Buried Deep_A dark Romantic Suspense

by Vella Day

  “I guess it’s about time you learned what happened.” He strode over to the window, his back to her. “I was married when I had an affair.” He faced her again. “If Patty had ever found out I had a child out of wedlock, she’d have booted my ass, and I was too spoiled to live on my own back then.”

  And now? She focused on his lips to make sure she understood every word. “Why not acknowledge me as your own daughter once I grew up. Aunt Patty would have forgiven you.”

  “Possibly, but it was your mother who wanted to keep the details of your adoption a secret. In fact, she wanted to keep the fact you were adopted at all a secret. My brother was living in Georgia when your birth mother died. They wanted a child, so the solution seemed win-win to me.”

  “They could have told me about it.”

  “She thought you’d tell. Miriam was riddled with guilt and wouldn’t have been able to handle the exposure.”

  “Over my adoption? Or my deafness?”

  “Over the fact that she didn’t act fast enough when she realized how sick you were with meningitis. She was a new mother and didn’t think much about your fever. When your health didn’t improve after two days, she brought you into the doctors. By then, the damage was done. You’d lost your hearing.”

  “Anyone could have made that mistake.”

  He waved a hand. “I know that, but Miriam never forgave herself. She thought that if no one knew you were deaf, she wouldn’t be ostracized for her error.”

  Lara sat there for a moment, trying to understand. “Is that why I had so many speech therapists? So I would speak well enough to fool most people?”

  “Maybe. I know for a fact your father wanted you to have tutors, but your mother said that would make her look bad. That’s when I knew I had to step away.”

  She should be shocked, but part of her knew her mom’s actions rang true. “Can you tell me about my real mother?” She had some details but wanted them confirmed.

  “Lucy? She was a real estate agent in town. She actually sold us this house. When she told me she was pregnant, I told her I didn’t want anything to do with you or her.” He glanced away, not meeting her gaze and cleared his throat. “About a year and a half later, Lucy called to say she had cancer and that she was moving back to New Mexico to stay with her mom.”

  She could fill in the blanks. “After she died, her family contacted you, but you didn’t want me. Why?” Her heart tripped at yet another betrayal. Was she so unlovable even back then?

  “I couldn’t take you. I was too much of a coward to admit I had a child. As I said, Patty would have had my head.”

  “Why didn’t my birth certificate list you as my father?”

  “I paid Lucy to say she didn’t know who the father was.”

  “Maybe I will have a drink after all.”

  For the first time, he smiled. Once he fixed her a glass and refilled his own, he handed her the drink. “How did you learn about the adoption?”

  “Mother had written a vague letter that the lawyers read during the will.”

  “And she mentioned me?” His eyes widened.

  “No.” She told him of her visit to New Mexico.

  “That must have been a shock to you.”

  “You could say that.” She took a sip of the too strong drink. “I was watching a video of my sixth birthday party and my parents were fighting. My mother said you had ruined her life. If you hadn’t assumed I knew you were my father, I might never have learned it.” A tear trickled down her cheek as the horrifying pieces finally clicked into place.

  Uncle Charles’ cell rang. “It’s Patty.” The conversation was one-sided. He stuffed his cell into his shirt pocket. “She’s running a bit late but is on her way home. I think it would be better if she doesn’t find you here. I’ll need time to break the news to her.”

  She stood and waited for him to open his arms and give her a hug, but instead, he poured himself another drink. She slipped out the front door like a leper not wanting to cause problems for anyone else.

  The drive away from his house wasn’t any more settling that the drive there. Somehow, she managed to keep her mind alert enough to reach the downtown museum. The opening didn’t hold much appeal after her conversation with Uncle Jack, or rather with her real dad, but going home and brooding over the lies and the distrust would be worse. Her palms slipped on the wheel as she sorted through what her uncle had told her. Was it the whole truth?

  Most likely. He had no reason to lie now.

