Buried Alive: A dark Romantic Suspense (The Buried Series Book 1) Page 18

  Kerry took the bowls from his hands set them down on the coffee table. “My work is kind of taking up most of the room on the table. Mind if we eat over here?”

  “I can eat standing up, being shot at, or stuck in the middle of a hurricane. The coffee table is luxury, trust me.”

  That phrase word again. Trust. Twice in two days. Why was she so afraid to let go of her fears?

  Kerry dropped onto the sofa, expecting Hunter to sit in the leather chair off to the side. Wrong. He sat right next to her, their legs touching.

  Hormones and adrenaline zinged through her veins. He smelled of kitchen soap with a hint of pine. Part of her told her to scoot over, but the portion of her brain that controlled her hormones told her to stay put.

  While she’d never been married, she was no stranger to intense affairs. A short-term fling with the sexy detective wouldn’t be so bad, would it? It might even help her focus on something other than her past.

  “You okay?” Hunter asked.

  Heat zipped up her face. “I’m fine. Was I staring?” Please don’t say I looked dreamy eyed.

  He had the gall to laugh. “I’d say. You looked like you were on some island paradise.”

  With you. Her body temperature nearly broke the mercury on the thermometer. If only she had paranormal powers, she’d blink or twitch her nose to disappear. No luck on that front. Instead, she stuck a mouthful of food into her mouth and looked away. She swallowed and glanced back at him. Hunter hadn’t moved, his gaze still on her. He leaned toward her.

  Please don’t let him kiss me. I have no willpower to stop him.

  “This sucks,” Gina complained. “Are we going to stay here all night? How do we know this vagrant will even show up? What do you expect him to tell us? How do you—”

  “Welcome to the world of surveillance.” Given Gina didn’t take a breath or stop long enough to hear his response, she obviously wasn’t interested in what he had to say.

  Phil pulled out a cold bottle of water from a cooler in the back of the cruiser and handed it to her.

  “Thanks.” Gina slumped back into the seat.

  He was about to lecture her on patience and perseverance when a disheveled man in a plaid shirt, stained pants, and matted hair rounded the corner. “I think we may have our Nash character. Stay here.”

  “Like hell I will. He’s not dangerous. Look at him.” The man, holding his paper bag with both hands, climbed two feet up the incline, stopped, and then proceeded another two feet, his chest heaving in between steps. Gina pushed open the door and slid out. “He’s having a hard time making it up the slope to his mattress. He has to be in his sixties. I’m coming with you.”

  Christ. If her uncle ever found out about this, Phil would be pushing paper behind a desk all day instead of solving homicides. When it came to Gina, he had a hard time saying no.

  “Mr. Nash,” Phil shouted.

  The homeless man halted once more and turned around. He squinted, turned back and headed up to the torn mattress at the top of the incline.

  “Come on,” Phil said, as he crossed the street.

  The heat combined with the trapped exhaust fumes made breathing unpleasant. Gina didn’t look so good either. He grabbed her hand as they began climbing the slope. She was such a rookie. When would she learn not to wear heels on a stakeout? He’d tell her, but she looked too damned good. Why ruin a good fantasy?

  “Mr. Nash?” Phil said.

  The old man dropped down on his mattress. His breath came out ragged. “Yeah?”

  Phil flashed his badge and the old guy squinted. He leaned closer and fear scampered across his face. “I didn’t do nothin’.”

  “I know. I wanted to talk to you about Willie Wyble.”

  “Haven’t seen him.”

  “That’s because he’s dead.” Phil waited for a reaction, but none came.

  “So? I didn’t kill him. Me and him were friends.”

  Phil glanced behind him. Gina wisely kept back, her hand over her nose. Poor girl.

  Phil squatted in front of the man. “I’m trying to find out who might have wanted to hurt Willie. Any ideas?”

  “No.” Nash’s gaze shot to the right then left. Liar.

  “Can you tell me who he worked for besides the man at the cemetery?”

  “How should I know?”

  Phil inhaled a couple of slow breaths. “You shared this overpass. I’m betting you two talked. Look, I know Willie loved to dig. Dig for worms, dig graves.”

