Buried Lies

by Kaylea Cross

  His heart thundered in his chest as he headed for the shed at the edge of the property. The door creaked slightly as he opened it. Warm, golden rays of late afternoon sunshine spilled through a gap between two trees, lighting up the contents like a spotlight.

  The poppy.

  Its unique, coral-pink petals glowed with an unearthly light. The mere sight of it took his breath away.

  His hands shook as he carried it to its final resting place. He carefully loosened the plastic pot around the root ball and slid it out. The soil was soft, rich and moist, perfect to nourish his prize.

  He tucked it into its earthen bed and watered it in, then walked a few paces away to admire his work.

  It was glorious. And knowing an even more beautiful flower rested beneath it…

  He closed his eyes as the arousal he’d been trying to block for the past three hours suddenly roared through him in a wild torrent. His dick went hard as the pipe sticking so obscenely from Poppy’s grave. He panted, unable to fight it any longer.

  He stared at the poppy, darted a look over his shoulder at the edge of the dirt road that began at his property line. Of course he was alone. He really shouldn’t stay, he’d been here far too long as it was. They were looking for him. He should leave, go to one of the hiding spots he’d picked out, and wait until morning to risk coming back. But the poppy was so gorgeous, reminding him of every delicious detail of the day.

  Licking his lips, he walked back to the edge of the mound and wrenched his dirty jeans open. He moaned in near agony as he curled his callused, bleeding hand around himself and began to stroke.

  She’d had such spirit. Her naked body lying there glowing in the afternoon sun was something he would never forget. The way she’d fought him had been magnificent. And her screams. Oh, God, her screams…

  He stopped breathing, opened his mouth in a silent scream as ecstasy punched through him, so intense his knees almost buckled.

  Gasping for breath as the pulses faded, he opened his eyes and focused on the poppy once more.

  She was by far and away the most gorgeous specimen in his garden. And inside him…

  Quiet.

  Peace.

  Tears gathered in his eyes, stinging like acid. Thank you, he told her silently, almost sorry that her suffering had just begun.

  Finally the monster inside him had been satisfied.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “Noah, help me!”

  Noah woke in a rush with Poppy’s desperate scream ringing in his head, wincing as muscles in the side of his neck protested. He blinked, glancing around. His office. He’d fallen asleep on the tiny couch in the corner a little after midnight.

  All the devastating events from yesterday came back to him in a rush.

  What time was it? He jumped up and grabbed his phone from the corner of his desk where he’d left it a couple hours ago. He hadn’t wanted to go home so he’d stayed and worked until he’d been forced to sleep.

  Little after five-thirty in the morning. He hadn’t answered any of the texts from his sister, Jase or Beckett and didn’t plan to for a while yet. He didn’t want to talk to anyone until he found Poppy.

  He hurried from his office, a dull, heavy sensation filled his chest as he thought of her and what she’d gone through yesterday. Might still be going through. Or, maybe…she was dead by now.

  Thinking of that sweet, hopeful and surprisingly resilient spirit being snuffed out from the world in the prime of her life made him feel sick inside. She’d come here to Crimson Point for a fresh start. She’d worked hard to make something of herself, and had begun to integrate herself into the fabric of the community. She’d made friends.

  She’d captured Noah’s heart.

  He passed the handful of people in the station without a word, grappling to contain the pain. Paul Langford had been working in and around Crimson Point for a long damn time. Not once had he raised suspicion or done anything that had raised a red flag. Hell, Noah had seen him hundreds of times around town, dozens of those over the backyard fence. How the fuck had a monster like that been among them all this time, and no one had ever seen him for what he truly was?

  He shoved the release bar on the door, only to come up short to find his sister standing on the steps with Molly. “Hey.”

  “Hi. You slept here last night?” Sierra asked, rushing up to engulf him in a hug, a bag in one hand.

  He didn’t want to talk, or delay here a second more. He wanted to get over to where the Feds had set up their command post. No one had called him overnight but maybe they’d found a thread or two to pull on. “Yeah. Had to keep digging in our system.”

  “You haven’t heard anything more?” Molly asked with a worried frown. She handed him a coffee.

  “No.” He accepted it and exhaled. “Where’d you get these?” It was early. Nothing in Crimson Point was open yet.

  “Whale’s Tale stayed open all night,” she told him. “People came in and organized a group of volunteers to take shifts overnight to keep the FBI agents and the other first responders fueled with coffee and food.”

  Noah’s throat tightened. God, he loved this town and the people who lived here.

  “Everyone’s worried about Poppy,” Sierra added. “They want to help any way they can.” She held out the white paper bag. “I grabbed you some turnovers before they were all gone.”

  “Thanks.” He didn’t feel like eating, he wanted to be on the road already. He also felt like he deserved to go hungry, deserved to be punished for his failure in being able to protect Poppy. She’d given herself to him, opened herself up to him in a way she had never done with anyone else, and he’d fucking failed her.

  Sierra’s eyes were worried. “We won’t keep you. Just wanted to make sure you ate something.”

  He nodded, bit into the pastry to placate her. The cherry filling hit his tongue, sweet and tart, bringing with it the memory of the pie Poppy had made him. The way it had tasted on her lips.

