Buried Alive (Buried #1)

“You got it.” Phil shot a look at his watch. “Aren’t you late picking up Kerry?”

“She has to call me. I tried to contact her earlier, to check up on her, but she’s not answering her phone.” He ripped the phone off the handle. “I’m calling Ahern to see what’s holding her up.”

John answered on the fifth ring. “Ahern.”

“It’s Hunter. I’m worried about Kerry. She hasn’t answered her phone in the last hour. Have you been checking on her?”

“Sorry. I had to leave work early. I’ve been—” John sneezed. “Been home with a cold. Let me call my assistant and see if he can hunt her down. Call you right back.”

Phil grabbed Hunter’s coffee mug, took a swig, and skewed up his face. “What’s in this shit?”

“Cold coffee.”

“It needs sugar.” Hunter put the cup down and stood. “Or a microwave. I’m going downtown and see what’s keeping her.”

“I guess our search for Dalton’s records will have to wait. It’s a holiday. No one will be around.”

“Bummer.”

“I’ve got to head that way myself. I was thinking, why don’t we three grab a bite to eat? Kerry will want to celebrate, I bet, once she learns we’re going to nail the killer.”

It might be nice to have a real date with her, even if Phil had to tag along. “Where’s Gina?”

“At her mom’s. It’s Lucinda’s birthday today.”

Lucinda? He knew her mom’s first name? It must be serious. “Then sure, if Kerry is up for having dinner with two old homicide detectives.” Hunter could use a little R&R. As he finished packing his gear, his cell rang. “Yeah.”

“It’s John. Dalton isn’t answering either. I don’t know what to tell you.”

Hunter’s heart nearly stopped as he halted in his tracks. “Did you say, Dalton?”

“Yes.” John’s tone came out leery.

“Any relation to the plastic surgeon, Paul Dalton?” Please say no.

“As a matter of fact, Paul Dalton is Steven’s uncle. Why?”

“Shit.”

He told Phil about the identity of Steven Dalton, forcing his voice to stay calm as the two of them took off toward his car. “John, I’m going to let Phil fill you in.”

He slid into the driver’s seat. Phil jumped in and slammed the door closed.

When Phil finished detailing what they knew about Dalton and his connection to the murdered women, Hunter grabbed the phone back from him. “Can you meet us at the office? I want to make sure I can get in the building.”

“No problem.” John sneezed again.

Hunter turned on the siren and raced through I-275 traffic. Fortunately, the traffic in his direction wasn’t a problem.

When they arrived in front of the Medical Examiner’s office, John Ahern was waiting for them, pacing back and forth with a handful of facial tissue pressed to his nose. Hunter and Phil dashed out of the car.

“I just got here myself,” John said. “I haven’t checked to see if she’s here.”

Hunter searched for worry or panic lining Kerry’s boss’s face, but found none. Good.

Once John opened the door, Hunter pushed past him and raced down the hall. The echo of his feet against the tile matched the blood pulsing in his head. Two more pairs of feet matched the cadence right behind him.

Hunter pounded on the door, but received no answer. John stopped next to him and pressed the code. Lights out, the scent of human decay filled the room. His chest constricted. He flipped on the overhead bank of lights. “Kerry?”

He didn’t really expect an answer but he’d prayed she’d fallen asleep in her chair. He searched for her big brown satchel that held her gear, but it was gone. Perhaps she was out in the field where she couldn’t get cell phone service.

“I’ll check a few other places,” John Ahern said.

“What do you think?” Phil asked, standing behind him.

“I don’t know what to think. There has to be a logical explanation, like she didn’t recharge her batteries or something.”

John panted as he entered. “I just looked in the other rooms. She’s not there. Nor is Steven. I didn’t see his car in the lot when I drove up.” A hint of anxiety laced his tone. Crap.

Hunter tunneled his fingers through his hair and forced his mind to think where she might have gone. “Would she have been called out on a case?”

“Not without me being notified.”

“Then Steven took her. I know it.”

“Now don’t jump to conclusions,” John said. “Steven’s a fine young man.”

Hunter whipped around to Phil. “I don’t know if we should try to find Paul Dalton or go after Steven.”

“Have you tried calling her house?”

“Yes. She wasn’t there or with her sister.”

John sneezed again. “How can I help?”

“You ever tail anyone before?”

“Once. My daughter when I suspected she was doing something I didn’t approve of. She never caught me.”

“Fine.”

“If you think Paul Dalton is such a creep, give me his address. I’ll drive by and see what I can find out. He doesn’t know what I look like,” John said.

“Thanks. I appreciate your support.” Time was of essence.

John grabbed the door handle and stopped. “You know, Steven talked about building a home in North Tampa. You could check out his property if you really suspect him.”

“Do you have the address?” Hunter said, pacing the room.

“Not the one in North Tampa, but I do for his Seminole Heights home.”

“Good. We’ll check there first.” His gut twisted. Was his imagination going wild? “Give me another sec.”

He raced over to Kerry’s computer and logged onto the Hillsborough County Property Appraiser’s site. A minute later the printer spit out the information he needed.

Dread ripped at him like a dull edged knife. Kerry might be with Paul Dalton and not with Steven.

Uncertainty clawed at his belly.

Phil grabbed his arm. “You coming?”

“Yeah.” Hunter growled, flicked off the room light and raced out of the cold lab.

John headed towards Paul Dalton’s office, and Hunter and Phil to Steven Dalton’s Tampa home. He handed Phil the directions as he leapt into his cruiser.

Ten minutes later they arrived at Steven’s house. He pounded on the door. No answer. Shit.

“Let’s go around and look in the window,” Hunter said.

He had to climb over a bush to see inside. It was dark and apparently quite empty.

“Now what?” Phil asked.

“We try his north Tampa place.”

“Just because Steven is related to Paul Dalton doesn’t mean he’s dirty.”

“I know, but we may have two killers on our hands. We know Paul Dalton couldn’t have killed Chanel since he was with the Mayor, but these murders all scream Dr. Dalton—pregnant, abused, and scarred. Someone had to help him, help set up an alibi.”

He raced back to the car with Phil right behind.

“Doesn’t mean Steven did the deed,” Phil said.

Phil barely got in the passenger’s seat when Hunter took off. He jetted out of the parking lot and headed toward I-275—toward Steven Dalton’s property.

Phil’s phone rang. “Tedesco.”

Hunter glanced over at his partner whose lips were pressed together.

Phil thanked the person on the other end. “You are not going to believe what the lab turned up on Chanel Carlitto’s driver side window.”

“What?”

“A handprint.”

“Whose?”

“Guess.”

If both hands weren’t on the wheel, he’d have strangled his partner. “Phil.”

“Steven Dalton’s.”

“Motherfucker. The bastard is guilty.”

“Your gut telling you Steven Dalton has Kerry?”

“Yeah. The worst part is that she trusts him. He’s driven her to crime scenes before. It would be easy for him to get her in the car. Fuck.”

An avalanche of emotions flooded his system. Anger, frustration, guilt and some other factor he couldn’t name—fear perhaps that he’d lose the woman he’d come to...love? Yes, he loved Kerry. She inspired him. And as corny as it sounded, she made him whole. Her passion matched his like no one else’s ever had.

“We still need proof,” Phil said.

Hunter knew what his partner was doing. Trying to calm him down, but this time it wouldn’t work. Not where Kerry was involved.

His cell rang. With one eye on the road, he pulled his cell from his pocket and glanced at the display. It was his boss. Shit.

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