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

by Vella Day

“Hey, I never claimed to know everything. Protect away, by all means, but don’t throw too much of your own money her way. It’s not your job to hire her protection. You said she’s loaded. Let her pay.”

  So that was what was bugging his brother—paying Dennis to house her seemed the best solution at the time, but shit. His dad’s hospital bills were mounting, and their folks could use any extra cash he had.

  “Keep me in the loop, okay?” Trevor said.

  “Always do.”

  He hung up and poured a cup of coffee-to-go, not pleased with the way he’d reacted to Ethan. Damn. His big brother was usually right. The guy had a sixth sense like no one he’d ever known. Lara’s stalker might not harm her, but he couldn’t take the chance. Trevor checked the kitchen clock for the umpteenth time, and then called Dennis’ cell.

  “Rivera’s Bar and Grill.”

  “Are you at work?”

  “Nope. I’m still at home with the wife unit.”

  “I’m going to pick up Lara this morning.”

  “It’s no trouble for me to drop her at the lab.”

  “I know, but I need to give her a photo of one of my men.” Trevor checked the time. “I’ll be there in twenty.”

  “She’s not up yet.”

  He grabbed his keys and laptop and left the apartment, cell phone pressed to his ear. “Let her sleep. She’s been through a lot. If she’s still in bed when I get there, I’ll do some research at your house.”

  “Go for it.”

  Dennis was on the porch kissing his wife and baby goodbye when Trevor pulled in front. He hopped out. “Lara up?”

  “She’s still sleeping. You can go in and wake her.” The tongue in Dennis’ cheek and the twinkle in his eye brought heat to Trevor’s face.

  She would not be happy when she learned she’d overslept. Trevor kissed Irene on the cheek and peered down at his sweet godson. “How’s he doing?”

  Irene signed, “Wonderful.” While Trevor’s ability to sign sucked, he understood the basics. He lifted his right hand to his lips, and then dropped the hand to his open left palm. “Good.”

  He disappeared inside and strode to the Rivera’s spare bedroom. The scent of bacon and eggs lingered in the air making him wish he’d taken the time to make a good breakfast.

  “Lara?”

  When she didn’t answer, he knocked on her door. Given she didn’t sleep with her implant, she wouldn’t hear unless she was getting ready. He eased open the door and found her bed was empty. He stepped in and pressed a hand on her pillow. It was cold. Tempted to smell her sheets, to revel in her scent, he stepped away and exhaled. Fantasies played no part here.

  The bedroom window stood ajar, and his senses sharpened as he shoved down the rumblings of fear. He refusing to address any possibility other than she decided to do some research elsewhere in the house. Most likely she’d opened the window for the fresh air.

  Once out of the room, he headed down the hall to Dennis’ study. “Lara?”

  She wasn’t there. Shit.

  Was this play-a-joke-on-Trevor day? He rushed toward the front of the house. Irene stood in the kitchen breastfeeding the baby. Crap. His communication skills weren’t the best. He mouthed the words as he signed, “Where’s Lara?”

  Irene frowned as though she misunderstood. He didn’t have time for a delay. He motioned for a piece of paper and pen.

  “Where’s Lara?” he wrote.

  “Asleep.”

  “She’s not in the bedroom.”

  Irene readjusted the baby over her chest. “She has to be.”

  Not making progress with Irene, he phoned Dennis. “Lara’s not here.”

  Silence. “Look in the garage and see if her car is there.”

  “She brought her car to your place?”

  “She said she didn’t want to leave it unattended.”

  “She has a garage.”

  “Which is full of junk.”

  Every muscle locked. Her garage was practically empty. What was going on? He ran down the hall and pulled open the door to the garage. “Her car’s not there. Could she have left your house without the alarm going off?” He trotted back through the kitchen to the living room window.

  “Oh, shit.”

  “What?” Trevor’s gaze ran the length of the street, searching for something out of place.

  “We had an intruder on the property last night. The alarm woke us all up. I could have sworn I reset it.”