  Nash smiled. His teeth were surprisingly even and white. “He did love to dig them graves too. He had a cell phone, ya know, and would get calls late at night for a digging job. Someone would pick him up and take him different places. He’d come back happy. Always brought a bottle with him. Willie was good at sharing.”

  Excitement raced through Phil. “Did this person drive a black Hummer by any chance?” Could the driver have been Willie’s sister?

  “Never saw one of them. As I said, there were different cars at different times.”

  “Okay. Can you describe one of cars that picked him up? It might have been as long as a year or two ago.”

  Nash took a swig from whatever was in his paper bag. “Nope.”

  He reached into his pocket, fished out a five-dollar bill, and waved it in front of the man. “Try harder.”

  Nash swiped the money. “One van. I couldn’t forget it. It had Medical Examiner seal on the side.”

  Oh shit.

  20

  Happy to have an excuse to get away from the cabin, Hunter slipped out without grabbing the kiss he wanted. Kerry tempted him like no other woman had. When their legs had touched on the sofa, his thigh almost caught on fire. Thank God he’d held back. Her eyes had widened, and then she’d stuffed a handful of food in her mouth.

  He’d almost laughed out loud at her reaction to their contact. She’d wanted him, and he wanted her, too, but now wasn’t the time. If he hadn’t been working a case with Kerry, he sure as hell would have given her a kiss she would have remembered for a lifetime.

  Half the time she acted as if she wanted to jump his bones, and the other half, she pulled away as though he were the abuser. Women. He’d never understand them.

  On a good note, he was pleased she’d confided in him about her sister’s visit. During her discussion, Kerry appeared more relaxed around him than she had before when they were alone. When he questioned her about her childhood though, she’d closed her mouth tighter than a clam out of water. Can’t win ‘em all.

  Understanding his reaction to her, he wisely decided to leave, at least for a short while. Kerry would be safe, since Cade’s cabin was well-equipped with surveillance equipment. As a backup, he’d called a couple of the neighbors and asked them to keep an eye out for any unusual activity.

  Fortunately, Kerry didn’t even blink when he told her he wanted to do some follow up work on the unidentified woman found in the Bay. She seemed content to work on the reconstruction of the infant while he headed to the shelter with a photo of the murdered victim. For some reason, she believed this case was related to the Jane Doe case. He didn’t buy her theory, but he couldn’t afford to ignore any clue.

  Hunter had called the precinct and learned Jeff Shapiro was principal in charge of the Bay woman’s case. According to Jeff, the rope tied around the dead woman’s waist, along with the cinder block, were at the lab being tested. No person of interest had been brought in for questioning though. The autopsy had confirmed she’d died by the bullet and not by drowning, thank God.

  “Go ahead and ask at the local shelters. I’m swamped with three other cases, and this one is going cold fast.”

  “I’ll let you know what I find out,” Hunter said.

  A short while later, Hunter pulled into the River of Hope shelter’s parking lot. He knew the woman who ran the place and decided to start there.

  He jumped out, and the contrast between the cruiser’s cold AC and the heat made his face sweat. He patted his top pocket, doubl
e-checking he had the photo of the unknown body.

  Inside, a twenty-something year old girl, with dyed black hair glanced up from her desk. She looked as though she’d been electrocuted. She raised a finger and finished her rather personal phone conversation. Once she hung up, she turned her attention back to him and smiled. Hunter couldn’t help but study her four eyebrow rings, two nose rings, and one cheek ring. They must have hurt like a bitch when she first had them put in, but he shouldn’t judge.

  “What can I do for you?” From her tone he almost expected her to add, “Big boy.”

  He flashed his badge, and she leaned back in disgust. He then placed the photo on her desk. “Have you seen this woman?”

  The receptionist blew a bubble. “She don’t look so good.”

  Why did people have to state the obvious? The color of the woman’s face was a flat, bluish tinge. “Do you recognize her?”

  “Nope. Never seen her.” She shoved the photo back at him.

