Buried Deep_A dark Romantic Suspense

by Vella Day

  “Was he shot too?” Trevor flew off the bed and pulled on his pants with one hand, hopping on one foot to push his foot through the jeans. “What’s going on?”

  “I don’t know much. The hospital called the department when they found Derek’s badge. They said he called 9-1-1 about a shooting. When they arrived, they found Derek unconscious. That’s all I know.”

  “Then how could he tell you Ethan was shot?” Trevor blocked out the image of his brother, his mentor, injured, or possibly dead.

  “In Derek’s call to the dispatcher, he said an officer had been shot. Given Ethan and he were together, I thought Ethan might be that officer.”

  Trevor shoved his feet into his shoes, praying there had been some mistake. “We’ll be right there.”

  He disconnected and shot to Lara’s side, his pulse racing faster than a speeding bullet. She still hadn’t budged despite the lights blaring. He shook her shoulder. She rolled toward him and cracked open an eye. He grabbed her implant from the side table and dangled it above her.

  She bolted upright. “What’s wrong?”

  “Ethan’s been shot. We have to go to the hospital.” No need to mention he was missing or that there might be a case of mistaken identity.

  The drive to the hospital was close to a blur, but at least they made it there fast. Wolfe looked like a bull who’d lost a fight. Needles stuck from his arms, and his eyes were unfocused and glassy. According to the nurse, he’d been unconscious until a little while ago. From what he knew of Derek Wolfe, the gentle giant, all six-foot seven of him, wouldn’t have gone down without a battle.

  A nurse’s aid came in, made some adjustments to the machine that kept beeping and turned to them. “Mr. Wolfe needs his rest, so please don’t stay long.” She waddled around the bed and left, depositing her gloves in the trash.

  Trevor pulled up two chairs. “Derek, what happened?”

  He blinked a few times. “I’m not sure.” His speech came out slurred.

  “The captain said Ethan was shot.”

  Wolfe swiped a hand over his forehead, as if to clear his mind. “I got a call from a woman—something about the scalping, so I called Ethan.” He motioned for some water, and Trevor handed him a cup.

  “That much I know. I was with Ethan when you called.”

  Wolfe gulped down the contents, bypassing the straw. “I went to investigate. The witness said a man was parked across the street from her house for a few nights before Julie Bowman’s murder.” Derek’s moistened lips seemed to work better, his words more clear.

  Trevor leaned closer. “Did she get a description of the guy?”

  “No, he wore a different disguise each night. That’s what made her curious.”

  Trevor told Derek what Ethan had told him about the neighbor’s hesitation to call. “What can you tell me about Ethan?” He wiped his damp palms on his jeans.

  Derek glanced between them. “I’m getting to that.”

  He’d play along if it meant getting answers. “Did she tell you anything we didn’t know?” He wanted to shake the information out of Derek, but was thankful at least, the man was conscious.

  “She said he drove an ordinary car—a four door.”

  “What kind?”

  “She didn’t know.”

  “How is this connected to Ethan getting shot? Was it the same man who assaulted you too?”

  Captain Willard burst into the room, and Trevor looked over his shoulder. “Wolfe is telling us what happened.”

  “I’m glad to see you’re back with the living.”

  “Me too.”

  He didn’t have time for niceties. Ethan was out there. Hurt. Needing help. “Go on.”

  Derek nodded. “We found evidence of tire tracks under this large oak tree that Ethan thought might belong to the person of interest, along with a plastic cap next to where the driver’s side door would be.”

  “Like the type to go over a syringe?”

  “Yes.” He ran two fingers along the edge of his lips. “We called the station to see if they could get someone out there to process the tire impression.”

  “The tracks could have belonged to one of our cruisers. There were a bunch of investigators there the night Julie Bowman died,” Willard added.

  Derek squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his jaw. “This was on the other end of the park from where we found the body. Our men didn’t park over there.” After wetting his lips, he opened his eyes. “I was checking the area where the person had parked, while Ethan decided to go back into the woods in case we’d missed anything. Next thing I know, I hear a shot in the direction of the woods.” Derek pressed his palms to the side of his head, his lips in a grimace.

