Buried Lies Read online

  BURIED LIES

  Crimson Point Series

  Kaylea Cross

  BURIED LIES

  Copyright © 2018 Kaylea Cross

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  Cover Art: Sweet ‘N Spicy Designs

  Developmental edits: Deborah Nemeth

  Line Edits: Joan Nichols

  Digital Formatting: LK Campbell

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  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the author.

  ISBN: 978-1-928044-30-7

  Table of Contents

  Blurb

  Dedication

  Author’s Note

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Excerpt: Shattered Vows

  About the Author

  Complete Booklist

  Blurb

  She left her painful past behind.

  Poppy Larsen is finally free. She moved to Crimson Point to make a new life for herself, full of bright possibilities. A whole new world awaits her, if she can find the courage to trust again—even her gorgeous neighbor, the town sheriff. But darkness lurks in the picturesque Oregon Coast town, concealing a deadly threat that’s closer than she ever imagined.

  Now a killer is watching her from the shadows.

  Sheriff Noah Buchanan can’t help but be intrigued by his new neighbor. She’s hard working, sexy as hell, and unlike most of the women in town, she hasn’t thrown herself at him. After it becomes clear that she plans to put down roots here, he finds himself falling more and more for Poppy and her big heart. When someone from her past tries to hurt her, it triggers all his protective instincts. But the real danger is hiding in plain sight. When the unthinkable happens, Noah is thrust into a race against time to save her before it’s too late.

  Dedication

  For my wonderful hubby and weasels, for supporting me while I chase my dreams. Love you guys.

  xo

  Author’s Note

  So now that you’ve met the cast of the Crimson Point Series, it’s time for Noah’s story. Poppy hasn’t had an easy life, and she’s taken a huge risk in trying to start over in Crimson Point. I hope you’ll love watching their love story unfold as much as I did writing it.

  Happy reading,

  Kaylea

  Chapter One

  For some, gardening was good for the soul. For him, it was a necessity.

  It kept him sane. Silenced the insidious voice in his head—at least temporarily.

  He paused in the strip of lawn between two flowerbeds to draw in a deep breath, the air faintly tinged by the salty tang of the sea just over a mile away. Heaven.

  This was his favorite place on earth, and his favorite time of day. After a solid eight hours of honest, physical work, he could come here and let the world fall away while he enjoyed all his flowers.

  His beautiful, secret flowers.

  Late afternoon sunlight slanted down on him between the tall evergreens that bordered the edge of the property as he strode from the gardening shed with his tools. He’d bought the half-acre nestled into a band of forest bordering a vineyard outside the town limit years ago, before he’d started his garden.

  Back then it had just been a place to build his refuge, a spot all his own where he could camp in a location no one would bother him, but over the past few years it had become so much more important. Here he had absolute privacy, no one around to see what he was doing. He could simply be himself and let the mask drop.

  It had been over a month since he’d last been here. Weeds had sprung up in a few of the beds, and he still needed to remove the pipe sticking out of the newest one.

  Birds chirped overhead, the only sound out here, even the muted crash of the sea absent this far from the beach. It was so quiet here now, so different from the last time.

  He paused to admire his latest addition, remembering the day he’d planted it. The sense of satisfaction that had encompassed him from having finally, finally finished his secret garden.

  Graphic images flooded his brain, triggering the usual response. He fought it, tried to stop the pictures running in his head, shove them down deep where they belonged. If he wasn’t careful, they would control him instead of the other way around.

  He shook himself. Work. Physical exertion always helped clear his mind and kept the terrible need away.

  Most of the time.

  The blade of the shovel sank deep into the soil he’d amended in late spring, in preparation for his newest addition. He sang quietly as he worked, to keep his mind busy along with his hands.

  After digging out the soil surrounding the pipe, it came out easily. Still singing to himself, he set it aside and filled in the hole. Then he pulled out the weeds that threatened to ruin his masterpiece and raked the rich, dark earth in between the perennials and annuals until the bed was pristine once more.

  Now all that remained in the bed were the flowers and its crowning glory. And this particular variety of pink peonies was as beautiful as it was rare.

  He’d planted them to remind him of the pretty brunette with the pink dress. The fabric had been the exact shade of the petals. He’d taken great pains to find a match, contacting nurseries all up and down the Oregon Coast to locate it. And the day he’d brought it here to plant it…

  Images fractured in his head, getting all mixed up. He shook his head, trying to clear the cloud of confusion. The look of delicious terror on her face. A swirl of pink fabric. Peony petals shivering in the breeze. The sound of her muffled screams, growing fainter and fainter…

  No.

  No, no, no, it was too soon. Much too soon.

  But it was too late to stop the inevitable.

