Cynthia Eden - Fear For Me

He and Lauren hit the floor. The fire was in the doorway, blocking them, burning red and gold as it lit up the room.

The bastard had followed them to the house, and he was trying to make sure they never got out again.

Think again, asshole.

Smoke was filling the room fast. The flames spreading too rapidly. Gasoline. He’d caught the scent of gasoline just in time to jerk Lauren to safety.

Gasoline would burn fast, especially when the freak had used a whole damn can to drench the place.

“The window!” he barked. There was no way they were getting through those flames. They wouldn’t get to the killer that way, but at least they could escape.

Lauren pulled away from him. She ran not to the window, but to the closet.

“Lauren!”

The smoke was getting too thick. They needed fresh air.

He raced to the window. Shoved the curtains out of his way and realized—

I’m a perfect target. Standing there, silhouetted by the flames, he would be easy to take out. The killer had made it so they only had one way to freedom. If he was waiting out there now, he could make sure both Anthony and Lauren died.

No choice.

Anthony yanked on the window. Only it didn’t open. He yanked again, harder.

Then his fingers found the nails.

The killer had nailed the window shut.

Screw that. There was still an easy way to get that window open.

He used his gun to break the glass. It rained down on him, the ground, and sweet, clean air drifted inside.

Anthony glanced back, but didn’t see Lauren. “Lauren!”

The closet door was still open. He hurried to the door and found Lauren on her hands and knees, searching through the wreckage.

“No, baby, we don’t have time for this.” The fire was spreading too quickly. “We have to get out! Come on!”

She wasn’t listening to him. She was shoving clothes and boxes out of her way. “It’s here!” Lauren said. “I know it is!”

The fire was there. It was the thing they needed to worry about. If she wasn’t coming willingly, then he’d have to carry her out. He locked his hands around her hips.

“I’ve got it!”

She scrambled around to face him. Her hands were clutching a small, black box. She jerked open the box.

It was empty.

“Where’s the necklace?” she said. It was hard to hear her over the crackle of the flames. “Where is it?”

The killer had taken it, just like he was trying to take their lives.

Anthony lifted Lauren into his arms and rushed toward the window.

Smoke billowed around them as he shoved away the rest of the broken glass.

The killer could be out there.

If they stayed inside, they were definitely dead.

“Stay low, and run as fast as you can toward the SUV.” He pushed her through the window and followed right behind her, trying to use his body as a shield for her.

But no gunfire erupted. No bullets tore into him.

He heard a siren in the distance. The wail was long and mournful.

“Over here!” a woman’s voice called. Anthony’s head jerked up, and he saw an older woman and man, both wearing robes and slippers, hurrying toward them. The man had a blanket in his hands.

“My neighbors,” Lauren managed to gasp. “Jim and Suzy Baker…”

When Jim and Suzy Baker got a good look at Anthony and the gun clutched in his hands, they stopped rushing to the rescue.

They both froze, and Suzy looked like she might pass out.

“I’m a marshal,” he called out. He was not putting that gun away. “There’s a killer here. He was in the house.”

“We saw a man run…” Jim pointed to the right. “That way. He was in a Jeep, and we yelled for him to stop.”

A Jeep?

“But he didn’t.” Suzy was creeping closer again, holding out the blanket to wrap around Lauren. “He just revved the engine and drove even faster.”

The fire truck was coming closer, the siren wailing louder.

Behind them, Lauren’s house burned. The heat of the flames was hot against his skin.

He brushed Lauren’s arm, trying to get her to step farther away from the fire.

The flames were crackling. The wood collapsing. The house that had known death was burning to the ground.

They could have burned with it.

Was that the killer’s plan? To shoot them, then burn their bodies? When the fire spread too fast and the neighbors had come running, he’d been forced to flee.

The fire truck raced around the corner. The lights swept over the scene.

“Did you see a tag number?” Anthony demanded of the Bakers.

Jim shook his head. “Too dark. He didn’t turn on any lights when he rushed away.”

“Anthony!” Lauren had just lifted her hand. He could see the dark liquid staining her fingers. “You’re hurt!”

