Fear For Me: A Novel of the Bayou Butcher(80)

So?

Don’t be late, Jenny. I’ve got to practice for my recital—

I’ll be there. Jenny had given half her pancake to Lauren. Count on me.

More dirt rose from the ground.

Count on me.

The men working in the hole stilled. “We’ve got something!”

Her heart stopped.

I’ll pick you up after school…

Paul shouldn’t have been there, but when they’d called the station to get the crew, he’d come. Shaking and pale, he’d been determined to join them.

Now he made his way to the hole.

Lauren found that she couldn’t move at all.

Anthony took her hand in his. His fingers were warm. She felt ice-cold. “Lauren?”

She forced herself to speak. “What did you find?” Her voice was too high.

Paul stared down into the hole. His face looked even paler. The lines near his eyes and mouth appeared even more defined. After a tense moment, he looked back up at Lauren. “Bones.”

Count on me…

A tear slid down Lauren’s cheek.

The men continued working in the hole.

“There’s clothing down here, too…”

Clothes and bones would be all that remained. Lauren’s lips pressed tighter so she wouldn’t cry out.

“Looks like a red shirt…” The words seemed to drive right into Lauren’s heart.

Part of her had stubbornly clung to hope. Hope that Jenny was alive somewhere. Alive, happy.

But…

Jenny had been wearing a red shirt when she vanished. A red shirt. Blue jeans. Her brand-new boots—Lauren’s birthday present to her.

“I want to see,” Lauren said. She took a step forward, locking her knees.

Anthony blocked her path. “Do you really want to see her that way?”

The image of Jenny as she’d been, dark hair gleaming, her wide, slow smile lighting up her face, was in Lauren’s mind.

I’ll pick you up—

“We don’t know that it’s her,” Paul was saying, voice thick. “It could be any of the missing girls.”

No. It was the weeping willow tree. The tree Walker had wanted them to find. They’d do a DNA test, but in her heart, Lauren already knew.

She stared up into Anthony’s eyes. His face had locked into a stark mask, but his green eyes shone with emotion. He bent his head toward her. “Don’t do this to yourself,” he whispered. “Remember the way she was, remember—”

“I have to see her.” Didn’t he understand? It wasn’t over. Couldn’t be over, until she saw her sister again.

Anthony shook his head. Pain flashed in his eyes.

The men were clearing the area to bring the body from the earth, the earth that didn’t want to let her go.

Lauren stepped closer and heard one of the men swear.

“Sonofabitch. Her hands are severed.”

Lauren’s body trembled. Anthony was there—always there—to steady her.

“Don’t, Lauren,” he said again.

It was her sister. She had to see.

She took another step.

Dirt. Roots, twisting through the dirt. And…bones. Bones darkened by the soil. An old red shirt, the edge of blue jeans…

A skull that stared up at her.

Something broke inside of Lauren.

She broke.

Anthony’s arms closed around her, and he held her tight.



He wanted to f*cking kill. Anthony barely held his rage in check as he watched Lauren make her way to the ME’s office. She’d gone to meet with the mayor in a closed-door meeting—just her, the mayor, and the chief of police—a few moments before, and he sure as hell hoped she’d ripped the dick a new one. They had their evidence now, and there was no way the mayor could shove the body under the rug.

The press would know what was happening. Anthony had already made sure of it with a fast phone tip to some of Lauren’s contacts. No one would forget Jenny Chandler or the other victims.

Lauren’s steps were slow, her shoulders sagging, as she headed toward him.

He caught her hand before she could open the door to the morgue.

“No, not yet.”

Dark circles lined her eyes, from pain, horror, and grief that were ravaging her. He wanted to take it all away. He wanted to find the bastard who’d made her hurt and destroy him. Death would be too easy.

The man needed to suffer, as he’d made Lauren suffer. And Jenny suffer. And all the others.

He glanced over his shoulder. He saw an empty room and pulled Lauren toward it.

“Anthony, what—”

His mouth took hers. He had to kiss her. He wanted her to feel something, anything, but sadness and grief. He wanted her to know she was alive, dammit, and there was still hope.

Hope for her. For them.

But he could taste the salt of her tears. He hated the taste of her grief. Lauren should know joy.

I will kill the bastard.

Her arms curled around him. Her lips parted, and she kissed him back with an almost desperate need.

Her body trembled, but she pressed tightly to him. Her nails sank into his arms as she rose onto her toes.

Her lips broke from his, just long enough for her to whisper, “Make it stop.”

He stared into her eyes. Saw the gleam of tears.