  The sudden rise of excitement shot through him like a lightning strike, stronger than ever before. His heart rate doubled. His breathing turned harsh and erratic. Sweat popped out across his skin, his hands trembled.

  His body tightened. Hardened.

  He clenched his teeth and gripped the shovel handle until his knuckles ached, swallowing hard. Fighting the powerful swell of arousal. The burning need to undo his pants and stroke himself to relieve the sudden pressure in his groin.

  His whole body shook as he rode it out, until finally after endless minutes, it passed. He had no idea how long he’d been standing there, battling the raging need. His breathing was still harsh as his gaze strayed back to the gorgeous pink peonies, their petals all but glowing in a shaft of golden sunlight.

  It was like a sign from above. The dark urges had only gone away for a few weeks this time and now they were back, more powerful than ever.

  It frightened and electrified him at the same time.


  He glanced around, taking slow, calming breaths. There were more weeds to be pulled in the other beds, but he couldn’t tend to them now, he was too shaken. Instead he gathered his tools up and carried them back to the shed, a hollow, heavy regret mixing with the heady sense of anticipation humming through him.

  His secret garden wasn’t complete after all.

  Now he would have to break his most important rule of allowing himself only one perfect victim per year. Hunting again so soon would increase the risk of getting caught, but maybe that would make this one last kill that much more fulfilling.

  Maybe this next one would satisfy him enough to forever silence the hungry monster that never gave him rest. Maybe it would finally bring him peace so he could stop.

  ****

  Noah Buchanan jerked awake when the generator started up next door.

  What the hell?

  He rolled over to squint at the bedside clock. “You gotta be freaking kidding me,” he muttered.

  It was seven-twelve on a Saturday morning. Wasn’t there an unspoken rule everybody understood that you had to be quiet until at least nine on the weekends? As a matter of common courtesy?

  His new neighbor was from South Dakota. Maybe they didn’t have that rule there.

  Noah sighed, trying to remember if he had any earplugs lying around. Thanks to yet another file sent over from the FBI on the latest missing women’s case from six weeks ago, then a domestic disturbance call just prior to the end of his shift, he’d only gotten home an hour ago. That meant he’d been asleep for probably twenty minutes, max.

  Outside, the generator got louder.

  “Noooo,” he groaned. So much for sleep. What the hell was she doing over there, anyway?

  He growled as he sat up and scrubbed a hand over his face. He’d showered as soon as he’d gotten home but hadn’t shaved, because he’d thought he would have plenty of time to do it after he’d had at least four or five hours of sleep. Silly him.

  Grabbing a pair of jeans from the chair in the corner, he dragged them on over top of his boxers and stumbled down the hall toward the kitchen. Through the wide window above the sink he caught a flash of blond hair over the back fence. Definitely his new neighbor.

  Since sleep was no longer an option, he hit the button on the coffee maker on his way to the back door. Barefoot, he stepped outside into the warm late-June morning and headed across the back lawn, the grass soft and slightly damp beneath his soles.

  He stopped at the neck-high cedar fence that separated the properties, and the moment he saw his sexy new neighbor at the far side of her yard, he suddenly wasn’t annoyed anymore.

  Poppy stood in profile to him as she raised the wand of the power washer and started on her back fence. She was young, maybe mid-twenties. She wore a tiny pair of frayed cutoff shorts and a string bikini top that framed full, round breasts, leaving her midriff and long legs bare.

  Christ. It took superhuman effort to drag his eyes up to her face.

  Her honey-blond hair was up in a ponytail, and he could see the wires from the earbuds she had in. Completely absorbed in her task, she had no idea he was standing there staring at her.

  As a cop, it was hardwired in him to be cynical. He’d kept an eye on Poppy Larsen since the night he’d met her when she’d first come to town. She’d shown up all by herself and decided to open a business here. So far he hadn’t managed to dig up anything of interest about her, but everyone had secrets. He’d learned that lesson the hard way.

  She continued washing her fence down, making a thorough job of it. On the one hand Noah had to admire her work ethic. But why the hell was she power washing her fence at this hour on a Saturday morning?

  He stood there for another minute admiring the view, since she couldn’t see him, then ambled down to the west end of the fence. Resting his forearms on the top of it, he waited for her to notice him.

  It was almost comical when she did.

  Poppy did a double take and whirled to face him, pressure washer wand still in hand, her chocolate-brown eyes widening in surprise. Her creamy skin glistened with drops of water, and her nipples stood out beneath the triangles of her bikini top.

  And suddenly Noah was grateful for the fence blocking his lower body, just in case. Something he’d never had to worry about while waiting to talk with the elderly woman who had owned the cottage until a couple of months ago.

