The ME’s office smelled of antiseptic and bleach. Everything was in a briskly organized fashion. She crept closer to Greg’s desk. She’d done her research on him, as she did on everyone working her cases. Obsessive, that was her. A negative side effect of the job.
Greg had taken the ME’s position about six months ago, transferring from New Orleans. He was originally from Baton Rouge, and had left years ago to attend med school at Tulane.
“What are you doing?” His voice—sharp, definitely annoyed—called from behind her.
She turned from his desk. No pictures. No adornments of any sort. Her gaze swept over him.
He wore a pair of scrubs, white gloves, and a clear shield over the lower part of his face. She could just see Dr. Wright’s eyes, so incredibly dark, studying her.
“I’m here to see Walker. He was brought in earlier, wasn’t he?” She’d gone back to the scene of his death, searched the area, studied it, and come back here as the darkness swept across the city.
“He’s here.” He tossed aside the face mask.
Greg Wright was classically handsome. His blond hair slanted away from the strong planes of his face, curling just slightly.
She’d heard some of the cops call him Dr. Death.
She didn’t exactly go for the pretty boys. She had a rule about that. Men who were too good-looking often came with far too many flaws on the inside.
Cadence cleared her throat. “Show me the body.”
Instead of showing her the body, Wright stepped forward and placed himself in front of her, effectively blocking the door leading to the mortuary area. “I was in the middle of an autopsy. Things are graphic in there right now.”
She stared up at him. “I track serial killers for a living. Trust me, there’s nothing you can show me that I haven’t seen.” Had he forgotten she was the one who’d been behind him at Helen Lynch’s crime scene? Had she gotten shaky and sick then?
No. Some poor uniform had been the one to lose his breakfast.
A ghost of a smile lifted the ME’s lips. “Aren’t you a surprise.”
“No, I’m not.” She was a licensed doctor—she could handle blood just fine. She waited. He didn’t move. “The body?”
“Right this way, Agent.”
She was so fucking beautiful that she stole his breath.
Lauren lay naked on the big, four-poster bed, her hair fanning behind her. Her body was pale and perfect, a temptation that would never get out of his head.
He stared at her and wanted to feast.
“I like the way you look at me,” she told him, her voice like sin. “When you look at me that way, I know just what you’re thinking.”
That he’d kill to have her? That he’d do anything to get close to her? He hoped she didn’t know what dark thoughts raced through his head. She might be afraid then. He never wanted her to be afraid of him.
“I’ll be easy,” he promised her as he tossed his shirt to the floor. He knew her injuries still hurt her.
Lauren shook her head. She rose and sat up. Her breasts thrust toward him. Round, with pink tips that he wanted to lick all night long.
“That’s not how it’s working tonight.”
He slowly removed his holster and put it on the nearby table.
“You don’t get to call all the shots.” She reached for him, her hands a silken heat on his flesh. “I get my turn tonight.”
“But you’re—”
“I don’t even have a headache.” Her fingers slid down to the snap of his pants. A few seconds later, the zipper eased down with a hiss. “I’ve got other things in mind.”
Then her mouth pressed against his and he couldn’t think. He could only feel. Her lips. Her tongue. She was licking him. Sucking him. Stroking with both her fingers and her mouth. He thrust helplessly forward, because Lauren—hell, the woman drove him crazy.
His hands rose, but he didn’t want to touch her head. Didn’t want to hurt her. So he fisted his fingers even as his hips surged. Her mouth feathered over the head of his cock, her tongue licked him, and his breath hissed out as the pleasure pulsed through him.
“Stop.” It came out a growl. If she didn’t stop, he wouldn’t be able to hold back.
She licked him again.
“Lauren…” He pushed lightly at her shoulders.
Her head lifted. Her eyes, so bright, stared up at him. She smiled. “I love the way you taste.”
Hell. He could feel his control ripping away. The control he always held—no problem—with other women.
Not her.
Her fingers slid down his erect length. “I think I’d like to taste more.”
He would go insane. Anthony shook his head. “My turn.”
“But—”
It had to be his turn.
He pushed her back against the covers. Then just drank her in, memorizing every detail of her body with his eyes, his fingers, his mouth. When he kissed her breasts and licked those sweet nipples—better than candy, so much fucking better—she moaned his name.
His cock was so full and heavy that he hurt. He wanted to drive deep into her, as hard as he could.
But she wasn’t ready yet.
And he wasn’t done with her.
His head lifted. His breath was sawing out, but he had to say, “If I hurt you—”
“You won’t!” Demand sharpened her voice.
“Tell me to stop,” he finished. He’d stop, no matter what, for her.
She shook her head. “I want more! I want you.” The demand was even stronger now.
His fingers slid between her thighs. She was wet. Hot. Fuck. He thrust two fingers into her. Lauren’s hips arched as her breath rushed out, then she bit her lip.
Yes. She was still thrusting her hips against him.
“You don’t have to be quiet.” There was a reason he’d ditched that hotel room. He loved it when Lauren screamed for him.
He would make her scream.
He pushed her legs farther apart and put his mouth on her sex. He sampled every inch of her, letting his tongue trail over her silken skin.