  The girl had barely glanced at the Bay woman. “Thanks.” His comment came out too sarcastic, but his mood wasn’t the best today, especially after a sleepless night listening for whimpers to come from Kerry’s room. He’d shown her the camera system, but she remained nervous.

  The click of heels behind him caught his attention. He swung around, facing a well-dressed, older woman. Hunter stuck out his hand to the woman who ran the shelter. “Evelyn.”

  “Detective. Nice to see you again. How can I help you?” She tossed a disgusted look at the young girl. Evelyn must have overheard part of the exchange.

  “I was hoping you’d help me identify someone.”

  “Won’t you come into my office?”

  Hunter followed her into a small room. The bare walls and worn, cheap furniture looked the same as last time he was here. The shelter was always short on funds. Once Evelyn was seated, he showed her the photo.

  “Do you recognize her?”

  Her face pained. “Oh, my God. That’s Nancy Donello-Sanchez. When did she...”

  “We’re not sure. She appeared in Tampa Bay a few days ago.”

  “What a shame.” Evelyn ran a hand down her face. “A nice woman, but she suffered from depression as so many of them do.” Evelyn leaned back in her chair. “Did you speak to her ex-husband yet?”

  “No. I didn’t know who she was until now.”

  “How forgetful of me. I’m sorry.” Evelyn lifted the photo and tilted the paper toward the light. “She’d come to us several times over the past couple of years. As you are well aware, the women who use the shelter are often abused. Even when they’re back on their own, they sometimes find other men who abuse them. The cycle is a deep one.”

  He knew the stories. “When was the last time she was here?”

  Evelyn bit her bottom lip. “Maybe six months ago?”

  “Do you have an address for her, her ex-husband, or her last boyfriend?”

  “I should have the address for the ex-husband at least.” She stood and riffled through a four-drawer file cabinet. “You know I should ask for a warrant, but since Nancy is dead, I guess it won’t hurt to give you her file.”

  “I can get one if it’ll help you with the paperwork.”

  She shook her head and handed him the file. “Let me know what you find out.”

  “I will.”

  Hunter had located Nancy Donello-Sanchez’s ex-husband all right—in the cemetery off Nebraska Avenue. He hated when a clue got snatched out from under him. But such was the life of a homicide detective. One down, one to go.

  Nancy’s neighbors had given Hunter the name of the boyfriend, a man who every one confirmed was a useless piece of shit—or UPS for short. Finding him would not be easy.

  After four false leads, Hunter ended up at a lube station near the Tampa Stadium. A quick flash of his badge and he was directed to Ronald Whipley, Nancy’s former beau.

  “Mr. Whipley?”

  The skinny, bearded man stopped pouring oil into the engine and met Hunter’s stare. “Yeah?”

  “Is there some place we could talk?” The strong aroma of grease, oil, and body odor was more than he wanted to handle right now.

  Whipley put the can down, wiped his hands on his pants, and nodded toward the outside. “What’s this about?” He seemed friendly enough.

  Hunter had to assume he knew his girlfriend was dead. She’d been gone at least a month.

  “When was the last time you saw Nancy Donello-Sanchez?”

  “She dead?” No distress showed around his mouth or eyes. Now there was a callous man.

  “Why would you ask?”

  “Cops don’t come around asking questions if the person ain’t dead, now do they? Besides, I haven’t seen Nancy in over two months.”

  Figures he claim that. Hunter had to confirm whether the murdered woman and Kerry’s Jane Does had anything in common. “Did you know Nancy was pregnant?”

  “No shit? Aw, Christ.” He stabbed a hand over his straggly hair. “Why didn’t she tell me?”

  Finally a reaction. “I wish I could answer that.” The man’s jaw clenched, but Hunter didn’t have time to give him couch time for his problems. “One more thing. Did Nancy have any surgery prior to her death?”

  Whipley shrugged. “If she didn’t tell me about the baby, she sure as hell wouldn’t have told me about any surgery. I wouldn’t be surprised if she had some work done before I met her. Her ex had done a number on her, or so she said.”

  How could Nancy afford plastic surgery? “Did Nancy have some kind of health insurance?”

  “Before we met, she worked for the public school system cleaning for them and had pretty good bennies.”

