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.

The sound of the purring engine must have drowned out his attack because Shelby and Marlon remained below. A pot clanged. Was she making an early breakfast?

“Sorry, buddy,” Sam whispered. He stuffed the cloth into the unconscious man’s mouth and wrapped the rope around his face to ensure he wouldn’t be able to make a sound when he came to.

While Sam had never harmed a woman, this one might prove the exception. Taking down Marlon would be no problem if he could catch him by surprise. Once Sam reduced the speed of the boat to half to keep him near the wreck, Sam hopped up on the boat’s walkway and slipped to the bow.

After taking off his tank and placing it securely on a neatly wound pile of rope, he eased open the door to the main cabin.

With no one at the helm, the boat hit a wake and teetered to the side. Marlon swore. Sam took that moment to attack. Stun gun poised, he slammed open the door.

Shelby’s eyes widened as a hand rushed to her mouth. Marlon’s gaze shot to the Sig Sauer on the table. Before he had a chance to reach the weapon, Sam pounced. He grabbed Marlon’s arms behind his back, glad he didn’t have to taser him. Mr. Pomerantz had equipped his suit with the stun gun but also with a pair of lightweight cuffs. Proactive bugger.

Shelby screamed. She stepped forward, but Sam raised the stun gun at her. “Don’t even think about it.”

Her jaw tight and her teeth bared, Shelby looked like she wanted to claw him to death. “How did you get in here?” She glanced at the helm.

“Your friend will not be coming to your rescue. He’s tied up.”

“But—”

“As soon as I see about the boat you blew up, all three of us will have a chat.”

He secured Shelby and made sure Marlon wouldn’t be going anywhere either. With the Sig Sauer in hand, Sam rushed to the helm and turned the boat around. Through the dense fog, he thought he caught sight of a flickering light. The water lapped against the sides and the wind whistled across the stern, sending the canvas flaps in spasms. If any survivor did call out, he wouldn’t be able to hear even if he cut the engine.

Shelby shouted something from below, but he ignored her. A quick glance at Sweatshirt Man assured Sam he wouldn’t be an issue either.

Once he reached the trawler’s debris, Sam cut the engine, fearful a body might be floating in the black water.

“Jenna?” Sam’s voice cracked as he called out. Why did he bother? No one could have survived the blast.

Marlon cursed from below. Behind him, The Pomerantz forged toward them.

Sam cupped his mouth and yelled again. “Sheldon? Jenna?” It was no use. They were all dead.

A faint shout returned, and adrenaline surged through him. He called again to make sure his mind wasn’t playing tricks on him. Was the wind calling to him? Sam raced to the covered storage at the rear and lifted the seat. He pulled out a rope ladder and slapped it over the side.

Blood pounding in his head, he dove under the water and swam in the direction of the faint voice.

When he surfaced, he located the light undulating in the sea. “Jenna?”

“Over here,” several voices shouted in more or less unison. He refused to contemplate why he hadn’t heard her sweet voice in the mix.

Pumped, Sam raced toward them. As he neared, the fog thinned, exposing a life raft. How could this be? He reached a hand onto the edge of the rubber boat. Sheldon clasped his palm. “God, it’s so good to see you. We weren’t even sure if The Pomerantz would find us.” The moon reflected off Sheldon’s white teeth.

Sam hung onto the side of the raft, his legs dangling in the cold water. Jenna lay curled in a fetal position on the bottom, her head on a blanket. “How is she?”

“Really sick,” the tall cop said. “When Sheldon brought her into the cabin, she was conscious, complaining her head and stomach hurt. She lay down on the sofa and never woke up. Mr. Snyder here,” nodding to the mechanic, “informed us Shelby planned to blow up his craft in an attempt to murder Jenna and Sheldon, or rather, you.”

“That’s why Shelby had readily handed her over.”

The mechanic sat across from Sheldon, his hands cuffed behind him, his lips pressed together.

Sam checked out the boat’s owner. “You didn’t mind sacrificing your trawler?”

“She paid me more than it was worth.”

“How was it supposed to go down?”

“The timer was set to go off four minutes after I left. Shelby had the remote. Of course, I didn’t expect to have the cops aboard to slow me down.”

“We checked the bag at the marina and didn’t see any explosives.”

“When Shelby’s friend paid me, the C-4 was wedged in between the money.”

“Clever. So the engine never had a problem.”

“No.”

Figures. Sam pulled a small flare from a side pocket and handed it to Sheldon. “Pull this tab and The Pomerantz will find you.”

Sam dropped back into the water.

“Where are you going?” Sheldon asked.

“I need to return to Marlon and Shelby. I didn’t want to drive in through the debris field and run over you guys. I never thought you’d be in a raft.”

Happy for the first time in days, Sam swam back to the boat with strong, even strokes. As he climbed up the ladder, The Pomerantz pulled along side.