  Fuck.

  He put it back in the bag, the bite he’d swallowed threatening to come right back up, and clenched his jaw.

  Sierra made a sympathetic sound and put a comforting hand on his back. He tensed but resisted the urge to shrug her off. “I’m so sorry, Noah. I wish there was something I could do to help.” She rubbed gently. “She means a lot to you, huh.”

  He nodded once, jaw tight as he stared at the steps. Fuck, he would give anything, including his own life, to save Poppy.

  “Is there an area that hasn’t been searched yet?” Molly asked. “Sierra and I can get a group together and organize it.”

  “At this point we don’t even know where to look.”

  Molly gave him a sympathetic smile. “You love her, don’t you?” she murmured.

  “Yeah. And I can’t handle the thought that I’ve lost her,” he managed through the suffocating pressure in his windpipe.

  “Don’t give up,” Sierra said fiercely, hugging him tight. “Don’t you dare give up.”

  “I won’t give up.” He was a fighter, and he couldn’t give up hope. Hope and love were the only things keeping him going. “Thanks for this, but I gotta go,” he said. “I’ll call you if I hear anything.”

  The parking lot was almost empty. On his way to the command center he called to check in with the two deputies on shift, then contacted Agent Silvestri. “Anything develop overnight?” The sky outside was turning from pink to peach and gold, the mournful cries of the gulls carrying on the air as they rode the breeze over the beach.

  “We’ve covered the search area. Found nothing.”

  Noah set his jaw. Dammit. “I’m heading over to you now.” He’d comb over every damn square inch of the grid personally if that’s what it took to find her. Even if he was too late to save her, he was still going to find her and bring her back home here to Crimson Point. This was where she belonged. It was the least he could do for her now.

  “I’ll meet you there. Ten minutes?”

  “Ten minutes.�
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  His mind was in a fog as he drove to the meeting point. When he got there, Silvestri strode over, and something about his expression made Noah’s heart pound. “There’s another property,” the Fed said.

  Noah’s body went taut. “What?”

  “He’s got a second property listed under a different name. The only reason we missed it on the first sweep was he’d listed it under his mother’s maiden name.”

  “Where is it?” he snapped out, heading for his cruiser with Silvestri right beside him. He couldn’t believe this bullshit. They should have found it yesterday during the database search. He should have found it. God dammit.

  “Eight miles northeast of here. Rural property, undeveloped. They’re looking at aerial photos now.”

  Son of a bitch. Is that where the bastard had taken Poppy? “How did you find it?”

  “His birth certificate gives a different surname. He changed it to Langford years ago.”

  Noah jumped behind the wheel and took off, lights and sirens on. Fuck, if they’d only put the pieces together sooner.

  He raced through the quiet streets toward the highway that would take them toward Langford’s property, fear and hope twining in his gut.

  I’m coming for you, Poppy. No matter what, I’m bringing you back home.

  ****

  Cold. So cold.

  Another shudder rolled through Poppy’s exhausted, aching muscles. She’d long since stopped trying to control them.

  Everything hurt. Her bones. Her skin, especially her bloodied fingers, and the entire back of her from the pressure of lying trapped in this position without being able to even turn over.

  She didn’t know how long she’d been trapped in here but the sky had begun to lighten a little while ago. She’d slept in fitful snatches through the long, cold night. The terror of being trapped kept coming back in waves. She’d done everything she could think of to mitigate it, but the ordeal had already taken its toll on her mentally.

  Her mouth and throat were parched. She was hungry. Through the night in between bouts of terror, fury and disbelief, she had stared up at the stars twinkling in the black velvet sky above and begun to wonder how this would end.

  The pipe was literally her lifeline. It supplied her with oxygen and allowed her a small window into the world above her.

  A blessing and also a form of torture.

  As long as she could breathe, she had a few more days. She’d read somewhere that with no water, the human body could continue to function for around one hundred hours when at a normal temperature. Down here, it was cold. If he didn’t give her water through the pipe or send food down it, she was doomed to die of dehydration.

  Birdsong broke the terrible silence of her subterranean world. The sweet, soothing sound brought more tears to her eyes.

  She couldn’t accept this. Something inside her refused to accept that this was how it would end. But she didn’t know how much longer she could endure this without mentally checking out.

  The overnight hours had blurred together in a hellish nightmare she had no hope of escaping from. Sometimes the grief and fear all but choked her, commanding her entire body to fight, scream, claw.

  She was too far below ground to have a prayer of digging out of here, even if she could get through the wooden lid. If she wanted any chance of surviving, she had to conserve her strength.

  People knew she was missing. Noah knew. He would be searching for her. Her only hope now was that she lived long enough for him to find her.

  To keep herself sane throughout the cold, agonizingly long night, she’d clung to the memory of him. She had thought of her mother and grandparents, too, about how she was glad they were no longer here so they wouldn’t have to go through the pain of learning what had happened to her. She’d also thought about Sierra and Molly, and Beckett and Jase.

  But when the panic and grief became unbearable, when it felt as though she would suffocate beneath the weight of her suffering and fear, she’d closed her eyes and concentrated on her memories of Noah.

