Fear For Me: A Novel of the Bayou Butcher(40)

So far, they weren’t having any luck.

Meadows glanced up at her and slowly crossed to her side. “Not him.”

No, she hadn’t expected it to be. Her gaze drifted to the woods—she knew the woods stretched for a few miles, then gave way to the swamp. “Ross went in there?”

“Yeah, the Fish and Wildlife guy, Hawthorne, just went after him. Hawthorne said there are a few cabins back that way that Walker might be planning to use.”

“He likes to take his victims away from civilization.”

Meadows tilted his head as he studied her. “You think Ross is right? You think the Butcher took Lauren back into the swamp?”

“He wasn’t planning to kill her quickly.”

Meadows stared back at her. She’d never met this marshal before the Walker case, and she was discovering he could be tough and tenacious.

“If he had been planning to kill her right away,” she continued, “Ross would have found her body dumped next to the cop’s.” The cop had been lucky. Very lucky from the sound of things. McHenry was in ICU, but the doctors thought he would pull through. Walker hadn’t been interested in killing him; instead, it seemed as if he’d just wanted the cop out of his way.

Walker would have driven a knife into the back of anyone who stood between him and his target.

“He thinks she made him suffer,” Cadence said, “so now it’s her turn.” For the DA’s sake, Cadence hoped Ross found her before Walker started to play. Because once he started…

Cadence exhaled slowly. “You said there was a dirt road a few miles away? One that cut right away from Lincoln?”

He gave a nod.

More cops were pulling in behind the roadblock. Backup that she didn’t think was necessary, not there anyway.

“Marshal, we need to get out to that dirt road.”

That was a whole lot of land out there, and once Walker started cutting on Lauren, he wouldn’t stop.

Not even when she begged him to. Especially then.



The latch snicked.

It snicked. Finally. The screwdriver had slipped in her hand dozens of times, cutting her again and again, but Lauren hadn’t given up. When she heard that snick, she couldn’t remember a more beautiful sound. She shoved against the hood and the trunk popped open. The car was still moving, but Lauren didn’t care. She’d take whatever scrapes came her way if it meant freedom. She jerked upright in the trunk. The car jostled, going too fast, bumping along the rough terrain. Do it. Lauren swallowed back her fear, then leaped.

Her palms hit the ground first, then her knees, her shoulders, her head. The impact stunned her for a moment, but the sudden screech of brakes got her moving again.

Walker must have seen the trunk fly up, or maybe he’d seen her swan dive. Either way, she wasn’t sticking around. She grabbed for her screwdriver a few feet away and surged back to her feet. Then she was running. Running as hard as she could away from the car. Footsteps thundered behind her.

She opened her mouth and screamed, “Help me!”

His footsteps thundered faster. Much faster than her own. The bastard must have spent time doing cardio in prison. He’d come out even stronger than he’d gone in.

She risked a fast glance over her shoulder, and saw Walker closing in. He was a big, hulking shadow in the night. One lunge, and he’d have her.

One lunge…

She twisted her body to face him as he came at her.

He lunged, all right, and when he did, she shoved her screwdriver into his side.

He was the one to cry out then. A bellow of fury and pain.

Yes, bastard, that’s what pain feels like. He’d made sure his victims hurt over the years. Now it was his turn to feel pain.

She left that screwdriver shoved deep in his side. Then she spun and ran as fast as her legs would carry her.

But soon there were footsteps racing behind her.

He should have been down. The attack should have bought her some time.

A hand grabbed her shoulder. He yanked her back. Caged her between him and the heavy trunk of a tree.

“Your aim is shit, DA,” Walker snarled at her as his body shoved against hers. “Fucking shit.”

She tried to yank away from him, tried to kick, but he blocked her attacks.

He laughed.

“You’re not getting away from me.”

His breath was hot as it blew over her face.

“I’ve planned for this moment, dreamed of it, for too long.”

Terror was closing her throat. Choking her. She couldn’t get away from him. His grip was about to shatter her wrists. Anthony wasn’t there, Paul wasn’t there, no one was coming to save her.

I have to save myself. Have to get away.

Have to live.

Was that what his other victims had thought, too? When Walker had them under his knife, had they been desperate to live just a little bit longer?

“You stole my life,” he whispered as his mouth came close to her ear. “Now I’m going to steal yours.”



It was so damn dark that they could hardly see any tracks along the dirt road. It sure didn’t help that the road had split into three sections as it snaked into the woods and headed for the swamp.

Three sections—three ways for Walker to have vanished.

But Walker had been there. Anthony had met up with Wesley Hawthorne, and they’d gotten their lights out and scanned in the darkness. They’d found signs of a vehicle headed this way, a vehicle that had left tire tracks that were consistent with a midsize sedan.