Buried Secrets: A dark Romantic Suspense (The Buried Series Book 2)

by Vella Day

  Shelby smiled and punched in the number. Her smile turned upside down. “Sam? It’s Deidra’s sister, Shelby. Did I wake you?...I’m so sorry. We have a problem.”

  Is that what she was? A mere problem? Jenna strained to hear his reaction. “Sam?” Jenna panted. She stretched out her hand for the phone, but Shelby waved her away.

  “You hear that? Jenna can barely talk. We went out for a cruise and Jenna must have eaten something bad. She’s quite sick. Can you come and get her? I think she needs to go to the hospital... I wish I could, but my engine died, can you believe it? I have three little ones at home waiting for Santa, and I’m stuck in the middle of the Gulf of Mexico... I know you don’t have a boat, but I’ve figured that out. I’ve called my mechanic already. He was on his way down to Punta Gorda for some fishing but was willing to take a little detour. He’s heading into Clearwater now to pick up some parts.” She gave Sam the address of the marina. “When I told him I planned to call you, he said for you to come with him. ...What’s that?... He said he doesn’t have time to take her to the hospital, but he’s willing to drop her off at the docks if you’ll babysit her while he heads back.”

  Shelby actually made sense. They were stranded. Her mechanic, who must have asked for an extraordinary amount of money, was willing to come out here in the middle of the night—on Christmas Eve no less—and save them. She didn’t blame the poor man for not wanting to take care of her.

  Apparently, Sam agreed and Shelby disconnected. “Well, that’s settled.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “About what?”

  “If you get your engine working, why not take me back to shore yourself?” She knew the answer. Neither Shelby nor Martin had any intention of taking her or Sam back to land. They’re goal would be to dump them into the sea. Poor Sam. It wasn’t fair he had to be mixed up in this mess.

  “I don’t have time to go back. I have a date in Mexico.”

  Jenna’s mind latched onto the tropical paradise—sandy beaches, Mayan pyramids, great food, and peace. She’d never been there, but she bet she’d like it. “What about your kids?”

  Jenna’s eyes rolled into the back of her head and dozed off without hearing the answer.

  “Sorry it took me so long.” Phil wheeled down the ramp to where Sam and four other officers congregated. “Mr. Pomerantz’s personal yacht will be escorting you just as soon as it arrives.”

  The H and P in HOPEFAL were named after Henry Pomerantz. The man was a true altruist. “Please thank him for me. Did you get any gear?”

  “State of the art scuba gear is on the boat.”

  “Awesome.” Sam nodded toward the bank of clouds rolling in. “The fog will help camouflage our arrival.”

  “Let’s hope the weather stays that way.”

  Now he’d have no problem reaching Jenna and saving her. Hopefully, she’d still be alive.

  Sheldon Meyers, Larry Bernard’s partner, drove up and raced down the gangplank. “What do you need me to do?”

  “Pretend to be Sam,” Phil said. “You’ll go with the mechanic instead of Sam, assuming the man shows up at all.” Phil turned to Sam. “You said Shelby has never met you, right?”

  “Right. Sheldon and I are about the same height, build, and coloring. In the dark Shelby won’t realize there’s been a switch. I’ve got a cap in my car that has the HOPEFAL logo on it. Sheldon, the visor will help cover your face.”

  “If Marlon is on the boat, he’ll know what’s up,” Sheldon said.

  Phil shook his head. “By then Sam will be on his way to the boat. Just keep them busy until he arrives.”

  Sheldon held up his hand. “I’m armed to the teeth, so it shouldn’t be a problem.”

  Phil tapped the arms of his chair. “Good.”

  Sam raced to his car, returned with the hat, and handed it to Sheldon.

  “Thanks.” Sheldon slapped it on his head.

  “I’ll be damned. You two could be twins,” Phil said with a smile. “T

  The sound of an engine rounded the corner and Phil sobered. “Everyone but Sheldon take cover.” He pointed to Sam’s stunt double. “You know what to do.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Sam pushed Phil in his wheelchair up to the parking lot where they hid behind his car and waited. The other four men with Sam scattered. One would hide on the trawler, while the others would make sure the repairman was on the same page before they hopped on The Pomerantz with Sam.

