Fear For Me (For Me #2)(82)

Greg glanced at Anthony, then back at her. “No jewelry was found at the scene.”

“She had on a necklace when she disappeared.” Her words were quiet and calm, a direct contrast to the scream inside of her. “A cross my mom had given her.” Given them both, the last Christmas they’d had together. Lauren still had her cross, nestled in the bottom of her jewelry box at home.

The home she couldn’t enter any longer.

“We’ve still got crews searching the area,” Paul said as he slid into a nearby chair. Pain and exhaustion were etched onto his face. “They might find it.”

“Not if the killer took it,” Lauren said. Her lips twisted. “Walker took jewelry from his victims. If Cadence is right and Walker learned from his partner, then maybe he saw this man taking jewelry, too, and figured he’d keep little mementos as well.”

“Trophies,” Paul growled.

Yes, that was the perfect word.

“Are the cadaver dogs hunting?” Anthony asked.

Paul gave a grim nod.

The killer might have buried other victims close by.

“Her shirt was covered in blood,” Greg said as he backed away from the table. “Maybe we’ll get lucky. He could have left his own DNA behind.”

“He cut off her hands.” Paul’s words were as quiet as Lauren’s had been. They hit her with a brutal punch. “The guy knew how to make sure he didn’t leave DNA evidence behind. She probably scratched him, and he took the hands to make sure we wouldn’t track him.”

The kill had been so long ago. Before DNA testing had really advanced.

Lauren’s lashes swept down as the sound of her heartbeat filled her ears. “Was she still alive when he—”

“No.” Greg said quickly.

Good. Her lashes lifted. She met his stare. Anthony had stepped closer to her, and the heat from his body seemed to reach out and surround her.

“That’s actually the odd thing,” Greg added. “From what I can tell, the perp didn’t originally cut off her hands. He went back and did that…later.”

She swallowed the bile that rose in her throat.

“He got smarter,” Anthony said from beside her.

Sicker.

Anthony’s eyes were on the body. “He realized he’d left his DNA behind.”

“You think she scratched him,” Paul said, sitting at attention now.

“My sister was a fighter.” Lauren knew that when most people had looked at Jenny, they’d seen a piece of fluff. An always-smiling cheerleader. But Jenny had spent ten years in gymnastics. Five in Tae Kwon Do. She wouldn’t have gone out easily. Not easily at all.

“He figured out what he’d left behind.” Anthony’s voice was a dark rumble. “He went back to fix his mistake.”

Paul yanked a hand over his face, his frustration plain to see. “Then we aren’t finding his DNA on her clothes. The bastard wouldn’t take the hands and leave his blood behind.”

“You’d be surprised at what we can uncover today.” Greg’s jaw hardened. “All I need is one tiny hair, one microscopic drop of blood from our perp. Hell, maybe the guy was even sweating when he dug her grave—either time—I just need a little sample. If he’s in our database, we’ll have the man’s identity.”

The nightmare could be over.

Greg nodded as he focused on her. “As soon as I learn more, I’ll tell you.”

“Thank you.” She glanced down at the evidence sheet. There wasn’t much left of her sister now. There should be more to show for a life. Lauren licked her lips. She had to ask, “Have you been able to tell…what happened to her? What did he do?”

Again, Greg glanced at Anthony.

Anger pulsed through her. “Tell me.”

“There are nicks on her bones that are consistent with stab wounds. I have to study her more—”

“How many wounds?” She cut through the BS. Greg was very good at his job. He would already have a strong idea, she was certain, of exactly what the killer had done to her sister.

“Seventeen.”

The ice cracked. “So many?”

She realized Anthony had taken her hand. When had he done that? Both Greg and Paul noticed the move, but so what? She wanted Anthony holding her. She wanted him. Her fingers curled around his. Tightened.

Anthony squeezed her hand. “If she was his first kill, he wouldn’t have been as controlled with her. That many slices of the blade—hell, Cadence will tell you that indicates rage. Loss of control.”

The killer was angry at Jenny. Enraged.

“There’s a reason she was first,” Lauren said. She tried to breathe slowly but the stench in the room was making her light-headed. “Jenny was personal to him.” It was the way of crimes like this.

“The crazy SOB probably thought they were all personal,” Paul muttered. “Freaks like that always do.”

“First kills usually are personal.” Anthony’s voice was thick. “The first victim is often a trigger for many serials. Once they get the rush that comes from the kill, they get addicted. They want the power. The control. They want the release that they can only get from taking lives.”

All eyes were on him.

There was a grim certainty in his voice. Anthony had dealt with far too many monsters over the years.