  His face. His beautiful smile. The way he’d looked that night on the beach when they’d eaten her pie and shared their first kiss. His warm, strong arms around her, and the heat and tenderness in his deep blue eyes.

  She wished she hadn’t pushed him away then. Wished she had found the courage to open her heart to him that night instead and not waste a single moment of the time they could have had together. When she recalled the way he’d made love to her, as though she was the most precious and beautiful thing in the world to him…

  The memory had made her cry.

  “Noah,” she whispered, the crushing weight of despair pressing down on her. He was out there right now, searching for her, she was certain of it. But if he didn’t find her soon, a quick death was preferable to slowly dying of thirst and hunger.

  She jolted at the sound of a lawnmower starting up overhead. Peering up through the pipe, she stared at the circle of lightening sky.

  Paul. He was back.

  It had to be him. This property was secluded, tucked well away from any roads or homes. No one else would come here to mow the grass at this time of the morning.

  She shut her eyes as a shudder of revulsion sped through her. He was cutting the fucking grass, knowing full well she was still alive and could hear him moving overhead. Taunting her with her imprisonment and helplessness, his power over her even now. Sick bastard, she hoped he rotted in hell.

  Her sore, bloody hands curled into fists as white-hot rage surged through her.

  For a moment she imagined what she would do if she could just dig her way free. She imagined him cutting the lawn as she dug her way out, oblivious to her actions. She would claw her way free and emerge from the earth he’d buried her in.

  Then she would yank her breathing pipe free from its hole and slam it into his skull with every last ounce of strength left in her body. She would do it over and over, wouldn’t stop until she’d caved his head in, and then she would leave his bleeding corpse on the freshly cut grass he’d just tended.

  The image was so vivid, so powerful, her heart rate jacked up. Her quick, shallow breathing filled the cold air around her, her whole body burning with the need for revenge.

  Then, like a guttered candle, the flame of anger and resolve flickered and went out. Leaving nothing behind but ash.

  Overhead, the lawnmower continued to drone in the background. It went on for countless minutes while she blocked it out and attempted to retreat somewhere else in her mind, refusing to give him the satisfaction of torturing her further.

  The mower stopped. Then she heard it.

  That terrible, familiar voice that kept haunting her traumatized mind. Close by.

  “I’m back, Poppy. Did you sleep well?”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “I slept great, best sleep I’ve had in months.” Paul couldn’t wipe the smile off his face as he stood near Poppy’s grave. He felt fantastic. After leaving last night he’d gone to a hideout he’d picked out previously in the woods, a tiny hunting cabin. He’d slept the entire night through and woken refreshed and rejuvenated.

  The monster was still silent. He was free.

  Poppy didn’t answer.

  A twinge of guilt hit him as he stared at his newest flowerbed but he blocked it. She was still trapped down there, fully aware of what was going on. She could hear and understand him perfectly. He didn’t want to feel sorry for her.

  The only way to silence the beast in his head was to sacrifice her. Her suffering would be over in a few more days anyway, and besides, she was beautiful like the others. Women like her always thought too highly of themselves, saw him as not good enough. It was why he’d chosen his specific flowers and picked them at the height of their beauty. Except for his mother.

  He should have planted a skunk cabbage on her grave instead of a rose.

  “I can’t stay long,” he told Poppy, admiring the view of his garden.

  This time of day was magical.
Soft and peaceful, most everyone else still asleep. The perfect time to savor his accomplishment.

  “They’re looking for me. It was all over the news last night.” The FBI as well as the cops. They’d found his van, but that didn’t worry him. Even if they managed to connect the dots and find his garden, he would be long gone by the time they arrived.

  He tugged off his gardening gloves to inspect his hands. The sores and open blisters were a bright, angry red along his palms and the base of his fingers. He’d taken off the bandages last night and applied antibiotic ointment instead. It would take a week at least for them to heal up. “I’m just here to tidy everything up before I go. I’ll come back to visit you, but not for a while. You’ll be gone by then.”

  Still no answer.

  He frowned, growing irritated as he stared at the gently mounded flowerbed and the pipe sticking out of it. “Say something. I know you can hear me.”

  Nothing.

  Why wasn’t she saying something? Or at least crying? All the others had yelled and begged and cried when he’d come to visit them the day after he’d planted them.

  The rise in annoyance threatened to wake the sleeping beast. He couldn’t allow it. Had to be satisfied with what he’d done, and what she’d already given him.

  Refusing to allow her to ruin everything, he inhaled slowly, let it out even slower. “Won’t be long now.” He looked up at the sky. A few fluffy cumulus clouds dotted the field of clear blue. “Rain’s done for at least another week. You’ll be gone in another three or four days, tops.” He put the gloves back on. “There are worse ways to go. Basically you’ll just start to hallucinate and then fall asleep.”

  Still nothing from the mouth of the pipe.

  He shook his head. “I gotta hand it to you, you’re a tough one.” Way tougher than any of the others. They’d all screamed and cried. The beast had needed that then. Maybe it was silent now because of Poppy’s strength. Maybe that’s what it had needed all along. “Well, Poppy, it’s been a pleasure. I—”