Only now she was staring at him in shock, her mouth swollen from his kiss, her cheeks flushed, and her brilliant eyes glittering.

“I always thought love made you a better person,” he whispered to her. “That it made you good. That it was gentle and kind.” Wasn’t that what all the books said? All the sappy movies?

Lauren was still staring up at him, and he couldn’t tell what she was thinking.

So he kept talking.

“The way I feel about you isn’t…gentle.” How could he make her understand? He was screwing this up, but he had to tell her. Before anything else happened. Before another monster was at the door. “The way I feel about you—it’s wild and it’s dark. I want you with me all the time. I want your body, your heart. I want you to need me as much as I need you.”

It fucking sounded like obsession, and that wasn’t what he wanted. He was trying to explain that it was more than just a dark need. He’d discovered it was more.

Anthony sucked in a deep breath. “I want you happy.” That was love, right? Only…I’d kill to make her happy. “You’re the dream I’ve had every night for the last five years. You’re the first thing in my head each morning. When I think about my future, I want it with you.” Anything, as long as it was with her.

“Why are you telling me this now?”

The door banged a few feet away. “Ross!” It was Matt’s voice. “I got the tech on the phone! We’ve got a hit!”

Why now?

Because if something happened, and he didn’t manage to survive the killer’s attack, he wanted her to understand how he felt about her. That it wasn’t just sex, wasn’t just the lust that would never be slaked.

Matt’s fist hit the door again. “Ross!”

“Because you’re the person who matters to me. The only woman I’ve loved, and no matter what else happens, you need to know that.” He wasn’t asking her to love him back, but he wanted her to.

So badly.

He stepped away. Summoned his control once more.

And headed for the door.

“You won’t leave me behind.”

Never again.

He glanced over his shoulder and saw she’d grabbed the gun.

“I’m not afraid of what waits in that swamp.”

He knew she was, but she was still ready to face it anyway.

How could he not love her?

He yanked open the door. Matt was there, glaring at him. His fist was still up, probably because he’d been ready to pound through the wood.

“If you’re finished making out—”

Matt’s words ended in a gasp. Anthony had grabbed the guy and shoved him back. “I just crawled out of a fucking fire, dodged bullets, and was left to die.” His breath was ragged. “Don’t push, not now, and sure as hell not about her.”

Matt’s eyes widened as he hurriedly straightened his shirt. “Ah, like that, is it?”

Anthony’s hands fisted. “Yeah, it’s like that.”

Lauren crept up behind him.

Matt gave what was as close to a smile as possible. “That would explain some things…”

Anthony growled.

The whisper of a smile faded. “We got two satellite hits on Hawthorne’s phone. His first call was made about two hours ago.” He cocked his head as he delivered his news. “From a location right outside of Lauren’s house.”

It was him.

“He turned the phone off after that, but it came back on again about five minutes ago, when he made a call to our friendly neighborhood detective.”

“Paul,” Lauren whispered.

“Where was Wesley when he made the call?”

A rough sigh slipped from Matt. “It’s hard as shit for the techs to get a location out in that swamp, right? It’s not exactly easy to—”

“Where?” Matt wouldn’t be talking to him unless he knew a pretty damn close approximation.

“From what the techs could tell it looked like the guy was calling from a spot near Judge Hamilton’s place. Figures that Hamilton’s family would have built the cabin in the one location where the cell service was pristine.”

Hamilton’s place.

“I tried to contact Voyt after we made the connections on the calls.” Matt’s stare dipped to Lauren. “But he isn’t answering his phone.”

What the hell?

Jim came out of his room, heading toward them with determined steps. The guy was armed. Ready to go.

They all were.

Three marshals. One DA.

One killer.

He’d take those odds.

But he’d also stack the deck. Lauren always has to be safe.

He yanked out his phone and had Cadence on the line within seconds. “I think you’re gonna want to take a little drive to the swamp.”

* * *

The noise from the police station almost drowned out Anthony’s words. Cadence turned away from the bull pen, putting her hand over her left ear so she could hear him better.