  As she pulled into the parking garage adjacent to the museum, she turned her thoughts to Trevor. Her heart saddened thinking how much turmoil he would be going through not knowing what happened to Ethan and prayed he’d have an answer soon.

  She found a spot on the third floor parking garage. Her parents had served on the Acquisitions Board several years ago. Her mom always said the citizens of the town needed to support the arts, or someday there would be no live theatre and no museums. Given the number of cars here, the museum was going to thrive.

  Lara headed toward the main entrance. What would she have said to her mom if she were still alive, walking with her to the opening?

  You made me feel defective when in truth you were the one who was defective?

  No. That was mean, but right now, she wasn’t in a generous mood. The one thing her mom had taught her was that people lied. No kidding, Mom.

  No one could be trusted, not even family.

  She straightened her shoulders, adjusted her shawl, and entered the museum. The place was packed. Good. She didn’t see Dr. Hoffman or his brother, but a friend of her parents was standing by a Native American tableau.

  The elderly woman turned and smiled. “Why, Lara Romano. How nice to see you again.” Mrs. Thomas patted her hand. “I’m so sorry about your folks.”

  “Thank you.” If she knew what they were really like, she might not have been sorry.

  Mrs. Thomas adjusted the linen flower on her lapel. “My, don’t these wax sculptures look lifelike.”

  Lara stepped closer. “They’re magnificent.” She studied the poses. Something about one of the men tickled the back of her mind.

  “Is something wrong?”

  She turned to the acquaintance and smiled. “No. I’m just amazed, that’s all. The shape of his brow and width of his eyes reminds me of someone.” Only who?

  “I’m like that too. I meet someone for the first time and swear I’ve seen them before.”

  “Lara?” A large woman, dressed in a red hat with a purple plume waddled up to her. “I’m so sorry to hear about Bladen and Miriam.”

  She exchanged a few of the pleasant stories about her parents until a group of women she didn’t recognize ambled over. “Excuse me,” Lara said to no one in particular.

  She moved to the back of the museum and admired the paintings and brass sculptures that reminded her of Santa Fe and the mother she never knew. Of particular interest in the museum was the section on the Navajos. Carlton Tapp, a famous photographer, had a documentary on the Dine, or Navajo people, who were affected by the Desert Rock power plant in New Mexico. The plaques on the wall detailed their plight. Her stomach churned. Some of the interiors of the homes looked much like her grandmother’s house, and her heart broke once more at the poverty and injustice of it all.

  The museum lights flashed, signaling the doors would be closing soon. She must have spent more time with her uncle than she realized. She’d return to the show, perhaps with Trevor, and study the exhibit in more detail. He might even like the art.

  Dr. Hoffman and his brother must be in another room celebrating, or else they’d left early. If they’d been there, surely she would have run into them. Perhaps she’d call the mortician tomorrow and tell him how wonderful the exhibit was.

  Lara walked up to the third floor parking level, not in the mood to take the elevator. Once in the confining lot, she hurried to the safety of her vehicle. Apparently, she was one of the last to leave. While well lit, the place unsettled her,
or had the news about her biological father caused havoc and made her overly nervous? It was probably just her implant misreading the sounds. Her high heels smacked against the cement and reverberated against the walls sending her nerves into a jittery spasm.

  “Lara?”

  She turned, not sure where the voice came from. Her shoulders relaxed when she spotted the artist. “Mr. Hoffman. How nice to see you again. Your display was remarkable.”

  “You liked it?” He stood too close.

  She backed up. “Absolutely.” Goose chills pimpled her arms. She grabbed the door handle behind her.

  He slid his hand into his pocket, and her gaze shot to his fingers working something in the coat. Robert Hoffman’s lips pulled up into a smile as a sharp prick nailed her in the thigh.

  She looked down at the protruding dart. “What—” As she tried to ask him what was happening, her legs crumpled.

  26

  “Answer, dammit.”