  The school’s insurance might have paid for the surgery. “Why did Nancy and you split?”

  Whipley looked toward the ground. “We had a whopper of a fight a few months back. She came at me screaming and yelling. Thought I’d cheated on her.” He shuffled his feet. “I didn’t, I swear, but Nancy didn’t believe me. She ran off and I never saw her after that.”

  If Nancy suffered from depression, other issues might have affected her. “Don’t leave town.”

  Whipley took a step forward and clenched his fists. “You think I had something to do with Nancy’s death?”

  “I’m just asking questions, that’s all.”

  “Well, ask someone else.”

  Hunter was losing his patience. “You have any ideas who might have wanted to hurt Nancy?”

  “No, but her mom might know.”

  “This mom have an address?”

  “Yeah.” Whipley told Hunter where the woman lived before stomping off.

  Wild goose chases were not his thing, especially since all he could think of was getting back to Kerry. He was tired and hungry. Tomorrow would be soon enough to follow this lead.

  As he piled into the cruiser, his cell rang. It was Phil. “How’s Gina?” Hunter asked before Phil got a word in.

  “Funny. I’ve been trying to reach you.”

  “You got me now. What’s up?”

  “Gina and I have been following up on the murder of Willie Wyble. We spoke to some guy whose bed is under the Interstate with Willie. Nash said Willie was picked up by the Medical Examiner’s van during one of late night digging jobs.”

  Hunter’s blood ran cold.

  He had to rush back to the cabin. Pronto.

  “Hey, Kerry,” Hunter shouted, as he ran up to the cabin. He raced into the living room, expecting to see her hunched over the table working on the infant’s face.

  Only she wasn’t there. The beginnings of her reconstruction were strewn all over the place, but no Kerry, and a cold dread clogged his muscles.

  “Kerry?” he croaked.

  After talking with Phil, his imagination had gotten the best of him. He’d even conjured up the idea that someone in the ME’s office had murdered these woman, and that Kerry could be next.

  He listened for a moment, thinking she might be in the shower, but the house remained death
ly still, except for his quick breaths. He checked all three bedrooms, but came up empty. Where the hell was she?

  Acid attacked his gut. There had to be a good explanation why she’d seemingly disappeared.

  His fogged mind wasn’t thinking straight. She probably needed a respite from the back-breaking work of clay reconstruction and decided to sit out by the dock. He sped outside, his adrenaline slowing down.

  “Kerry?”

  Leaves rustled and a few birds chirped. He sprinted to the lake, prepared to see her sunbathing on the wooden dock, but the place was empty. Cade’s dingy still bobbed on the water, tied neatly to the dock.

  She didn’t have a car, so where could she have gone? The only place left was the barn where Cade kept his refurbished cars, though he saw no reason for her to be exploring.

  Shit. If she’d borrowed one of Cades’ classics and gone somewhere, he’d... Hunter refused to think of the punishment he’d dole out when he got his hands on her delicious body. Kerry had a stubborn streak, and she didn’t obey orders very well—if at all. A bad combination for sure.

  As he pulled open the heavy barn door, it squeaked. He flipped on the overhead lamp and counted the vehicles. Damn. One was missing. Cade often bragged about his six restored cars. Now there were five.

  Hunter pulled out his cell and called her, preparing his tongue lashing when she answered. He paced as the phone continued to ring. “Pick up, dammit.”

  What had she been thinking leaving the cabin? Her answering machine clicked on. “Kerry, call me.”

  From his harsh tone, he knew he didn’t have to tell her she needed to call right away. Hunter strode back in the house trying to come up with a plausible explanation.

  Her cell phone sat on the coffee table. Blast it. His mind raced. Kerry never left without her phone. She’d mentioned she needed to be available twenty-four seven in case the M.E.’s office needed her. Maybe John Ahern had called her and she’d rushed out, forgetting to take her cell.

  That’s what must have happened. He dialed the main office. Hunter did a loop around the dining room table while he waited for the Medical Examiners’ front desk to answer. Another voice mail. Crap. It was Saturday, so it made sense one would be manning the office phones.