He climbed out slowly, holstering his weapon. Lauren’s nearest neighbors were at least an acre away, judging by the distance between their yards. The night air was hot and heavy as it pressed down on him.

His body tensed as his gaze swept the area. The houses down the street were dark. It was nearing eleven o’clock, and Lauren’s neighbors had obviously turned in.

The shadows around her home seemed to stretch and twist. He hurried to her side, his body on alert.

Lauren used her key to cut the yellow police tape. It fell away, fluttering toward the window on the right. Lauren’s fingers were shaking as she shoved the key into the lock. When the door opened, the dark cavern of the house awaited them.

Lauren didn’t cross the threshold.

I can get the necklace for you. He locked his teeth to hold the words back. Lauren felt like this was something she had to do.

“It’s just a house,” she whispered and stepped into the darkness.

He followed right behind her.

Just a house.

One heavy with the memory of death and pain.

* * *

She’d gone back. He’d figured she would, sooner or later. After her sister’s remains had been found, he’d known Lauren wouldn’t be able to stay away from the house much longer.

She’d kept her own case files on Jenny over the years. Kept a memory box of her sister’s belongings. With today’s discovery, Lauren would want those items more than ever before. She’d had to go back.

So very predictable.

And the marshal was by her side. Where else would the man be?

They were the reason the investigation had continued. The reason the dead were being pulled from their sleep. If it hadn’t been for Lauren, Jenny would still be exactly where she belonged.

Pulling her from the ground had been a crime, and now he’d be sure to put Lauren in the ground.

Lauren. He’d always wanted to be close to her. Being close to Lauren, it was like being close to Jenny. They had the same eyes.

He hadn’t planned to kill Lauren. Not originally. It had been nice having her there. Seeing her—it always brought his best memories back. It had taken awhile to get close to Lauren, but he’d been patient.

Jon had been the one to want Lauren’s pain. Jon had been so angry, so determined to make her suffer.

After prison, he’d figured that Jon deserved to enjoy some vengeance. And the two of them killing Lauren—maybe it would have been as good as that first time.

Only Jon hadn’t gotten his payback. Lauren and her lover had killed him.

She’d taken Jon away. She’d dug up the past. Ruined Jenny.

Lauren had to die.

She should have paid more attention before she’d gone into the house. But Lauren had been so focused on what waited inside that she hadn’t noticed the threat all around her.

Pity.

He smiled.

* * *

She hated the darkness. Lauren’s fingers flew out and slapped against the light switch. The darkness vanished instantly, and she was staring at the familiar sight of her living room.

Her couch.

Her photos. Her TV and the stack of DVDs she kept handy for the nights she couldn’t sleep.

Her grandmother’s afghan was still tossed over the back of her couch. The home looked just as it had days before.

But the chill in the air was new. So very new. With the Baton Rouge summer blaring down on them, the cold should have been the last thing she felt.

Squaring her shoulders, she strode down her hallway, turning on every light she passed. She wanted the darkness gone.

By the time she reached her bedroom, her palms were sweating. The door was shut, and she hesitated.

Anthony didn’t speak. She knew he didn’t want her in there, but she had to do this.

She wouldn’t let fear control her.

Her fingers curled around the knob. She turned it and pushed open the door.

* * *

The lights had flooded on inside the house. He could see the shadows moving—the bodies of Lauren and the marshal—as they went down the hallway. He had to hurry.

It was a good thing he’d learned to be so quiet and careful over the years. One had to be careful when stalking precious prey.

He grabbed his weapon—not the weapon he would have preferred, but one that was going to have to work in this case—and slipped close to the house.

The front door was locked, but that didn’t matter.

He had his own key.

* * *

The bedroom door squeaked open. More darkness. And the scent of death. Lauren’s breath was coming out harder now as she fumbled with the light. When it was on, she saw her room.

The mattress was gone, just as Anthony had said. The sheets, the covers—everything was gone from the bed. There were bloodstains on the floor. Spatter on the walls.

Karen’s blood.