  A beat up trawler pulled into Shelby’s vacant slip. A man in jeans with a scruffy beard and thick around the waist, jumped off the boat. He ran a line to the dock.

  Sheldon jogged up to the man. “Hey. You going out to Mrs. Vivaldi’s boat?”

  “You Sam Bonita?” the guy asked.

  “Sure am.”

  “Then hop on. I want to get something from my storage shed. I keep spare parts and other tools there.”

  Once the owner disappeared, Phil motioned his men to get into position. The tall, muscular cop, dressed in a black vest and helmet, jumped on the boat and slipped into the cabin. Sheldon climbed on board and paced the small deck, looking like an expectant father. Sam had to hand it to him. A casual onlooker would believe this man was Sam Bonita, a man worried about his sick girlfriend.

  The boat captain/repairman returned with a duffle bag. Phil waved to the remaining men on the dock. In a flash, two officers came up behind the mechanic and grabbed him.

  The scuffle was short-lived with the officers the victors.

  “What the hell is going on here?” The mechanic continued to struggle despite being outnumbered.

  Phil wheeled down the ramp and flashed his badge. “Can I see what’s in the bag?”

  “No.”

  “Arrest him.”

  “For what? I’m just taking this guy to see his woman.”

  “How do you know Shelby?” Phil asked.

  “I worked on her boat a few times. That’s all.”

  Phil nodded to the bag. “I’ll ask once more. What’s in the bag?”

  One of the officers drew the mechanic’s hands behind his back and cuffed him, his bag dangling from his fingers. “My tools. Aw, shit. Here.” He dropped the bag and stepped to the side.

  Phil scavenged through the contents but acted as though nothing appeared out of order. “Tools.”

  “Told you.”

  Sam couldn’t help but wonder why the man fussed so much at showing the bag. Before he could question the mechanic, the sound of a large yacht motored toward them.

  “Sam, your ride is here,” Phil said.

  Sheldon emerged from the cabin and hopped off the boat. “I’ll need the keys.” He held out his hand to the mechanic.

  The mechanic, if indeed he could fix a boat, handed them over.

  “Uncuff him.” Phil nodded and the officer obeyed. “Let’s go.”

  “Why do you need me if you got him on board?” The captain nodded to the tall cop.

  “I imagine Shelby would become a little suspicious if we pulled up and you weren’t on the boat,” Phil answered.

  He curled his lip. “What’s to prevent me for giving away your little cop-on-board operation?”

  “If you’re not guilty, why would you?”

  The man shrugged. “For the record, I didn’t do anything wrong. I’m trying to fix a boat.”

  “How much is she paying you?”

  “Two grand. No one else would give up Christmas Eve to fix a boat.” He shrugged. “I ain’t got any family, so I don’t care. The money’s good.”

  “Did she give you coordinates of her location?” Phil pulled out a pad and pen.

  The man shoved a hand into his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. “Here. I already programmed this into the GPS.”

  The beat up boat didn’t look sophisticated enough to have that kind of equipment, but looks often were deceiving. Before he had a chance to check out the man’s claim, Sam went aboard The Pomerantz.

  “Good luck,” Phil said, as he
waved to the crew.

  Sam stood at the stern as they motored away from the marina. He bet it killed Phil to stay behind. Sam imagined once a homicide detective, always a homicide detective. The need to help never left the soul.

  Once the two boats passed the last buoys, the powerboat sped up. They would reach their destination long before the trawler, giving Sam time to swim to Mrs. Vivaldi’s boat. The yacht would drop him off and pretend to head out to sea, and Shelby Vivaldi would never suspect a thing.

  The scuba gear was stretched out on the back deck. Without saying a word, Sam took the tank and suit below to begin his rescue mission.

  Blackness shrouded Sam’s vision. He swam close to the surface and headed for the small bobbing light in the distance. The quality gear kept him warm, but his nerves made him shiver. Ten years was a long time without training. Sure, he might run every day, but that didn’t keep him in Navy Seal shape.

  Maintaining even breaths, Sam blocked out the possibility of failure and pictured sweet Jenna.

  Swim to Jenna. Swim to Jenna.