“We got a hit on Hawthorne…” Anthony was telling her. “He just used his cell phone out at Judge Hamilton’s cabin.”

Her heart was beating too fast. She caught Kyle’s stare and inclined her head. The police chief had gone into the captain’s office. They’d just spent ten minutes trying to tear apart her profile. When they hadn’t succeeded, they’d retreated for a little powwow. They could retreat and come back to attack all they wanted.

I know my job.

“He fits your profile,” Anthony said. “His vehicle was just spotted at Lauren’s house.”

She knew that. She’d been briefed on the fire that had nearly killed Ross and the DA. “Are you all right?”

“I will be when the killer’s stopped.”

That wasn’t exactly an answer. “You don’t know it’s Hawthorne.”

“He made a call near Lauren’s house, right before the fire. He was there.”

And he did have a strong knowledge of the swamps. He’d been in the area when Jenny Chandler disappeared and his job would have taken him all around Louisiana. Into the cities and counties where the other women had vanished.

“He and Walker went to school together,” Ross told her. His voice was distorted, as if he was running or moving quickly. He’s going after Hawthorne.

She already knew Hawthorne had gone to school with Walker. “Detective Voyt went to school with both men, too. He’s not—”

“Where is Voyt? He’s there, right? Ask him why Hawthorne called him a few minutes ago, ask him—”

“Voyt isn’t here.” She spoke slowly as her gaze swept the bull pen. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen the detective.

“Fuck. He could have gone after Hawthorne on his own.”

She checked her weapon. Kyle was at her side. “You’re on your way out there, aren’t you?”

A pause. “Aren’t you?” he tossed back.

She glanced toward the captain’s closed door. “You have your men with you?”

“Damn straight.”

“I’ll meet you at the cabin.” She shoved the phone into her pocket and marched for the captain’s office. She didn’t bother knocking. She just shoved the door open.

Kyle whistled behind her.

He’d told her before he loved it when she got rough. She was about to get plenty rough.

Both men spun to face her.

“You will not be impeding our investigation any longer,” she stated as she stood firm in that doorway. “What you will be doing is shutting up, listening, and getting the hell out of my way.”

* * *

Wesley Hawthorne opened his eyes. The back of his head throbbed, hurting like a bitch, and he groaned as the pain and nausea rolled through him.

“Don’t worry, it won’t hurt much longer.”

He glanced up at the voice. At the familiar voice. Wesley shook his head in automatic denial.

A wave of nausea rose in his throat.

“I know what you’ve done, Hawthorne.”

He hadn’t done anything.

“You’ve killed women. So many women, and you’ve dumped their bodies in your swamp.”

“No,” he rasped, “I—”

“You did. And tonight, you tried to kill the DA and her lover. You went to her house. You shot at them. You set her house on fire.”

“No…”

“Neighbors saw you. They identified your vehicle. The same vehicle will later be tested by crime scene techs. They’ll find ash and debris from the fire on it, in it, tying you to the arson.”

He hadn’t been there. He’d been at a bar, Rattlesnake. He’d been drinking. He’d gone to the back parking lot…

I don’t remember what happened after that.

“You also made a phone call right before you set the fire. A phone call that will be an extra nail to prove your guilt.”

I’m not guilty. “I…never…killed…”

“When you’re found, with your head blown open and Jenny Chandler’s cross cradled in your hand, the cops won’t look for a second serial killer anymore. The cases will end, with you.”

Not me.

Something cold and hard pressed under his chin. He glanced down and could see the barrel of the gun.

“The only question I have…” the smug voice continued, “is this: Should I shoot you from this angle…” The gun rose. Pressed into his right temple. “Or should I shoot you here?”

“No!” He jerked but saw that his hands were tied to the chair. Tied but…what the fuck? Padded? Cloth was beneath the ropes on his wrists and ankles.

His heart nearly burst out of his chest. The padding was there so he wouldn’t bruise. So that when he was dead, his body could be staged. Positioned.

No one would ever know he hadn’t put the gun up to his own head.

“I actually hadn’t planned for you to wake up. It’s harder to use your own hand to fire the shot when you’re awake.”

He wants gunshot residue on my hand.