Buried Deep_A dark Romantic Suspense

by Vella Day

  Her head pounded, and her mouth was dry. Dear God. What had she done last night? Begging Trevor, a near stranger, to make love to her had been completely out of character, but she’d been out of her mind with grief.

  Yet, she’d needed the release, needed the support, and needed to have someone care for her, even if it was for only for one night. He’d been amazing, so tender, caring, and wonderful.

  The bittersweet memory brought comfort. He’d woken her in the middle of the night and cradled her in his arms when she’d sobbed. For those few hours of distraction, she’d remember him forever.

  A tingly sensation swirled in her belly and a hint of joy bubbled up. She refused to label the sensation as love, for surely she couldn’t fall for someone in a week, but something was happening between them. She could feel it. Hopefully, she wasn’t letting her emotions get the best of her solely because Trevor was the first person to treat her like a normal person instead of that deaf girl. He really cared for her, right?

  Lara let her mind drift for a few more blissful moments until her logical side took over. Her parents had died and their well being had to take top priority not her fantasy. From when her grandmother had passed away, she knew the drill. She’d have to pick out the caskets, sign a ton of paperwork, and make decisions about the viewing—all tasks she wasn’t ready to perform. As much as she didn’t want to do this by herself, Trevor shouldn’t have to endure the sadness with her. He deserved better.

  Would her uncle help? Her father and his brother hadn’t spoken in years, but perhaps he’d forgive whatever had come between them and provide her some guidance. At the very least, Uncle Jack and Aunt Patty might come to the funeral. Knowing she wasn’t alone during this terrible time would help.

  Her palm slid across the cold sheets, only to find the bed empty. She cracked open an eye, slipped her legs over the edge and stretched. Trevor was probably making breakfast, except that she detected no aroma of cooked bacon or hot coffee lingering in the air.

  After extracting the batteries from the charger, she hooked in her implant and stilled. Had he removed the batteries and recharged them? She sure hadn’t. Trevor, her hero, would do something like that. Yes, he would.

  “Trevor?”

  No answer. Hmm. The shower wasn’t running either.

  She dressed and headed out to the kitchen. No dishes sat in the sink and the coffee maker looked unused. In a one-bedroom apartment, there weren’t a lot of places to hide. She checked out the window. His truck was gone. What the hell?

  Had it been all about the sex? Okay, she hadn’t expected breakfast in bed, but he could have stayed around to see how she was holding up. She fisted her hands and cleared her mind of last night and every other night that had ended in disappointment.

  She searched for her Mercedes. Crap. Her car was at her house and she was stuck here. She’d told Trevor she’d planned to go into work this morning before dealing with the funeral home, or had she imagined she’d said those words last night?

  She turned around, maneuvered past the sofa and spotted the clock on the side table. Really? She’d overslept, and she never stayed in bed past seven—until today.

  Caffeine. She couldn’t think without the jolt. As she waited for the coffee to brew, she went to the refrigerator for some cream. A note was taped to the door.

  Lara,

  Ethan called and asked me to help with the identification of a body. Call if you need me.

  Trevor

  The tension in her shoulders let go, but she couldn’t help but wonder why he hadn’t woken her? Unless he’d taken off in the middle of the night. Yeah, that must have been what happened, or so she hoped.

  Lara fixed the coffee and drained the cup. Without transportation, she’d have to take a cab to the lab. Using the phone book in the kitchen, she called one, slipped her backpack over her sweater and stepped outside to wait.

  A package, wrapped in silver foil with a pink bow, sat on the doormat. She picked up the small box and went back inside to read the attached note, her heart fluttering. Trevor must have bought her a gift. Only when? Is that why he hadn’t woken her? Had he wanted to bring some joy into her life after what happened?

  She tore open the small envelope. She smiled and mouthed the neatly printed words. “I wanted you to have this special gift.”

  Lara grinned. He did care. With excited fingers, she ripped open the box.

