Fear For Me: A Novel of the Bayou Butcher (For Me #2)(3)
Author: Cynthia Eden

The Bayou Butcher. Sonofabitch. That brutal bastard should have gotten a needle in the arm, but no, the man who’d sliced his way through seven women in Baton Rouge had been given consecutive life sentences instead of death.

And now more victims were bleeding for Walker. For the Bayou Butcher.

“He didn’t just walk out.” The warden, James Miller, swallowed quickly. The guy was in way over his head with this case. When word reached the press, shit was going to hit the fan, and Anthony knew Miller would find himself looking for a new job—because the governor would demand that the man leave Angola. The Bayou Butcher had escaped on the guy’s watch.

Hell. This was so bad, in so many ways. Anthony would have to make sure all the jurors on Walker’s trial knew what had happened ASAP. They’d have to get protection—they’d need to pull in a ton of manpower on this one. He’d have to get his office to contact the victims’ families. The DA.

The DA.

His jaw locked.

“He didn’t just walk out,” Miller said once more, his voice gaining a bit of strength. Too little, too late. “Walker took the ID of one of the other doctors. Walker matched him in height and coloring and he—”

“Walked right out the f**king door.” Yeah, right, that was what he’d just said. Anthony’s gaze drifted over the blood-soaked room. Walker had been quick with his first kill, going right for the jugular with the guard, probably so that his prey wouldn’t be able to call out for help.

But then the sick SOB had played for a while with the female victim. Walker always enjoyed playing with his prey.

“Take me to his cell.” The dogs were already out, chasing after Walker’s scent. But the guy was smart. So damn smart. An IQ that had tested off the charts and a desire to torture and kill had been with him since he was seven.

Age seven—that had been when he’d decided to see what the neighbor’s dog looked like on the inside.

Sick, twisted, but smart. Anthony knew that Walker must have been planning his escape for a while, and, with that escape in mind, the man would have made sure that he had a getaway vehicle ready.

Did someone help you? It was Anthony’s immediate suspicion. Because to get a car, to have that ride waiting, Walker would need assistance. A partner.

Whoever the dumb prick was, Anthony figured that Walker would turn on him, sooner or later.

“I want to see his cell.” Maybe Walker had left some clue behind. Some hint as to his partner’s identity or an indicator just where the hell the guy was heading.

“Of course.” The warden motioned toward two men. “Henry, Alan, escort the marshal to Walker’s cell.”

Anthony left the warden and the blood-soaked med room. The guards were all on high alert now. Like being on alert now was going to do any good. The prison was in lockdown, but as Anthony made his way to Walker’s cell, shouts and whistles filled the air.

The prisoners knew someone had escaped. That a guard had died. And they were celebrating.

The guards in front of Anthony shouted for quiet. They didn’t get quiet.

Walker’s cell opened with a groan and Anthony headed inside. He quickly searched the area. Saw no personal effects. No books. Nothing. He reached for the sagging mattress. Yanked it out and away from the narrow bed railing. There had to be something there.

The mattress fell to the floor.

It was a bunk bed, only no one slept on the top bunk. Not since Walker had climbed up one night and choked his cell mate.

Anthony checked the top bunk.

Nothing.

No f**king thing.

“We already searched his cell,” the warden told him as he came into the room. Anthony wasn’t really surprised that Miller had followed him. “There weren’t any more weapons here.”

“I’m not looking for a weapon.”

He was looking for a destination. A clue. Something that would help him figure out where the hell the guy had gone.

As a marshal, it was his job to track the escaped prisoner. But it wasn’t just about doing a job.

The Bayou Butcher had been his case from the beginning. He’d been in the courtroom, he’d been there to protect the witnesses.

He’d been there when Jon Walker was found guilty of seven murders.

“Did the guy get mail?” Anthony figured that he had to get mail—fucking fan mail, probably. There were always those freaks out there who got off on interacting with killers.

“He did, but he never read any of it,” Miller replied as he twisted his hands together. “He gave a standing order for us to destroy it all.”

Anthony’s eyes narrowed at that. In his experience, many serial killers reveled in the attention of their “fans.” Why hadn’t Walker wanted that attention?

He rubbed a hand over his face. There had to be something there. His hand dropped. Anthony’s gaze focused on the bunk bed.

Something.

He bent, craning his head, so that he could see the bottom of the top bunk’s mattress. This would have been Walker’s view, every single day and night. He would have looked straight up—

There was a picture there. Faded, as if it had been touched so many times. Too many.

Carefully, Anthony pulled down that photo. When he saw just who was in that image, his heart seemed to stop.

Not her.

But he knew that face. Knew it too well. It haunted most of his dreams.

Lauren Chandler. District Attorney Lauren Chandler. The woman who’d sent Jon Walker to Angola. The woman who’d pushed for the guy to get a needle in his arm so that Walker would never kill again.

Lauren.

Of course, when he’d known her, she’d still been the ADA. She’d gotten her promotional bump right after Walker’s conviction. She’d made her career on his case.

And once upon a time, she’d been Anthony’s lover.

A lot could change in five years.

He pulled out his phone. Dialed the number he still remembered so easily.

No longer in service.

Fuck.

He glanced up at the sound of footsteps. Finally—the two other marshals under his command had just rushed into the tiny cell. He shoved the phone into his pocket even as he held tight to that photo. It was a Saturday, so the DA’s office would be closed.

It had taken the warden twelve hours to notice that Walker was gone. Then it had taken Anthony and his team too many hours to get to the prison.

“We need to find Lauren Chandler.” He tried to keep his voice steady as he said, “She’s the DA in Baton Rouge. We need to get her on the phone and alert her to the prisoner’s escape.”