126 Secret Ln: A Cherry Falls Romance

by Ella Goode

  126 Secret Ln

  A Cherry Falls Romance

  Ella Goode

  Contents

  Summary

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Epilogue

  Also by Ella Goode

  Connect with me!

  My parents named me Glory but I’m having a hard time living up to that name. As a reporter, I long for a meaty, fascinating story to splash across the front page of the Cherry Hills Gazette. Sadly, I’ve been reduced to writing dating tips and recipes. I know there are stories here but I haven’t discovered them yet...unless...there’s this mysterious guy who bought the big house on Secret Lane. He never eats in our restaurants or shops in our grocery store or even drinks in the pub. I think he may be my story—my big break. Hope he doesn’t mind a little stalking.

  Secret Lane guy here. Stalk away. I can’t wait to lure you into my new home. A word of advice, though, once I’ve got you, I plan to keep you.

  Chapter One

  Corby

  It's 6:35 on a Thursday, which means that Mark Toscati should be going to the Virgin Street Diner to order his standard double cheeseburger with mashed potatoes and extra gravy. The extra gravy is not for dipping. The gravy and the potatoes are for his dog Mavis. Mavis is one of those big poodle mixes. I don't blame Mark for treating his dog special. She's smarter than most people I've met. If I had a Mavis, I'd feed her smothered mashed potatoes too.

  But Mark does not go toward the diner. Instead, his ten-year-old Toyota Camry backs out of his drive and heads toward Kissme Bay.

  That's odd. A tingle flickers in my fingertips. Humans are creatures of habit, and if they have a routine, they are loath to deviate from that routine. They can't help it. If they do something other than their ordinary schedule, they're going to feel off all day. It's just the way that we are wired. It would take something unusual, something important to get Mark to ignore his dog and his own instincts.

  I follow Mark’s car as it moves swiftly down Marriage Lane toward the water. As he approaches the beach, he takes a left at Sugar Road and heads down the coast. Abandoned coastlines are perfect places to dump bodies. Excitement crawls up my throat. It looks like Mark is alone, but he has a closed garage, which means someone could've gotten into his car without anyone noticing or he could have placed something in his car secretly. I wouldn't have pegged the forty-year-old accountant as being that clever or sneaky, but I have only been watching him for a couple of weeks.

  Ahead of me, he pulls off the road and parks, leaving his car behind to head down toward the beach. To my disappointment, he does not drag a body bag out of the trunk, nor does he appear to be carrying anything in his hand. It’s a cold night—too chilly for a walk along the beach. The wind is picking up, and even from a distance, I can see Mark’s dark windbreaker flapping in the breeze. He’s not even dressed for the weather.

  I debate whether to follow him or investigate the car. There’s almost no obstructions along this stretch of the coastline, so he’d easily see me, whereas the car is parked slightly behind a small dune. The car it is then.

  Mark’s vehicle is a mess. There are fast food bags and empty wrappers strewn all over the passenger seat. Clothes, shoes, piles of papers fill the back. I hope those are no one’s taxes.

  There could be a body here and no one would know because of the piles of garbage. Actually, that's not a bad idea. I pull the notebook out of my pocket and make a note. The axle would be a problem because of the hump in the back. The body would curve over it and make a noticeable lump. Do electric cars have that axle? I'll need to look into that. The amount of trash in the rear doesn’t seem to be substantial enough to cover a body.

  "What do you think you're doing?"

  I look up to see a woman, a very beautiful, very curvy woman, glowering at me. A camera hangs around her neck. Golden brown hair is piled on top of her head with stray strands blowing across her face. She's dressed in jeans cuffed at the ankle and a tweedy oversized blazer tossed over a cream-colored T-shirt. I haven’t been living in Cherry Falls long enough to recognize everyone despite it being a small town, but I know if I’d seen this woman before I’d never forget her.

  “Well?” she presses.

  The one thing I’ve never liked about people is their nosiness, and yes, it’s ironic of me to say this while I’m inspecting Toscati’s car, but I’m doing research, and this woman is ... I don’t know what she’s doing. Small towns are great for hiding out, but the townspeople are always up in your business if you allow it. From my past experience, the best thing I can do is just ignore them. I’ll get a bad reputation for being a stuck-up asshole, but the sooner people figure out that I’m not going to answer their questions—no matter how inconsequential, like “how was your day and what’s the weather like?”—the sooner they’ll all leave me alone. I go back to inspecting Mark’s backseat.

  “Are you seriously going to ignore me?”

  Her voice is sexy. It’s got a little purr to it that would be nice to listen to right before you drift off to sleep. I wonder what it would take for her to record a special message for me that I could replay on my phone. Something like, “Sleep well, baby, because tomorrow you’re going to write all the words.” That would be even better than sex at this point since I’ve been blocked for over a year.

  I hear a whir and then a click. I jerk up and catch the woman taking a photo. I scowl and reach out.

  “Hey, you can’t do that,” she cries as I grab the camera and whip the strap over her head. She tries to stop me, but my reflexes are better than hers. Quickly, I delete the photo.

