Buried Deep: A dark Romantic Suspense (The Buried Series Book 3)

by Vella Day

  Trevor squinted. “You call that a hole? It looks like pitting to me.”

  “Tanya Dansler had a tranquilizer/paralytic in her body.”

  “And it got into her system via a needle that hit the bone and made a mark?”

  “It’s a guess. I’m allowed gut theories too. I want to check if either Larry Jumper or John Doe #1 had similar needle holes.”

  “Shit.”

  “What?”

  “Remember I was gone early this morning?”

  How could she forget? “Yes.”

  “The case involved a woman, Diana Gladstone, who was found behind a hotel in downtown.” He turned around and paced. “The killer made a mistake—a really big mistake.”

  Lara grabbed his arm and spun him to face her. “Tell me.”

  11

  “He left a syringe by the victim’s side,” Trevor said.

  Lara’s pulse sped up at the connection. “And were Diana Gladstone’s fingertips cut off?”

  He stepped back toward the lab door. “No, but there was a gash on her right thumb where one would cut if attempting to remove the tips. It’s like he started to take them but then stopped. Perhaps he was interrupted by someone.”

  “Or some thing—a barking dog, a wailing siren, or a strange sound. Regardless, I want to know what was in the syringe.”

  Trevor pulled out his cell and checked the time. “It’s late, but first thing tomorrow I’ll see if we can have her transferred here from the ME’s office.” He tunneled a hand through his hair. “I think Wolfe was trying to find the person who might have interrupted the killer.”

  “Wolfe?”

  “My brother’s partner.”

  Ah, yes. At dinner, Ethan had mentioned his partner was Native American. She picked up a white cloth and ran it across the already clean counter. “Wouldn’t you think this witness would have come forward by now?”

  He shrugged. “He might be too scared. The person could believe the killer would come after him or her if he goes to the police.”

  “You’re probably right.” She tossed the towel aside and wheeled Tanya’s body back to the cooler.

  He followed behind and turned her around. “Thank you for caring and being so willing to help.”

  “It’s my job, but I’m happy to help you too.”

  “Thank you.”

  He dragged a thumb down her cheek, leaned in, and kissed her hard, her breasts pressing against his chiseled chest. She squelched the joy brought on by his kiss as guilt shot straight to her heart. With her parents not even buried, she shouldn’t be experiencing any happiness—only she was. “We’re going to get this bastard, aren’t we?”

  He drew his brows in tight. “We?”

  “That’s right. You’re Mr. Solo.”

  “You got that right.” He slapped his thighs. “Let’s check with Nathan, and see how he’s doing.”

  “I’ll be right down.” She slipped off her protective gear and tossed it in the receptacle by the door. “I want to email Roderick, the person who did the toxicology screens on my John Does. I’m thinking there’s a link between all the deaths.”

  “If not, the families might be in for a long, ugly wait.”

  Lara leaned against her kitchen counter and yawned. Trevor had insisted she not work through the night, but there was no way she’d sleep, especially with her parents’ funeral in two days. A good strong cup of coffee was what she needed.

  Before she had a chance to fix the drink, her cell rang. “Lara Romano.”

  She expected Trevor to turn away from making their late night dinner and face her, but he stayed focused on preparing the omelets. After finishing the short conversation, she set her cell on the kitchen counter and drew her attention back to his broad shoulders. His muscles flexed as he whipped the eggs in a large bowl.

  He turned. “Who was that?”

  So he had realized she was on the phone. She appreciated that he respected her privacy. “The lab.”

  “We just left there.”

  “I know, but Roderick, the man in Toxicology, came in and ran my samples.” She slid her sleeved arm across the counter to erase the annoying smudges.

  “At nine p.m.?”

  “We’re a dedicated group of people, what can I say?”

  Trevor pulled the heating pan off the stove. “What did he find?”

  “Unfortunately, nothing. There weren’t any traces of any kind of tranquilizer in either the soft tissue samples from John Doe #1 or #2.” She failed to keep the disappointment from her voice, or so she believed.