Jenna opened her eyes. The room light hurt her eyes, but seeing the wonderful man sitting across from her hospital bed made up for the pain.

“Hi,” she said with cottonmouth.

“How are you feeling?” Sam asked.

She took a quick assessment. “My stomach still hurts a little.” She looked around. “How did I get here?”

“Sheldon saved you.” He told her about Shelby and Marlon’s plan to blow up the trawler with both of them on it.

“And here I thought she was nice. Where is the bitch?”

Sam smiled. “In custody, along with Sweatshirt Man and Marlon.”

“Why do you think she wanted me killed?”

“They aren’t really talking, but from what I could piece together from Kathy Bello and Shelby’s husband, Shelby and Marlon have been having an affair for some time. She wanted Botanica for herself, as well as Marlon. Together they devised this plan to kill Marlon’s dad.”

“Fine, but why me?”

“He wanted to hurt your dad because of the affair.”

“That’s what Enzio told me. Creighton Jackson must have been one mean son of a bitch to cause this much hatred.”

Sam leaned over and took her hand. “Enough talking about the bad people.” He rubbed his thumb over her palm and a deep, warm feeling flowed through her. “We need to talk about us.”

Joy blasted her. “Us?”

A knock sounded on the door and her nurse came in. “Ah, you’re up. I’ll send the doctor in.”

Ten minutes later, the doctor showed up and checked her out. “He turned to Sam. Will you be staying with her? She’ll need someone to take care of her for a day or two.”

Sam smiled. “You get.”

Then you are free to go home,” the doctor said.

“Thank you.” Before anyone else came in, she eased out of bed with Sam’s help and changed in the bathroom with the clothes he’d picked up from her house.

Another knock sounded. This time it was her dad. “Heard about the harrowing event.”

That was a good word. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.” He wheeled closer, and a tear slipped down his cheek. “I can’t believe I almost lost you.”

Sam stood, but her father stayed him with a hand. “Stay. Both of you need to hear this. Bill stopped by and filled me in what happened.”

“Bill?”

He half chuckled. “Bill Lucas.”

Ah, her boss. “And?”

“They did a search in Marlon’s house and found several skulls. Since Sam was busy saving you, we had his assistant compare the skulls to those in your mom’s mausoleum.”

“They found a match?”

“Yup. Your mother’s body is now complete, as are the other skulls.”

“Thank God Marlon hadn’t desecrated them.”

He dragged his hands down his face. “I wanted to tell you how sorry I am for all of this.”

Sorry? She didn’t think her father even knew the word. “Because of what you did to Mom?” She held up her hand. “Because of why you retaliated against Mom I should say.”

“Yes. I knew you’d gone out with Marlon, but I thought it was ironic. His mother made me promise not to say anything. When the relationship between the two of you died a month later, I thought I was in the clear.”

His cheeks sagged so hard she thought his heart would stop. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not. It’s all my fault that you almost died.”

“You almost died too. I wouldn’t be surprised if Marlon shot you himself.”

“I was thinking the same thing. I realize that if Louise and I hadn’t had our fling, her husband wouldn’t have left her, and the kids and the boys wouldn’t have turned into such bad men.”

“The worst part is that Chance had to die, when Marlon meant to kill me.”

“That’s true. I’m glad the man who carried out the act, Enzio, is dead.”

“Tell that to Carla. She lost two people she loved because of him.” Her father’s shoulders trembled and more tears streaked down his cheeks. She’d never seen him fall apart like this. “Don’t beat yourself up. You didn’t know.”

“That doesn’t excuse all the hurt.” He reached up and squeezed her hand. “Whatever you think of me, I do love you.”

Before she could answer, he spun away and left.

Sam cleared his throat. “That was intense.”

“I never thought I’d ever hear those three little words from him. That’s twice in one week.”

“How could he not love you?”

The glassiness in his eyes told her something she could only hope for.

“Well I do keep secrets sometimes.”

Sam gathered her into his arms. “We all have secrets. It was your job to keep one.”

She studied him. “You believe that?”

“Yes. However, I’d like to hear about your mother’s skull.”

“You know about that? How?”

“Sheldon.”

That rat. “It’s a long story.” From now on, she wouldn’t withhold anything from him.

“I’ve got the time.”

Her heart fluttered, and it wasn’t from the left over drugs in her system. “Let me finish dressing, and I’ll start from the beginning.” She might have to leave out one of the reasons she wanted to date him in the first place and focus solely on how much she liked him.

Sam picked up the rest of the clothes he’d brought, and using a wheelchair, guided Jenna down the hospital elevator. “By the way, while you were out of commission this morning, Sheldon stopped by the hospital.”

“I’m sorry I missed him. I’ll thank him once I return to work.”

“I’m sure he’ll appreciate it.”

Half an hour later, Sam pulled into her driveway. He scooted out and opened the passenger door. Her heart fluttered at his chivalry. She didn’t want to ask him about his future plans for fear she wasn’t part of them, wasn’t part of the us he’d been about to discuss before her dad showed up.

