Fear For Me: A Novel of the Bayou Butcher(84)

Only Jon hadn’t gotten his payback. Lauren and her lover had killed him.

She’d taken Jon away. She’d dug up the past. Ruined Jenny.

Lauren had to die.

She should have paid more attention before she’d gone into the house. But Lauren had been so focused on what waited inside that she hadn’t noticed the threat all around her.

Pity.

He smiled.



She hated the darkness. Lauren’s fingers flew out and slapped against the light switch. The darkness vanished instantly, and she was staring at the familiar sight of her living room.

Her couch.

Her photos. Her TV and the stack of DVDs she kept handy for the nights she couldn’t sleep.

Her grandmother’s afghan was still tossed over the back of her couch. The home looked just as it had days before.

But the chill in the air was new. So very new. With the Baton Rouge summer blaring down on them, the cold should have been the last thing she felt.

Squaring her shoulders, she strode down her hallway, turning on every light she passed. She wanted the darkness gone.

By the time she reached her bedroom, her palms were sweating. The door was shut, and she hesitated.

Anthony didn’t speak. She knew he didn’t want her in there, but she had to do this.

She wouldn’t let fear control her.

Her fingers curled around the knob. She turned it and pushed open the door.



The lights had flooded on inside the house. He could see the shadows moving—the bodies of Lauren and the marshal—as they went down the hallway. He had to hurry.

It was a good thing he’d learned to be so quiet and careful over the years. One had to be careful when stalking precious prey.

He grabbed his weapon—not the weapon he would have preferred, but one that was going to have to work in this case—and slipped close to the house.

The front door was locked, but that didn’t matter.

He had his own key.



The bedroom door squeaked open. More darkness. And the scent of death. Lauren’s breath was coming out harder now as she fumbled with the light. When it was on, she saw her room.

The mattress was gone, just as Anthony had said. The sheets, the covers—everything was gone from the bed. There were bloodstains on the floor. Spatter on the walls.

Karen’s blood.

Anthony swore behind her.

She wanted to do more than swear. “He’s burning in hell.” Walker had gotten exactly what he deserved.

Karen hadn’t, though. She’d never deserved this.

Lauren tore her gaze off the bed and hurried to her closet.

The hardwood floor creaked beneath her feet.

Lauren…

The whisper seemed to be in the air, but it was just a memory. Her memory. It had never been Karen’s voice. It had been Walker, trying to lure her to the spot he wanted her. The perfect kill.

But she’d gotten away.

She was nearly at the closet. When she’d bought the house, she’d fallen in love with the closet. Walk-in heaven. A paradise for her shoes.

Now she just wanted her necklace.

Lauren opened the closet door.

She lost her breath. The closet had been trashed. Boxes were everywhere. Her clothes slashed. “Anthony…”

He was already there. Pulling her against him. Holding her tight.

“It wasn’t like this before.” The house hadn’t been ransacked by Walker. Paul had told her he’d checked the house.

Where’s my jewelry box?

She heard the creak of wood.

Only the sound hadn’t come from their steps.

It had come from outside the bedroom.

She knew the nightmare was happening again.

Lauren…

Before they could leap for the bedroom door, the light went out, thrusting them into darkness.

This time, Lauren didn’t imagine what she heard…

Laughter.



Come out, come out…I’m waiting for you.

He’d prepared so well. They were going to be such easy prey.

It had been easy enough to throw the breaker switch and plunge the house into darkness. He liked to hunt in the dark. He’d spent so many nights in the darkness of the swamp. First as a child, wandering deep and far to get away from the prying eyes of his family. Then, later, with Jon on their hunts.

Unlike others, his night vision was strong. So very strong.

Sometimes, he even let his prey run from him in the swamp. He hunted on the darkest nights, when the moon was gone, when the stars were clouded. He could see his prey easily in the swamp. See the shadows as they fled.

He would see Lauren and her marshal just as easily in the darkened house. Shadows that would be targeted.

He lifted his weapon. It wasn’t his weapon of choice—he always preferred the intimate touch of a knife. Tonight, a gun would have to get the job done.

Brutal. Cold.

I like the knife better.

The knife let him feel his victim’s pain. It cut right through the skin. So gentle. So much better than the brutality of the gun.

He’d lured his prey just where he wanted them. Made the wreckage of the closet to pull them in even deeper, so he’d have the chance to get to the breaker box.

And now…

Come out, come out…

The marshal would be first. He knew it. He’d wait for the marshal’s shadow, wait to hear the telltale creak of wood, then he’d shoot. When he went down, Lauren would be desperate. She’d try to save the marshal, because she cared for him. She’d pull him back into the bedroom.