“Anthony!”
It wasn’t a scream. Not yet. Which was good, because he wasn’t done.
He thrust his tongue into her even as his thumb pushed over her clit. Her whole body seemed to tighten around him. He kept tasting her, kept drinking her in, knowing he’d never be able to get enough—
“Anthony!” Her nails sank into his shoulders, and he reveled in the sting of pain. “I need you in me.”
His head lifted. He licked his lips, savoring the taste. Her cheeks were flushed, her gaze demanding.
He was about to explode.
He pushed the head of his cock against her body. Creamy heat. So good, so—
There was nothing between them.
Shit, he had to take care, had to protect her.
Lauren’s legs wrapped tightly around him. “I’m on the pill. Clean…”
He was, too. He’d never gone without a rubber with any woman. Yet right then—
I want all of her.
His eyes held hers. His control was threadbare. She arched against him, and he drove into her.
The last of his control tore away.
There was no restraint. No holding back. She closed around him, her sex so hot and tight and wet that he thought he’d go out of his head. He thrust deep into her, plunging wildly again and again. There was nothing but her. Only pleasure. Only the heat of her body.
His hands curled around her hips. He lifted her up, holding her tight. The bed groaned beneath the force of his thrusts. His heartbeat slammed into his ribs.
This was what he wanted. She was what he needed.
Her sex clenched around him. Her climax was coming. Good, because his was fucking about to implode on him.
He angled his body, sending his cock sliding right over her clit as he drove into her.
Then she was climaxing and—yes—she screamed for him.
“Tony!”
He
loved her scream.
Anthony erupted inside of her, still thrusting, still desperate for every single moment with her. Her climax sent her sex contracting around him, ripples of release that made his pleasure intensify.
He was hollowed out, so empty from the release that he’d pumped and pumped into her, but he wasn’t done.
Not yet.
Not ever.
He stared down at her, his body slick with sweat. Her breath heaved, matching his. Her smile—oh, damn, that smile was sin.
He felt himself hardening within her again. “Did I hurt you?”
Lauren shook head.
Good. He began thrusting.
She’d gone to the morgue to see Walker’s body. But as she followed Greg, Cadence’s gaze was drawn to the autopsy table. To the body on the table. Judge Hamilton. “I’ve already bagged and tagged Walker’s clothes and belongings.” Greg motioned to the right. Cadence saw the evidence bags in a neat pile.
She advanced toward the judge. His eyes were closed, his body the ashen, yellowish color that came soon after death. His chest was a mess—not just stabbed, but carved open.
“The Butcher must have been pretty angry when he killed Hamilton,” Greg noted as he came toward her. “He twisted the blade and cut his way straight through the guy’s heart.”
She swallowed. The sight was grisly, all right, but she’d seen worse. I have plenty of images that still haunt my nightmares. Despite her tough words to Greg from moments before, she knew this scene would haunt her, too. “Were there any defensive wounds?”
“I bagged his hands at the scene.”
She knew the drill. The hands were bagged to preserve any evidence, and when the body had been transferred to the morgue, Greg would have checked under the nails for skin samples or trace evidence that had been left behind.
“The judge must not have been given the chance to fight back. His nails were clean.” His gloved hand lifted and gestured near the judge’s head. She saw the dark bruising and cuts on his forehead. “I found chunks of glass that I believe will match up to the broken window from his BMW embedded in the wounds. It looks like Walker knocked him out, and when the judge woke up…” He pushed past the sheet, revealing the dark bruises around Hamilton’s wrists. “Hamilton was bound.”
“No chance to fight,” she whispered. Walker had wanted the power. She understood that. In court, the judge had been the one presiding. The one who got to decide Walker’s fate.
In the cabin, Walker had been the judge and the executioner.
Her gaze dropped to Hamilton’s throat. “Did he leave us a note?” After the first two notes had been found, she’d realized it had become a part of Walker’s process. Killing, leaving the note. A taunt, but not for the cops.
The taunts had been personal.
For Lauren Chandler.
“There was a note,” Greg said as he reached for an evidence bag.
She glanced over her shoulder. The other body bag would contain Walker’s remains.
She still wanted to see him.
Cadence took a step toward the black bag.
“Here,” Greg said.
She froze and glanced back, quickly reaching for the evidence bag.
She read the scrawled letters. The blood is on you.
“We’ll get the techs to confirm that the handwriting is the same, of course,” Greg murmured, “but it looks like a match to me.”
It looked like one to her, too. “He was blaming Lauren.”
Greg frowned at her. “How do you figure that?”
“All of the notes were for her.”
“Listen, Agent—”
“When he killed her friend, Walker wanted Lauren to know her punishment was just beginning.” She rolled her shoulders, trying to push away the never-ending tension. “Then he sent her to Steve Lynch’s house because that was where he planned to abduct her. He was laying his trap for Lauren. Only she got away.”
One brow rose. “Why would that mean the judge’s blood is on her?”
“Lauren was the one meant to die, not Hamilton.” Cadence shook her head. “Lauren was the focus of Walker’s rage. She was the reason he came back here.”
It’s beginning.
