Fear For Me (For Me #2)(72)

Surprise hit her.

His gaze slanted to her, holding hers for just a moment. “I’m not leaving town. I want to help you find out what happened to Jenny.”

Her heart beat faster. “Thank you.” For so long, it had just been her, hunting and hoping all by herself.

“Walker was the key to her murder. With that discovery, we will solve her murder.”

Murder. Not disappearance. Not runaway. Not all of the terms cops had thrown out for so long.

“But for tonight—just tonight—I want it to be you and me, Lauren. Just us.” His fingers tightened around the wheel. “I think we deserve that time.”

She wanted that time.

They drove in silence for a while, then he was taking the long, winding path that led to a two-story, gleaming antebellum home nestled on a private road, away from the bustle and lights of the city.

He parked the SUV, then came around to her side and opened the door. “I had a bag brought over for you,” he said as he took her arm.

He’d thought of everything.

Lights gleamed from inside the house. “How did you get this place?”

“I had a friend who owed me a favor.”

They walked up the gleaming steps and entered the house. Her gaze drifted over the marble floor, to the glittering chandelier and the spiral staircase. “Some friend.”

“When you’ve spent years finding safe houses for witnesses and informants, you make a lot of connections.”

He locked the door behind them. Set the alarm. Then his arms wrapped around her.

His touch was warm and strong, and there, in that perfect house with him, she wasn’t going to let the shadows of fear pull her down.

“I remember the first time I saw you.” His lips feathered over her temple.

Her breath whispered out in a little sigh.

“You were in court, wearing a black skirt that stopped two inches above your knees—”

“Two inches? You remember that exactly?” she teased.

“Uh-huh, I measured. A sexy skirt and black f*ck-me heels.”

Her jaw dropped. “I would never wear those to court—”

“Trust me, I looked at those shoes and wanted one thing.”

He still wanted that one thing. She could hear the arousal in his voice.

“You were a fantasy I could never give up.” His lips pressed to hers. “No matter how many miles were between us.”

“There aren’t any miles between us now,” she told him, her voice husky. He was the fantasy that had slipped into her mind too many times. A fantasy that wasn’t out of reach any longer.

A flesh-and-blood man, a man who wanted her, not a dream.

“There are just too many clothes between us,” he muttered, “but I think I can solve that problem.”

She was sure he could.

The marshal had great problem-solving skills.





*


Cadence Hollow shoved open the door to the morgue. “Dr. Wright!” She knew Walker’s body had been transferred to the morgue, and she wanted to see the Bayou Butcher herself.

Dr. Wright didn’t respond.

Her footsteps tapped over the old floor. Goose bumps rose on her arms as the chilled air swept over her. Most people didn’t like morgues. FBI agents and cops she’d met would often tell her that dealing with the dead was their least favorite part of the job.

That wasn’t the case for her. In order to hunt killers, it was best to study the victims. The victims held the secrets. They could show why and how the killers had acted.

The ME’s office smelled of antiseptic and bleach. Everything was in a briskly organized fashion. She crept closer to Greg’s desk. She’d done her research on him, as she did on everyone working her cases. Obsessive, that was her. A negative side effect of the job.

Greg had taken the ME’s position about six months ago, transferring from New Orleans. He was originally from Baton Rouge, and had left years ago to attend med school at Tulane.

“What are you doing?” His voice—sharp, definitely annoyed—called from behind her.

She turned from his desk. No pictures. No adornments of any sort. Her gaze swept over him.

He wore a pair of scrubs, white gloves, and a clear shield over the lower part of his face. She could just see Dr. Wright’s eyes, so incredibly dark, studying her.

“I’m here to see Walker. He was brought in earlier, wasn’t he?” She’d gone back to the scene of his death, searched the area, studied it, and come back here as the darkness swept across the city.

“He’s here.” He tossed aside the face mask.

Greg Wright was classically handsome. His blond hair slanted away from the strong planes of his face, curling just slightly.

She’d heard some of the cops call him Dr. Death.

She didn’t exactly go for the pretty boys. She had a rule about that. Men who were too good-looking often came with far too many flaws on the inside.

Cadence cleared her throat. “Show me the body.”

Instead of showing her the body, Wright stepped forward and placed himself in front of her, effectively blocking the door leading to the mortuary area. “I was in the middle of an autopsy. Things are graphic in there right now.”

She stared up at him. “I track serial killers for a living. Trust me, there’s nothing you can show me that I haven’t seen.” Had he forgotten she was the one who’d been behind him at Helen Lynch’s crime scene? Had she gotten shaky and sick then?