul play because of the Walker case,” Paul continued, his voice staying calm and low. “But ma’am, if the judge willingly left the city, there isn’t anything that can be done.”

Julia’s narrow shoulders hunched. “I gave him so many years. I let him screw around with those whores, and this is what he does? He leaves me?” She ripped the handkerchief in two. “Let Walker get him. I don’t care! If the bastard dies, it will be better for me.” Her breath was ragged. “Better to be a widow than the fool he left behind.”

* * *

Pierce Hamilton slowly opened his eyes. His head hurt. It throbbed. He squinted as he tried to see around him. Where the hell am I?

“Waking up, are you?” The voice was taunting. “Sure as fuck took you long enough.”

With effort, Pierce turned his head to the side.

Jon Walker smiled. “Did you think you were running somewhere?”

Pierce’s memory flooded back. He’d left the courthouse in a rush, but his car had been nearly out of gas. He’d filled the thing up a day ago, so it should have been able to go for miles. He’d found himself drifting into a small, run-down station on the edge of town. He’d started to fill up his tank…

Then someone had slammed his head into the side of his BMW, hard enough to break the fucking window.

“I went to so much trouble to get back to you and Ms. Chandler.” Walker shook his head. “Did you think I would just let you walk away?” He took a step toward Pierce. The knife in his hand glinted. “You and I…we have some unfinished business.”

Fear rose in Pierce’s throat, nearly choking him. “I’m not the one to blame! I was just doing my job!”

“If you had done your job, you would have paid attention to the letters you got. Those damn letters said I should go free.”

His heart was about to jump out of his chest. “How do you know about those?”

“I know plenty.” Walker glanced around. “Like the fact your fishing cabin was empty, sitting all alone up here, waiting for someone to stop by for a nice little visit.”

Pierce’s eyes widened. This was his place. He hadn’t been here in at least two years. Julia hated the cabin, so he’d found other entertainment to keep him busy. But the antlers on the wall, the bear rug, the gleaming wood furniture—

Mine.

“Never would’ve guessed you loved to hunt and kill so much, Judge,” Walker drawled. “Looks like we have more in common than I thought.”

“We’re not alike! We’re nothing alike!” Pierce strained at his bonds. He was in one of the kitchen chairs. Behind him, his hands were wrapped with what felt like duct tape. He looked down and saw the gray line of duct tape around his ankles. He was trapped. Helpless.

The knife was so close to his skin.

The Bayou Butcher. He’d seen the crime scene photos, seen everything during the trial. He knew just how Walker liked to torture his prey. He also knew—

“You don’t kill men,” Pierce blurted, because what the hell else did he have to say? But it was the truth. Walker liked to hurt women, not men. It was part of the profile that had been revealed in court.

Walker laughed. “Tell that to the prison guard I gutted on my way out of Angola.”

Pierce shook his head. He wasn’t stupid. He’d had plenty of shrinks in his court over the years, so he understood more than most about the minds of killers. “It was fast, though, right? You don’t enjoy it when you kill men. Just women.” He licked his lips. “You would have enjoyed it if you’d gotten to kill Lauren.”

Walker’s face hardened. “I will kill the bitch.”