“Tell me something else,” he muttered. “Why the hell is the guy slicing their throats and putting the notes in there? I’ve seen some twisted shit in my time, but—”
Knowing what she did about Walker, this part was actually easy for her to understand. “He slices their throats because he’s taking away their voices. They can’t speak, they can only carry his messages. It’s control.” Her temples were throbbing, her shoulders aching. Sometimes, she just hated these cases. “Even in death, he’s controlling them completely.”
“Sounds like he’s trying to control Lauren, too.”
Of course, he was. She turned toward Walker’s body bag. “I want to see him.”
“I haven’t started evidence collection yet. There’s not much I can tell you.” He walked around the table and approached the zipped body bag.
The slide of the zipper seemed overly loud in the small room.
Then she saw Walker’s face. In death, he almost looked peaceful. Death had a way of doing that to people, even the monsters of the world.
Her gaze slid to his chest. Two gunshots. One had come from Ross. One from Voyt. They’d made sure the killer didn’t get away again.
Based on the statements from the men, Ross had fired first. Then Voyt.
Her gaze swept over Walker. The clothes that covered him looked old—faded jeans, a dark T-shirt. He wore hiking boots. Soil on the bottom of those boots might give them insight into all the places he’d been.
“You really think there are two of them?” Greg asked as he waited beside her.
She glanced up at him. “Yes, I do.” She was actually certain of it.
“I heard talk from the cops. They don’t think that’s the case. There aren’t any bodies, and the only one who is sure another killer exists is the DA. And she’s remembering overhearing a conversation after she’d gotten her head slammed into a wall.”
Their gazes held.
“Speaking as a doctor,” he murmured, “those with concussions don’t make for the best witnesses.”
Her head cocked. “Why do I feel like you’re trying to warn me?”
“Because I am. The police captain was down here earlier, wanting to make sure I thought Walker was behind all the recent kills. Walker and only Walker.” A beat of silence. “One serial killer is bad for business. Two in the same town? That’s just a shit storm.”
One she was betting the captain and the mayor didn’t want coming. “They’re going to try and push this away, aren’t they?”
A nod. “No bodies, no deaths.”
“I won’t let this investigation end.” She glanced back at the body. “Where’s his cell phone?”
“No phone was recovered with the body.”
“But Lauren said—”
“Concussion, remember?” he murmured. “The guy might never have even had a cell phone.”
Bull.
“Or maybe it’s lost in the swamp,” Greg continued. “He spent so much time out there. Maybe the guy ditched it.”
Maybe. Kyle was out in the swamp searching the area around Judge Hamilton’s cabin. The techs had investigated, but Kyle liked to get up close and personal with the kill sites.
It was how he worked.
Talking to the dead—that was how she worked. She glanced back at Walker.
“Just what is it you hope to find by studying his body?” Greg leaned closer to her. Curiosity deepened his voice. “We know who killed him. Ross and Voyt admitted to shooting him. It’s no mystery how this guy died.”
“The mystery isn’t his death, but what was left behind.” She reached for a pair of gloves.
“What are you doing?”
“I went to med school, too.” She gave him a grim smile. “What I’m doing is assisting you. I’m not leaving this room unti
l I learn every secret Walker carried on his body.” Secrets she would not let him carry to his grave.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“This city has been under the grip of terror for long enough,” Mayor Louis Daniels said as he crossed his arms over his barrel-like chest and lasered his gaze around the room. “Walker is dead, and it’s time to move on.”
The meeting had been called at seven a.m., in the mayor’s office. Lauren and Anthony had been given a thirty-minute warning, and they’d had to rush over to meet the mayor and the chief of police, Jeremiah Dodge. The homicide captain, Reginald Powers, was there, too, along with a very tired-looking Paul Voyt, the ME, and Anthony’s two marshals, Jim and Keith. In the back of the crowded room, the two FBI agents stood at attention, and Lauren could clearly see the tension in Cadence’s body.
“Now, I’ve read the files the FBI prepared about the so-called alpha team, but I don’t see one single piece of evidence that actually supports the claim that someone else has been working with Walker all of these years.”
Lauren’s heart was drumming in her chest. She’d dressed carefully, grateful for the suit that had been in her travel bag. She knew a power meeting when it was announced, and she wasn’t about to leave this meeting without getting what she wanted.
“Most of those missing-persons cases aren’t even in our jurisdiction,” the mayor continued, voice hard. “And without bodies…”
“We still have crimes,” Paul said, his own voice low.
Should he even be out of the hospital? He was so pale. Lauren cast a worried glance his way.
“Crimes that our DA would have a damn hard time prosecuting.” Louis’s dark gaze cut to Lauren. “Without the body, the jurors always have doubt in their heads. They always wonder, did she just run away? Did she just get tired of the life she had and decide to vanish? Hell, people up and abandon their lives and families every day. It happens.”
“This isn’t abandonment, mayor,” Cadence said, stepping forward. “These are very specific victim profiles that match our killers. The ages increase, every year, and the victims share the same hair color, the same general build, the same—”
“Why wouldn’t Walker have rolled on this guy?” the police chief demanded. “He was facing death. The guy should have bargained with everything he had.”