She shook her head. “I wasn’t the one he stabbed.”

“No, but you were the target.”

That seemed to be the consensus, dammit. Anthony sure seemed certain enough of that. She stared into his eyes, seeing the faint gold around his pupils. Anthony was big, easily six feet three, with wide shoulders that had once done him proud during his college football days.

But he didn’t run on the field anymore.

Now he ran down fugitives. Protected witnesses.

Stared at her with a leashed fury in his eyes.

“Are we even sure it’s Walker?” Paul’s question was quiet, considering. “I mean, there are other killers out there.”

He was right. There were plenty of killers loose out there. But Jon Walker was in a category all by himself.

Paul shook his head. “Walker just escaped from prison—shouldn’t his first move have been a run for the border?”

Anthony’s expression never changed. “Not if he wanted revenge.”

Her heart beat faster.

Anthony’s stare was unnerving as he told her, “He had a picture of you in his cell. I don’t know how or when he got it, but Walker had it pinned right above his pillow, just where he could see it every night.”

A shiver slid over her.

“He escapes, then twenty-four hours later, a woman winds up dead, stabbed in your bed, Butcher-style.”

Paul stood behind Anthony, silent, but with an avid gaze on them.

“You don’t have to be a genius to connect those dots,” Anthony growled. “Walker’s coming for you. You put him in prison. You’re the one he wants dead.”

And Karen had—what? Been in the wrong place? Died, for Lauren?

So much blood. She tried—and failed—to shove the image out of her mind.

“If he wanted me dead—” She spoke slowly, trying to hold on to her control because of all the people in the world, she would not break in front of Anthony Ross.

Stay with me.

Those had been her words to him.

He hadn’t stayed.

Hadn’t cared enough to do so.

Her shoulders stiffened as she said again, “If he wanted me dead, I wouldn’t be sitting here. He could have just stayed in the house, waited for me to get home, then he could have killed me.”

Now Paul cleared his throat. “Lauren, you said you heard a whisper when you got home.”

Anthony’s gaze sharpened.

Lauren gave a slow nod.

“Was that whisper from Karen?” Paul asked.

Lauren hesitated. “The wind was loud. I’d just come inside.”

“Was it a woman’s voice?” Paul pressed.

She closed her eyes for a moment, blocking him out, trying to block out Anthony, too. If only it was that easy.

But she focused and tried to remember…

The milk was sliding. The shutters banging. Then a whisper.

Lauren…

“I thought it was a man’s voice.” Her eyes opened. “But I can’t swear to that.” She, of all people, knew how unreliable witness testimony could be.

“If it was a man, he could have still been inside,” Paul said, voice tightening. “He could have been there—”

“And he got away when I ran out to meet the cops.” The thunder and rain would have masked the sound of the killer’s footsteps.

“Uniforms are searching the area,” Paul said. “We can—”

Anthony gave a hard shake of his head. “That’s not good enough.” Then he rose to his full height, a height that put him a few inches above Paul. “Jon Walker grew up in this area. He knows how to vanish in these swamps.”

Knew how, and had, for months before during his previous attacks.

Sometimes he’d taken his victims with him into those swamps.

“I can find him,” Paul said, voice grim. “I can track him down.”

Anthony’s gaze burned. “When it comes to fugitive apprehension, I’m in charge of the Walker case. The marshals will be finding him.” He stared down at Lauren. “We stop him before he gets close to the target he wants so desperately.”

Then he backed away. Marched for the door.

Her breath rasped out on a heavy sigh. That was it? He barged in, dropped the Walker photo bombshell on her, then vanished?

She shot to her feet. Almost instantly, she found her path blocked by Paul. Gritting her teeth, she said, “I need to talk to him.”

“My captain told me to hold you, to make sure—”

“I’m not leaving the station, but I am talking to him.” She was the DA. She’d played nice with him, but she wasn’t about to let any of the cops shove her into a corner. “Follow me, but you aren’t stopping me.” The only way he could stop her would be to arrest her, and she knew that wasn’t happening.