  “Did you see the shooter?” Willard asked.

  “No.”

  “Did any of the neighbors come out to investigate?” Trevor asked.

  Derek dragged his hands down his face and seemed to relax. “In that neighborhood? No. They know better.”

  Trevor’s hands were still sweating. “Then what?”

  “This is where it becomes unclear. I went down this path toward the area where we found the victim, and I see Ethan on the ground. He was shot in his side.”

  “Was he conscious?” Trevor said.

  “Yes, and in pain. I called 9-1-1 and told them about the officer down. I stayed by Ethan’s side the whole time.”

  Trevor’s gut churned. Ethan was hurt, so where the hell was he? “Did you ask Ethan if he saw who shot him?”

  “He said he just felt the bullet but didn’t see anyone. From where he was hit, we figured the shooter was deep in the woods and not by the road.”

  How could this mystery man remain so invisible? “Did you see the shooter run away? Or hear leaves crunching or branches cracking as he tried to escape?” The forest was rather dense. No one could travel without making any noise.

  “No. That’s the part I can’t piece together. I looked around but saw nothing. Next thing I know, my vision blurs and I wake up here.” Ethan’s partner’s breaths came out fast, and his skin looked clammy. He leaned back in the bed. “Was I shot too?”

  “According to the nurse, no.” Trevor closed his eyes for a moment trying to recreate the scene. “Could the attacker have been in a tree?” It was the only plausible explanation, but at the moment his mind was barely functioning.

  “That would make sense, but how would he have known we’d be there?”

  The intercom blared from the hallway, and Trevor waited a moment before answering. “Beats me. Maybe he was the one who called you, wanting to lure you there.”

  “No, the neighbor definitely made the call.” He leaned his head back on the pillow.

  A noisy gurney wobbled down the hallway. Trevor was tempted to close the door for some quiet, but the room was already too warm. “He could have made her call. Hell, he could have held a gun to her head or something.”xxx

  “It’s possible. She was overly nervous when we spoke with her, but I think she would have mentioned if she’d called under duress.”

  Lara bounced her gaze from one to the other. “It’s him. The bastard used ketovencuronium, I bet. That’s how he sedates his victims, and gets away with murder.”

  Wolfe rubbed his forehead. “What the hell’s ketoven-whatever?”

  “It’s a paralytic and a tranquilizer. You’re Native American, aren’t you?”

  “Half Seminole. The other half is a European mix.”

  Trevor slapped the chair arm. “I bet you’re right, only the bastard miscalculated. He couldn’t move Derek.”

  “He’s getting sloppy,” she said. She placed a hand on Derek’s bed. “Did they take a blood sample when you came in?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “I’ll check.”

  The moment Lara disappeared, Trevor returned his focus to Ethan’s partner. “I know I keep asking, but where’s Ethan?”

  “I don’t know. Ask the paramedics who took me. The nurse told me I was the only one taken back to
the hospital.”

  Willard sat down on Lara’s vacated seat. “Could Ethan have gone for help?”

  “He heard me call for an ambulance. Why leave? From the amount of blood I saw, he couldn’t have crawled very far.”

  His brother had fair skin and light brown hair. No way he’d be mistaken for a Seminole. Fuck. Trevor needed answers and fast.

  Lara rushed back in. “They did take blood. I asked them to test for the tranquilizer.”

  “Good.”

  “Dad, sit. The department is doing everything they can to find Ethan.”

  Trevor’s mother stirred the omelets while the second pot of coffee perked.

  Dad clenched his hand around his empty coffee cup. “Why aren’t you helping?”

  Trevor gritted his teeth and shot a glance at Lara whose body was stiff and whose lips were pressed tightly together. “You know why. They won’t let a relative on the case.” Christ, the guilt was ripping him apart as it was. He didn’t need his family to harp on him. God knows he wanted to do something.

  “You could search unofficially.”