  “Damn. I was hoping there would be a connection between the two skeletons and the two women we found.”

  “Me too.” So much for identifying John Doe #1 ahead of schedule. She walked around the center island and stood next to Trevor. “This could make sense though.”

  “How?”

  “Jumper was strangled, and #1 was shot in the head. Maybe there wasn’t a need to subdue the victims first. Hence no tranquilizer in their systems.” Or was she rationalizing?

  “A gun and strong hands are good subduing agents, I’ll grant you that.”

  The blood rushed to her foggy brain. “Do you think the same person could be responsible for all the deaths?”

  He pinned her with a stare before replacing the pan on the burner. Did he think the question was rhetorical?

  “Hard to tell.” He poured in the egg mixture. “A murderer who uses different methods for killing is not only the hardest to catch but the hardest to link to the murders. Besides, a city the size of Tampa has lots of murders.”

  “You’re right.” Which left them with no clues.

  “Have you chopped the veggies yet?” he said.

  Whoops. “On it.” She washed her hands, diced the green peppers and onions, and carried the bowl to him.

  While the eggs finished cooking, she made the coffee and ran the evidence through her mind once more. She’d be satisfied with the tiniest of clues as to who was murdering so many people, but nothing surfaced. Damn. She needed a direction and fast. Too bad an empty stomach and clear thinking didn’t mix.

  He dumped the veggies in the cooking omelet. “I’ve been thinking about the photo you showed me at the apartment—the one where the nude man on the beach had his fingers cut off?”

  “Another John Doe. What about him? His dismemberment wasn’t like the woman in the lake you said.”

  He waved a pancake turner at her. “There is one thing these murders do have in common.”

  He held her total attention. “What’s that?”

  “All were nude, yet none were sexually assaulted.”

  She swiped the granite with a disinfectant cloth before hopping onto the counter. Her need to control was becoming out of hand, but she’d deal with her compulsiveness another time. “Maybe our killer is a woman.”

  “Women typically don’t use a chainsaw to cut up their victims. Think Tanya Dansler. She was young, pretty, and white, so why no assault?”

  “I don’t know.”

  He held up a finger. “Maybe the killer is asexual, or better yet, impotent.”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if Bernie Laxman is asexual. I can’t see him having sex with anyone.” The image of the unkempt lab tech surfaced. He hugged people, studied art, and was meticulous about his work, but could he be a cold-blooded killer? A real sociopath?

  Trevor cocked an eye. “Just because women don’t find him attractive doesn’t mean he doesn’t have desires. He likes you, right?”

  The way Bernie always fidgeted in front of her and put a rush on her requests implied he had a major crush on her. “I guess.”

  He half chuckled, acting as if she underestimated her appeal. “Tell me this. If you were willing to sleep with him, do you think Bernie would kick you out of bed?”

  She inwardly shivered at the disgusting thought. “No.”

  “I won’t scratch him off my list, but we need to keep an open mind.”

  She hopped off the counter, careful
to avoid landing on her sore ankle and removed the cut fruit from the fridge. “Wait a minute. I thought your job was to find the missing men, not help with these homicide cases. Are you still working with Ethan?”

  He looked like he’d been caught soliciting a hooker. “Maybe, but I figure, solve these murders, solve my case. The similarities are stacking up to make me a believer.”

  And maybe solve her case too. Wouldn’t that be sweet? “You seem fixated more on these new deaths than on your missing men.” She needed his help with her skeleton if she was ever going to prove to herself and to the forensic community that she was as good or better than any hearing scientist.

  “I’m not fixated.”

  She wanted to understand his shift in focus. “Your brother mentioned there was an opening in Homicide. Is that why you’re so hot on the trail of the killer?” The rich aroma of the omelets made her stomach grumble.

  How much did she really know about Trevor, his dreams, his successes, his lost loves? She didn’t even know for sure if she could count on him to help her find the identity of her missing man, a man she believed was one of Trevor’s lost Native Americans? Come to think of it, once she stepped into the safe house, she might not see him again.