The quick change of positions from sitting to standing caused Jenna’s blood pressure to drop. She faltered. Sam’s strong arm wrapped around her. “Are you okay?”

“Just a little dizzy.”

“You should have stayed at the hospital longer.”

“No way.”

Despite the blazing sun, the chill in the air made her shiver. He hugged her closer as he led her inside.

“Flowers?” Jenna made a beeline to the counter. A card and a gold box sat next to the vase. She turned to him, her heart racing at the implication.

“I came over last night to apologize.”

“Apologize?” Her hands sweated. Please, God, let him say he wants to stay.

“I kind of overreacted to your announcement about you working undercover.”

Her heart pounded. Jenna ran a hand down his arm. “I wanted to tell you so many times, but I knew you’d be upset. Then when I did tell you—”

“Shh. It’s over.” Sam leaned down and kissed her. Soft, gentle, and oh so nice.

She stepped back. “Ah, while I adore kissing you, you kind of smell of sea water and something else I don’t want to think about. And I ain’t so sweet either. So...”

Sam’s laugh came out throaty. “What do you suggest?” The twinkle in his eye urged her on.

“A shower—together.” He wouldn’t hear of it when she suggested this at his house. Would he now?

“Oh, yeah, that’s what I’m talking about.”

Yes! Sam clasped both of her hands and backpedaled into the bathroom. Without taking his gaze off her, he flung his shirt over his head and dropped it on the bathroom floor. Before she had a chance to unzip her pants, he slipped out of his jeans and kicked the material to the corner. He didn’t have to remove his boxers for her to see where this was headed.

Sam turned on the shower. “Need to warm it up first.” He took a step toward her. “You look like you need help.”

“I’m not moving because I’m in shock.”

His brow creased. “Over what?” He dragged a knuckle down her cheek and her insides melted.

Sam’s brows rose, obviously waiting for her to answer. He unbuttoned her shirt and slipped it over her shoulders. The bra came next. “Spit it out,” he said.

“Aren’t you going to pick up your clothes off the floor?”

He ran a tongue along the edge of his teeth. “Nope. I have better things to do.”

She giggled and stepped closer to him. Stink be damned. “Do tell.” Jenna melted into his arms. Her hands slide down his muscular back. Hooking her thumbs in his boxers, she slid them over his hard, luscious rump. Sam stepped back and dropped his briefs, his erection at attention. “Now, that’s what I’m talking about. She couldn’t help but laugh with joy.

He then pulled her into the warm, soothing shower. Facing Sam, Jenna let the pulsating water sluice over her head and down her back.

“Feel good?” he asked.

“The best.”

“Let’s see if I can make the experience even better for you.” He winked and grabbed her liquid soap.

After dribbling the soap on her breasts, he dragged his palms up and down, around and around, causing her nipples to harden and her sex to moisten in anticipation.

While he tended to her front, she shampooed her scalp. Salt and blood had caked her skull. Jenna scrubbed, but her focus was on what Sam was doing to her body and not on the pleasure of getting clean.

When Sam’s hands traveled down her waist to the juncture of her thighs, she couldn’t help but moan. “I may have to have you wash me everyday.”

“I plan to.”

Her eyes widened. Dare she hope what that might mean?

He pulled her to him and kissed her with more passion than ever before. Their tongues danced in and out, savoring each other, until he came up for a breath and pulled back. Sam ran his gaze up and down her body. “I love you, Jenna Holliday.”

She stilled. Was he kidding? “You mean it?”

“Yeah, I mean it.” He ran his fingers through her soapy hair. “I haven’t been able to sleep at night since I walked out. Your image is burned into my mind and keeps haunting me. You’ve become part of my soul.” He lowered his hands to her cheeks, kissed her nose, and then dabbed foam on the tip. “I love how you make me feel. You’re so free, and so excited about life. For the first time, I’m tempted to throw caution to the wind.”

She raised a brow. Leaving his clothes on the floor was the first step to freedom. His eyes turned dark from what she wasn’t certain. “Let’s not get too out of control, here. You aren’t thinking of quitting your job at HOPEFAL or anything are you?”

“No. I love helping people find closure. But I think I’ll stay in the lab and let the police do the legwork.”

She understood the helping people part. Jenna maneuvered him around and let Sam enjoy the warm water. “My turn,” she said, shooting him her wickedest grin.

Jenna dumped a handful of soap on her hands, and starting with his gorgeous chest, lathered his neck, and then trailed a finger down his pecs. The soap slid over his abs and settled into his navel. His cock jumped up and down, making her laugh. “I think someone is vying for my attention.”

“He needs to be cleaned too.”

“I’ll be happy to oblige.” With deft fingers, she rubbed him up and down, the smooth, slick soap making the movement easy.

Sam grabbed her hand. “If you continue doing what you’re doing, we’ll end up on the floor or against the wall.”