  Lights from the trawler cast an eerie glow as the boat moved closer to The Gambler. Needing to time his arrival for when the two boats made contact, Sam pushed harder, his strokes smooth. Two people, with their backs to him, stood at the stern, obviously awaiting the mechanic’s arrival. The short, round person, was probably Shelby. The man next to her was at least six four, but thin, even with his bulky sweatshirt. He’d seen Marlon Giombetti once, and he wasn’t even six feet. That made at least three people on the boat. So where was the cop?

  Sam dove about two hundred feet from the boat and resurfaced as he arrived at the bow. The trawler’s lights reflected off the water as he drew near. The mechanic called out something, but Sam couldn’t quite hear over the rumbling engine noise and the slap of the waves.

  “Everything okay?” Sweatshirt Man said to the trawler captain.

  “Yup.”

  Sam prayed the ruse would play out as planned. With Shelby and her accomplice distracted, Sam studied his options. He glanced to the cabin area, but no lights glared. Was Jenna asleep inside or up on deck? He refused to ponder she might be dead.

  Treading water, he removed a state-of-the-art grappling hook and attached rope velcroed to the side of his leg and opened the prongs. With a toss, the rubber claw latched onto the metal railing on the first try. Yes. He hadn’t lost his touch. Sam gave a good tug to test its stability. It held. Good.

  A large swell lifted him up, and then down, making maneuvering difficult. He submerged, lifted off his tank and shot back to the surface. After tying the tank to the end of a rope, which dangled five feet below the hull, he repeated the process with his fins. Now for the hard part. Hand over hand, he inched his way up the thin line, his rubber shoes helping with the grip on the side of the boat. Half way up, he swallowed a groan from the exertion.

  “You hear something?” Shelby said. Sam froze and dangled on the side, his hands slipping.

  “Hear what?”

  “Like something scraping against the boat.”

  “It was probably a fish. Why don’t you get Jenna from below?”

  Jenna’s alive! His heart sang, but Sam didn’t move a muscle until the cabin door banged open.

  With renewed energy, he hoisted himself up the rest of the way, hooking a leg over the rail to leverage his body onto the walkway. He stilled, and then listened to see if any of them had noticed his arrival. When no one sent out any warning shouts, Sam crawled toward the bow, away from Shelby and Sweatshirt Man, believing at least one other person was on board—Marlon Giombetti.

  He didn’t worry about the trawler’s crew giving him away as TPD’s finest would keep a keen eye on the mechanic. Sam slipped a small stun gun from his waist, ready for action. The loud chatter at the stern made moving around easier. He decided to stay at the bow and wait for the right moment to spring Jenna.

  Footsteps, followed by a groan, caught his attention. On his belly, Sam slithered along the cabin roof to look through the windshield. Covered in black neoprene from head to toe, Sam had blackened his face with grease paint to avoid detection. Except for the whites of his eyes, he should be virtually invisible to those on deck.

  Shelby’s accomplice held Jenna up by the armpits, moving her toward the trawler. What was going on? The mechanic jumped aboard Shelby’s boat and smiled. Something wasn’t right.

  Jenna’s head lolled to the side. Sweatshirt Man swore, lifted Jenna up in his arms and passed her over to Sheldon who’d come on board. In good undercover form, Sheldon kissed her forehead. Something inside Sam snapped despite knowing his look-a-like was only acting.

  Jenna’s legs twitched, and Sheldon carefully stood her on her feet to face him. She appeared conscious. When she swayed, Sheldon wrapped both his arms around her waist. Her hands pushed on his chest. Oh God, he hoped she wouldn’t blow his cover.

  Sheldon twisted her away from the prying eyes and whispered something in her ear. Her legs gave way and Sheldon scooped her up in his arms. “I’ll put her down below.”

  Sheldon deftly leapt from Shelby’s boat to the trawler. Thank God, Jenna was safe.

  The urge to run to her overwhelmed him, but Sam stayed put. Giving away his position too soon would jeopardize the mission.

  Shelby’s motive for handing over Jenna made no sense. Shelby wouldn’t have given up this easily. Or had he misjudged her?

