Like anything could wash those away.
He gave a small nod, a jerky move of his head. “I can help you. I’ll just—”
“No.” The word was harsher than she’d meant, but she couldn’t stand his hands on her body right then. She was too raw. Too scared. Too needy—too desperate to stop the pain. “I can make it.”
His jaw locked. “Fine. I’ll wait here.” His gaze streaked down her body, then flicked away. “But if you need me, just say the word and I’ll come running.”
Lauren headed for the bathroom door. On the threshold, she paused. “This isn’t your fault.”
A rough laugh. “I was supposed to protect you.”
“I’m the one who wanted to go to the scene. With my job, I go to plenty of dangerous spots.” She looked over her shoulder at him as she braced her hand on the door frame. “This isn’t on you. I took the risk. I walked right in, knowing what waited for me.” Not what, who.
Walker.
“The cop who was hurt…” Talk about an image she’d never be able to get out of her mind. That blade, bursting from his chest. “McHenry is going to pull through, that’s what you said, right?”
Another jerky nod.
Thank you, God. She’d been so afraid the man would die.
“And you’re still alive,” Anthony said, his voice getting harder, stronger. “The cop is alive. Walker didn’t win this time.”
“He got away.” If he hadn’t gotten the call and run, she would be dead. Lauren knew it.
“For the moment,” Anthony agreed. “But he can’t run forever. No one can.”
Lauren shook her head. Her temples throbbed. So did the giant knot on the back of her head. She couldn’t stand the feel of the dried blood on her for another second. She walked into the bathroom.
And left Anthony behind.
Jon tied his boat to the small dock. The red and gold colors of dawn were streaking across the sky. He’d barely slipped out in time last night. With so many patrols sweeping, he’d needed to alternate between using the boat’s motor and paddling with the oars as he made his way to this spot. Whenever he’d gotten a little too close to civilization—even if civilization was a run-down cabin—he’d cut the motor.
He was so much smarter than the cops realized.
The dock groaned behind him.
Walker swore even as he grabbed for the knife he’d strapped to his hip.
“You don’t need that with me,” a familiar voice drawled.
The tension eased from his shoulders as Walker let go of his knife. He turned to face his partner. “You beat me here.”
“Course I did. I didn’t have to look over my shoulder every second while I was traveling. The cops aren’t after me.”
Walker swallowed. The guy was still pissed. “I did five fucking years for you. Five years—so don’t use that shit tone with me!” He took a hard step forward.
The guy didn’t back up a step. He never did. “You did that damn time for yourself. Because you got sloppy. You weren’t supposed to go after the girl that night. You were supposed to wait for me.”
But the girl had been perfect. She’d smelled so sweet, and looked so good. He could still remember when he’d first seen her at the gas station. She’d run in, her phone glued to her ear, and he’d heard her talking about her babysitting gig. She’d stood in front of him in the line, gabbing on her phone, and she’d said she would be alone.
The girl had even rattled off her address to the friend on the other end of the line.
Too easy. Too perfect of a hunt to pass up.
But the parents came home and screwed everything up.
“You weren’t supposed to go for her,” that dark voice continued, “and you weren’t supposed to go after Lauren so soon. We have a fucking plan, remember?”
He remembered he had his own plan. One that involved him being alone with Lauren. Cutting her. Again and again.
His partner wouldn’t watch, not with her.
“She owes me,” Jon spat and took another step forward.
“I know.” Understanding because he always understood Jon, as no one else ever had. “We’re going to make her pay for everything, but first there are others we can take. Others who aren’t as protected as the DA.”
Others. His mouth went dry. “I get to use my knife?”
“You used it on Stacy.”
Was that anger in his tone? His partner had never been angry before.
I gave up five years of my life for him. I could’ve talked. But I kept quiet.
Five long fucking years. The days, the months, the years had slipped away. He’d waited, but no new trials had come, thanks to Lauren and that fucking judge. Jon had even tried to use Lynch, tried to force new evidence down the judge’s throat.
It hadn’t worked.
Escape had been his only option. An escape that had taken too fucking long.
Lauren Chandler is a dead woman.
He wouldn’t serve time for anyone. Wouldn’t let anyone ever push him around again. He was strong. He was power.
Everyone else was prey.
The man before him had been the one to change Jon’s life. Only he hadn’t been a man when they’d met.
Just a kid…like me.
So incredibly like me.
They’d grown together, learned together, killed together.
There were some bonds that just couldn’t be broken. “I’ve missed you,” Jon confessed.
Silence.
Jon wet his lips. Had saying that been a mistake? Shit, he didn’t want to screw this up.
“I think it’s time for us to enjoy some good old times again.”
Yes.
“We’ll make them pay for locking you away. We’ll make them all pay.” A pause, then, “Tell you what, Jonny…”
Only his partner called him Jonny, a leftover from their days as kids.
“This time, you handle the kill, and I’ll watch.”
Jon’s lips stretched wide. This was it. His turn to show just what he could do.
All he needed was a victim.
CHAPTER NINE
“Anthony!” The cry was weak, thready, and it immediately sent him rushing into the bathroom.
He shoved open the door, and it bounced into the wall. “Lauren!”
She had one hand pressed against the tile of the shower, while the other clutched a towel that looked like it was about to drop at any moment.
“Dizzy…” she whispered.
Shit. He was at her side in two steps. He lifted her into his arms. She was still clutching the towel. Screw that thing. He tightened his hold around her and rushed toward the bed.
“I’m calling Dr. Davis.” He’d been afraid the shower was a bad idea, but he’d also known she needed the blood off her. He’d wanted to make her happy.
Carefully, he bent and lowered her onto the bed. Her stitches looked dry, but she was so pale. “Did you hit your head?” He stared into her eyes. Her pupils looked normal but—
“Don’t call the doctor,” she said softly. “I just overdid it a bit.” She swallowed. “I should have gotten you to help me sooner.”
“Why didn’t you?”
Her lashes lowered, even as a ghost of a smile lifted her lips. “Because I was naked, and usually when one of us is naked around the other, help isn’t what happens.”
His heart slammed into his chest. “You’re hurt. I could have controlled myself.” Was that what she believed? That he’d only think of himself when she was hurt?
Yes, he wanted her twenty-four-fucking-seven, but he’d rein in that need. For her.