Buried Alive_A dark Romantic Suspense

by Vella Day

  Hunter had one last hope before he called in the troops. John Ahern might know where she was. Thank goodness he’d programmed John’s number from the last case they’d worked on. The assistant M.E. answered on the first ring.

  “It’s Hunter Markum. Do you know where Kerry is?” He didn’t have time for pleasantries.

  John waited a beat before answering. “No. We didn’t have any need of her today. Why? I thought you were keeping her in some kind of safe house.”

  “I was, but she’s missing.”

  21

  “How do you know the baby isn’t with Brad’s mom or in daycare?” Kerry asked her sister. She turned down the car AC as they idled in front of Susan’s ex-boyfriend’s house.

  “I don’t, but it’s a Saturday. Teresa should be home, playing outside, having fun.” Kerry’s sister pushed open the car door. “I’m tired of waiting. I’m going to confront the bastard.”

  Kerry grabbed Susan’s arm. “Are you crazy? Stop and think. Suppose your child is fine. Do you want him to know you’re stalking him? Worse case scenario, he could come after you or take out his anger on Teresa.”

  Susan leaned back into the seat and turned toward her. “I’m not stalking him. I have to find out about my daughter—the daughter he stole from me.”

  “Then let the police handle it. You said you’d sworn out a complaint.”

  “Two years ago. I don’t think the police care anymore.”

  “Hunter would care.”

  Her lips pursed. “Hunter this, Hunter that. You make him sound like some goddamn saint.”

  Kerry flinched at Susan’s bitter attack, but she understood where her sister was coming from. Hunter didn’t abuse women like Brad had.

  “How do you think Brad would react if he knew you’ve learned where he lives?”

  Her lips were pressed together so tight her chin trembled. Kerry had never seen her sister so distraught. “He’d probably hit me.”

  “Or worse. You need to stay away from him. I don’t mind us watching for a little while longer, but there can’t be any interaction without the police being here.”

  “You are such a goodie-two-shoes.” She huffed. “Always have been.”

  Kerry needed to refocus her sister’s thoughts. “How old is Teresa now?” Kerry knew to the day how old her child would have been had she’d lived.

  “Two years, seven months and three days.”

  Poor Susan. The hole in her heart must be bigger than a cavern. “Two years is a long time to wait for justice, but we need to be patient.”

  A blue sedan pulled into the driveway. Susan straightened and grabbed Kerry’s hand. “Do you think Teresa’s inside the car?”

  A tall, leggy blond slipped out of the driver’s seat. When the woman pulled open the rear door her sister sucked in a large breath, and then grimaced. The lady stood, holding a package in her arms—not a child. Susan closed her eyes, and a tear trickled down her face.

  “I’m really sorry, Susan, but we don’t know Teresa’s not inside the house.”

  She sniffled. “Maybe.” She turned to Kerry. “Do you think your knight in shining armor can really help?”

  “I bet he’ll try.”

  When Kerry entered into the cabin’s driveway, Hunter’s truck sat parked in front. Damn. He was going to be pissed she’d left without telling him.

  Too bad. Susan had needed her. If she’d called Hunter and told him her plan to scout out Brad’s house for her sister’s daughter, he would have told her to stay put. Then where would Susan have been? As it was, her sister had been so upset, she’d said little on the way back.

  “Come on,” Kerry said, as she pushed open the car door. “Let’s see what Hunter can do.”

  Dread filled her just thinking about his reaction.

  Susan eased out and looked around. “This is quite romantic. The trees add a lot of shade.”

  What an odd observation. The trees were the least of Kerry’s worry and romance was not on her mind—absolutely not on her mind. Maybe this was Susan’s way of avoiding her demons.

  The front door burst open and Hunter stood in the doorway with his gun dangling by his side. Crap. Eyes narrowed and every muscle taut, Kerry steeled herself for a fight.

  Hunter strode toward her and shoved the gun in his shoulder holster. “Where the hell have you been?” His voice boomed louder than a megaphone.

  Before she could answer, he wrapped his arms around her and squeezed her tight. “You scared the crap out of me.” His whisper was so close to her ear, his lips brushed her skin.