  Sheldon came out of the trawler’s cabin area after placing Jenna in the cabin and picked up the mechanic’s duffle. “You need this, don’t you, to fix Mrs. Vivaldi’s engine?”

  Smart, Sheldon. He was testing the captain to see if he was for real or a fraud.

  The mechanic held up his hand. “In a minute.” He moved across to The Gambler, lifted the engine hood and banged on the metal with some of the tools he’d carried over with him. He tugged on a few wires and made more noise than Sam thought necessary.

  “Hey, Sam?”

  Sam jerked at hearing his name. Thank goodness he didn’t respond. Sheldon did. “What do you need?”

  “I can use the bag now.”

  Sheldon tossed it over to the mechanic. Just then, someone else came up from the cabin. From his height and size, Sam guessed it was Marlon.

  “What are you doing?” Marlon asked the repairman.

  “Fixing the goddamn engine.” He held up a wrench. “Hold this.”

  Marlon obeyed. The mechanic wiggled two of the wires. “I think I found your problem. Start the engine.”

  Marlon moved the controls and turned the key, and the engine jumped to life. “Well, I’ll be,” he said. “We didn’t need a new engine after all.”

  Shelby turned to Mr. Sweatshirt. “Be a dear and pay the man.”

  The tall man stuffed an envelope into the mechanic’s large duffle that contained his tools. He handed the bag back to Sheldon who’d been watching intently from the trawler.

  The mechanic stood. “You’ll all set, Mrs. Vivaldi. Merry Christmas.”

  “Merry Christmas,” Shelby chirped back.

  The mechanic unhooked the rope connecting the two boats and slid into his Captain’s chair. He waved, acting as if all were well. In less than ten seconds, they were off. Thank God Jenna was safe.

  Confused what had transpired, Sam slid back toward the bow and waited until Marlon and his colleagues went below. The cabin lights illuminated the interior, giving Sam further protection from being spotted. On his belly again, he took hold of the grappling hook and lowered himself into the cool water. After unhooking his scuba tank from the rope, he headed back towards The Pomerantz. Before he’d gone a quarter mile, a loud explosion rocked his world, and a huge light lit the night sky. Wood showered the sky and he swallowed a mouthful of seawater from the huge wake.

  Oh, my God. The trawler had exploded.

  29

  Sam dove under the water and kicked and pumped his arms until he made it back to The Gambler before they were underway. When he surfaced, the three occupants were
cheering.

  Motherfuckers.

  He’d make them pay.

  With scuba tank on his back, he hoisted himself up the side of The Gambler, not quite sure what how he planned to stop them. Debris floated alongside and banged into the boat. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to control the fury racing through his body. No way was he going to let these people who killed the woman he loved get away with it.

  Love. He knew for sure the hope and joy that had seeped into his heart from knowing Jenna, was called love. Damn Marlon for ripping her away from him.

  From the bow of the boat, Sam glanced behind him and located small pinpricks of light a good one to two miles away. The Pomerantz crew wouldn’t be much help for another few minutes.

  His new mission was to stop Marlon from abandoning those left behind. The Gambler’s engine kicked into gear and chugged forward at a leisurely pace—away from the graveyard. Bastards. Marlon and Shelby would believe all the witnesses were dead, so they could take their sweet time.

  No doubt, both Marlon and the giant were armed, so a direct attack wouldn’t be wise. Sam crouched low and crept down the walkway toward the stern. Sweatshirt Man didn’t seem to notice he had another passenger. Sam dropped onto the deck behind him. With soft rubber shoes to dampen any noise, Sam took three steps forward and dove at the man at the helm.

  “What the fuck?” the man said, as he fell forward into the steering wheel, hitting his head on the metal gearshift. The boat veered slightly eastward.

  With Sam’s forearm around Sweatshirt’s throat and a hand over his mouth, the man’s oxygen starved body crumbled to the deck a few minutes later. Before the man on the deck came to, Sam needed to secure him. He rushed to the storage unit under the seats at the stern and pulled out a line, hoping neither Marlon or Shelby decided now was the time for an outdoor nightcap. Tying up Sweatshirt Man took less than a minute. Sam’s training had kicked into high gear. Finding a greasy rag to gag the guy took longer.