“And that would be bad, why?”

He nipped at her ear. “While I could stay in here with you for a long time, I want to explore you more thoroughly.”

“What’s with you and the bed?”

“You’ll see.”

Sam dragged Jenna out of the shower, but she insisted on drying him. She dragged the thirsty towel down his back, and then over his way too luscious rear end, and finally over his legs. She didn’t miss the chance to draw the towel between his thighs either.

“Jenna.”

“What?”

He took the towel from her and carefully squeezed the water from her hair. The massaging of her breasts drove her so crazy that she was forced to snap the towel from him. “Okay, enough already. I can dry myself on the sheets.” She grabbed his hand and pulled him out of the bathroom. At the entrance to the bedroom, he stopped. “Jenna, before we go in, I need to ask you something.”

Dear God, why was he torturing her. “Hurry. What?”

Sam stilled her hands. “I know I don’t have much, and my family is a mess, but will you marry me?”

Jenna froze. “You want to marry me?” Her voice rose.

He touched her nipples again, his calloused fingers heightening the sensation. “Unless you want to throw me out on the street, I’m here to stay.” He tossed her a pathetic excuse for a frown.

“Oh, no. I have lots of plans for you.”

“I hope it involves giving me a few kids.”

“For real?”

“For real.”

She ran a finger down his chest and past his belly button. “If you want kids, we better get started.” Then she grabbed his erection.

“I can handle that, but I’ve changed my mind.”

Her heart nearly wedged between her rib cage and stomach. “About what?”

He smiled. “The bed.”

She didn’t understand until he pressed her against the door. Total body contact sent every nerve ending into high gear.

“Ever since I met you, I’ve had this fantasy,” he said. His lids half lowered as he leaned closer to her. “Wrap your legs around my waist.” He grabbed her butt and helped her up.

His tongue darted in her mouth and she met his every thrust and parry. “I like it.”

“I have a lot more ideas like this.”

“Do tell.” She kissed his still wet cheek, his whiskers rough against her lips. “You need a shave.”

“I don’t have time. I can’t wait to have you.” He closed his eyes. “I’ve dreamed of this for days.”

He slid into her, his thick, wide cock sending her body into joyous ecstasy. With her hands on his shoulder, she dropped her head and reveled in the wonderful man. Sam nuzzled her neck and plunged deeper into her.

“God, what you do to me,” she gasped.

He lifted her off him and set her down, the void shocking her. “What’s wrong?”

“Absolutely nothing.” Sam swept her off her feet, carried her to the bed and gently placed her down, wet hair and all. The moment he climbed on top of her, she scooted from underneath and rolled him over. “Now it’s my turn.”

“For what?”

“To take control. You’re just lucky I don’t have any handcuffs in the house.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Bet me.” Jenna giggled, spread her thighs and sat on him, taking him inside.

Sam grabbed her waist and tried to set the rhythm but that went against her plan. “Let go. Enjoy the pleasure.”

Jenna slid up to his tip and stopped.

Sam grunted. “Don’t make me wait.”

She leaned over and kissed him. “I love you, and I want you. You make me feel safe.” Then she lowered her body and engulfed him.

Lifting his hips, Sam pumped hard. Blood pounded in her ears so hard, Jenna forgot the teasing, forgot the control, and let love wash over her.

A second after she climaxed, Sam sent his seed into her. Sated, she rolled off him and curled up next to him. She then dragged a finger down his lips. “Here’s to ridding the world of all the bad and embracing what is good.”

“I’m all for that, my undercover wonder.”

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I hope you enjoyed Sam and Jenna’s story. Next up is BURIED DEEP, and here is the first chapter.

Tampa, Florida

Joe Merrick’s worn shirt stuck to his back. He wasn’t sure if it was from sweat or the damn muggy air. Didn’t matter. He was long past caring anyway.

Slurred curses came from behind the dumpster. What the hell was taking Chester so long? A man could only hold so much pee. Even a drunk couldn’t go forever. He took a step to see what was holding up his friend and stumbled over a beer can. Shit. They never should have bought that second bottle of Jack.

Let Chester find his own damn way home—if he ever stopped peeing.

As Joe staggered toward his black pickup wedged between two big ass vans, his fingers fought with the keys in his pocket. They were stuck on a damn thread that seemed as strong as a fishing line. Goddammit.

He was still struggling when the sound of gravel crunching under a pair of heavy boots came up behind him. Chester doesn’t wear no boots.

With his hands still his pocket, something sharp shot into Joe’s lower back. What the fuck? Red hot pain radiated down his legs and up his back, pressing into his heart. It hurt so bad, he couldn’t even take a step.

A forearm clamped hard across his throat, the sleeve scratching his neck. “You filthy Indian.”

Joe gasped for air, but all he got was the hot stinky breath of the prick who’d stuck him.

Shit.