  For a brief moment, Kerry let herself relax against his strong chest, inhaling his musky scent. God, did she need his hug or what.

  Hunter leaned back and lifted Kerry’s chin. Their lips nearly touched. Time stood still. All fear and anxiety drifted to the back of her mind, and she was convinced Hunter cared about her as a person, and didn’t think of her as some client who was in trouble.

  “Ahem,” Susan said. “Hi, I’m Kerry’s sister, Susan.” She stuck her hand out.

  As if they’d been caught necking by their parents, she and Hunter sprang apart. A slow heat drifted up her face. “Yes, this is my sister.” Typical Susan—the queen of bad timing.

  Hunter and Susan shook hands. “Let’s move out of the heat.” His gaze swung from the ground to Kerry. “And you, Dr. Herlihy, will tell me why you disobeyed an order.”

  “Disobeyed an order? I don’t do orders. Suggestions, maybe, but only if I believe in them.”

  His comforting stance disappeared as he stomped back into the house. Kerry and Susan trailed behind. No need to rush to the firing squad.

  “Seems like a nice guy,” Susan whispered, as they walked along the slate path to the house. A hint of a smile crossed her lips. “And hot.”

  “He is—nice that is.” She wasn’t going to confess she found Hunter physically appealing. “And don’t act so smug. You need him to help find your daughter.”

  At Teresa’s reference, Susan’s smile disappeared. “You’re right. I do need his help.”

  When they entered the cabin, Hunter had already dragged a dining room chair into the living room. His shoulders remained rigid.

  He swept a hand toward the sofa, keeping his gaze on Kerry. “Please sit.”

  She and Susan sat next to each other on the sofa. “Let me explain,” Kerry began.

  “Please do.” While he wasn’t yelling, the tension in his voice reminded her of her father when he became angry, which wasn’t a good thing.

  Susan placed a hand on Kerry’s thigh. “It’s my fault. I needed Kerry’s help.”

  Kerry’s sister told Hunter about how Brad had stolen their baby two years ago and how she’d spent most of the child’s life trying to find him and her daughter. Now she had.

  Hunter’s brows pinched. “How did you locate him this time?”

  Had he forgiven her for running out? Kerry could only hope.

  “I hired a skip tracer a few months ago, but he came up empty–handed. Brad had disappeared. I was running out of money just as my ex made a mistake, one that caused a red flag on Tony Tesner’s computer. You see, Brad’s a good tennis player. Always has been. He had the misfortune of winning a tournament, and his name and hometown were plastered in several papers. Tony saw the win, found his address and called me.”

  “Okay,” Hunter said, “but why did you need Kerry?”

  “For support.”

  “Didn’t Kerry tell you about the person stalking her?” Hunter shot back. Susan nodded. “How can you two be sure he didn’t follow you here?”

  A burning sensation stabbed Kerry in the belly. “I never thought about anyone following us.” What had she done? Hunter had been so careful. Now, she’d screwed up. “I’m sorry.”

  Hunter stood. “We should probably move. I’ll make a few phone calls, but I might not be able to find another home for a while. Susan, where are you staying?”

  “I’ve moved into my grandfather’s now that Kerry is he
re with you.”

  No one would mistake one for the other. “When you and Kerry are done bonding, I’ll drive you back.”

  “Thank you.”

  Hunter’s cell rang. He stepped toward the entranceway, keeping his back to them. “Markum...She give you anything? ...Did you ask her about the surgery?...Thanks.”

  He swiped off his phone.

  “Who was that?” Kerry asked.

  “Jeff Shapiro, the lead detective on the Nancy Donello-Sanchez case. Once I provided him with her name, he followed up. He wanted to let me know he’d spoken with Nancy’s mom, but she offered little help.”

  “Nancy Donello-Sanchez?” The name didn’t sound familiar.

  “Sorry. The woman who was washed up in the Bay. You were right. She had used the River of Hope shelter on several occasions.”

  Kerry brightened. There might be a connection then. “Did he say who’d performed her plastic surgery?”