  His little princess was so predictable. Excitement stabbed him as a yellow cab pulled to the sidewalk in front of the main entrance of the lab, and Lara slipped out. His car was in an adjacent lot, next to the cancer research facility, but his binoculars allowed him to see her every detail. In case she glanced his way, he rolled up his window, though at five hundred feet, he didn’t see how she could see his face.

  He refocused the binoculars and smiled. She was wearing his present. His Princess slipped inside the door and the cab took off. He’d seen the cop split early this morning and figured her only way to reach work would be by cab.

  Oh, how he loved the hunt. It would be so easy to grab her right now, but then she wouldn’t have the chance to see how brilliant he was. Lara Romano, a forensic anthropologist, of all people, would understand how much skill it took to make lifelike figures from wax. At the last minute, he’d decided to add a few more characters to the tableau. He thought he’d finished the supporting cast, but when he’d arranged them, he’d realized he wanted a few more to give balance to the scene. Lucky Lara had a few more days to live, but soon he’d come for her and her boyfriend, and the fun would begin.

  It was too bad she had to die. His mom would have liked her.

  On the bright side, her likeness would live in eternity.

  Other than the guard on duty, Lara didn’t see or hear anyone as she walked to the elevator. Though the ankle swelling had gone down, she feared the stairs might aggravate her injury. Once inside the wood paneled elevator walls, she fingered the beautiful necklace Trevor had given her, and her heart soared.

  The elevator dinged and she stepped out. Her goal for the day was to get a handle on the lake woman and not think about Trevor Kinsey or about laying her parents to rest, though God knows everything reminded her of her tragic loss—the lovemaking, the new necklace, and even the dead female in her lab.

  Most people would tell her to go home and grieve, but being by herself right now was the worst thing she could do. Work would help steady her. If she studied the facts and not the focus on the emotions, she might make it through the day.

  During the autopsy, Eric Markowitz had stated the unidentified girl had not been raped, which made Lara question what kind of person would strip and cut up a body if sexual assault wasn’t a prime motive? Perhaps that’s why she was a forensic anthropologist and not a profiler.

  She would have stopped by her mentor’s lab to share her devastating news, but he wasn’t scheduled to return from his honeymoon for another few days, so she headed straight to her lab.

  Once inside, she shivered and drew her sweater tight. Just as Lara brought the female from the cooler, her door opened. Damn. It was Bernie, and a ripple of anxiety tightened her muscles. She was so not in the mood to talk to him.

  He waved a paper at her as he approached. She backed up until her butt hit the cold, metal counter. Pit stains under his arms added to his disheveled look, and he seemed to favor his right leg when he walked.

  “Hi, Princess.”

  “Please don’t call me that.” She clenched her jaw.

  He had to be the intruder. Not wanting to tip him off that she suspected him, she kept quiet, deciding it would be better to leave the interrogation to Trevor. “I’m kind of busy.” She should have asked how he’d injured himself, but she really didn’t care. Not today, at least.

  He scrunched up his nose. “I came by to do you a favor, you know.”

  The last thing she needed was a pissed off DNA specialist. “I’m sorry. I’m not in a good mood. My parents were in a fatal car wreck a few days ago.”r />
  His lips turned down and his head tilted to the side—a pity pose if she ever saw one.

  “Come here. Let Uncle Bernie give you a hug.”

  She only was able to lift one hand halfway to stop him before the barreling roly-poly enveloped her. She endured the embrace for few seconds before squirming out of it. “Thanks. So what did you find?” She nodded to the paper.

  He stepped back. “Sorry. Your female is Tanya Dansler. Her parents’ DNA confirmed it. Apparently, they had their DNA tested for some type of gene therapy. Comparing their DNA to Tanya’s was easy.”

  Relief coursed through her. At least one family could find some solace that their loved one was no longer missing.

  “Great. Thanks. You were limping when you came in. When did you injure yourself?” Perhaps he’d slipped on her wet porch steps the night of the rainstorm.

  “It was stupid. I misjudged where the step should be and took a tumble off a ladder.” She might not be the best at reading people, but his unflinching eyes told her he was telling the truth.