Can’t breathe. A door clicked open, and Joe’s knees gave way. Plastic crinkled under him. Blood soaked his pants, and a bright flame flickered in front of his face. Joe tried to swat at the light, but his arm wouldn’t move.

His brain fogged.

His bowels loosened.

He was going to die.

Burning to death had to be the worst way to go.

With gloved hands, forensic anthropologist Dr. Lara Romano lifted the charred forearm from a pile of bones and remeasured its width. She should have been pleased her two calculations matched. Instead, her belly ached from the image of the victim’s last moments—the heat, the terror, the inability to escape inevitable death.

She squeezed her eyes shut and made herself focus on finding the identities of those in the torched Winnebago and not on their life ending torture. Becoming emotionally involved with the victims would only end in heartache. If she wanted to be a topnotch anthropologist, she needed to leave her heart at home.

As she leaned forward to type the results into her laptop, a blast of cold air burst from the lab’s ceiling vent and ran down the back of her neck. She shivered and drew her white lab coat tight.

Someone touched her arm, and she whipped around, pressing a hand to her chest. “Phil.”

Phil Tedesco backed his wheelchair away from her lighted worktable. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.” Her boss’ lips moved, but no sound reached her ears.

“No problem.” She smiled and flipped the switch on her cochlear implant to bring her into the hearing world. “What’s up?”

He tapped the edge of the table. “You draw any conclusions about the bone yard?”

She brushed some of the burnt embers off the stainless steel counter. Of all days for the lab to look a mess, it had to be the day her boss came to visit. Normally, every countertop in the large room gleamed, but today half the surfaces were smeared with ashes, and the floor needed to be swept. She didn’t want him to think she didn’t take pride in her workplace.

“Not yet. I don’t have enough to identify all the charred remains.”

“Can you tell the number of victims at least?”

She inhaled to steady her hands. “I know there are at least five different bodies, three male, two female. There might be more.”

“Looks like you’ve done a great job so far, but time’s up.”

“You’re kidding. I need another few days.” She wanted to have the conclusion correct, not only for the sake of her job but to bring closure to the families involved.

He held his palms outward. “The insurance company is bugging me for the results. Our boss is getting worried you’re taking too much time examining a few bones. You’ve been at it three weeks.”

Try four. “It’s in my nature to be thorough.” She’d done postgraduate research at the University’s lab for three years and no one ever rushed her. “I’ll do my best to finish soon.”

“Perfect.” Phil sat up straighter. “The other reason I’m here is to get your opinion on some bones that just arrived.”

As if he was psychic, the big steel lab door eased open, and he spun his wheelchair away from the entrance. Two men, covered head-to-toe in white protective gear, rolled a pine casket with mud-streaked sides past her workstation into the middle of the expansive room.

The stone-faced technicians lifted the cover and placed it on the bottom shelf of the steel gurney. As a blast of death hit her, she reeled and stepped back. Rotting dead rats baked in the hot sun for days would smell sweeter. The school’s research lab mostly had exposed her to sanitized skeletons, not the foul stench of real dead bodies. The times she’d examined remains, the bodies had been completely decomposed.

Phil covered his nose and waved the two men to the door.

She glanced over at him. “The bodies just keep showing up, don’t they?”

“Yup.” His jaw relaxed. “Hell, when I worked homicide, I often had four cases going simultaneously. I remember when I considered three hours sleep a good night.”

She’d been there many times. “I guess the dead don’t care about our workload.”

He chuckled. “You got that right.”

“Who is it?” she asked, wishing she had some VapoRub to put under her nose to blunt the smell.

“Two John or Jane Does.”

“Two? In the same casket?”

“’Fraid so.”

She leaned over to look inside. No clothing was visible. One skull had most of the hair intact. Only the second victim, who was hairless, had areas of soft connective tissue, which hopefully would help with the identification.

She stepped back. “Who dug them up? And why?”

He wheeled away from the casket. “One of the workers at the cemetery was preparing a grave when he came across a coffin already in the plot. The parents of the dead girl were quite distraught when they learned the site had been taken over by someone else.”

She grimaced. “I’d be upset too. I’ve never seen two in the same casket before.”

“Maybe the family wanted to save money on the burial.” He pulled out a yellow pad from the side pocket of his wheelchair. “Can you tell me anything about these two?”

Even though he was a seasoned cop, the double burial softened his shoulders, and her respect for him grew.

Two people in the same coffin wasn’t right. She couldn’t imagine being that poor and not finding a way to provide a proper resting place for her loved ones. And why no cement vault around the casket? Did these relatives not respect the dead? If she had her way, she’d start—

“Lara?”

“Oh, sorry.”

She leaned over the casket again. Keeping her hands tucked behind her back to avoid disturbing the evidence, she noted the slight traces of white powder dusting a few of the bones. Definitely lime, which was very caustic. She moved back to the counter, picked up a metal caliper and held it above each skeleton’s hips to get an estimate of the width.

