Fear For Me: A Novel of the Bayou Butcher (For Me #2)(67)
Author: Cynthia Eden

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.

“All signs are that Jenny was his first victim.” Anthony’s hold was strong and what she desperately needed then. “According to Cadence’s search, her disappearance dated back the longest. When we discover why Jenny was the trigger, then we understand our killer.”

“Sometimes you can’t understand crazy.” Paul was adamant as he stood near the autopsy table. “All you can do is put a bullet in the killer’s head and stop him before he can hurt anyone else.”

Lauren felt very cold. “He knew her, didn’t he?” That much rage…the loss of control…

“I think he did,” Anthony said. “I think he knew her very, very well.”

“People thought she ran away with a boyfriend. That was the story that circulated.” She rubbed her chilled arms. “Maybe she didn’t run away with him—”

“Maybe he killed her?” Anthony finished.

Lauren nodded. She was splintering apart on the inside. “The cops…they talked to all her friends. They said she wasn’t seeing anyone. She was always home. I didn’t think there was a guy.”

“He could have been her secret,” Paul murmured.

A secret that had killed her.

“I need to go back to my house,” Lauren said, her voice soft in the confines of the SUV.

Frowning, Anthony glanced over at her. She’d been too quiet after they’d talked to the ME. Too quiet. Too pale. Keeping too much in.

There were no more tears from her. Just a brittle mask.

“I didn’t think you wanted to go back there.” She’d told him that before, several times.

“There’s something I have to get. Please, take me there.”

If that was what she wanted, he’d do it. He’d take her anywhere.

He turned the SUV around, pushed the accelerator down, and cut across the dark road. Rain was falling lightly, beating against the windshield, and the wipers swiped across the glass.

They didn’t speak again, not until they were pulling into the drive that led to her house. The headlights cut across the area, and Anthony saw the yellow line of police tape still blocking her door.

He shut off the engine and turned toward her. “Tell me what you need. I’ll go inside and get it.” There was no need for Lauren to walk into that house. Her mattress had been taken away. An evidence trail would still mark her bedroom. After finding her sister’s remains, he didn’t want her dealing with that, too.

“I should go in,” she whispered, her gaze on the house lit by the headlights. “I should—”

“Fuck what you should do,” Anthony snarled. “Just let me do this for you, okay? You don’t have to face down any more ghosts. You don’t have to do a damn thing but stay here and let me take care of this for you.”

She turned her head toward him. He couldn’t see her clearly in the dark so he reached out and trailed his fingers across her cheek, trying to feel her emotions.

Her cheek was wet with a teardrop. The brittle mask wasn’t holding.

“In my closet. In the bottom of my closet, there’s an old jewelry box. My cross is in there. The cross just like Jenny’s. It’s stupid, I know, but I want it. I have to have it.”

He brought his mouth to hers. Kissed her lightly. “It’s not stupid.” She was breaking his heart.