Buried Lies

by Kaylea Cross

  Swearing under his breath, Jase kept running and whipped out his phone to call Noah.

  ****

  The rain was hammering on Noah’s windshield so hard the wipers could barely keep up. He squinted through the darkness and deluge as he sped up the highway toward the bar Beckett had called from.

  “Which way did he go, did you guys see?” Noah asked Jase via his hands free device. The highway was practically deserted, the storm still going full throttle and showing no signs of slowing.

  “South, I think. At least initially. We lost him a couple miles from the bar.” His voice rang with frustration.

  “I haven’t passed him yet. He’s either on his way toward me, or he doubled back to head east.” Noah kept driving north toward the bar, hoping to find Carter and arrest him before he made it to the turnoff that would take him toward I-5. “I’m eight minutes out. I’ve put out a BOLO for him with the truck and license plate.”

  He ended the call and focused on navigating the dangerously slick, curving road that hugged the coastline. Technically he didn’t have jurisdiction outside of Crimson Point but he could still assist in Carter’s arrest, and since he was personally caught up in this situation, he felt obligated to go after Carter himself.

  Headlights came around the bend ahead. He tensed, squinting to make out the vehicle. A green car headed south in the cliff-side lane.

  Dispatch called him as he came around a long curve in the road. “No sign of suspect,” he told the operator. “Report any sightings to me immediately—”

  He broke off as he rounded the final corner into the short straightaway. A big black pickup was barreling toward him in the opposite lane. Noah took his foot off the accelerator and struggled to see the driver or plate through the pouring rain. The truck seemed to gather speed as it neared him.

  Noah caught a glimpse of Carter’s bearded face as the truck rocketed past. “Shit,” he breathed, immediately hitting the brakes and cranking the wheel. The cruiser’s low center of gravity allowed him to swing the vehicle’s back end around without flipping on the soaked pavement, then slam it into drive and pursue Carter.

  The truck disappeared around the next curve, going way too fast. Noah activated his lights and sirens and pressed down harder on the accelerator, going way too fast given the conditions and the dangerous curves in the road, but having no choice. Noah had to stop Carter before he killed someone.

  Steering with his left hand, he got on the radio. The road straightened out a little, allowing Noah to catch up enough to get a clear view of the pickup as it sped south. “This is Buchanan. I’m in pursuit of the suspect, heading south on the 101. Send backup north from Crimson Point and—” He let go of the radio and grabbed the wheel in both hands as the pickup’s brake lights came on up ahead. The back end fishtailed wildly.

  Noah held his breath as the big vehicle skidded, then veered hard to the right. He watched in horror as it crashed through the guardrail and went rocketing over the side of the cliff.

  ****

  The familiar effects of adrenaline crash were in full effect as Beckett drove Jase’s pickup back to Crimson Point twenty minutes later. They were both quiet, processing what had just happened. Jase’s hand throbbed like a bitch and he was as weary as if he’d just been through a firefight. He couldn’t believe they’d lost Carter.

  If it hadn’t been raining so hard, if they’d been a few seconds faster getting into the pickup, they might have been able to catch him. Now it was up to the cops. Jase hoped Noah could stop Carter before he hurt someone else.

  At Beckett’s place he left without going inside because he couldn’t bring himself to see Molly right now. Knowing she was in good hands and safe as she could get, he drove home to the place he’d bought a few months back. It was surrounded by evergreens on two sides, with a partial view of the lighthouse at the end of the point from the backyard.

  The rain was finally letting up as he turned into his driveway and parked in front of the garage because the ’32 Ford he was working on was stored inside it. Because priorities.

  He’d just shut the front door of the house behind him and disabled the alarm when his phone rang. Molly.

  “Hey,” he answered, unable to ignore her. Maybe she’d heard from Beckett what had happened at the bar. He needed to explain his side of the story.

  Her broken sob had him freezing in place. “What’s wrong?” he demanded, his body instantly back on high alert as he stood there dripping water on the rug in his front hall.