  “Don’t take photos of people without their permission,” I growl.

  “Give me my camera back,” she demands.

  I shake my head. “No. I don’t trust you. What’s your address? I’ll put it in the mail.”

  “You will not. Give it to me now.”

  “Do you need some help, Glory?” Mark Toscati has climbed back up the sand to the road and joined us.

  “Yeah, this asshole was about to steal your car.”

  “What the fuck?” Mark puts his hands on his hips and glares at me.

  I throw my head back and sigh. This is exactly why I don’t like interacting with people. Time for me to go.

  Chapter Two

  Glory

  This is one of the few times I hate being small. If only I were a few inches taller I wouldn’t be in my current situation. The one that includes the handsome man who easily holds my camera out of reach. Okay. I might need a whole foot or two added to my height in order to reach it.

  This is not how this was supposed to go. I was trying to fly under the radar. Mark supposedly had a hot story for me. Those are hard to come by in a town like ours where everyone knows your business to begin with.

  I was doing fine until this stranger popped up and began messing everything up. I’ve never seen him around here before, so he must be passing through. The way he was scoping out Mark's car, I’m guessing he was planning to steal it. I’ve lived in Cherry Falls my whole life and know everyone.

  “Give her the damn camera back.” Mark tries to bark at the man, who has now d
ropped his head back to look up at the sky in clear frustration.

  He’s the one bothering us and snooping around cars. So I’m not sure why he’s the one that’s frustrated. I take a moment to look at him. He has on jeans, designer boots, and an expensive jacket. All which fit him perfectly and add to his appeal.

  He’s clean cut and more handsome than any man I’ve ever seen before. I’m quickly starting to think he’s not a thief at all. He’s too put together. The man drops his head back down, leveling Mark with a stare that would have any man shaking in their boots. Mark tries to stand up taller, but the man is a giant. I step in front of Mark, not wanting him to get himself hurt. The man is big, but I don’t think he’s threatening. I may be small, but I don’t let anyone push me around. So if he thinks he’s going to, he’s got another thing coming.

  “Give the camera back.” I hold my hand out. “Or I’ll call Sheriff Larson.” I reach with my other hand for my phone, pulling it out of my pocket. The last thing I want to do is call Larson. He and I don’t always see eye to eye, and I don’t mean because he towers over me like the rest of the population.

  Larson thinks I’m always looking for trouble. He’s right, but it’s not against the law or anything, so I don’t see the problem. If anything, I’m just trying to keep the man busy. Mr. Handsome plucks my phone out of my hand right as I was beginning to dial. This guy is something else. First my camera and now this.

  “No police,” Mark mumbles from behind me. I glance over my shoulder at him. He shifts on his feet. He really must have a story for me. It must be really big based on the way he’s freaking out.

  Could he be crunching numbers for the mob? I didn't know there was a mob in Cherry Falls, but maybe it’s new in town. That seems a little crazy even to me, but I’ll take whatever I can get at this point. It can be hard to come up with news in Cherry Falls. I’m sure the residents here are happy about that, but for a small town reporter it is Snoozeville.

  His eyes bounce between Mark and me. “Why are you two out here?” he asks, still not giving me my stuff back.

  “I’m the one asking the questions here.” I tilt my chin up, trying to sound forceful.

  “And I’m the one with your phone and camera,” he points out.

  “Okay, there is no story!” Mark blurts out. “It was the only way I thought I could get a date with—”

  “What!” I squeak, jumping away from Mark. “You’re twice my age!” Not twice, but pretty dang close. The handsome man grabs me by the elbow, pulling me a few more feet away from Mark.

  “You can't trick women into meeting you out at the beach at dark. Unless…” He trails off.

  “You intend to kill them,” I finish for him. “I’m looking for a story. I don’t want to be a story,” I mumble.

  “You said you liked long walks on the beach,” Mark blurts out. He’s now looking at me like I’m the crazy one. “And that age doesn't matter.” I have no idea what he’s talking about. He must realize this by the look on my face. “Tips and Tricks to Landing a Hometown Girl.” I groan as Mark says the name of an article I wrote a few months ago. It was not my best piece.

  Sometimes I have to come up with fluff to fill the paper. Little did I know that it would come back to bite me in the butt. I’m not even mad at Mark at this point. I’m more upset that once again there is no story for me to dig into.

  What’s the point of being a reporter if there’s never anything to report? I’m starting to think I might never be able to have a career here in town. Which blows because I do love Cherry Falls.

  “Go home, Mark. And don’t do anything creepy like this ever again, or I’ll call Sheriff Larson for real next time. Get a dating app like everyone else.” I sigh, disappointed in how this night has turned out. I get it. The dating pool in Cherry Falls is slim pickins, it feels like. You can't date anyone that someone else hasn't already dated.

  “I’m not leaving you here with him.” Mark's eyes flick back over to the giant who is still holding all of my belongings.