  All of a sudden her appetite disappeared.

  “It’s not the only reason I want to find the killer, but I will admit my goal is to be a homicide detective. My dad was one, my two brothers are now. Growing up, that’s all we talked about. It’s in our blood.”

  Passion. His family had passion. “My father discussed investments and giving back to society. Mom attended lunches and delivered speeches about helping others.”

  “Well, we certainly need humanitarians.”

  “True.” That’s why Lara wanted to help the dead, to help family members find closure. Though knowing what happened to one’s loved ones didn’t stem the ache and pain that came with their death.

  She took two plates out of the cabinet and placed them on the counter. He then arranged the omelet and the cut fruit on the plate. The domestic scene wasn’t lost on her, though she understood her time with Trevor was about to end.

  She blinked a few times to clear her mind. Trevor in the kitchen stirred her imagination, but she couldn’t picture being married to a cop, let alone one in Homicide. He’d be gone all hours of the day, and dinners would be held late. And who would listen for the baby to cry at night?

  What was she thinking?

  Trevor didn’t want her. He’d had sex with her. That’s all. A man that good looking wouldn’t want a woman the world labeled defective.

  He carried both plates over to the table, and she followed with the coffee. Her phone rang, interrupting her thoughts. “Excuse me.” She checked the display. “It’s the lab again. I wonder what they could want.” She punched the On button. “Hello?” She covered the mouthpiece and looked over at Trevor. “It’s Sam. My mentor.”

  Trevor dropped his gaze to his plate. She must have sounded too enthusiastic, because his eyes narrowed as he stabbed a fork into his dinner omelet, but he didn’t eat it.

  So as not to cause any more unease, she moved into the living room, needing to hear some happy news about Sam’s new wife. “How are you? How was the honeymoon? And how’s Jenna?”

  “The fact I’m still at work and not with my wonderful bride should tell you something. I wanted to let you know Roderick stopped by a few minutes ago.”

  “He already called me about the tox results for my skeletons.”

  “This is about a new victim, Diana Gladstone.”

  She squeezed the phone tight. Diana Gladstone? Oh, yes, the woman the worker found behind the hotel. “What about her?”

  “They found ketovencuronium in her system.”

  She let the information sink in, her mind taking off in several new directions. “I thought the M.E. was still processing her.” That would take days. Tampa was often backed up with cases. The word rush wasn’t in their vocabulary. No way Trevor had taken the time to request the transfer to HOPEFAL.

  “I think Phil pulled some strings. She arrived a few hours ago.”

  Lara grappled with the new information. “Are you going to let Ethan Kinsey know the results? He’s working the case.”

  “Already called him.” Some voices filtered across the phone. “Hey, I need go. See you tomorrow. And Lara?”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m sorry about what happened to your parents.”

  The man was sweet and kind. “Thanks, Sam.”

  She was unsure if she should be excited to learn of a possible connection between the two deaths or be sad that Diana Gladstone’s demise was the result of some sicko’s need to kill. Perhaps it was a little bit of both.

  After disconnecting, she headed back to the dining room. “The woman behind the hotel? The body you and Ethan investigated?”

  “Diana Gladstone. What about her?”

  “She had the same tranquilizer and paralytic in her system as Tanya Dansler.”

  His brows rose and his lips lifted. “I’ll be damned.” He stuffed in a forkful of food, chewed, and swallowed. “How did you find out so fast?”

  “Seems someone had her transferred to the lab, and speedy us processed her already.”

  Trevor waved a fork in the air. “That throws a wrench in the system.”

  Lara pulled a chair to the table not quite understanding how the lab’s new findings changed things. “In light of the drug we found, I’d like to exhume our nude John Doe, the one found on the beach about seven months ago.”

  Trevor closed his eyes for a moment as he ate another mouthful of food. “Based on what?”

  “What you said about the victims being naked. Our skeletons didn’t have any evidence of clothing either.” She stabbed a piece of pineapple and shoved it in her mouth. The sweet juices stimulated her taste buds.