  Quickly shutting off the generator, Poppy yanked the earbuds out of her ears and crossed her arms over her chest, slightly turning her body away as though she was self-conscious.

  Now that was a damn shame. The woman had absolutely nothing to be self-conscious about.

  “Hi,” she blurted, looking both embarrassed and alarmed. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t see your patrol car in the driveway when I checked a little while ago, so I assumed you weren’t home yet. I was hoping to be done by the time you got home.” She angled more away from him, until she faced her back porch.

  Aw, well, now he couldn’t be mad. “Yeah, my cruiser’s getting serviced, so one of my deputies drove me home at the end of my shift.”

  “Oh.” She winced. “Did I wake you up?”

  Yes, but now he wasn’t sorry. “It’s okay.”

  “I’ll put this away until this afternoon,” she went on, turning to pull the washer into a corner, and giving him a spectacular view of her legs and backside. He’d only seen her a few times since the night he’d first met her in town, and she’d always been in jeans and a T-shirt that hid all the glorious curves on display right now. “I’m really sorry.”

  “Really, it’s okay.”

  She glanced back at him. “Hang on a sec, I’ll be right out,” she said, and hurried to her back porch. The screen door to the house banged shut, then she reappeared thirty seconds later holding a plate and wearing a long-sleeved plaid flannel shirt that hid her breasts from view.

  Noah was sorry she’d covered up, but sorrier still that she’d done it because he’d made her uncomfortable. He was used to women trying to get and hold his attention, not hide their bodies.

  “Peace offering,” she said with a little smile as she crossed to the fence, holding up a plate she must have grabbed inside, loaded with pastries. Up close he noticed the light smattering of freckles across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. And her dark-chocolate eyes had the tiniest amount of gold around the pupils.

  “What are these?” he asked, perusing his options. They smelled fantastic.

  “They’re freshly made, from my shop. Grand opening was last weekend.”

  “I know.” He made it his business to know everything that happened in his town.

  Selecting what appeared to be a bit of chocolate croissant, he focused back on her.

  Poppy Larsen was a mystery to him. She’d up and moved here from South Dakota, fallen in love with Crimson Point and bought her shop, then this cottage, all within a matter of weeks. There was no ring on her finger, no tan lines to suggest she’d worn one recently, and the way she’d covered up so quickly just now told him she might even be a little on the shy side.

  She had a wholesomeness about her—literally the girl next door—except for that killer body he now couldn’t get out of his head. And for damn sure he’d never lived next door to anyone he’d had such a visceral reaction to before.

  He wasn’t sure he liked it. Since his fiancée had left him six years ago he’d become a serial dater, but no one had captured his interest as much as Poppy had without even trying.

  “How’s business going so far?” he asked, going for polite and professional. He was the town sheriff, and they lived next door to one another. He wanted them to have a friendly neighbor relationship, not an awkward one.

  She made a face, the bridge of her nose wrinkling adorably. “Honestly? It could be better. I’m going to try some different events to see if I can pull in more customers.”

  “It’ll get a lot busier in town starting in the next few weeks. Tourist season hits full force a
round the Fourth of July and holds until Labor Day. I bet business will pick up for you in no time.”

  “Sure hope so. I’ve leveraged everything I have into the shop, and this place.” She nodded at the whitewashed, shingled cottage behind her.

  Whatever else Poppy Larsen was, she was a damn hard worker. She’d done most of the renos on the shop herself, due to budget constraints, and apparently was committed to rolling up her sleeves at home as well. “Are you planning to paint the fence once you’re done washing it?” It was yellowed and peeling in places.

  “Yeah, it needs a new coat of paint, and so does the cottage. Everything’s peeling. I’ll get to the landscaping later.”

  She intended to do all of that in addition to running her own business that had just opened? “You can borrow my sprayer again. And the lady you bought this place from had a landscaper come take care of the yard once a week during spring and summer, then do a cleanup a few times over the fall and winter. We get big windstorms here in the winter, so you’ll have a lot of downed branches from the trees.”

  He nodded at the tall cedars and firs bordering the east side of her property. “I can get you the guy’s name and number if you’re interested. He’s pretty reasonable, and he has a lot of clients here in the area, including Beckett.” Noah’s best friend, and future brother-in-law. Damn, that sounded weird.

  “Have you used him?”

  “No, but my yard’s way smaller than yours, and I don’t have many trees.”

  “Okay, that would be great if you could give me his number. Thank you.” Poppy considered him for a moment. “I was thinking of hosting a poker night this coming Thursday down at the shop. I’m getting a liquor license for special events like that. Do you or anyone you know like to play?”

  Noah blocked a frown from forming. Poker at a bookshop-slash-tearoom? “I know some guys.”