Anthony swore behind her.

She wanted to do more than swear. “He’s burning in hell.” Walker had gotten exactly what he deserved.

Karen hadn’t, though. She’d never deserved this.

Lauren tore her gaze off the bed and hurried to her closet.

The hardwood floor creaked beneath her feet.

Lauren…

The whisper seemed to be in the air, but it was just a memory. Her memory. It had never been Karen’s voice. It had been Walker, trying to lure her to the spot he wanted her. The perfect kill.

But she’d gotten away.

She was nearly at the closet. When she’d bought the house, she’d fallen in love with the closet. Walk-in heaven. A paradise for her shoes.

Now she just wanted her necklace.

Lauren opened the closet door.

She lost her breath. The closet had been trashed. Boxes were everywhere. Her clothes slashed. “Anthony…”

He was already there. Pulling her against him. Holding her tight.

“It wasn’t like this before.” The house hadn’t been ransacked by Walker. Paul had told her he’d checked the house.

Where’s my jewelry box?

She heard the creak of wood.

Only the sound hadn’t come from their steps.

It had come from outside the bedroom.

She knew the nightmare was happening again.

Lauren…

Before they could leap for the bedroom door, the light went out, thrusting them into darkness.

This time, Lauren didn’t imagine what she heard…

Laughter.

* * *

Come out, come out…I’m waiting for you.

He’d prepared so well. They were going to be such easy prey.

It had been easy enough to throw the breaker switch and plunge the house into darkness. He liked to hunt in the dark. He’d spent so many nights in the darkness of the swamp. First as a child, wandering deep and far to get away from the prying eyes of his family. Then, later, with Jon on their hunts.

Unlike others, his night vision was strong. So very strong.

Sometimes, he even let his prey run from him in the swamp. He hunted on the darkest nights, when the moon was gone, when the stars were clouded. He could see his prey easily in the swamp. See the shadows as they fled.

He would see Lauren and her marshal just as easily in the darkened house. Shadows that would be targeted.

He lifted his weapon. It wasn’t his weapon of choice—he always preferred the intimate touch of a knife. Tonight, a gun would have to get the job done.

Brutal. Cold.

I like the knife better.

The knife let him feel his victim’s pain. It cut right through the skin. So gentle. So much better than the brutality of the gun.

He’d lured his prey just where he wanted them. Made the wreckage of the closet to pull them in even deeper, so he’d have the chance to get to the breaker box.

And now…

Come out, come out…

The marshal would be first. He knew it. He’d wait for the marshal’s shadow, wait to hear the telltale creak of wood, then he’d shoot. When he went down, Lauren would be desperate. She’d try to save the marshal, because she cared for him. She’d pull him back into the bedroom.

His leg brushed against the gas container at his feet. He was counting on Lauren saving her marshal.

Lauren was always trying to save the world.

It was time for her to watch the world burn away.

Then he heard it. The faint creak of the wooden floor. Then the dark bulk of a body, trying to move from the room.

Fabric whispered. Another soft creak.

He stood there in the darkness. Waiting. Needing the marshal to come just a bit closer.

Light. Fucking light.

The marshal had a flashlight in his hand, and he was shining it right at him.

Fuck.

He fired. The bullet missed the marshal, hitting right above him on the wall, but it made the marshal duck back.

He fired again. Again.

He heard the thud of his bullets and—was that Ross’s groan?

Hurry, have to hurry.

He grabbed the gas can. Poured it down the hallway. Tossed the can toward Lauren’s room.

He jumped back, trying to put distance between himself and the fire that was about to come.

His smile stretched as he grabbed for the matches and lit the whole damn place up.

Only…gasoline was on him, too, on his fingers, and he screamed when his hand caught fire.

The whoosh of sound that came from the sudden eruption of flames—the giant whoosh that rocked the house and sent him flying back—drowned out his cry.

* * *

Blood dripped down Anthony’s arm as he grabbed Lauren and pulled her into the bedroom. The flames were white-hot, scorching and destructive as they moved toward him.