The TV flashed a rotating headline beneath Lauren’s somber picture: Bayou Butcher Killed by U.S. Marshal.

“My sympathies go out to all of the families who lost loved ones as a result of Walker’s actions…”

Fuck them. Fuck her. She was standing up there, all but gloating, and the marshal was right behind her. He was always right behind her. From the instant that bastard had come into town, he’d been sniffing at her.

She’d fallen right back into the guy’s bed. He knew because he’d been watching them very closely.

She was still talking about the families. About the pain they’d felt. About how it was time for healing.

Blah. Fucking blah.

He glared at her. It felt as if someone had shoved a knife into his chest and cut out his heart. Something was gone, missing, and he didn’t know what the hell to do.

Jon had been with him for so long. Someone who understood the darkness. Someone who knew what it was like to want the blood and the screams.

Jon had been there for the first kill. They’d stalked their prey together. Planned every moment. Every single detail. Getting caught hadn’t been an option.

His Jenny had been so perfect. His first.

You never forgot your first.

He could still smell the blood. The death.

Jon had vomited after she was dead. The guy had been so shaken. Shaken, but he’d still understood the power they had. The power of life and death. Total control.

Jenny. Perfect Jennifer Chandler. The girl all the boys wanted. And all of the girls, they’d wanted to be her. She was the best one. Why would he have ever settled for anything less than the best?

If Jenny hadn’t tried to break up with him back then, he might not have realized just how powerful he truly was. But she’d wanted to leave him.

You’ll never leave me now.

He’d made sure that Jenny, his sweet Jenny, stayed with him forever.

Just as Jon should have stayed with him—forever. But Lauren had screwed that up for him. The bitch.

Even when Jon had been in prison, the link had still been there. He’d known Jon would be free sooner or later. Jon would be free, and he’d come back to him. They could continue, finish what they’d started.

The kills weren’t as fun for him if Jon wasn’t there. He needed Jon to watch. Needed someone to appreciate what he was doing. Needed someone to realize…I’m the best. I have all the power.

But prison had changed Jon.

Anger beat at the fucking hole in his chest. Jon had threatened to turn him in. That would have ruined everything.

The minute Jon said those words, he’d known the end was near. I couldn’t let him turn on me.

Only now that Jon was gone, the darkness within was growing stronger.

“Thank you,” Lauren said. “Now Marshal Ross will make a brief statement.”

She backed away. Her arm brushed against Ross’s. She tensed for an instant, and her gaze jerked up to meet the marshal’s.

Ross’s fingers slid down her arm. Lingered a second too long before Ross stepped into the center of the circus ring. He started talking about how Walker had died and that the Baton Rouge PD would still be—

“…investigating the mysterious partner who is believed to have helped Walker escape from prison and kept him hidden in the area.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

They were still looking for him. Even with Jon dead, they were still hunting him.

They weren’t going to stop. They were going to wreck his life, the life he’d built with so much blood, sweat, and savagery over the years. His perfect life. Jenny had taught him to be perfect.

No, Lauren and the marshal weren’t going to stop.

So he would have to stop them.

* * *

“Why aren’t we staying at the hotel?” Lauren asked as she settled into the passenger seat of Anthony’s car and watched the buildings slide by her.

There was a beat of silence, then Anthony said, “Jim and Matt will both be in their rooms tonight, and I didn’t want us to have to worry about any kind of…noise control.”

That made her laugh. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed.

No, she could. It was with Karen, just last week. They’d gone out for drinks and—

“I lost you.”

She blinked at his words.

“Stay with me tonight. Focus on me. Not on the Butcher, not on all the shit he did. He’s gone, and I want to be with you.”

Her hands pressed against her thighs. “What about his partner?” Alpha team. One killer was down, but another killer—Jenny’s killer—was still out there. “That’s not your job, is it? You were here to catch Walker, and you did that.”

She’d gotten the feeling most of the cops were taking a case-closed attitude after the press conference. The homicide captain had sure been pushing that vibe. When Reginald Powers had spoken to her, he’d been clear that there were no bodies to be found, just missing victims and the hunch of FBI agents.