  Trevor paced his apartment. Lara had sounded so disappointed on the phone when he told her he couldn’t attend the museum opening with her, but he’d received a call saying a witness thought he spotted Ethan at a doctor’s office. It turned out to be a false alarm, but Trevor had to check it out. Reaching the nurse at seven p.m. had taken time. When he finally spoke to her, it was too late to go to the museum.

  Lara’s voice mail clicked on. “Lara, it’s ten p.m. Call me. Okay? I don’t care what time it is when you get in.”

  He missed her, but he was the first to admit he wasn’t fit company for anyone. With Ethan’s disappearance, he hadn’t been able to concentrate and didn’t want to inflict his foul mood on her.

  When all this uncertainty was over, he’d try to pick up the pieces. Lara soothed his soul, understood his needs, and had a passion that matched his. Add in great sex, and she was someone he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, but the timing wasn’t right. There was a lot about her he didn’t know, and clearly she wasn’t ready to let him into her life.

  Trevor probably should have prevented her from going to work, but if he had, he would have hovered over her until he’d driven her crazy. Hell, he wouldn’t blame her if she never spoke to him again. Yet, when he’d held her in his arms, she’d snuggled against him. She was like a lost soul in need of something he wasn’t sure he was capable of giving right now. And she did ask him out. He considered that a move in the right direction.

  Trevor downed a scotch, crawled into bed, and flipped on the TV, waiting for her call.

  His eyes flew open. The clock read midnight. Shit. When had he drifted off? More importantly, why hadn’t she called? Trevor dialed her cell and then crawled out of bed, too anxious to sleep. No answer. He hung up and called her house.

  Again. No response. Something wasn’t right. Lara wouldn’t ignore him, not when he’d mentioned he had a lead on Ethan—unless her batteries had died, and she couldn’t hear the phone.

  A dog. That’s what she needed. Given she chose to live an isolated life, he wanted to make sure she was okay. He quickly dressed and left. Once at her house, he cut the engine and sprinted up the porch steps. The place stood jet black against an equally dark sky. Not even the porch light glowed. He prayed someone hadn’t smashed the bulb.

  There was no use knocking since she wouldn’t hear him. He ran to the back and peered in through the window. Her bed looked flat and unslept in, if the glow from the electric clock could be trusted. Damn.

  Before he took off, he checked the garage side window. Her car wasn’t there, and his sixth sense went into overdrive. Lara was not home. The big question was whether she’d returned home after the showing? Or had she run off again like last time?

  His insides churned.

  Could she have had some inspiration about her skeleton and decided to work? He often rose in the middle of the night and gone into the station. He had HOPEFAL’s number programmed into his cell.

  “HOPEFAL,” said a bored guard.

  Trevor stated his credentials. “Did Dr. Romano sign in this evening by any chance?”

  Keys clicked. “No, Detective. I haven’t seen her and nobody gets by me.”

  “Thanks.”

  Knowing he wouldn’t sleep until he found her, Trevor trucked down to the museum. He didn’t know what he expected to find at this late hour, but he needed confirmation she wasn’t stuck there with a flat tire or a dead car battery.

  About five cars remained in the garage. There. In the middle of the third floor was Lara’s car. Trevor cut the engine and ran to her vehicle and looked inside. Nothing.

  “Lara?” Trevor spun around, cupped his mouth and shouted again.

  The whistling wind rushing through the cement walls broke the silence. She’d locked her car doors, so where the hell was she? Her tires even looked okay, and the hood was cool. He pounded on her trunk in the off chance someone had locked her in. Ear to the metal and palms on the surface, he listened. Again, no sound.

  Desperate for an answer, he sped across the parking lot to the museum entrance. All was dark inside. He expected a security guard to be present, but no one was there. Damn. He debated calling Tampa Police, but what could they do? Given she wasn’t in her car, they’d have nothing to go on. Trevor slapped the cement wall. “Lara? Where are you?” he said to the night air.

  With his back against the museum’s front door, frustration took a bite out of him. Move. He wouldn’t find Lara standing here. He sprinted back to his truck and sped out the parking garage.

