Fear for Me (3 page)

A scream cut through the night. No, not a scream, a siren. The flash of red-and-blue lights lit up her kitchen. Her heart beat faster. She lunged for the back door, clutching her knife as she shoved her phone into her back pocket once more. As she rushed outside, Lauren saw the cops, already jumping from their vehicle. Her body was on high alert, and something was very
wrong
.

Her feet thundered down the stairs of her back porch. Rain began to pelt her even as the bright light of a flashlight locked on her. No, not just one flashlight.

Two.

“Lauren Chandler?” one of the officers shouted.

Lauren froze. Crap. She still had the knife. Instinct. But she knew better than to approach a cop with a weapon, so she let the blade drop from her fingers. In the glare of the flashlights,
she knew the cops would see the weapon fall. “Yes, yes, I’m Lauren Chandler.” She kept her hands up. “What’s going on?”

The cop on the right took a step toward her. “Why do you have the weapon, Ms. Chandler?”

“I thought I heard something inside.” If they’d only witnessed what she had. Hell, if they’d been privy to all the details of her cases, most folks wouldn’t even be able to sleep at night.

She’d sure been through her own share of sleepless nights. Sometimes, she’d only made it through after late-night phone calls with her best friend, Karen. Karen knew all about the darkness, too. She never thought Lauren’s fears were crazy—not when Karen shared them.

We’ve seen the monsters out there.
Karen’s voice, the low drawl that dipped beneath it, whispered through Lauren’s mind.
Seen ’em plenty, and we’re smart enough to be afraid. The rest of the world—maybe they’re better off not knowing. Hell, sometimes, I wish I didn’t know.

But Karen’s job was to know.
Just like mine is.

What would Karen think if she’d seen how scared Lauren had been in that dark house?

She’d probably tell me I need a drink to calm down…and that next time, I should immediately get my ass out of the house.

“Is there anyone else in the house?” the cop asked as he took another step toward her.

“There shouldn’t be.” She wasn’t even sure she’d heard the whisper. Lauren glanced over her shoulder at her dark house.

That was when she realized lights glowed from the homes of her few neighbors. The lots were big and private, but she could clearly see illumination coming from those houses. Hers was the only house with a power outage. The only dark house on the road.

Lauren crept toward the cops. “Why are you here? What’s happening?”

“We’re under orders to take you back to the station, Ms. Chandler.”

“Is this about one of my cases?” This wasn’t standard operating procedure. The rain kept falling onto her.

“The order came from the U.S. Marshals’ office, ma’am.”

Her racing heart stopped.
U.S. Marshal.
“Why?”

“We got word that a prisoner escaped from Angola, and the marshal wanted you to have protection.”

“Jon Walker,” she whispered through numb lips.

The cop replied, but the rumble of thunder swallowed his answer.

She hurried toward them, her fear making her move faster. Her feet slipped in the slick grass, but she didn’t slow down. In the middle of the storm, the uniformed cops looked like the safest port she’d ever seen.

The taller of the two opened the back of his patrol car. “Ma’am, why don’t you get out of the rain?”

Grateful, Lauren slid inside. But the cops didn’t follow her. They were staring over at her house, and she knew suspicion when she saw it.

“Why aren’t your lights on?” the cop nearest her asked. His face was round, his shoulders stooped just slightly.

“The power didn’t work,” she confessed. Her hands pressed over her jeans as she tried to wipe the moisture from her palms. Part rain and part plain old sweat and fear.

The cops had their guns drawn. She saw the quick nod they exchanged. The taller cop ran toward her house while his partner took up a position near Lauren.

Guarding her.

“We’re just gonna do a quick sweep,” he told her, flashing a grin that she was able to see in the glow of the patrol car’s interior lights. “To make sure that the area is secure.”

Right. Goose bumps had risen on her arms. It was an early summer night, warm despite the rain, and she was shivering.

A few moments later, the cop’s partner made it into her house. She could see the glow from his flashlight.

“I’m Officer Hank Lane,” the man standing near the open car door said. “And you don’t have anything to worry about, understand? You’re—”

The radio on his hip crackled. They both tensed as Hank picked up the radio.

“Get an ambulance,” his partner’s voice barked. “Get one
now
!”

Lauren…
She shuddered when she remembered the whisper.

Her gaze flew back to the house. She tried to push out of the car, but Hank held her back. No one should have been inside her home.

Get an ambulance…

Someone had been there. In the dark. Waiting for her?

The cop’s grip tightened around her.

“Go inside,” she said, voice desperate. “Help him!”

Hank hesitated. Lauren pulled away from him. The man scrambled and called for backup and an ambulance.

She could almost smell his fear. He was a uniform, probably new to patrol duty, and he’d just thought he was heading out to pick up the DA for a little babysitting job.

Hank pointed at her. “Stay here, ma’am.”

No, no way. If someone was in there—possibly hurt—she had to help. She was the one to run toward those in need, never away. Helping victims was her job.

When he took off running, so did she.

Hank jumped up the back steps. He whirled when he heard her footsteps. “Ma’am, you’re supposed to stay—”

“We’re wasting time!” Her voice held the whip of command. She was the DA, dammit.

Gulping, Hank spun around and headed into the house.

She hurried behind him, using his flashlight to guide her. The milk had fallen to the floor. Spilled everywhere. Her tennis shoes slid through the white liquid. A few seconds later, she and Hank were in her narrow hallway. Then—

Her bedroom?

Hank’s flashlight hit the face of the officer. He was over Lauren’s bed. Crouched over the woman sprawled on Lauren’s covers.

A woman who wasn’t moving. A woman whose eyes stared sightlessly above her. A woman covered in blood.

So much bright, red blood.

The light hit the woman’s face. Lauren lost her breath.
I know her.
“Karen?” She tried to rush forward. No, no, that couldn’t be Karen.