The dimensions fit the standard chart perfectly, and she tried not to smile. “The heart-shaped pelvic inlets and the narrow width tell me you have two males.”

“Good.” Phil made a note on the pad. “Age?”

One of the craniums faced forward, exposing the top of the skull. Her heart turned heavy when she realized this man had died so young. “The cranial sutures,” she said, pointing to the skull nearest to her, “indicate he’s between thirty and forty years old.” Close to her age. “Without digging out the second head, I can’t tell how old the other one is.”

Phil edged closer. Manipulating the gurney’s pedals, she lowered the level to give him a better angle from his chair.

“Thanks.” He peered over the rim of the wooden box. “Race?”

“I’ll need to take accurate measurements and do a few tests before I can be sure. Even though I have an intact cranium, I want to run the information through my computer.”

He gently squeezed her hand. “A guess is all I ask.”

Here goes. Despite the coolness in the room, her armpits began to sweat. And here she thought her exam days had ended four years ago.

“The teeth, which are badly decayed on the top male, are rather crowded together due to the narrow dental arch, and the skull appears smaller than the usual Caucasoid.” She searched her mind for details of differentiating between races. “The forehead is somewhat low and slightly sloped backwards—”

“Lara, just tell me.”

She looked up. He’d gripped the wheelchair’s armrest and tensed his jaw. Not hearing the nuances in people’s tones, she had to use physical clues. She rushed to explain. “From the size of the nasal opening and the rather square shape of the eye sockets, I’m going to say some kind of Mongoloid. Native American most likely, given the Tampa area has a large Seminole Indian population.”

Phil’s fingers relaxed. “Excellent. Can you tell me anything else? When they died? Cause of death?” He kept his gaze on her face.

During her studies she was allowed as much time as needed to draw the correct conclusions. This Johnny-on-the-spot diagnosis set her nerves on edge. One slip and he might think less of her. “As a former homicide detective, when you came across a dead body, could you determine the who, what, when, where and why right away?”

His eyes twinkled. “No. CSU needed hours to collect the evidence.”

“My point exactly.”

“Do your best. I realize haste isn’t always our goal, but I want to give our boss something.”

The tension released from her shoulders. “I need to photograph the bones before I move them, but if you look here.” She held her fingers above the skull on the bottom. “From the slope of the beveled edges, the hole might have been caused by a gunshot.”

Phil smiled. “Now that’s what I’m talking about. Any idea when they died?”

His praised bolstered her spirits. “There’s still some soft tissue...” She stopped. Only another anthropologist would care about the details. Lara took a leap into the deep end. “Six months to a year.”

“Good enough for now. I’ll let you get back to work. Let me know when you have a cause of death on both men.”

“Will do.”

He held up a finger. “I hate to do this to you, but the mayor wants this done ASAP, and Mr. Pomerantz promised him we’d have these men identified by the middle of the month.”

“So soon?”

“I know, I know, but Pomerantz pays the bills. It’s not like we’re some state run facility with a huge backlog. He built this state-of-the-art facility so he could get what he wants, when he wants it.”

Her childhood dream was to be a forensic anthropologist at the best private lab in the country. She’d worked extra hard her whole life, and her hard work had paid off, but if she messed up now, she might end up teaching high school science, which for a deaf person, would be a big challenge.

If she came in all day Saturday and a half day on Sunday for the next two weeks, she might be able to finish both cases. “No problem.”

“Another thing. Someone from the sheriff’s department might be stopping by this afternoon to check on your progress.”

She didn’t have time to stop her work and explain procedure to a local cop. “Do I have a choice?”

“Nope. I know you won’t disappoint me.”

“I don’t plan to.” She’d graduated at the top of her class. She could do it.

The moment he disappeared out the door, she blew out a breath. Ready to tackle the two victims, she flipped off her implant and reveled in the freeing silence.

She spent the next several hours scraping the tissue from the bones and placing each piece in a large vat to finish the cleansing process. Four hours of bending over the table examining the bones caused her back muscles to tighten into tiny knots. The moment she arched to soothe the ache, her stomach grumbled. It was time to go home and feed herself and her eternally hungry fat cat. Since the bones were still cooking, the remaining tasks would have to wait until tomorrow.

She stripped off her disposable gear and dumped the soiled garb in the waste bin under the portable X-ray machine. To ease the tension building in her scalp, she rubbed her head to loosen the braided strand. God that felt good.

Just as she reached to pull open the heavy door, the stainless steel entry eased toward her and a tall stranger appeared.

As he strode in, she took a step back. “How did you get in?” She quickly flipped on her implant.

The door was key-coded, and only a few lab workers knew the combination. Having worked at HOPEFAL close to a year, she knew everyone, and he was no employee. She would have remembered someone this good looking.

“I put my right foot in front of my left?” He cocked a brow and leaned forward.

“That’s not what I meant.”