“I called my boss after the press conference,” Anthony said as he turned the wheel to the right. “I told him I was taking some long overdue time off.”

Surprise hit her.

His gaze slanted to her, holding hers for just a moment. “I’m not leaving town. I want to help you find out what happened to Jenny.”

Her heart beat faster. “Thank you.” For so long, it had just been her, hunting and hoping all by herself.

“Walker was the key to her murder. With that discovery, we will solve her murder.”

Murder. Not disappearance. Not runaway. Not all of the terms cops had thrown out for so long.

“But for tonight—just tonight—I want it to be you and me, Lauren. Just us.” His fingers tightened around the wheel. “I think we deserve that time.”

She wanted that time.

They drove in silence for a while, then he was taking the long, winding path that led to a two-story, gleaming antebellum home nestled on a private road, away from the bustle and lights of the city.

He parked the SUV, then came around to her side and opened the door. “I had a bag brought over for you,” he said as he took her arm.

He’d thought of everything.

Lights gleamed from inside the house. “How did you get this place?”

“I had a friend who owed me a favor.”

They walked up the gleaming steps and entered the house. Her gaze drifted over the marble floor, to the glittering chandelier and the spiral staircase. “Some friend.”

“When you’ve spent years finding safe houses for witnesses and informants, you make a lot of connections.”

He locked the door behind them. Set the alarm. Then his arms wrapped around her.

His touch was warm and strong, and there, in that perfect house with him, she wasn’t going to let the shadows of fear pull her down.

“I remember the first time I saw you.” His lips feathered over her temple.

Her breath whispered out in a little sigh.

“You were in court, wearing a black skirt that stopped two inches above your knees—”

“Two inches? You remember that exactly?” she teased.

“Uh-huh, I measured. A sexy skirt and black fuck-me heels.”

Her jaw dropped. “I would never wear those to court—”

“Trust me, I looked at those shoes and wanted one thing.”

He still wanted that one thing. She could hear the arousal in his voice.

“You were a fantasy I could never give up.” His lips pressed to hers. “No matter how many miles were between us.”

“There aren’t any miles between us now,” she told him, her voice husky. He was the fantasy that had slipped into her mind too many times. A fantasy that wasn’t out of reach any longer.

A flesh-and-blood man, a man who wanted her, not a dream.

“There are just too many clothes between us,” he muttered, “but I think I can solve that problem.”

She was sure he could.

The marshal had great problem-solving skills.

* * *

Cadence Hollow shoved open the door to the morgue. “Dr. Wright!” She knew Walker’s body had been transferred to the morgue, and she wanted to see the Bayou Butcher herself.

Dr. Wright didn’t respond.

Her footsteps tapped over the old floor. Goose bumps rose on her arms as the chilled air swept over her. Most people didn’t like morgues. FBI agents and cops she’d met would often tell her that dealing with the dead was their least favorite part of the job.

That wasn’t the case for her. In order to hunt killers, it was best to study the victims. The victims held the secrets. They could show why and how the killers had acted.

The ME’s office smelled of antiseptic and bleach. Everything was in a briskly organized fashion. She crept closer to Greg’s desk. She’d done her research on him, as she did on everyone working her cases. Obsessive, that was her. A negative side effect of the job.

Greg had taken the ME’s position about six months ago, transferring from New Orleans. He was originally from Baton Rouge, and had left years ago to attend med school at Tulane.

“What are you doing?” His voice—sharp, definitely annoyed—called from behind her.

She turned from his desk. No pictures. No adornments of any sort. Her gaze swept over him.

He wore a pair of scrubs, white gloves, and a clear shield over the lower part of his face. She could just see Dr. Wright’s eyes, so incredibly dark, studying her.

“I’m here to see Walker. He was brought in earlier, wasn’t he?” She’d gone back to the scene of his death, searched the area, studied it, and come back here as the darkness swept across the city.