  Less than twenty-five minutes later, he was at Harry’s door. He didn’t care if it was one in the morning. He needed his brother’s help finding her. If nothing else, Harry would be clear-headed and unemotional.

  The door creaked open a few minutes later. Harry stood there in pajama bottoms, his hair spiked in every direction. “What’s wrong? You find Ethan?” His shoulders angled forward.

  “No.”

  Without asking permission, Trevor barged in.

  From the bedroom, Harry’s wife called out. “Hello, Trevor.”

  “Cheryl, don’t get up. I just need to talk to Harry.”

  His brother closed the door. “Tell me.”

  He stomped over to the kitchen table and pulled out a chair. “Lara is missing.”

  Harry stilled. “When did you see her last?” Straight to cop mode. Good.

  “I spoke with her around seven. She planned on going to some museum opening.” He told Harry about finding her car in the lot and her not answering her cell.

  “There has to be a good explanation.”

  “Give me one.”

  Harry filled two coffee mugs with water and stuffed the cups in the microwave. “Maybe she met a friend and hooked up with him.”

  A blast of jealousy shot through him. “No way. Not Lara.”

  Harry spread his fingers wide. “When did you last see her?”

  “Yesterday. I dropped her off at her house. With Bernie in jail, I thought she’d be safe.”

  “Did you call her today? Tell her you loved her?”

  Trevor stilled. Love? “I’m not in love with her.”

  “Lie to yourself, but it’s written all over your face. Besides, no one protects another person like you have unless there’s a lot of emotion attached to it.”

  “She needed protecting.”

  The microwave dinged and Harry removed two steaming mugs, dumped in instant coffee, and handed him the cup. “Here. Drink this. It’ll clear the fog from your head.”

  Trevor sipped the weak concoction and burned his tongue. It didn’t matter. The pain in his chest overshadowed any physical discomfort. “I don’t know where to turn. First Ethan, now Lara. I’m losing it. I have to find her.” He’d already buried Claire. Add in a father who might not survive this bout with cancer, and Trevor almost wished he’d never become attached to her.

  Harry sat across from him at the kitchen table. “You need to get some sleep. We can’t go looking for her until the morning anyway. Maybe one of the museum workers
noticed her talking to someone.”

  “Maybe.”

  “If someone did take her, who’s your prime suspect?”

  He dropped his head in his hands. “I don’t know. Bernie Laxman’s in custody. It has to be someone else.”

  “You don’t know she isn’t safe. She left before. It’s possible she split again.”

  He raised his head. “Without her car?”

  “We do have cabs in Tampa. Did you check the airport?”

  “No.”

  “Try the bus depots, local car rentals. She might have left on her own. Maybe she knew you’d come after her and wanted to get away without you following her.”

  He didn’t believe it, but no other option made sense. “She might want to keep away from me, but the Lara Romano I know would never leave her job. Finding the identity of the second skeleton means the world to her.”

  “You’re the Missing Persons expert. Use your resources. Hell, use Carla at HOPEFAL. She’s helped before. Talk to Phil. Lara might have called him.”

  “As always, your advice is good. I can call the airport and bus terminal now. Then if I can’t get a hold of Phil or Carla tonight can I crash here until daylight?”

  “The couch is all yours.” Harry wrapped an arm around Trevor’s shoulder. “We’ll find her.”

  Trevor’s cell roused him from a deep sleep. He blinked, trying to figure out where he was—Harry’s sofa. He fumbled for the phone, which was not in his pocket. Trevor cracked open his eyes and spotted the damn thing on the coffee table. Early morning light streamed through the windows. Shit. He’d overslept.

  He reached for the ringing nuisance. “Lara?”

  For a brief moment he dreamed these past few days had never happened.

  “It’s Willard. You need to come to the station.”

  Trevor’s brain was too fogged to register his boss’ intent by his tone. “What is it?”

  “Laxman wants to talk.”

  “Does he know where Ethan is?” The department had taken him into custody before Lara disappeared. “Or Lara?”