“Let me go, and I can give you anything.”

He liked it when the guy begged, though. Power rushed through him with every plea. Once upon a time, this rich fool had been the one with the power. Sitting up on that fancy bench, wearing a big, black robe. Slamming down his gavel.

Sending me to rot.

His fingers tightened around the knife. He wanted to shove the blade deep into Hamilton’s chest. But he could use the guy first. Get some information from him. “Tell me what you know about Lauren.”

“The DA?”

Who the fuck else would it be?

“She’s not staying at her house.” Which made hunting her so much harder. “Where is she?”

“I don’t know—”

Wrong answer. He shoved the knife into Hamilton’s shoulder. Blood spurted as he twisted the blade. Not the same. The blade didn’t cut right on the man. In a woman, it would have sliced deep, and the pulse of pleasure from the slice would have traveled all the way through him.

The normal pleasure didn’t come. He twisted the knife again, jerking it hard to the left. “You’re a fucking judge! You should know where the DA is!”

“Probably with the marshal. He’s sticking to her every minute.” Hamilton’s breath panted out as sweat beaded his upper lip. “That’s—ahh, stop, please!”

“Tell me something useful, and I will.”

“I—I think they’re sleeping together…”

How was that useful?

“Saw the w-way he looked at her—stop, please!”

“I don’t give a shit who she screws.” It was just about the kill. About payback. Punishment. She’d taken so many years from him. She should have been dead long ago.

He’d gotten out of Angola. Started his own path. This time, he wasn’t going to stand in anyone’s fucking shadow. It was his game. His rules.

That was why he’d left her a note.

It’s beginning.

He wanted her to understand. It was all about him. About his power. His control.

The Bayou Butcher’s run in Baton Rouge wouldn’t end, not until Lauren Chandler’s blood soaked his skin, and she drew her last breath.

A breath he’d be the one to take from her.

“Th-thought she was still sleeping with the detective…” Hamilton gasped. “Karen told me about them.”

The detective.

The knife pulled out of Hamilton’s shoulder with a slow, wet glide.

“What detective?” There were plenty who’d worked on his case before. Plenty who deserved—

“Voyt. Paul Voyt.”

Well, well.

“They were…” Hamilton sucked in deep, gulping breaths. “Screwing for a while. If she’s not with the marshal, you can probably find her hiding out at Voyt’s place.”

“That is helpful,” he whispered.

The front door opened. He’d left it unlocked. Why bother locking it when he only expected one person? The footsteps were heavy as they thudded over the hardwood floor.

He turned, deliberately keeping his smile in place.

His partner stood there, cheeks flushed, eyes glittering. “What the hell were you thinking?” he demanded. “The judge wasn’t on our list.”

“No, not our list.” He wiped the knife on his jeans, smearing the blood across the rough material. “My list.” It’s beginning. My beginning.

The judge gasped behind him. “Help me!”

The fool should have realized by now. Help wasn’t an option.

* * *

“We are asking for the public’s help in locating Judge Pierce Hamilton.” Lauren’s voice was smooth and calm as she stared into the circle of camera lenses around her. “Judge Hamilton’s BMW was found abandoned at Quick and Fill Gas Station, near Pontraine Lake, a few hours ago. Investigators checked the scene and determined there were signs of foul play.”

Anthony had realized very quickly that when the DA said jump, the reporters flew into the sky. Right after her call, she’d had the top reporters in Baton Rouge assembled, all ready to go live with a noon broadcast of her story. The broadcast would hit people on their lunch breaks, and maybe the hotline would get a lucky tip—some driver who saw Walker or Hamilton. Something they could use.

Voyt had called back from the scene, and the attendant hadn’t remembered seeing anyone. There were no security cameras. Just jack and shit.

“Are you saying the Bayou Butcher has the judge?” a blonde reporter demanded.

“I’m saying that, at this time, we are searching for Judge Pierce Hamilton, and we would greatly appreciate the public’s assistance in finding him.”

“But you were abducted by Walker just yesterday, were you not?” the same reporter fired. “Is Walker targeting the people who sent him to prison?”

Just yesterday. Walker sure wasn’t wasting any time. A week ago, Anthony had been finishing up a case in Texas. Walker had been locked away in his cell. Now the bodies were piling up—fast. A rising tide of blood and death.