Hank caught her arms. “No, you need to stay back!”

Because it was a crime scene. Because they were looking at a murder victim. Because they were looking at—

“Karen!” Her best friend. Sometimes…sometimes it seemed Karen was her only friend.

The wail of a siren reached her. It was the ambulance coming to help them.

Coming too late.

Because Karen Royce, Lauren’s best friend, was dead.

“Why did you have the knife, Lauren?”

Lauren’s fingers tightened around the coffee mug. The coffee was ice-cold, pretty normal for the police station’s thick brew. It was late, edging toward two a.m., but she didn’t need the caffeine to keep her awake.

The image of Karen’s mutilated body could do that just fine.

“Lauren?” the detective pressed, his voice deepening as he tried to catch her attention.

Lauren sighed. “Do you really think we need to do the formal game?” She’d worked with Paul Voyt on dozens of cases. And right then, the guy actually had her in the
interrogation
room. Normally, they questioned the suspects together.

Now he was the one questioning her.

Paul exhaled heavily. Face grim, he said, “I’m sorry, but I’m afraid we do. Karen Royce was stabbed at least five times, in your home, and officers on the scene reported that you raced out of your house holding a butcher knife.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose. A headache throbbed relentlessly behind her eyes. “There’s no blood on the knife. Or on me. Get the techs to check the weapon. They’ll see it wasn’t used.” Her lips wanted to tremble so she pressed them together as she straightened her shoulders. Then, when she hoped that the trembling had passed, Lauren said, “You can’t be looking at me for this crime. You
know
me, Paul.”

Damn well.

Biblically.

Unfortunately. Their night together had been a one-time mistake that would not be repeated.

She’d been lonely. Weak.

Missing an ex-lover who couldn’t stay out of her mind, even though he’d sure moved on easily enough. As soon as the case had been closed, he’d left town without looking back.

If only she’d been able to move on so easily.

“Right now, all I know is that a dead body was found, in your house, in
your
bed, Lauren.” But there was sympathy in his voice. Paul was a good guy, and she could tell by his expression that he
hated
doing this part of his job.

“I didn’t kill Karen. She was my friend.”

“A friend who you were fighting with yesterday.”

Her gaze flew to his.

“Yeah. I know about that. Word traveled fast about your little courthouse scene.”

“That was…a personal matter.” One she didn’t want to get into. Karen was dead. There was no need to say or do anything to hurt her memory.

“Don’t give me that. I need you to be honest. To cooperate
fully
. Hell, you know the press is going to freakin’ flip when they find out that the DA is involved in a murder—”

“Jon Walker escaped.” Lauren said the words flatly. “That’s why the cops were at my house. They were bringing me here, for protection. But
you
should already know that.” She leveled her stare at him. “So why am I being grilled when you should be looking for Jon and not wasting time in here with me?”

“We
are
looking for him. But questions still have to be asked, and hell, Lauren, I thought you’d prefer to talk to me instead of the other detectives out there.”

The breath felt cold in her lungs. He was right. If she had to sit through the questioning, she’d rather face him.

“Why was she at your house?”

“I don’t know.” Truth. “Karen had a key, and sometimes she liked to crash there.”

“You’re sure you didn’t know she was going to be there?”

“No!” The denial sprang from her. She sucked in a deep breath. Held tight to her control. “After our argument, I hadn’t talked to Karen. I had no idea she’d be at my place.” Not until she’d found her body. A sight Lauren would never forget. “I saw her in my room. I saw what had been done to her.” Lauren’s gaze held his. “You know Jon’s way of killing. You know just what the Butcher liked to do.”

Jon Walker had been given the grim moniker of the Bayou Butcher—sometimes shortened simply to the Butcher—for a reason.

Paul leaned toward her, his body on the edge of his wooden chair. His eyes, a steely light gray, raked over her. Paul was handsome, tall, strong. He had one of those golden-boy faces that got witnesses to trust him far too easily, a very handy trick. “You’re telling me the Butcher was in your house? Did you see him there? The uniforms told me they didn’t see any sign of anyone else.”

Like the blood hadn’t been a sign of someone else?

She shook her head. “I’m not saying I saw him.” Another icy breath. “I’m saying I didn’t kill Karen. I wouldn’t! Jon Walker has been out for over—” Hell, what was it? She’d asked the cops on her ride there. “Over twenty-four hours. That would have given him plenty of time to get out here and—”

“You think he came for you?”

Her fingers pressed onto the scarred tabletop. “I was the one who put him away.” She’d made her career on that case. She’d been twenty-eight when she prosecuted the Butcher. Twenty-eight and secretly terrified of the monster who sat in the courtroom with her. But Lauren hadn’t let fear stop her. She’d done her job. Convicted that murdering SOB.

By the time she’d turned twenty-nine, the Butcher had been in Angola and she’d already been the DA. A DA who still had nightmares because of that case.

“Fuck, Lauren.” Paul’s hand crept toward hers. A crack had appeared in his mask. “I wasn’t even on duty when the call came through about Walker and you. The captain just sent me in here when you pulled up with the uniforms. I got the shortest fucking briefing on record.” His gaze held hers as his fingers covered her hand. “But if that sick sonofabitch is actually back and targeting you—”

The door opened behind Paul. Lauren glanced up, expecting to see the face of another detective or maybe even someone from her office.

She didn’t expect to see U.S. Marshal Anthony Ross standing there.

For a second, she simply stared at him as the memories came rushing back. Once, she would have done just about anything for that man. She’d wanted him more than breath. Needed him with a fierce desire that just wouldn’t stop.

Then she remembered…

He’d just walked away.

He’d been so busy walking that he hadn’t noticed when he left her in damn pieces behind him.