He flashed his sheriff’s badge, and then waved a piece of paper with numbers scrawled on the front. “My brother used to work with Phil, so he gave me the combination. Said you might not hear if I knocked.” He tugged on his right ear.

Great. Though the newcomer probably would deduce from the slight nasal twang in her tone she was deaf, she didn’t need her boss announcing to the world she had a handicap. Out of habit, she tucked her hair over the wire leading to her battery pack to make sure the implant didn’t show. She braced for the look of pity she always received when people learned of her deafness. When she searched his face and found nothing but openness, her pulse skipped a beat.

She ran a gaze from his scuffed cowboy boots, up along the faded jeans that hugged his muscular thighs, past the tight T-shirt and to his penetrating aquamarine blue eyes.

She stilled. God that was rude. Had he noticed? How could he not? Thank goodness he had the courtesy to keep his focus off her.

He swiveled toward her. “I’m Trevor Kinsey—Missing Persons detective at the sheriff’s department.”

Ah, yes, the man to check on her progress. He was running rather late. She extended her hand and a rough palm met hers. His touch was firm, yet gentle. Nice.

“Dr. Lara Romano.”

Detective Kinsey stepped past her, halted, and surveyed her lab, his head twisting from right to left in slow motion. Given the high-tech equipment and many gadgets, he probably liked what he saw. The lab still impressed her every time she came to work.

He placed a Manila envelope along with a smaller packet on the counter and walked around the entire perimeter of the lab, first checking the scanning machine, the scale and then the portable X-ray and said nothing the whole time nor asked any questions. In fact, he made no comments. What was going on?

While she enjoyed showing off her new digs, now wasn’t a good time. Her cat had needs. “Can I help you with something?”

“I’ve wanted to see what all the hoopla was regarding this place. Now I know why everyone at the department is gung ho about the new lab.”

“I can give a tour tomorrow if you’d like.” At the least, she could be friendly.

Then he checked her out from head to toe and smiled. “If I have time, sure.”

His clear eyes lightened, and she refused to address the tingling that shot up her body at the intimate look. “Are you here to see about the bodies we received today?” She lifted her chin a notch.

He squared his broad shoulders and sobered. “Yes. I’ve been working on a case involving the disappearance of some Seminole Indians, and I’m wondering if the men we sent over might be two of the eight I’ve been searching for.”

Her muscles tightened. “Eight Native Americans are missing?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“So many disappearances can’t be a coincidence. Are you thinking a hate crime is involved?”

“It’s too early to tell.” Detective Kinsey headed over to the coffin and peered in. “What did you do with them?”

She pointed across the room to the large pots inside the hooded maceration station. He appeared to be a no nonsense guy. If he could be forthright, so could she. “I’m cooking them.” She raised her brows daring him to grimace.

Instead of making a comment, he strode over to the station. If he lifted the clear Plexiglas hood, the escaped smell would fell even the most seasoned cop.

He gazed in, and spun back toward her. “Mind if I wait around to see if your men match mine?”

This man would only get in her way. It didn’t matter he looked like some sexy Florida rancher with his dark blond hair curled slightly at the nape of his neck—or that his rough cheek stubble and tanned skin made him appear as though he’d been outside riding all day. Given Tampa was nothing but urban sprawl, he couldn’t be a real cowboy, but the impression lingered, nonetheless.

“The bones won’t be ready until tomorrow at the earliest. Besides, I don’t know for sure if the men are Native American. I need time to study the skulls.” The last thing she wanted was to make a fool of herself in front her boss’ friend.

She hurried toward the door, pulled open the latch, and swept an arm toward the corridor. He might appear to be a gentleman, but when it came to the job, he’d probably be demanding, over-confident, and insensitive to the needs of the victims.

Okay, that wasn’t fair. He hadn’t done anything to deserve those labels, but the last two detectives she’d been around fit the bill.

He didn’t move. “Did you discover any distinguishing marks on the men?”

“I haven’t found anything to help me tell them apart, if that’s what you mean, other than the difference in the amount of hair and soft tissue present.”

“The families have been waiting for closure for as long as ten months.”

She slapped a free hand on her hip. “I just received the bodies.”

“I have a few more questions.” He picked up the large envelope from the counter, not even blinking at her outburst.

So much for a meaningful conversation. She let the door shut and marched up to him, invading his space. “What makes you think this case is any more important than the arson case I’ve been working on for the last month?” She didn’t need to let him know Phil told her this job needed to be her main concern.

His lips thinned. “I have two dental X-rays and one MRI from three of the families. If you’ll just take a look, maybe you’ll be able to tell me if one of your cadavers is one of my men.” He emptied the X-rays into his hand and offered them to her.

Did he say, his men? Okay. That changed her opinion of him a little. She stepped back. She liked a man who cared, a man who put his heart and soul into the job like she did. Maybe he wasn’t the typical law enforcement type like she’d first thought.

