Her heart was beating too fast. She caught Kyle’s stare and inclined her head. The police chief had gone into the captain’s office. They’d just spent ten minutes trying to tear apart her profile. When they hadn’t succeeded, they’d retreated for a little powwow. They could retreat and come back to attack all they wanted.
I know my job.
“He fits your profile,” Anthony said. “His vehicle was just spotted at Lauren’s house.”
She knew that. She’d been briefed on the fire that had nearly killed Ross and the DA. “Are you all right?”
“I will be when the killer’s stopped.”
That wasn’t exactly an answer. “You don’t know it’s Hawthorne.”
“He made a call near Lauren’s house, right before the fire. He was there.”
And he did have a strong knowledge of the swamps. He’d been in the area when Jenny Chandler disappeared and his job would have taken him all around Louisiana. Into the cities and counties where the other women had vanished.
“He and Walker went to school together,” Ross told her. His voice was distorted, as if he was running or moving quickly. He’s going after Hawthorne.
She already knew Hawthorne had gone to school with Walker. “Detective Voyt went to school with both men, too. He’s not—”
“Where is Voyt? He’s there, right? Ask him why Hawthorne called him a few minutes ago, ask him—”
“Voyt isn’t here.” She spoke slowly as her gaze swept the bull pen. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen the detective.
“Fuck. He could have gone after Hawthorne on his own.”
She checked her weapon. Kyle was at her side. “You’re on your way out there, aren’t you?”
A pause. “Aren’t you?” he tossed back.
She glanced toward the captain’s closed door. “You have your men with you?”
“Damn straight.”
“I’ll meet you at the cabin.” She shoved the phone into her pocket and marched for the captain’s office. She didn’t bother knocking. She just shoved the door open.
Kyle whistled behind her.
He’d told her before he loved it when she got rough. She was about to get plenty rough.
Both men spun to face her.
“You will not be impeding our investigation any longer,” she stated as she stood firm in that doorway. “What you will be doing is shutting up, listening, and getting the hell out of my way.”
Wesley Hawthorne opened his eyes. The back of his head throbbed, hurting like a bitch, and he groaned as the pain and nausea rolled through him.
“Don’t worry, it won’t hurt much longer.”
He glanced up at the voice. At the familiar voice. Wesley shook his head in automatic denial.
A wave of nausea rose in his throat.
“I know what you’ve done, Hawthorne.”
He hadn’t done anything.
“You’ve killed women. So many women, and you’ve dumped their bodies in your swamp.”
“No,” he rasped, “I—”
“You did. And tonight, you tried to kill the DA and her lover. You went to her house. You shot at them. You set her house on fire.”
“No…”
“Neighbors saw you. They identified your vehicle. The same vehicle will later be tested by crime scene techs. They’ll find ash and debris from the fire on it, in it, tying you to the arson.”
He hadn’t been there. He’d been at a bar, Rattlesnake. He’d been drinking. He’d gone to the back parking lot…
I don’t remember what happened after that.
“You also made a phone call right before you set the fire. A phone call that will be an extra nail to prove your guilt.”
I’m not guilty. “I…never…killed…”
“When you’re found, with your head blown open and Jenny Chandler’s cross cradled in your hand, the cops won’t look for a second serial killer anymore. The cases will end, with you.”
Not me.
Something cold and hard pressed under his chin. He glanced down and could see the barrel of the gun.
“The only question I have…” the smug voice continued, “is this: Should I shoot you from this angle…” The gun rose. Pressed into his right temple. “Or should I shoot you here?”
“No!” He jerked but saw that his hands were tied to the chair. Tied but…what the fuck? Padded? Cloth was beneath the ropes on his wrists and ankles.
His heart nearly burst out of his chest. The padding was there so he wouldn’t bruise. So that when he was dead, his body could be staged. Positioned.
No one would ever know he hadn’t put the gun up to his own head.
“I actually hadn’t planned for you to wake up. It’s harder to use your own hand to fire the shot when you’re awake.”
He wants gunshot residue on my hand.
“I guess I have to make sure you’re out again. That’s kind, isn’t it? So you never see the shot coming? I can be kind.”
What the guy could be was a “Sick…fuck…” Wesley managed to say. One who’d been hiding in plain sight.
He should have been able to see the evil in their midst all along. Why hadn’t he? Why hadn’t any of them?
The face above his hardened. “I’m not the sick fuck. That’s you. You’re the one who killed and tortured all of those girls. You’re the one who did it all. The one who had to come back to the scene of his partner’s last crime because you couldn’t keep going without him.”
Wesley tried to yank free of his bonds. The judge had been bound in a chair like this. He’d fought to get free, too.
But Hamilton hadn’t escaped.
Hamilton’s blood stained the floor.
Mine will, too.
“The city will be glad to see you die.” The man lifted the gun. “I think it’s time you did just that. Go join the Butcher.”
He twisted the weapon so the butt was like a club.
Wesley tried to jerk back. Only there was no place to go.
“Don’t worry,” the man’s voice soothed. The devil’s voice. That was what it was. “The gunshot blast to the head will guarantee no one sees the bruises…”
He slammed that gun into Wesley’s head.
Dark spots swam before Wesley’s eyes. The nausea built again. Pain rolled through him, but he didn’t black out. He was fighting to hang onto consciousness with every bit of strength he had. Wesley yanked against his binds. The chair fell back.
The killer swore.
An engine growled in the distance.
The cabin was a dark, hulking shadow. Storm clouds hid the stars and the only light to shine on the area came from Anthony’s headlights as his vehicle pulled onto the graveled drive.
His headlights hit the cabin, and the Jeep Wrangler was parked right next to it.
“It sure doesn’t look like he’s hunting nuisance gators to me,” Anthony muttered.
Lauren didn’t speak. Right then, she couldn’t. We asked this man to help us. To hunt Walker.
All along, he’d been leading them in the opposite direction.
Another set of headlights lit up the scene. More marshals, arriving mere moments after them.
“I thought Paul was supposed to be here,” she finally managed, shoving down the fear in her throat. “I don’t see—”
Wait. She’d just caught a glint of light near the trees. “Is that his motorcycle?”
Anthony parked the SUV. They both hurried out of the vehicle, then joined Matt and Jim. Anthony stared at the line of trees. “That sure as hell looks like it to me.”
Where was he? The cabin was pitch-black. Everything seemed so quiet.
Too quiet.
A gunshot rang out. The sound thundered through the night and shattered the silence.
The sound had come from inside the cabin.
“Take the back door, and don’t let anyone out,” Anthony barked at his men.
Matt and Jim raced toward the back.
Even in the dark, she could feel the burn of Anthony’s gaze on her. “You stay behind me, Lauren. Every step, got it?”
“Got it.”
They ran for the cabin. When Anthony reached the front door, he kicked it open, and the wood shattered as it flew back. He hurried in with his gun up and his flashlight positioned above the weapon so he could sweep the scene.
In the circle of illumination from his flashlight, she saw Wesley Hawthorne. He was on the floor. The fingers of his right hand cradled a gun, and blood poured from the wound in his head.
Beside Wesley’s prone form, Paul had frozen, his own hands up, as he crouched over the body.