  “Ouch.” She moved across the room and placed one of the large pots in the sink to soak. “Say, do you know anyone in toxicology? I sent a sample down for John Doe #1 a while ago and haven’t gotten back the results. I thought HOPEFUL prided itself on being fast.”

  “Carver Roderick doesn't want to make a mistake. He's methodical.” Bernie ran a hand along the edge of the counter she’d just cleaned.

  “He was fast enough with Eric Markowitz’s screen on Tanya.” She shouldn’t have been so bitchy, but nothing seemed to be going her way today.

  “Seniority has its place.” Bernie clasped his hands behind his back. “I’ll talk to him if you like.”

  She gave him a half-smile. “I’d appreciate it.”

  Bernie pointed a finger at her. “I like your necklace.”

  Her fingers shot to her neck. “Thanks. It was a present.”

  He hobbled forward and adjusted his glasses. “It looks Native American.”

  “Really? I have no idea if it is or isn’t.” She hadn’t taken the time to study the gift. Knowing the necklace came from Trevor was enough for her.

  Bernie leaned in closer, and his smell ignited her sinuses. “It looks like an Algonquin Fox necklace.”

  She fingered the beads and the series of bones spaced along the gold band. “You think?” Owning something as exotic sounding as an Algonquin Fox necklace appealed to her.

  Bernie stretched out a hand as if to touch the gift, but she slid along the counter to stay out of his reach. He lowered his hand. “The Venetian yellow looks real. Are those ochre bear knuckle bones?”

  That made her curious if maybe he’d been the one to give her the necklace. Only the note was written in a way to make her think Trevor had. “They’re beautiful, that’s all I know. I’ll have to look up what kind of animal they belonged to.” Please leave.

  “Do you think they’re real?” Saliva bubbled out one the side of his mouth.

  Trevor couldn’t afford a real necklace on a cop’s salary, and when had he had the time to buy the necklace? “I’m sure not.” Or was Bernie the person who’d purchased the gift? Ewww. He did drive a new red Camaro and Trevor only had a beat up truck.

  “It’s still lovely.” Bernie looked up at her.

  “You seem to know a lot about Native American jewelry. Are you part Indian?”

  He smiled, showing a piece of food that had lodged in his yellow teeth. Disgusting. “No. Far from it.” He puffed out his chest. “My father’s family dates back to the first Pilgrims.”

  “Oh.”

  Without saying another word, he spun on his heel and left. Perhaps Native Americans were not his friends, yet when he called her his Indian Princess, Bernie acted as if he enjoyed the name. Confused, she fingered the bones on the necklace. What bothered her was how Bernie knew so much about Native American jewelry. It was as if he had ties to them.

  Trevor carried two cups of steaming coffee to Ethan’s desk and pulled up a chair. While he enjoyed watching his brother work his homicide magic, he’d only tagged along to the crime scene this morning because the dead woman’s husband was reported missing. He figured Lara would be safe at the apartment. Without a car, she’d hopefully wait for him to take her somewhere.

  They’d spent the entire morning behind the hotel, picking through garbage, looking for clues. The most significant evidence retrieved earlier in the evening was a syringe left next to the body.

  Ethan had been on the phone for the last fifteen minutes. When he disconnected, he leaned back in his chair. The oil Trevor had applied to the wheels had stopped the squeaking, at least temporarily.

  “Any luck?” Trevor asked.

  “Wolfe showed the hotel desk clerk a photo of the dead woman, and he recognized her. Claimed she was married the previous night.”

  The image of the nude man on the beach surfaced. He too had a new wedding ring. “That sucks. Any clues about the husband?”

  “Nope.”

  “Do Mr. and Mrs. Newly Wed have a last name?” All of his missing Seminoles had spouses who were accounted for.

  Ethan flipped open a pad. “Craig and Diana Gladstone. Randy Pritchard is locating Craig’s parents and will ask them for more information.”

  “I wouldn’t want Pritchard’s job. If it’ll help, I can be the designated officer at the autopsy today. It’ll save you some time.” HOPEFAL would be doing the work, and he could bring Lara to work, something she’d enjoy.

  “That would really help me out.”

  “Oh, shit.”

  Ethan looked up. “What?”