  “N-Noah just called.” Another sob.

  Cold spread through Jase’s gut. “What happened?”

  “C-Carter’s truck veered off the road and over the cliff a few miles up the highway. Noah saw it happen.” A terrible silence followed. “He’s dead, Jase.”

  Jase jerked, pain splintering beneath his ribs like he’d just taken a round to the chest.

  Reaching out blindly for the wall, he leaned one hand on it, trying to grasp what she’d just said.

  He dropped his head, squeezed his eyes shut. No. Jesus Christ, no.

  Had Carter done it on purpose? In his darkest moments he’d thought about how much better off they would all be if Carter wasn’t here anymore. Jase had never thought Carter would actually go through with something like this.

  But you should have.

  Guilt and pain sliced through him, sharp as a razor’s edge. He sucked a breath of air into his aching lungs. It burned, the pressure around his heart squeezing tighter and tighter.

  Molly sniffed. “Jase?”

  “I’m here,” he managed to rasp out. Carter was gone. Maybe what Jase had said and done had pushed him over that final edge. Now he was dead, without ever knowing he was going to be a father, and Molly was a widow facing the future alone as a single parent.

  Tears stung his eyes, blurring his vision. Fuck. Just…fuck.

  “Will you come over?” she asked.

  Ah, God. He wiped at his eyes with the heel of his free hand, the pressure in his chest so painful it felt as though his ribs might split apart. “I’m on my way, sweetheart.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Sierra woke in the darkness to the sound of the shower running in the next room.

  She rolled her head to the right, just able to make out the silhouette beside her. Molly was curled on her side in the queen-size bed, facing away from Sierra, finally having cried herself to sleep an hour ago.

  God, what a night.

  Her heart was heavy as she gingerly sat up and slid out of bed. Molly didn’t stir, and that was a good thing. She needed to rest if she was going to be able to face everything she had to deal with come morning.

  It was hard to take it all in. Noah was still dealing with the aftermath. He’d texted an hour ago to say they had recovered Carter’s body from the wreckage. It had been raining so hard at the time of the accident, and the roads were slick after weeks of dry weather. Had Carter lost control around that final turn?

  Hard to imagine. He had the same training as Beckett. All of them were expert-level drivers who could handle a vehicle in any conditions. But given Carter’s mental state and what had happened prior to the crash, maybe he wasn’t thinking clearly.

  Or maybe he’d been thinking with crystal clarity. Maybe he’d decided it was all too much. Maybe in his tortured mind he’d done it to protect Molly, make sure he could never harm or frighten her ever again.

  Molly stirred and rolled to her stomach, but didn’t waken.

  Sierra couldn’t imagine what Molly was going through. Finding out she was pregnant, and then losing Carter in such a horrific way so soon after was beyond cruel. Sierra couldn’t take the pain away, but she and Beckett would be there for Molly and the baby. She was sure Jase would be too.

  The sound of the flowing water grew louder as she stepped into the master bedroom. It was three in the morning, yet her fiancé was in the shower. He must have had another bad nightmare.

  They didn’t happen all the time anymore like they h
ad when she and Beckett had first gotten together. But considering he had just lost one of his soldiers and closest friends in such a violent and tragic way, it wasn’t hard to understand why he’d had one tonight.

  She pushed the bathroom door open just as he turned off the water. “Hey. You okay?”

  She’d been there when he got the call from Noah. His bronze-toned face had blanched, his jaw clenching so hard the muscles stood out. Sierra had instantly known someone had died. And when Beckett had ended the call and crouched in front of Molly where she was curled up under a blanket on the couch to tell her the news, Sierra’s heart had broken for them both.

  “Yeah.” Beckett reached for a towel, his muscles bunching as he dried himself off. His deep, dark gaze cut to her. “She asleep?”

