Fear for Me by Cynthia Eden

Then she was there with him, jumping on the motorcycle. His helmet hid his face from her, but Stacy—she’d always trusted him.
    Stupid.
    Her arms locked around him. “Let’s get out of here!”
    He revved the bike. Didn’t take her toward the main road. He took her back along the twisting trails near the bayou. The trails that only a few knew.
    The marshal didn’t know about them.
    Neither did the DA.
    “Where are we going?” Stacy’s voice shouted in his ear. He hated her voice. It grated every time she spoke. Had her drawl always been so thick? “I thought we were hittin’ the interstate.”
    He kept driving. They weren’t far enough away, not yet.
    Her hold tightened. “Ben? Ben, stop the bike!”
    He didn’t stop.
    Because he wasn’t fucking Ben.

CHAPTER FOUR
    Anthony took Lauren back to his hotel. Her brows climbed as she glanced at the tall, well-lit building, then she looked back at him. “You’re not staying with the cop,” he said. Just so they were clear. He wanted to be very clear on that point.
    “I planned to get a room of my own after I get my clothes and everything else I need.” Her voice was so cool. How did she do it? How did she always stay in such perfect control?
    He jumped from the vehicle. Hurried around to her side. The valet took the keys and Anthony took her arm. “Your bags are waiting upstairs.” He’d made sure everything would be ready for her.
    And that her room would connect to his.
    Surprisingly, she didn’t argue as he led her through the hotel and into the elevator. He did notice that her gaze cut to the stop button on the elevator’s control panel.
    His lips curved. “Don’t worry,” he told her, “we’ll head straight up.”
    Her gaze came back to him. The walls of the elevator were mirrored, reflecting her image at every turn. She should have looked exhausted.
    She didn’t.
    “From where I stand, you’re the priority,” he told her, and it was the truth. The killer had been
in
her house. He’d had a picture of Lauren in his cell.
    She was the one he wanted—the one Anthony would make sure Walker didn’t get. He’d stay close to Lauren, and when Walker came, the killer would have to face him.
    I will take you down.
    “The judge has protection,” Anthony said as the elevator rose. “And so do you.”
    The elevator dinged and its doors opened. He’d actually cleared this floor for his men, and for the rest of the task force that would be arriving soon. With word of Walker’s escape, the FBI had immediately jumped in the hunt, too. They were sending two agents to join the marshals, agents who’d probably enter a pissing match with the local cops—it was the usual way of things.
    He pulled out a key card and opened Lauren’s room. “You’ll be safe here.” They were on the top floor, the best for security.
    She glanced around the room. Her suitcase waited at the foot of the bed. “Looks like you’ve thought of everything.” Her head tilted. “Just when did you make these plans? I don’t remember you calling anyone from the courthouse.”
    When the jerk cop had offered her a room at his place.
    “I made the arrangements while you were talking to some of the waitresses at Easy Street.” Covering his bases was the only smart plan.
    She gave a faint nod.
    He locked the main door. Made sure to put the extra bolts in place.
    “What are you doing?” Lauren demanded. Her voice wasn’t so calm right then. It had definitely edged up an octave or two.
    There was only one bed in the room. Big, king-size. In his fantasies, he joined her on that bed. Instead, Anthony headed for the connecting door.
    The door was unlocked, linking his room to hers—again, per his instructions. “My key opens your room, and my own.”
    Lauren didn’t speak. Huh. That was new. The woman always had plenty to say.
    So he did the talking. “If you need me, I’ll be just a few feet away.”
    She still wasn’t speaking. The woman who could tear into any defense