  “Herb, please.” His mother always did stick up for her children.

  “Where’s Harry?” His dad put down the cup and pulled out a cigarette. He lit up, a sure sign Ethan’s disappearance was wearing him down.

  Trevor downed the coffee that had gone cold already. “He said he’d be here. He needed to check something out before he stopped over.”

  His mom waved a hand in front of his dad to dissipate the cigarette stench. “Herb, you know the doctor said not to smoke.”

  “Fuck the doctors. My son is missing, and I’m sitting here on my ass doing nothing.”

  His mom’s cheeks sagged. As she placed the platter of eggs and juice on the table, the carton toppled over. “Oh, my. I’m so clumsy.”

  Lara jumped up. “Let me help.”

  His mom ran her hands down her apron. “I guess you could get the coffee cream from the fridge and pour the coffee while I clean up this mess.”

  His mom never let anyone help. Living with a cop for forty years gave her a better insight into what could happen to someone in the department. She walked over to the counter. Given her stiff movements and the way she tore off sheet after sheet of paper towels, she was barely keeping the tears at bay.

  Shouts sounded outside, and all but Lara stiffened. Trevor pushed back in his chair and ran out the back door.

  Two men were wrestling on the ground. “Harry?”

  “I got him,” his brother shouted.

  Trevor rushed over to help him secure the intruder. Face down, Trevor couldn’t tell who it might be. “Who is he?”

  Soft footsteps sounded behind him. Lara. “It can’t be.”

  23

  Lara slipped on the morning grass as she rushed to Trevor’s side. “Bernie, what are you doing here?”

  Trevor spread out his arms either to stop her or protect her from her coworker, yet Bernie shoved his hands in front of his face as if Trevor would beat him.

  Harry jerked him to his feet.

  The lab tech tugged at his restraint and reached out to her. “I needed to talk to you and your cop friend here.”

  “Ever heard of knocking?” Trevor’s right shoulder jerked forward.

  The faint morning light barely illuminated Bernie’s face. “What’s going on?” she asked.

  “Someone is trying to frame me.” He wretched his arm upward again to free himself from Harry’s grasp, but his attempt failed.

  The tightness around his mouth and the puffiness under his eyes convinced her Bernie really was upset about something. “Frame you for what?”

  Trevor wrapped an arm around her waist. “Harry, get rid of him.”

  As his brother dragged Bernie toward the front of the house, the hard set to Trevor’s mouth told her no amount of pleading would make him change his mind. She didn’t like Bernie Laxman, was afraid of him in fact, but every man deserved a chance to defend himself.

  Bernie twisted back around, fighting the restraint. “Lara. You’ve got to help me. I found your necklace in my house.”

  She stilled. “My necklace?”

  Trevor grabbed her hand, acting like she was about to run to her coworker.

  “Harry, call Willard. Have him check out his story. We need that necklace.”

  She slipped out of Trevor’s grasp and faced him. “Can’t we listen to what he has to say?”

  “You’re trying to defend that scum? I thought he creeped you out.”

  “I’m not defending him, but he might be telling the truth. We won’t know unless we speak to him. Aren’t you curious why he came here? If what I see on TV is right, people don’t admit to being a thief.”

  Bernie continued to wrestle against Harry’s restraint. “What about my car? I need it,” Bernie whined as Harry hauled him toward the front of the house.

  “Wait here.” Trevor jogged over to Harry and held out his hand to Bernie. “Give me the keys. I’ll drive it to the station for you.”

  Bernie stopped struggling. “You’d do that for me?”

  He shrugged. “Sure.”

  Harry let go but stayed next to his prisoner while Bernie dug his hand in his pocket and extracted his car keys. “It’s the red Camaro. I parked on Ohio Street.”

  Two blocks away. “I’ll make sure the car is in the parking lot behind the station when you are released.”

  Harry jerked Bernie’s arm and led him to the front of the house. Lara sidled up next to Trevor, confused about what happened.

  “Come on,” Trevor said.

  “Where?”