  “Yes. I was rubbing her back and we both drifted off.” She crossed to him, wrapped her arms around his naked body. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  He shook his head, lowered his lips to hers for a kiss. “No.”

  Sierra had learned not to push when it came to Beckett and his inner demons. He had his own way of coping with them, and didn’t often talk about it. She didn’t like it, didn’t like that he refused to seek professional help with his battle, but he seemed much better since she had moved in with him.

  He took her hand and led her to their bed. It was set in the circular turret on the second floor of the heritage Victorian, and commanded a sweeping view of the ocean.

  Sierra climbed under the covers and rolled into him as he reached for her. His soapy-clean scent filled her nose, the feel of his powerful arms around her chasing away the heavy sadness inside her. He’d been through too much pain in his life. She wished she could have spared him this new wound.

  “I love you,” she murmured, running a soothing hand over his back.

  He kissed the top of her head, hugged her tighter to his muscled chest, her cheek pressed against his tattoo. “Love you too, sweetness.”

  They were quiet for a time, but she could still feel the tension in his big body. “I can’t believe he’s gone,” she whispered.

  Beckett groaned. “I know.”

  “Was the dream about him?”

  He was silent a moment. “Yeah.”

  She waited, trailing her fingers over his smooth back. It must have been awful for him.

  “I’ve lost brothers before,” he finally said, surprising her. “Mostly in battle. Some in training. But I never thought I’d lose one like this. Not now, when we’re all out of that life.”

  “No.” It was horrible.

  Beckett heaved a heavy sigh and kissed her forehead, and she could all but feel him clam up inside. “I just wanna crash.”

  “Sure.” She pressed her lips to the center of his chest, glad he’d opened up to her that much. It showed how much he trusted her.

  Sierra lay awake for a long time, listening to the steady beat of his heart as his breathing deepened and his body went lax as sleep finally claimed him. They’d been through so much together over the last couple of months. Carter’s suffering was over now, but Molly’s, Jase’s and Beckett’s had just begun.

  Lying in the darkness next to the man she’d loved all her life, she frowned to herself. So much pain and sadness within her tight-knit circle over the last little while. They’d already been through two catastrophes: her abduction and now losing Carter.

  But bad things always seemed to happen in threes.

  She prayed that wasn’t true in this case, because she wasn’t sure they could withstand any more heartache.

  ****

  Dawn already. And the sheriff still hadn’t returned.

  From the safety of his hiding spot in the woods he’d watched the sheriff leave last night in a rush, and Poppy dash back to her place through the rain a little while later. The sheriff had raced out in his patrol car, alone, signaling he was responding to a call. So he could come back at any time…

  But Poppy was still alone in her cottage. And he’d waited out here long enough, waiting for the right moment.

  He wiped a hand over his damp forehead, his fingers and palms still raw from all the recent digging he’d done. The rain had finally slowed and the towering evergreens around him sheltered him from the drops so he pushed his hood back.

  His face itched, his skin tingling and sensitive. Did he act now, or wait a little longer? With that amount of water on the ground his tire tracks and maybe even his boot prints would be visible in the grass and dirt. The Feds’ forensics people would document everything. They might be able to match it to him if they suspected he was involved and brought him in for questioning.

  It excited and alarmed him at the same time.

  He stared at the cottage, his pulse thrumming in his ears. He really shouldn’t risk it now, but the monster wouldn’t let it go. Refused to let him circle back to where he’d left his vehicle up a secluded path in the woods, and drive home.

  It wanted Poppy.

  He wanted Poppy. And he was so tired of this shit. The euphoria clashing with the crippling guilt, and the anger that wouldn’t leave him alone. Sometimes it felt as though it was trying to eat him alive from the inside. He deserved this. Deserved to take what he wanted.

  Do it now.

  He licked his lips at the whisper in his mind, hesitating even as the excitement built. There was no anger now. If only the damn rain hadn’t slowed, he might have been able to leave minimal evidence behind. But there wasn’t time to cover everything up once he took her. He would have to grab her and get out of here as soon as possible, or someone might see him. If they did, they would try to stop him.