  The word intruder froze his mind. “Intruder? When? How? Did he get inside? Did you catch him? Why the fuck didn’t you call me?”

  “Hold on. It was nothing. The alarm went off, but when I went outside, I didn’t see anything. I’m betting it was a large dog or something that set it off. It happens whenever we have a power surge. You know how many we get of those.”

  “Did you see Lara after the alarm went off?”

  “Yes. I checked her room and said goodnight, but if the power went off again, she could have driven off after I went back to bed.”

  “Wouldn’t you have heard her leave?”

  A horn blasted in the background. “I had a bitch of a headache and took some sleep medication. If Irene hadn’t woken me up, I’d still be catching some z’s.”

  He slapped the windowsill. “Damn it.”

  “What can I do? I feel responsible.”

  “Just call if you hear anything.”

  Had she driven to the lab in the middle of night too upset to sleep? It wouldn’t be the first time he’d done the same thing, but he expected her to write Dennis a note.

  He disconnected as Butch wandered out from under the sofa.

  “Did you see Lara?”

  The cat opened an eye, blinked, and darted back to his safe haven. God, she’d reduced him to taking to animals.

  Calm down. There was an explanation for her disappearance. He dialed her cell and paced in circles on the tiled kitchen floor. Voicemail. Damn it. He left a message for her to call back. She should have kept her phone on, or at least called him with her change of plans.

  He immediately dialed Phil.

  “Tedesco.”

  “It’s Trevor Kinsey. Lara’s missing.”

  The pause nearly cut a hole in his stomach. “When? Give me details.” Thank God Lara’s boss sounded calm.

  “This morning. Can you see if she checked into work?” Trevor ran his fingers along the kitchen counter.

  “I’m still home. I’ll call security. Hold on.”

  While soft music filled his ears, Trevor searched for some clue where she’d gone.

  Phil came back on line. “Sorry. Lara’s not there. What can I do to help?”

  He forced certain ugly scenarios from his mind. “Call me if she shows up.”

  “Will do.”

  Out of options, Trevor disconnected figuring he could get to the bottom of this mystery faster if he worked from the sheriff’s office.

  Irene nudged his shoulder and handed him a note. “I found this on the guest bathroom mirror. I’m sorry, I didn’t go in there before.”

  He touched only the edges of the paper. Trevor, Dennis and Irene. I’m fine. I’ve gone to get some answers. Be back Sunday night. Lara.

  What the hell was she up to? Sunday was two days from now. He pummeled a fist on kitchen counter. What was she up to? It was her handwriting all right, but had someone forced her to write this? His heartbeat slowed somewhat knowing she might be okay.

  Where could she have gone? With no relatives to speak of, did she plan to research the missing men’s families on her own?

  That made no sense. She was an anthropologist, not a detective. It didn’t matter the HOPEFAL lab encouraged their workers to find answers in any manner they chose.

  He snapped his fingers and sprinted back into her bedroom. He slid to a stop on the far side of the bed. Her charger was missing, as was her blue suitcase. She must have left on her own.

  Next stop, the guest bathroom. Her electric toothbrush was gone too. He had no clue what el
se she’d take with her, but the missing equipment pointed to Lara going off on her own accord. His steps slowed as his mind took more time with his thoughts.

  Irene stood in the kitchen, worry lines deep on her face. Trevor gently took hold of her shoulders and spoke slowly. “I’ll find her. Don’t worry.” He kissed her on the cheek and rushed out.

  Trevor hopped in his truck and placed the flashing mobile lights on top. It was wrong to use the emergency system, but given some maniac was out there, this was an emergency. Lara was missing, voluntarily or not, and he had to find her. He flew to Lara’s house, hoping she’d decided her place was safer and more peaceful than Dennis’.

  His brakes squealed when he pulled to the curb. Her car wasn’t in the driveway, so he peered through the garage window. No car. Because he didn’t have a key to her place, he climbed over the hedge and checked out the living room. Once more, no Lara.

  He dashed back to his truck and headed for the station. Not caring that he parked over the white-stripped line in the parking lot, he rushed inside. He didn’t have time to fiddle with the touchy lock and left the vehicle unlocked for the first time ever.