  “I can handle it.” I shift to face the man again. He might not have been trying to steal Mark’s car, but he was up to something. I want to know what that something is. He might just be my next story.

  Chapter Three

  Corby

  "Long walks on the beach?" I arch an eyebrow. The woman in front of me looks like she's a city girl with her camera, her electric Leaf car, her new cellphone.

  She blushes lightly and clears her throat. "I guess you didn't read my article on dating."

  Things start clicking into place. Camera. Nosy. Article on dating. She must write for a magazine. My eyes fall to the tips of her ink-stained fingers. Scratch that. A newspaper.

  I'm charmed. Newspapers are relics from the dinosaur age. "The Cherry Falls Gazette?" I guess.

  Her eyes widen. "How did you know?"

  "I recognized you." It's not wholly a lie. I may not know her name, but I identified the hallmarks of a writer. It's essentially the same thing.

  "I don't recognize you, and I know everyone in this town," she shoots back. The flecks of gold in her hazel eyes are popping. She looks alive and energized, and I want to rip the clip out of her hair, lay her on the ground and dive into her velvet-lined cunt and absorb her energy. I haven’t felt this invigorated since my first book hit the Times.

  "You're welcome to follow me home and make sure I'm not doing anything illegal," I invite. I strive to make my tone as bland as possible so that she's not scared away by my lust. If she could peel back my skull and find out what’s percolating inside my brain, she’d get in her car and run me over—twice.

  "Sure. Let's go," she replies, to my surprise.

  Quickly, I mentally scan my house. It's a mess. I've not unpacked many boxes since I moved in months ago. It's not Mark's backseat level of messy, but it's not clean either. There's only one way that she's going to find my place acceptable.

  "You'll have to wear a blindfold."

  "I have to what?" she squeaks.

  "Blindfold. People aren't allowed to see where I live. It's just one of my rules." I'm making things up on the fly now, and even that feels stimulating. My creativity has been long absent—nothing more than a husk blowing around in the empty landscape of my dead imagination.

  "I am not going to some strange man's house blindfolded, no matter how attractive he is."

  "You think I'm attractive?" I mull that statement over with pleasure. "I find you attractive, too. It seems like we're on the same page."

  This sounds like consent to me. I clasp her wrist and begin dragging her toward my car. She's surprisingly resistant, given that she wants to know everything about me and finds me attractive. You'd think she would be racing to get into my car.

  Before I cut off contact with humans, I had to beat women off with a stick. It got so annoying that I couldn't go to any of the places around my building anymore. The coffee shop I used to write at was filled with women. The barber shop on the corner was booked up for weeks with strangers. Some would disguise themselves as a delivery person or once even an internet repair tech who stripped off her jumpsuit and told me she was ready to repair my modem.

  The real tragedy was that my modem was broken, and I hadn't had access to the internet in two days, so my mood was already in the toilet. I told her to get the fuck out and tossed her into the hallway nude. She had to pound on my door for a good five minutes before I realized I still had her jumpsuit. Apparently I made her stand out in the hallway with nothing to cover herself with but the fake work order she’d mocked up. It wasn't my best moment. Not hers either.

  In any event, this resistance is odd and somewhat confusing. I drop her hand and turn to face her.

  "Thought you wanted to know more about me."

  "That doesn't mean I want to be kidnapped."

  "Under what circumstances is kidnapping acceptable?"

  "Never?"

  "Sounds like you aren't sure." I grin. There are a few times when I think abduction could be fun.
For instance, when I'm writing about it. Second, when I'm carrying off a hot piece of ass to my lair. "Let's test it out." I reach for her again.

  She hops back a couple steps and crosses her arms across her chest. "Don't make me call the police."

  I lean against the hood of my car and mimic her stance. "This is the second time you've threatened me with the law and still no sirens."

  "I'm trying to be kind," she sniffs. Her little nose points into the air. My fingers twitch with the urge to tweak it, but I think that might earn me a slap.

  "Be kind to me in my home."

  "With a blindfold on? No thanks."

  "So you'd be okay without a blindfold? I didn't take you for a lights on kind of girl, but I'm all for it." I'd add a few spotlights, too, so I could see every inch of her in perfect detail.

  "No. I am not an all lights on kind of girl," she gasps.

  "Why not? You're gorgeous. You should definitely feel comfortable with the lights on, but I’m happy to keep them doused for our first round. I’ll be able to map you out better in the dark when I’m forced to rely on my other four senses.” My dormant imagination is kicking into high gear. I haven’t written erotica before, but maybe it’s time for a genre change.

  Her jaw drops. “Are you kidding me? I’m not going back to your place for sex or anything else. Give me my phone and my camera or I will call the police. I’m serious this time.”

  The light’s no longer on in her eyes. It’s not necessarily fear there but something else. Uneasiness? A pang of regret strikes me. I’ve been in places where I didn’t feel wholly comfortable, and that sucks. I drop the teasing and walk over to her car, careful to give her some distance. On her hood, I set the phone and the camera.