  “When Shapiro contacted Nancy’s mother, he didn’t think to question her about it. He said it didn’t seem relevant at the time.”

  “Did he have any idea who might have killed her?”

  “Nope. I actually learned more about Nancy’s life than he had. Going to the shelter led me to the woman’s dead ex-husband and to her boyfriend.”

  “What’s your next step?” Kerry asked.

  “If there is a connection between her death and the four Jane Does, I need to ask Nancy’s mom about the surgery.” The lines around his eyes had etched deeper in the last week and dark smudges under his eyes had given his face a hallowed look.

  “I want to come with you. I can help.”

  “No.”

  She had her answer ready. “If I’m with you, I won’t be able to get in trouble.”

  He glanced from Kerry to Susan and back again. “It’s probably against my better judgment, but you do have a point.”

  “I’m not trying to interfere in your job. I merely want to do mine.”

  “Only because I can’t trust you to stay put, I’ll take you along.”

  “Thank you.” The air cleared about why she’d left, she broached another topic. “After we visit Nancy’s mom, do you think you could help Susan extract some information out of Brad?”

  Hunter dragged a hand through his hair. His eyes were bloodshot and his posture lacked his usual energy. Asking him to add more work to his hectic schedule gave her pause, but Susan needed his help.

  “I’ll give it a try, but on one condition.”

  “That being?”

  “I don’t want you with me. Brad might be dangerous.”

  This time, she wouldn’t argue. He had harmed Susan, so there was no telling what he was like now. “I’ll either stay locked up here or be at the lab.”

  Kerry glanced over at Susan and they exchanged relieved smiles.

  “Thanks,” Susan said.

  Hunter’s scowl deepened. Now what was that for?

  On the drive to Nancy Donello-Sanchez’s mother’s house, Hunter told Kerry about the medical examiner’s van picking up Willie Wyble.

  “I don’t understand. No one at the ME’s office would have anything to gain from burying bodies. We have to account for each one.”

  “I know. I have no explanation. I’m only telling you so you’ll be ultra careful. Trust no one there.”

  “Hunter, you drive me to work and pick me up. I’ll be safe.” She crossed her arms. “Do you always believe what men of the street tell you? They most likely have a drinking problem and a bad memory.”

  He liked her men of the street phraseology.

  “According to Phil, Tanner Nash wasn’t making this up.” No use discussing the pros or cons of the man’s story without more facts. He’d ask Phil to look into the case further. “We’re here.” Several cars were parked outside. “Looks like Betty Donello’s support group has arrived,” Hunter said.

  “Good. Everyone needs people around who care, especially in a time of need.”

  From her wistful tone, Kerry must be speaking from experience. For some reason, he wanted to know what drove her so hard to help others, what she dreamt about, where she saw herself in the years to come. Had her brother’s disappearance been the only catalyst for her need to give comfort, or had something else traumatic happened to her? He refused to analyze why she pushed his curiosity button to the max.

  A portly gentleman in his late thirties with wispy blond hair answered the front door. Hunter flashed his badge. “Hunter Markum, Hillsborough Country sheriff’s department.”

  “I’m Nancy’s brother, Colin. My mother’s in the living room. Come in.”

  Nancy’s mom was sitting on the sofa with her head in her hands, sobbing.

  “Mom, the police are here about Nancy.”

  Betty Donello dabbed her eyes with a red handkerchief and looked up, her white hair drooped around her chin. A cane lay across the sofa, and a Bible rested on a chair across from her. An older woman sitting next to Betty Donello had an arm draped around the mom’s shoulder. A second lady sat across from her.

  The taller of the two stood and helped the short, frail lady grab hold of her walker. The tall one looked over at Hunter, and then turned back to Nancy’s mom.

  “Betty, we’ll wait in the kitchen.”

  Once her friends disappeared, Betty Donello straightened her hair and shirt. “I want whoever did this to die. How can I help?” She sniffled and blew her nose. “Nancy’s horrible death came as such a shock. She was such a lovely girl and a wonderful daughter.”