  “Lara’s parents were recently killed in a car accident up in New York. The bodies are arriving today. I don’t know how I could have forgotten.” He certainly had remembered the amazing time they’d had last night. Too bad their abbreviated lovemaking wasn’t under better circumstances. “I want to be there for her.”

  “I’m sorry to hear it. By all means go. I can supervise the autopsy.”

  “Thanks.”

  On his way back to his apartment, Trevor called Lara to see if she knew the time her parents’ bodies would arrive at the funeral home. When she didn’t answer her cell, he called his home phone. When she didn’t answer, all sorts of bad images flashed in his head. Lara sprawled across the bed, dead, a needle by her side, or Lara bleeding and unconscious.

  Shit. Don’t go there. She must have turned off her implant.

  He pressed the accelerator to the floor. His brakes screeched as he pulled to a halt in front of his place and raced inside.

  “Lara?”

  No answer. The bedroom door was open. Lights off, the bed was rumpled after their amazing sex last night. It was clear she was gone.

  His note remained tacked to the fridge. Damn it. Where the hell was she? There wasn’t a sign of a struggle, so she’d probably hopped in a cab and headed into the lab. A slight easing of tension ran through his body at that thought.

  Praying she’d be at work, he dialed HOPEFAL’s front desk and asked if Lara was there.

  “Yes, sir. She came in a few hours ago.”

  “Thanks.” He wasn’t sure if he wanted to shout for joy or allow his anger to take hold. Damn, Lara. Why hadn’t she called him and mentioned her change of plans?

  Christ. He needed to cut her some slack. Her parents had just died, and here he was about to yell at her. Get a grip, Kinsey. Given it was close to noon, he decided to take her to lunch before she had to face the daunting task of putting her parents to rest.

  The funeral home loomed before her as Trevor pulled under the portico in front of the main entrance. Lara swallowed a sob. Though the lawn was meticulously manicured and the stone fountain soothing, she needed time to come to grips with the reality of her parents’ death.

  Trevor held open the funeral home front door. From the way his shoulders had bunched when he’d picked her up, he’d not been happy about her lack of a phone call, but she wasn’t used to having a keeper. Who knew
she had to let him know her every move?

  “I’ll be right by your side,” he said.

  Tears stung her eyes as she glanced up at him. She could almost see her mother shaking a finger at her, telling her to be brave. When they walked into the foyer, the smell of pungent lilies nearly gagged her. She staggered and Trevor wrapped a comforting arm around her waist.

  A man in his early forties emerged from a side door and oozed toward them. Dressed in a black suit, white shirt with a blue and red striped tie, his face was filled with sympathy. For that, Lara was grateful.

  “Hello, I’m Robert Hoffman. Welcome to the Hoffman Funeral home. How may I assist you?”

  Lara dabbed her nose with a tissue and swallowed. “I’m Lara Romano. I have an appointment to arrange a funeral for my parents.” The man turned to the side for a moment before giving her his attention. The family resemblance to her professor was rather striking from that angle. “I was one of your brother’s students at the University.”

  He touched her shoulder with tenderness. “Oh, yes, Dr. Romano. Rolf has mentioned you with great affection.” The small lift to his mouth and the partially closed lids reminded her of a gentle priest. He leaned in closer. “I’m so sorry for your loss. Your parents arrived moments ago. Please come this way.”

  Knowing Mom and Dad were near gave her a bit of comfort despite the grief welling inside her.

  She appreciated the soothing green tones on the walls and the mahogany molding that rimmed the twelve-foot ceilings. The antique furniture lent an elegant flare, as did the long cream drapes. She could see why her parents chose this funeral home as their final resting place.

  Mr. Hoffman led both of them into a small room, complete with a large, oval table and two small cabinets against the wall. Lara sat next to Trevor and filled out form after form. Had her parents not bought their plot at Fair Lawn, the decisions would have been more complicated. The proprietor asked her all sorts of questions about whether she wanted an open or closed casket, the type of flowers, and when she’d like the viewing and funeral to occur. Trevor helped make a decision when she was unable to choose.