  “Inside.”

  He led her into the house as Harry loaded Bernie in the back of his cruiser. Mr. Kinsey was standing by the table, his brows pinched tight. “What the hell happened out there?”

  “Just some prowler. Harry’s taking him in.”

  “Maybe he knows something about Ethan’s disappearance,” his dad said.

  “It can’t hurt to ask him, but I don’t see why he’d know anything.” Trevor walked around the table and kissed his mother’s cheek. “Lara and I are going down to the station. We’ll catch breakfast on the way.”

  “Be careful.” His mom wiped her hands on her apron.

  Given it would take a while to process Bernie, Lara didn’t see why they had to leave a perfectly good meal. She’d have asked Trevor, but it wouldn’t have done any good. When he was on the hunt, there was no stopping him.

  They rushed outside. Once down the steps, she placed a hand on his arm. “Do you think Bernie shot Ethan? Or was involved in his disappearance in any way?”

  “I don’t know, but I didn’t want to get into a discussion with Dad about the possibility.”

  “He’d lecture you on what to do, right?” It’s what dads did.

  “I see you’re getting to know him.” A hint of a smile lifted his lips. He handed her the keys to Bernie’s car. “Do you mind following me to the station?”

  “You want me to drive Bernie’s car?”

  “If that’s okay. We’ll need my truck once we arrive, and I can’t drive both vehicles.”

  The Camaro might be one of the fastest cars she’d ever get to drive. “Sure.”

  “Stay close.”

  “You don’t need to worry about that.”

  As she followed him toward the sheriff’s department, the sky brightened, but her troubled thoughts darkened her mood. Bernie’s car stunk. Rotten food didn’t smell that bad. She lowered the window to air out the inside.

  Her mind automatically cataloged the smells. Perspiration and decomposition. Decomp? Bernie only dealt with blood samples. Surely, he wouldn’t take home something from the lab.

  Twenty minutes later, she pulled into the lot behind Trevor, rolled up the electric windows and turned off the engine. She slipped out and inhaled, happy to be in the fresh air. From the way he took off ahead of her toward the office, he was hell bent on finding out what Bernie knew. She limped behind him, not wanting her
injury to worsen. When she reached his desk a moment later, Trevor dragged Ethan’s empty chair from across the aisle and motioned she take a seat.

  “I’ll be right back,” he said.

  See ya, chief running bear. She slumped in the seat. From the moment he’d learned Ethan was injured, Trevor had turned inward. She’d tried to draw him out, but she might as well have attempted to walk through a brick wall.

  Five minutes later, he strode back with a few files in his hands. He sat, propped up his head with one hand and studied the information.

  There were no formalities, like how are you holding up? No, what do you think Bernie was doing at my parents’ house. Not even, where do you think Ethan might be? His gaze stayed on the paper as his fingers flipped through the file.

  Fine. She’d find something to do without him. She scooted closer. He was reading the report on Julie Bowman. “May I?” Lara tugged on the George Sanchez file sitting off to the side.

  “Sure.”

  Ah, the man could speak.

  He slammed the folder closed and ripped the phone headset from the base. As he waited for whomever to answer, he beat the pencil against the wooden desk, which only agitated her already tired and annoyed state.

  “Phil. Trevor Kinsey.” He filled her boss in about Bernie’s arrest.

  After a short exchange, Trevor hung up and turned to her. “Carla is going to do an in-depth investigation into Bernie’s background.”

  “Do you think he’s capable of killing someone? He always seemed harmless to me. A pest, sure, but not someone who would commit murder.”

  “You’d be surprised what kind of people are murderers. My strangest case in New York involved a priest who killed pregnant women.”

  “How horrible.”

  “Yes. That case taught me not to be fooled by the person’s profession or how nice he seemed at the time.”

  Her stomach grumbled. Bernie’s appearance this morning had interrupted their breakfast. “I’m going to check the break room for some snacks.” The George Sanchez report was getting her nowhere. “You want anything?” She placed her folder underneath the pile.

  “No.”