  If she’d been so wonderful, how had she ended up in a shelter and not with her mom? Nancy had been missing for two months. Didn’t her daughter’s disappearance make her think something might have happened to her before now? “I’m guessing you didn’t see your daughter often?”

  “Not as much as I’d have liked. Nancy was busy working. She didn’t have much time for me.” Betty dabbed her eyes. “To be fair, I was at my sister’s in California since the end of May. She’d been ill.” The mom tapped her chest. “Heart.”

  “My sympathies.” Questioning a grieving family member had to win the what-I-hate-most-about-the-job award. “From the autopsy, we found Nancy had had some plastic surgery performed. Can you tell us about it?”

  Anguish and guilt skipped across her face. “After her husband hurt her, I finally convinced Nancy to leave him. She stayed here until she met Ron Whipley. Then she moved in with him. I didn’t like how she rushed into a new relationship, but she was thirty-three. I couldn’t stop her.”

  Kerry touched Hunter’s hand and his pulse sped up.

  “I’m Dr. Herlihy. I noticed Nancy had a scar behind her ear that appeared to be recent. Do you know what the surgery was for?”

  Betty Donello pointed to the sofa and love seat. “Where are my manners? Please sit.”

  He and Kerry sat next to each other, moving the Bible off to the side. “The surgery?” Hunter said.

  “Oh, yes. Poor Nancy. She’d been in a bad fight with Ron over her long hours at work. He hit her pretty bad, then cut her with a knife near the side of her face—nearly killed her too. She came here, blood dripping from ear to chin.”

  Hunter leaned forward and scribbled notes in his pad. “When was this?”

  “Right before I went to see my sister.”

  That would make her injury about the time of her death. “Did she go to the ER?”

  “Yes, they patched her up, but the scar was bad. I suggested she see if that wonderful Dr. Dalton wouldn’t mind working on her face. He’d done her surgery after that bastard Rick—that’s her ex-husband—broke her nose.”

  Kerry straightened, her hands bunched at her side.

  “And did he agree to help?” he asked.

  “Yes. He was amazing. I could hardly tell she’d been hurt.”

  “Do you think Ron had anything to do with her death?” Hunter made a note to arrest the bastard for assault. It didn’t matter if Nancy was now dead. She deserved to have someone pay.

&n
bsp; Betty cried again and dabbed her nose with a tissue. “I don’t know what to think. Nancy insisted it was her fault that Ron cut her. She went back to the bastard.”

  Hunter’s heart sank. Why did women continue to expose themselves to these monsters? “Did his temper improve?”

  “I don’t know. I left for California. Nancy called me a few times, but she wouldn’t discuss Ron.”

  Basically, the mom hadn’t had contact with the daughter in the last two months, so she wasn’t much help—other than providing the name of the good doctor. He placed his card on the coffee table. “Let me know if you think of anything else.”

  22

  Ever since Liz Culbertson of Channel 8 news had called Hunter and told him to watch the five o’clock news, Kerry hadn’t been able to concentrate on her clay model. The strips kept slipping.

  At a few minutes to five, she paced the cabin’s small living room wondering what was so important on the news.

  “Sit, Kerry. Please. You’re making me nervous.”

  Hunter turned up the volume when the news anchor threw to Liz Culbertson out in the field. Kerry stood in front of the TV, her arms crossed over her chest.

  About fifty people stood behind Norwood and his wife, some with lit candles, others with posters that read, “Find Janet’s killer.”

  “Good evening. I’m Liz Culbertson, and I’m speaking to Chris Norwood and his wife Sharon. Two years ago their daughter disappeared. Recently the police found her remains along with the remains of three other women.”

  Hunter leaned forward. “They’re in front of the sheriff’s station. Shit.”

  “Can all those people protest in front like that?”

  “It’s the right-of-way.”

  “What does Mr. Norwood hope to accomplish by going public?”

  Before Hunter could answer, Norwood spoke. “My daughter, Janet, was cruelly murdered. My wife and I want answers. Janet would have been thirty-one today. I’m offering a fifty-thousand dollar reward for information leading to the arrest of the killer.”

  Norwood continued, but Kerry’s mind spun with questions after the big announcement of a reward.