  Once he spotted his brother at his desk, Trevor pedaled toward him, knocking into a chair that stuck out from a desk. “Damn it.” He halted inches from Ethan.

  Without moving a muscle in his face, Ethan looked up. “You in a hurry?” His forehead creased. “I thought you were going to be at the lab all day with Lara.”

  “She’s missing.” Trevor’s breaths came out ragged, and it wasn’t from exertion.

  Ethan snapped to attention. “When?” Any bitterness from their morning conversation had disappeared.

  With as much detail as he could remember, he recounted this morning’s events, including the note she’d left for him.

  “Did Dennis call in the intrusion?”

  “No, he said it was probably some animal who’d tripped the alarm or else it was due to the power surge.” Trevor scooted around his desk and pulled out a plastic bag along with a pair of gloves. He dropped the note into the plastic sleeve.

  Ethan wheeled his chair over to Trevor’s desk. “Lemme see.”

  “Irene touched it, but we might be able to get prints off it.”

  Ethan leaned over. “Strokes look smooth.”

  “I noticed that too. If she wrote under duress, some letters might have been jagged.”

  “Do you think Dennis’ intruder incident scared her enough to take off?”

  Trevor held the evidence under the light on his desk. “Could be. Even though she’s under a lot of stress, I’m surprised she didn’t call me.”

  Ethan cocked a brow. “Why? The guy knows where you live and where she lives. It’s possible your phones are tapped. Have you checked her place?”

  “Yes, but she’s not there.” He scooted his chair back. “I want to have this note analyzed, then I’m going to talk to Bernie Laxman.”

  “Do you have any evidence he’s the perp?”

  “No, but he seems to know a hell of a lot.”

  Ethan twirled his pen over his knuckles in one fluid motion. “You know, I’ve actually called her twice about the second skeleton, and she promised me she’d have a name by the middle of March. I don’t see her leaving until she learns something.”

  “Me neither. Perhaps she took off to follow a lead about the body.”

  “Without your permission?” Ethan asked.

  Trevor threaded his fingers through his hair. A phone rang on the empty desk next to Ethan’s. “Lara is rather headstrong. She has this mental deadline she has to meet.”

  “Then you better find this headstrong woman before she gets into some real trouble.”

  Maggie never thought the bastard would leave. But leave he did. Late at night—or rather, early this morning. Even after all these months of being held prisoner in this hellish house, she hadn’t figured out the madman’s schedule. One week, he’d come three days in a row, and the next, not at all.

  Over the last few months, she’d been smart. She’d sucked up to the scumbag and told him she hadn’t been sleeping well, and it had worked. Not wanting her to be too tired when he visited, he gave her one or two sleeping pills on every visit. Maggie didn’t use any of them. Oh, no. She hoarded them for the right moment.

  Her initial plan was to use the pills for suicide, but now she had something better in mind. Last night, she’d doused his drink with enough sleeping aids to knock out a lion, but not so many to kill him. She was no dummy. No sirree. If he died, so would she since she needed the code to get out of the house. If she couldn’t get out, there’d be no food, no allergy medicine, and no insulin.

  Last night, when Maggie was convinced his loud snores would mask her movements, she’d crawled out of bed to check his pockets for the piece of paper he often used that listed the door combination, but found nothing but his Swiss Army knife—the one that left many scars on her breasts. Bastard. While the weapon wouldn’t immobilize him, the knife might dig through a door or a wall.

  He’d bragged he bought the place in part because of the strong cinder block construction. Great. Where was wood framing when a girl needed it?

  She understood she had one shot to get away. CG would know if she messed with his failsafe keep-Maggie-hidden system. If she blew it, she’d be as dead as George. She’d asked her captor why he kept her alive, but he never would tell the truth. He claimed it was because he liked her, and thought she was pretty—that she reminded him of his mom. Sick bastard.

  Stop procrastinating and find a use for the knife before he notices it missing and comes back for it.