He didn’t know if the blood came from the bullet that had scraped across his arm or from the glass that had still lined the window. He’d made sure the glass cut into him, not her, as they fled. “It’s nothing.” He could handle a little blood.

He caught her hands in his and held them tight. He was so sick of killers screwing with them.

His gaze darted from Jim to Suzy. “Did you see anything that could identify the driver? Any specific details about the Jeep?”

Jim straightened his shoulders. The house was still burning. Lauren was staring at the flames.

Jim was staring at him. “It…looked like a Jeep Wrangler, the top was off, the color was…dark…” He shook his head. “I was so worried about Lauren, about who might be inside, I didn’t look long enough…”

Jeep Wrangler.

Wesley had a Jeep Wrangler.

Coincidence?

I don’t believe in them.

Wesley knew the swamp. Wesley had been in the area at the time of Jenny’s disappearance. Wesley was the one who’d said he’d help them locate Walker in the woods…only they’d never located Walker when Wesley had taken them out. And when they’d been searching so desperately for Lauren, it had been Wesley who’d mistakenly led him down the wrong path, though Wesley swore he knew the area better than anyone else.

The wrong way…

Because he purposely led us the wrong way?

The firefighters leaped into action. Patrol cars rushed to the scene. An ambulance raced up the road.

“Help!” Lauren called out when she saw the EMTs. “He’s hurt!”

Anthony tightened his hold on her. “Forget that.” He’d deal with the scratch later. He grabbed the first cop he saw. “We need to put out an alert for a Jeep Wrangler that left the scene.”

The fire reflected in the uniform’s wide eyes.

“The driver of that Jeep just tried to kill us.”

Could the driver be Wesley?

One way to find out.

“Get Detective Voyt on the radio. Tell him to head out to Wesley Hawthorne’s house.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to make sure the man’s not a fucking killer.”

He raced from the scene as quickly as he could. The fucking fire shouldn’t have burned him. He’d tried to keep the gas off him, but the shit had splashed back.

Now his fingers were blistered, red, and that was a condition he couldn’t easily explain away.

Shit, shit, shit!

He slammed his hands into the steering wheel. They throbbed even more at the impact. Stupid. He’d planned this so perfectly. Even let the neighbors catch sight of his vehicle…all so he could have his end game.

The DA wanted Walker’s killer stopped. The marshal wasn’t giving up the hunt until he had a body. Well, he’d intended to give them that body.

I still will.

He just had to find a way around his injury. He could make this work.

There was still time.

He could do this.

His fingers fucking hurt.

The pain fueled his rage, and he couldn’t wait to get back to the victim waiting for him. He was so ready to kill.

After finding Karen’s body in her house, Lauren had known she’d never be able to live there again.

Now she didn’t have to worry about that. The house was gutted, the flames only now sputtering out thanks to the firefighters.

The fire had burned so hard. So fast.

He was there. He took my necklace. He’s tried to take everything.

She had the blanket around her shoulders, but she wasn’t cold. With that much heat in the air, how could anyone be cold?

Anthony had gotten patched up, only because she’d dragged an EMT over to him.

More cops swarmed the scene. Paul rushed up on his motorcycle. The guy always liked to ride it when he was off duty. He shoved down his kickstand and raced toward her.

“Lauren!” He grabbed her. Held her tight. The scent of smoke was so strong in the air. “What the hell happened?” He pushed her back. “Why are you even here?”

“She wanted her necklace.” Anthony was the one who answered. “Only the bastard was waiting for us.”

Anthony glanced back at the charred remains of the house. “Jesus,” Paul said.

“Did you find Hawthorne?” Anthony demanded.

Paul shook his head. “You can’t actually think he—”

“A Jeep Wrangler left the scene. Our killer knows the swamp. Hell, when it comes to the swamp, you told me yourself, no one knows the area like Hawthorne.”

Paul’s shoulders dropped. “He’s a friend. We’ve been friends since high school. We were on the football team together.”

“I don’t care if you were fucking frat brothers together, I want to know where he is.” Anthony’s control was gone. Burned away.