Logic sped ahead of emotion. If her two skeletons were among these eight missing men, she’d finish her identification process with time to spare. She’d be the first to admit she was excited to delve into the search, just not with Trevor Kinsey peering over her shoulder. His presence took up the whole room—all twelve hundred square feet of it.

She eased the medical data from his fingers and set the transparencies on the counter. “I was on my way out, but I promise I’ll give them my attention tomorrow.”

It was his turn to step too close. His body relaxed, and he tossed her a slightly crooked smile, complete with earth shattering dimples. “Sure you can’t examine them now?”

“It won’t do any good.” She’d be damned if she let him use his masculine appeal to get her to do his bidding. “Like I said, the skulls are still...” She couldn’t come up with another way to say it, so she merely nodded toward the large vats.

He cocked a brow. “Cooking? I know.”

“Yes.”

His shoulders stiffened. “Tomorrow then.” He took two steps toward the door.

Oh, what the hell. “Wait.” She didn’t want their time to end. She spent enough time cooped up alone in the lab.

He whipped around, his eyes wide. “Yes?” He closed the gap between them in less than a heartbeat.

She eased back. “Look, I know what it means to want something.” Like friends, success, mainstream treatment. “While I can’t compare the X-rays to the skulls yet, can you tell me a little about these men? Do you know their heights? Ages? Maybe that will help eliminate them.” During her preliminary study of the bones she’d estimated the two men’s biological profile.

Trevor rattled off the numbers for all eight, his eyes shining brighter with each description. Impressed he’d memorized every detail, she let out a breath.

The muscles in his shoulders bunched as he leaned forward. “Does that tell you anything?”

“Yes. When I first received the bones, I guesstimated the one in his thirties to be about five foot nine, and the older one three inches shorter.”

His warm eyes sparkled. “That fits.”

“It doesn’t prove my skeletons are your men.” A small laugh escaped at his naivety. “If only it were that easy.”

“I realize that, Dr. Romano.”

She couldn’t tell if he’d mocked her or if his comment had been tinged with sadness. Before she could get a read on his expression, he rotated around to the counter near the door, picked up the smaller envelope he’d placed there and spread out eight photos side by side. “Take a look at these.”

As she stepped next to him, his spicy cologne took her by surprise. She hadn’t expected a detective to wear such an enticing scent—strong, clean, and masculine.

“Dr. Romano? Is something wrong?”

This spacing out had to stop. Look at the pictures, Lara. “No.”

She dropped her gaze and angled the 4x6’s toward her. All appeared to be male Native Americans. Two stood next to children, three huddled beside women, and the last few were single shots. Make those blurry, single shots where the heads were either profiles, or tilted to the side. All useless for identification purposes.

He leaned in closer to her, and her breath caught. She forced herself to study the images and ignore the pressure building in her chest. Four were taken at a construction site and the rest were inside what appeared to be a large recreational room. “From their cheekbone structure and the slant to their forehead, I’d say they’re Seminole.”

“You nailed it.”

Lara’s stomach sickened. She pressed her eyes shut, not wanting to have a connection to these missing men.

Before they could discuss the case further, his cell rang. The ring tone was some piece of classical music she couldn’t identify. It wasn’t what she’d have guessed for such a macho man. She had stereotyped him too quickly. Shame on her.

He pulled the phone from his hip pocket and held up a finger. Given he mostly listened, she couldn’t get the gist of the conversation—not that she was eavesdropping or anything.

Twenty seconds later, he pocketed his cell and avoided meeting her gaze. “I have to leave. Let me know what you find out regarding the men. Okay?” He slid his business card on the counter.

“Sure, but I—”

Then he was gone, the door closing faster than usual.

She blew out a long, steady breath. “Goodbye to you too, Detective Kinsey.”

And here she thought he might want to match the men to her profile. Lara tucked her hair behind her ear trying to figure out if she’d said something wrong. Some unidentifiable and unpleasant emotion swirled in her belly. Her childhood therapist explained that labeling her anxieties would help her cope with the insular world. Fine. The sensation was either frustration at not having helped him or a deep yearning to work with someone. She’d grown up so alone, her dreams were made from the idea of being a part of a team. Classmates had laughed at her, teachers often became impatient, and when it came time to pick lab partners, no one wanted to work with her because she wasn’t cool enough for them.

Aw, hell. What did it matter? She had a job to do. Nothing got done by standing around.

Lara had planned to leave, but her need to help pushed her other priorities down a notch, so she slid on a fresh lab coat. If the X-rays and MRI he’d brought didn’t indicate the men had the right slant to the forehead, she might eliminate them. If the images did match her men, she’d win, he’d win.

She lifted the films and slapped the first X-ray on the light board. The man’s dental work showed he was missing the second and third premolar as well as one incisor. She opened the computer files of the digital images she’d shot of both skulls. The first one wasn’t a match, the second inconclusive, and a shard of disappointment stabbed her.

The next X-ray didn’t match either. Damn it. Lastly, she peered at the MRI. And froze.