Fear For Me: A Novel of the Bayou Butcher (For Me #2)(36)
Author: Cynthia Eden

She’d known better.

If the Bayou Butcher had really taken her, as he’d told Steve, she’d known Helen was dead. The Butcher didn’t trade. He just killed. And after being locked away from his preferred prey for so long…

Walker knew he’d kill her from the moment he took her.

Greg tilted his head as he studied the body. “I’d say at least twelve hours.”

Long before Lynch had played willing sacrifice and brought Lauren into Walker’s web.

“He didn’t kill her here,” Cadence murmured. That was obvious. There wasn’t enough blood at the scene. Not enough to match all of the deep, horrible cuts on Helen’s body. The Butcher. He’d earned that name for a reason.

Killers seemed to be getting more twisted every day.

To think, once upon a time, she’d lived without knowing about these monsters.

Now she saw them everywhere.

Cadence looked up and found Kyle’s hard stare on her.

“He’s getting his payback. Lauren, the judge, Steve.” He expelled on a long sigh. “Hell, even Karen was part of the reason the guy ended up in jail. She was an investigator on the case.”

The attacks weren’t going to stop, either. She knew that. Normally, a serial killer had a dormant period between his hunts. The kill itself almost calmed or controlled him. There was no control for the Butcher. What he was doing—hell, he was beyond anything she’d seen before. “We need to make sure all of the jurors have protection.” Those still in the immediate area would need a police watch. Those who’d moved away would need to be on guard.

But the guy might not just be targeting jurors. He could be targeting cops who’d worked on his case years before. Witnesses. The families of his victims. Just how much revenge would he want?

She had to learn more about him. Had to work up her own profile on him, and not just go by the work another agent had done five years ago.

“How the hell is he doing this?” Kyle demanded as he jerked a hand through his hair. “He should have no resources. He should have been fighting to survive!”

The ME was putting small plastic bags over Helen Lynch’s hands. Trying to preserve evidence. I hope you fought him, Helen. I hope you hurt the bastard before you died.

“Walker grew up running through these swamps,” Cadence murmured. “He knows the area back and forth. He can use the land, the water—he can hide from us out here, and he knows it.”

“But he had to go into the city to get Helen,” Kyle pointed out. “He went into the city for Karen, for the attack at the judge’s office…”

That was a whole lot of back-and-forth activity. Too much for one man? The new profile she’d been working up on this case said—yes, hell, yes. Cadence didn’t think they were just looking for one killer.

She pulled out her phone and called Ross. He’d need to know about Helen’s death.

He answered on the second ring, and she could hear a hospital intercom sounding behind him. “Ross.” He sounded distracted, worried.

She turned away from the scene. “We found Helen Lynch.”

“Hell.” He understood. Ross wasn’t new to the game. “How long ago did he kill her?”

She took a few steps away, distancing herself from Greg and Kyle. “The ME says at least twelve hours.”

“Dammit. I knew this would happen. Steve Lynch should have come to us. We could have helped him.”

There would be no help now. Lynch was being held at the PD. Someone would have to give him the news about his ex-wife.

“How’s your DA?” The wording was deliberate. She’d seen the way those two looked at each other. Lauren was definitely Ross’s, and the rage he had to be feeling after Lauren’s attack…

“She’s gonna make it.” There was rage biting through his voice. “I am tired of this bastard screwing with us.”

So was she. “I have to come and see Lauren. I need to talk to her.” There were questions only Lauren could answer. She’d see Lauren, then she’d pay a visit to Steve Lynch. But first, she ordered, “We need to up the guards on Judge Hamilton.” She’d talk to the police captain about that when she got back to the station. “Are you staying with Lauren?” She knew the answer, but asked anyway.

“She won’t leave my sight.”

The hospital’s intercom sounded in the background as a doctor was paged.

“If I learn anything else, I’ll get back to you,” she said and ended the call.

Helplessly, she turned back to the victim. Helen Lynch was in her early thirties, with dark-brown hair. Her eyes had been opened in death, a deliberate move, and her lips were pressed tightly closed. The neck bore the same morbid grin—a deep slice right across her throat. The blood had stained the skin there.

She had to ask, “Did he leave us another message?”

Greg glanced up at her.

“Go ahead,” she ordered, keeping her voice calm and quiet. There was no room for emotion at a scene like this. If she felt too much, if she empathized with the victim, she’d be lost. “We don’t have time to wait for you to get back to your lab. If another victim is out there…”

His gloved fingers rose to Helen’s neck. He pressed lightly on the skin, making the wound gape open even more.

I can see the paper.

He pulled it out, slowly, carefully.

Kyle edged closer to her. He wasn’t as good at compartmentalizing as she was, but he didn’t have to be. Control was all she knew.

Crime scenes pissed him off, and she knew he hated to see a victim’s pain. It reminded Kyle of his own past too much.

The paper got stuck in Helen’s throat.

Kyle swore.

Greg hesitated, then grabbed for the tweezers in his kit. A few moments later, the paper slid free. Greg unfolded it, and when he read the note, she saw him swallow.

“What does it say?” Kyle demanded.

Greg glanced up at them. His gaze darted to Kyle, then to Cadence. “‘Guilty.’”

CHAPTER EIGHT

Anthony stood less than two feet from Lauren. Her arm was being stitched up—a long, slow process because that freak Walker had carved into her so deeply.

Lauren didn’t make a sound as the doctor worked on her. Lauren actually hadn’t spoken at all since she’d opened her eyes. The blue of her gaze seemed dulled, missing the normal sparkle. Too much pain. Too much fear.

A bandage was on her cheek. The doctor had said the wound wasn’t deep enough to need stitches. Her shoulder had been reset—popped back into the joint in a fast, brutal move that had made him swear.