Lauren cleared her throat. “Only Walker can tell us that,” she replied. He knew she was trying to walk the line and not reveal too much information.

Not enough to compromise the investigation, but just enough to get help.

“If the public spots either Walker or Hamilton, we need to be contacted. Manhunts for Walker have been ongoing since his escape.” Her gaze darted to Anthony, then back to the cameras. “Authorities now believe Walker has been working with someone in the Baton Rouge area, someone who has helped him avoid detection.”

The reporters pounced. “A partner?” a male with an artful spray of gray at his temples asked. “The Bayou Butcher has a partner in crime?”

Lauren’s focus shifted to the reporter. “It appears someone is hiding Walker from the police. Walker is an extremely dangerous, unpredictable killer. Even the person working with him cannot be assured Walker won’t turn on him. Walker kills—that’s just what he does, and we need the public to help us stop him.” Her shoulders straightened as her attention spread to the full group of reporters once more. “As I said before, Walker should not be confronted by any citizen. If you see him or have information to share, call our tip line. Do not approach him on your own.”

Anthony backed away as she concluded the press conference. The FBI profilers were there, too, and he knew Cadence would be talking soon. While they were busy milling in the front of the police precinct, he saw an opening. There was someone he wanted to talk with.

Inside the precinct, he found Julia Hamilton huddled in a small office. She had a Styrofoam cup of coffee cradled in her hands. She wasn’t drinking it, though. Just holding it and staring into space.

“Mrs. Hamilton?”

She flinched and carefully set the coffee on the desk. “They said I didn’t have to talk to the reporters.” Her hands smoothed over her pants. “Lauren was going to handle all of that.”

“Yes, ma’am, she is.” He crouched in front of her. “But I was hoping you’d talk to me a bit.”

Her gaze focused on him. “You aren’t a detective. I haven’t seen you around here before.”

“No, I’m a marshal. I’m in town to catch Walker.”

Lines of grief had settled on her face. “Will you catch him before or after he kills my husband?”

He wasn’t going to give her false hope, so he didn’t answer. “You said the gas station was near an old fishing cabin your husband had?”

She nodded. “On Pontraine Lake. It was actually his father’s place. Pierce never seemed to enjoy going there.” Her lips twisted. “His father was big into hunting and fishing. Pierce didn’t like killing.” Her breath expelled in a rush. “That’s why he sentenced so few to death, even when they deserved it. Like Walker did. He should have sent the man to die, but he didn’t.”

The cabin was so close to the site where Pierce had vanished. Could it be a coincidence? Anthony wasn’t sure he bought into those. “Would you mind if I searched the place?”

She blinked. “You think Walker has him there?”

“I don’t know. Walker is familiar with the area.” A little too familiar for someone who’d been sitting in prison for five years. “Maybe he realizes where the cabin is.” Maybe he’d been looking for a quick spot to vanish and found one a few miles down the road. “I’m going to need an exact address.”

While she scribbled down the address, Anthony pulled out his phone. A few seconds later, Voyt was on the line. “Have you checked the judge’s cabin on Pontraine Lake?” Anthony asked.

“What cabin?” Paul barked. “What are you talking about, Marshal?”

He took a few steps away from Julia and lowered his voice. “Judge Hamilton’s father owned an old fishing cabin near the abduction site. It’s possible Walker knew about it. We should search the place. Make sure it’s clear.”

“Send me the address,” Paul said. “I was waiting for Hawthorne to meet me, so I’m still in the area. I can check the place.”

“A marshal and I will be on the way, too,” Anthony said. He needed to be out in the field stopping the bastard. “We’ll be there as fast as we can.” He ended the call and took the address from Julia. With a quick text, he sent the info to Paul.

“Please…” Julia’s voice stopped him as he headed for the door.

He glanced back at her.

“I don’t want to bury my husband.”

* * *

The interview was over, and Lauren felt exhausted. Her stitches ached, her head ached, and her heart hurt.

I don’t think we’re going to find Hamilton alive. She wanted to have hope, but she didn’t.

“Come with me.” She turned at the sound of Anthony’s voice. He led her back into the station and pulled her into the conference room that the task force had been using.