  He quirked a brow. “That’s a reach.”

  She refused to let his dismissal dissuade her. “Not really. Don’t you see? I explained why my two skeletons wouldn’t have been tranquilized. Tanya Dansler and Diana Gladstone were about the same age, same race. Add in no sexual assault and there are similarities.”

  “I don’t know if Diana was assaulted or not. The bodies were nude, I’ll give you that, but unless we find a man who was tranquilized, I’ll never be able to get a warrant. I’m sorry.”

  Butch meowed and rubbed against her legs. He probably wanted some dinner too. “Fine.”

  Trevor gulped down half his coffee. “In the mean time, I’d like to see if I can run down where your necklace and bracelet came from. The perp had to have purchased them someplace.”

  Nice way to get out of the discussion. She’d go with the new direction for the moment. “You can trace his credit card.” She drained half the coffee from her cup, in need of a clearer head.

  “If we know where he bought the items.”

  “Maybe you could show Bernie’s picture around to the local vendors. The lab has photo ID’s of all our employees.” She wasn’t ready to give up on Bernie being the gift giver.

  “I could, but Ethan profiled the guy as being uber careful.”

  “Bernie is Mr.-I-can’t-give-you-the-results-until-I’ve-checked-it-five-times.” At least she only triple checked everything.

  “I’ll keep that in mind. You realize our guy most likely wouldn’t have purchased the items in person. However, if he ordered the set on line, there’d be a record of it.” Trevor leaned back in his seat. “What did Bernie call your type of necklace?”

  Her hand flew to her bare neck. “Algonquin Fox.”

  Trevor stood, pulled off a piece of paper from the telephone pad and jotted down the name. “If we split our efforts, the search will go faster.”

  She wanted to help with his investigation, but now that she had to handle the details of her parents’ funeral, figure out the identity of the remaining skeleton, and finish with the Winnebago fire bodies, her plate was overflowing. “I don’t have the time to work through a l
ong list.”

  He blew out a breath. “Lara, there’s something big going on that I can’t wrap my mind around, but I believe it involves you somehow. We need to solve this case before something happens. Your John Doe case will have to wait.”

  She gripped the edge of the table. He probably was thinking that John Doe #1 was already dead, and she wasn’t. “Some guy broke into my house and didn’t come near me when he could have. What evidence do you have he wants to harm me?” She pushed aside the note’s threatening tone.

  He planted his palms on the table and stood. “The only way I could provide you with enough evidence that you’re in imminent danger is after I find you dead, cut into little pieces.”

  She flinched at his crude image. Stubborn man. “If you work a homicide case, would you give up because the killer might come after you? I have a job to do and I plan to keep that job.”

  He flexed his jaw. “If you’re dead, having a job won’t do any good.”

  Not wanting to discuss her stalker or her impending deadline, she picked up her unfinished meal. With head held high, she stood, and her hip and ankle protested the movement. When she took a step, she staggered.

  “You okay?”

  “I’m fine.” Not really.

  He moved to her side and turned her toward him. His hard chiseled features softened. “Maybe you should see a doctor. The bruise on your cheek hasn’t improved either. I’m worried.” He placed her plate back on the table.

  “I am a doctor.”

  “I meant a medical doctor.”

  “It’s a bruise. My ankle is sprained. There’s nothing any doctor can do, other than tell me to rest. And that, Detective Kinsey, won’t happened until I do the job I was hired to do.”

  He held up his palms. “It’s your pain. You do your job and I’ll do mine, but be forewarned that until I hand you over to Detective Rivera, I won’t let you out of my sight.”

  Finally, he’d come to his senses, except about the handing her over part.

  “I don’t have to stay at a safe house. I can stay at a hotel with you. I’ll even pay.”

  The muscles around his mouth tightened. “I understand you’re scared. With your parents gone, you’re probably experiencing this incredible loss of control over your life. You want to be strong. I get that. But don’t get careless now—especially now. Trust me to protect you. I know what I’m doing.”