  He thought of the equipment ready to go in the back of the vehicle. The perfect spot he had prepared for his beautiful poppy.

  No. He wouldn’t let anyone or anything stop him now.

  His heart galloped against his ribs as he left the safety of his hiding spot and crept alongside the cottage into the backyard. The kitchen light was on but he couldn’t see her. Maybe she was upstairs sleeping.

  There was a spare key hidden under a pot back there from the previous owner. Poppy either didn’t know about it, or had decided not to move it. He’d tested it last week while she was out and it still worked, and he doubted she had changed the locks since. It would give him easy access into the house, and her.

  Keeping his weight on the balls of his feet to try and keep the tread marks from his boots to a minimum, he used the flagstone path and stayed off the grass until he reached the back porch. His boots were muddy and would leave prints on the wooden floor so he slipped on the sanitary booties he’d brought with him.

  Wearing gloves, he tipped the purple pot over and took the key beneath it, then crept to the porch. The key turned almost without a sound and the door opened easily.

  Slipping the key into his pocket, he took in a deep lungful of air to slow his rapid breathing. His hands trembled slightly, the rush of blood to his groin making him hard as granite as he thought of what he was about to do.

  POPPY CAME DOWNSTAIRS fresh from her shower at just after six in the morning to check her phone where she’d left it charging in the small office she’d set up in a tiny room near the front door. The delicious smell of the cinnamon scones she’d slid into the oven earlier filled the air. Unable to sleep when she’d come home, she’d baked.

  Outside the sun was almost up, the sky a bright blue in between gray clouds that promised more showers. Noah still hadn’t responded to the text she’d sent before taking a shower twenty minutes ago.

  Something really bad must have happened with Molly to keep him out all night. Poppy was afraid Molly’s ex had put her in the hospital or something.

  It was early, but under the circumstances Sierra wouldn’t be annoyed at her for texting now. She sent off a quick text to her. Is Molly all right?

  A message came back seconds later. From Noah.

  At Beckett’s place with Molly. Carter dead. Be home when I can.

  “No,” Poppy breathed, her heart aching fo
r them all, and responded. So sorry. Sending you all lots of love.

  She stared at the last word, hesitating, then sent the message. She might not trust her romantic instincts anymore, but she’d never felt this way about anyone. As scared as she was about having her heart broken again—and Noah held the power to crush it, not just break it—she had zero regrets about sleeping with him.

  Poppy was not her mother, and Noah was nothing like the men who had used them both in the past.

  Feeling edgy, she glanced around her tidy home, but there was nothing to do now but wait. Normally she would do some paperwork and check invoices here from her laptop, then head into Whale’s Tale and grab something to eat before she helped out in the kitchen prior to opening time. This morning she felt torn about heading into work. Should she take the day off and go to Sierra’s?

  This was such a hard, personal time for Molly. Maybe going over there wasn’t a good idea. They were friends, yes, but not that close yet. Maybe it was best that she just get ready and head to work. She could leave a few scones for Noah on his doorstep, then help get the shop open and then check in with Noah and Sierra later, see if there was anything she could do.

  The hardwood floor was cool beneath her bare feet as she headed for the stairs to get dressed, but she was warm and cozy in her robe.

  Two steps into the hallway, she looked up and froze, a strangled cry sticking in her throat. What the hell is he doing in my house?

  He stood there blocking the far end, a weird look on his face as he stared at her.

  She shook off the shock and found her voice. “What are you doing…” Her words trailed off as he took a menacing step toward her.

  Fight or flight kicked in.

  A weapon. She needed a—

  Her grandfather’s rifle!

  But dammit, she couldn’t get to the hall closet now—he was barring her way.

  She whirled and darted into the office instead to grab the first substantial thing she could see—an old stapler, and her keys. Whipping around, she stepped into the hall and threw the stapler at his head with all her might.