Five years ago, Jon Walker had abducted and mutilated coeds. No, he’d started with coeds. The first two victims he’d killed quickly, but by victim number three—Gina Richardson—he’d changed his kill method. He’d taken Gina into the swamp. Kept her alive for days. Taken his time as he tortured her.

Hunters had discovered Gina’s body a week later. What was left of it, anyway.

The cops had been monitoring every college campus in the area. Extra security procedures had been put into place by the administrations.

Curfews were instituted, and girls had been advised to not walk alone at night on the campuses. With dead coeds, no one had been willing to take chances.

The cops had been sure that they would catch the killer.

But as the security had tightened at the colleges, Walker had just moved on to a new hunting ground. He’d abducted a waitress from an all-night diner. Then a mom of two. A stripper had been his next victim. A teenage babysitter his seventh—and the victim who had finally tripped him up.

Kathy Johnson had been hired to watch the children at 508 Marigold Place—she’d agreed to stay all night for a little extra cash so that the Petersons could enjoy an anniversary night on the town.

Walker had known about Kathy’s schedule that night. He’d known about the kids who’d been asleep upstairs—kids who hadn’t even realized what was happening in their house.

But Carolyn Peterson had gotten sick at dinner. She and her husband had canceled their anniversary plans and come home early—and they’d found Walker using his knife on sixteen-year-old Kathy.

So many bodies. So much death. And it wasn’t over. It still wasn’t over.

Because she hadn’t done her job well enough. Sure, the press had all claimed that she’d done great. Her boss had been impressed. But, deep down, Lauren knew the truth. If I’d fought harder, the guy would have gotten the death penalty. Not life in prison.

Now it looked as if he wanted her to be the one to die.

She slipped by Paul and hurried to the door. Her fingers shook as she grabbed the knob. She yanked it hard to the left, then rushed outside of the room, too aware of all the glances that slid her way. Her own stare darted around the room.

She found Anthony’s retreating back. Saw him and two other men she didn’t recognize. More marshals? Anthony and the men turned for the exit.

“Ross!” Her voice whipped with an order.

Lauren could sound like she had authority when she needed to do it. No one had to know that her knees were shaking.

Anthony looked back at her. The man was still as handsome as ever. High cheekbones. Strong blade of a nose. High forehead. His dark hair was shorter than it had been before, the faint lines near his mouth were a bit deeper, but the guy was still too good-looking by far for her peace of mind.

Dark. Dangerous.

Her type.

Well, once upon a time, he had been. She was trying—very much trying—to stick with the good guys these days. Guys who were safe.

Her tennis shoes squeaked as she hurried across the bull pen. She hadn’t exactly been given time to change before being rushed to the station.

Was Paul following her? She didn’t hear his footsteps. That was good.

She closed in on Anthony. “We need to talk.”

A muscle flexed in his jaw. “Later, ma’am.” His native Georgia drawl rolled lightly beneath his words. “Right now, I have a killer to hunt.”

She grabbed his arm. Held tight. “A killer who was in my house. A killer who murdered my friend.” Karen, I am so sorry. Each time she thought of Karen, it felt as if someone were clawing open her chest. “You aren’t shutting me out, understand, Ross? I’m working this with you. I am going to make sure this city doesn’t fall back into the Bayou Butcher madness it faced before.” When fear had held them all captive.

Fear of the dark.

Fear of the monster who waited in the dark.

Jon Walker had made children—and even adults—fear the boogeyman once more. Because he truly was that monster.

“I tracked him before,” Anthony said quietly. No emotion entered his voice or his gaze. “And I can do it again.”

Without you.

Unspoken, but the words were still there, hanging between them.

She wouldn’t back down. “My office will give you any support you need. We will work together on this.” She knew the reporters were probably already swarming outside. Paul had been right on that score—a story about her, about the Bayou Butcher—hell, yes, they were talking a front-page spread.

Anthony bent toward her. His scent—rich, masculine—surrounded her. His mouth was close to her ear when he whispered. “Haven’t you already come close enough to death?”

She turned her head. Met his stare. “Haven’t you?” Because she knew the risks he took, day in and day out.

Even when he’d left her, she’d followed his career. Anthony’s cases were the darkest she’d ever encountered. Brutal killers. Sadistic criminals.