  For the tenth time, Lara unfolded the piece of paper on which she’d written the directions to her birth mother’s house. The name Lucy Gilmore glared back at her. What would her mom be like? Inviting, angry, or distant? She’d fantasized about the meeting all during the flight to New Mexico, but she refused to get her hopes up that a stranger would welcome her with open arms.

  She prayed this relationship didn’t end like the one she had with Janet, her nanny, who was like a mother to her. For eleven years, Janet gave her advice and helped her cope with her insular world. Then one accusation brought their relationship to an end. Janet didn’t believe anything Lara told her, so she cut her off and ran out on her, as if Lara didn’t count as a human.

  Don’t go there.

  The pain of betrayal once more took away her breath. She blinked back the tears and rolled down the window to soak up the cool air. The chilly breeze cut right through her sweater, and she turned up the car’s heater.

  I can’t change the past. I’m strong and capable, even if Janet tried to convince me I was unlovable.

  Once Lara tucked away the ugly thoughts and studied the landscape, her mood lightened. Interstate 40 offered some wonderful views of distant red mountains and amazing blue skies. The roads were straight and flat until she’d turned onto a bumpy dirt road.

  Gripping the wheel for over half an hour had left her tired, thirsty, and rather discouraged. The man at the rental car agency in Albuquerque tried to convince her she couldn’t have the right address, but did she listen? No. Now she knew why he’d warned her about leaving the highway past Gallup, New Mexico. He said most of the families in this region were Navajos, but perhaps he’d been mistaken.

  She left civilization, and the open desert floor sat uninterrupted except for tall rocks, some scrub brush, and a few shacks. There weren’t any trees, so how did people live in a place this dry, bleak, and isolated? Her parents’ lawyer had implied she’d come from a poor family, but she never expected this level of poverty.

  She stopped in front of an abandoned shack and let the engine idle while she reread the directions, certain she’d made a wrong turn somewhere between tumbleweed hell and the Serta sheep farm. She could read street signs, but the turn left after the large rock gave her pause as to whether she’d made the right choice. She wasn’t sure she was still even in New Mexico.

  Lara glanced down at
the gas gauge. Damn. Half full. Given she hadn’t passed a station in forever, she needed to head back.

  She leaned her head back to clear her thoughts and huffed out a breath. Dammit. If Trevor were here, he’d know what to do. Had she been wrong not to tell him where she was going? Maybe, but, it wouldn’t have been fair to ask him to go on a wild goose chase when he was aiming for a promotion. She couldn’t have asked Dennis. Not only didn’t he know her from Adam, he had a family to protect and shouldn’t have to worry about her.

  She sat up, slapped down the visor to block the harsh sun’s rays and slammed the Jeep in reverse, a little confused by the many placards leaning against the side of the unpainted building. With no landscaping to speak of and many of the windows boarded up or broken, she figured no human had stepped foot on this property in years.

  She’d half backed around when the front door opened and an elderly woman waddled out. No way. Someone actually lived there? No overhead lines to the house meant no power. That was a real shame given the acreage to her right was stripped bare by a coal plant producing electricity.

  The woman waved but didn’t smile.

  Lara pulled the key from the ignition and stepped out. Maybe this was her chance to learn where Lucy Gilmore lived.

  Lara shielded her eyes from the blinding New Mexico sun. The deep blue sky held no clouds, but a strong wind blew across the plains sending a rash of goose bumps up her arms. As she neared, the old lady cast a weary eye. Dressed in a bright orange-layered skirt and a faded yellow zippered shirt held together near her chin with a large safety pin, the woman said something she couldn’t understand.

  Lara extended her hand. “I’m Lara Romano.” Or should she have said Lara Gilmore? “I’m looking for Lucy Gilmore.”

  The woman’s wrinkled brow sagged. She lifted her skirt and shuffled back inside. What had Lara said?

  She waited, refusing to give up when she was so close. Maybe the woman went inside to find some information. The door reopened a moment later, and a man who looked to be in his early forties stepped out. Oh, my. His skin was closer to leather than the boots she was wearing.

  “I’m Jimmy Gilmore.”