Fear For Me: A Novel of the Bayou Butcher (For Me #2)(16)
Author: Cynthia Eden

Jim had stayed back at the swamp, to work more with the trackers. Matt had gone to the precinct to run down more leads.

And Anthony…he’d run to Lauren.

As soon as he’d learned there was a threat at the courthouse, he’d been desperate to get to her. So desperate that he’d dropped everything else.

She was f**king with his head already, and he’d only been in town for a few hours.

It was edging close to eight p.m. The Butcher had always killed at night. It had been just over forty-eight hours since the guy’s escape. Forty-eight hours. That timeline was cutting through Anthony.

It had taken the warden far too long to notice Walker’s absence and to contact Anthony’s office. Then, by the time he’d gotten to the prison—hell, Walker had already been given a huge edge.

Anthony opened the passenger-side door of his rented SUV. Lauren swept by him, her body brushing against his. Memories swept through him at her touch, but he shoved them back.

He had a job to do. A job he would do.

Anthony climbed into the driver’s seat. His hands tightened around the wheel. “Most of Walker’s family left the city.”

From the corner of his eye, he caught her nod.

“The guy wasn’t exactly social, so there’s not a trail of friends in the area.”

Not a trail, no, but there’d been one person in particular who had always stood by Walker during the trial. His girlfriend. “Stacy Crawford is still here,” she said, turning in the seat to glance at him.

He nodded. His own intel had already told him that Walker’s girlfriend—ex-girlfriend—was in town, and he knew exactly where she would be.

“Let’s go have a little chat with her.” That chat would take them on a visit to another of Walker’s favorite spots in the area, a rundown bar called Easy Street.

He pulled away from the curb. The interior of the SUV seemed too small. Maybe it was because Lauren was so close. Close enough to touch.

“Stacy wasn’t exactly the most cooperative witness five years ago,” Lauren murmured.

Her voice was cool, low. She could have been talking to a stranger.

Not to the man who’d once f**ked her every way he could imagine—and even thought of some new ways. She was that damn good.

“She believed Walker was innocent,” Lauren continued. “Stacy wanted to help him, not lock him up.”

He pushed down on the accelerator. “Let’s go see if she’s still trying to help him.” Help him escape prison.

Maybe help him kill.

Anthony was growing more and more convinced Walker wasn’t acting alone. Not this time.

Easy Street was far from the hustle and bustle of Baton Rouge. The bar was near the swamp, nestled on a rough patch of land. Despite its off-the-beaten-path location, the small club boasted a packed parking lot, one full of trucks, motorcycles, and a few tricked-out cars. Music blared from inside the club, seeming to reverberate from the slanting roof that covered the place.

Anthony was beside Lauren, his hand light on her arm. He kept getting too close to her. Touching her far too often. His touch made her nervous, and with Walker out there, she was already nervous enough.

They edged toward the entrance. The bouncer gave them a bored look and waved them inside.

Only Anthony didn’t go inside. Instead, he pulled out a prison photo of Walker and held it in front of the bouncer. “You seen him?”

Another bored glance. “No.”

“Look at the photo.” Anthony’s voice snapped with command. “Have you seen this guy?”

The bouncer stood. Maybe that move was meant to intimidate, but since Anthony was an inch taller, it didn’t exactly work. “You a cop?” the guy demanded.

“Marshal.” Anthony kept holding the picture. “And this man enjoys slicing apart women.”

The bouncer’s gaze snapped back to the photo. This time, he looked. Under the flickering fluorescent light, he seemed to pale. “Nah, I ain’t seen that freak here.”

Anthony tucked the photo back into his pocket and pulled out a small, white card. “If you see him, you call me.”

The card disappeared in the bouncer’s fist.

Then they were inside. The music was even louder and the alcohol was flowing freely. The scent of stale beer and sweat filled the air. Bodies were smashed together in the dark spaces—and Lauren noticed that there were plenty of dark spaces.

When she’d come to Easy Street before, it had been during the daytime. She’d interviewed the staff, talked with Stacy Crawford—all when the bright lights were on.

Now, the place seemed so different. With the dark bayou waiting just beyond the small windows, the club held an air of menace.

“How many times did you talk to Stacy Crawford?” Anthony asked.

“Too many to count.”

“Then when we see her, you get things started. Maybe she’ll respond better to you.”

Highly doubtful, but she’d sure give it a try. Since Stacy had actually threatened to kill Lauren at one point, she didn’t particularly think they were headed for bosom-buddy territory.

You bitch! You ruined my life!

It hadn’t been the first time Lauren had been called a bitch. Not the last either. Not with her job.

Her gaze scanned the crowd and lit on the familiar figure of Stacy Crawford. Stacy’s hair color had changed since Lauren had last seen her. Instead of the blue black, Stacy’s hair was now an almost white blonde and she seemed thinner, paler.

Lauren pushed her way through the crowd. The waitress was leaning over the bar, slapping her hand on the counter as she tried to get the bartender’s attention.

“Stacy?”

Without looking back, Stacy said, “Be with ya in a minute—”

“It’s Lauren Chandler.” She had to raise her voice to be heard over the blare of music. “I’m the—”

Stacy whirled toward her. “I know who the hell you are.”

Stacy’s hair color had changed, but the hate in her brown eyes hadn’t.

Lauren cleared her throat. “Is there some place we can go to talk?”

“I don’t have a damn thing to say to you!” Stacy tried to shove past her.

Lauren caught her arm, her grip light. Anthony was silent, watching. “Walker escaped. He’s in the area.” Killing. She didn’t say that. Stacy had never believed Walker was a killer.

A tremble ran over Stacy, but she locked her jaw and gritted, “I know. The damn cops called me and I told them just what I’m telling you—fuck off.” Then she yanked her arm away and stormed toward a door marked STAFF.