Living Lies (Harbored Secrets Book #1) , livre ebook

Baker Publishing Group - Natalie Walters

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180 pages

English

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Description

In the little town of Walton, Georgia, everybody knows your name--but no one knows your secret. At least that's what Lane Kent is counting on when she returns to her hometown with her five-year-old son. Dangerously depressed after the death of her husband, Lane is looking for hope. What she finds instead is a dead body.Lane must work with Walton's newest deputy, Charlie Lynch, to uncover the truth behind the murder. But when that truth hits too close to home, she'll have to decide if saving the life of another is worth the cost of revealing her darkest secret.Debut novelist Natalie Walters pulls you to the edge of your seat on the first page and keeps you there until the last in this riveting story that will have you believing no one is defined by their past.

Sujets

Thriller

Romance

Informations

Publié par	Baker Publishing Group
Date de parution	21 mai 2019
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781493417858
Langue	English
Poids de l'ouvrage	3 Mo

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0432€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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Cover
Half Title Page
Title Page
Copyright Page
© 2019 by Natalie Walters
Published by Revell
a division of Baker Publishing Group
PO Box 6287, Grand Rapids, MI 49516-6287
www.revellbooks.com
Ebook edition created 2019
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.
ISBN 978-1-4934-1785-8
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Contents
Cover
Half Title Page
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Back Ads
Back Cover
Dedication
To my Gigipa, the greatest storyteller I’ll ever know.
To CeCe, you knew this day would come and I wish you were on this side of heaven to celebrate. I miss you, friend.
ONE
JUST LET GO .
The breeze lifted Lane Kent’s auburn hair from the back of her neck. Her heels edged closer to the side of the bridge, sending loose rocks and dust spiraling into the Ogeechee River below. The dilapidated structure had long since rusted and was no longer up to code for vehicle use, but the litter of broken bottles thirty feet below meant its condition hadn’t scared off bored teenagers. Or Lane.
Her fingers strained against the metal railing behind her as she leaned forward. A leaf rushed along with the current, careening through the water with no control over its destination. Like her.
Twenty-eight and a widow. Lane closed her eyes and thought of Noah. It wasn’t fair that she’d stolen his daddy away from him. He deserved better. They both did.
Just let go . Lane fought to regain control over the darkness invading her mind. Noah. She had to live for Noah—even if it was all a lie. Pretending to be alright was part of the deal she had made when she had returned to Walton. But people who were alright didn’t stand at the edge of a bridge wondering if relief waited for them among the jagged rocks.
A throat cleared behind her. “Excuse me, is everything okay?”
Lane’s heart vaulted inside her chest. Her grip slipped, but strong hands clamped on to her wrists, securing her.
“Easy. You don’t want to fall.”
Lane’s eyes met the deep blue ones of the man steadying her. A mountain bike lay on its side next to him. “Uh, you scared me.”
“Did you drop something?”
Lane started to move, but the man’s grip tightened. Pulse pounding, she looked down at his white knuckles and then back up at him. “You can let go.”
A muscle in his jaw popped. His eyes searched her face, and Lane swallowed under the scrutiny. She wriggled her wrists free, swung her leg between the railing, and pulled herself through so she was standing next to him. Think of something, Lane.
Letting a loose strand of hair fall across her face, Lane pretended to adjust her backpack. “Uh, no—”
“So, you just enjoy death-defying gravity tests?”
Lane’s head jerked up. Their eyes met again and though it sounded like he was being humorous, the sentiment wasn’t reflected in his gaze. There she saw—what was it? Concern? Fear? Did he think—
A drop of rain hit Lane’s cheek. Dark storm clouds had rolled in, blanketing the blue sky in darkness. She waved a hand. “I was just getting ready to leave.”
“Are you sure everything’s okay?” His voice was deep, masculine. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“You didn’t. I mean, you did.” She didn’t recognize the man and lots of people used the trails around the Ogeechee, but if he recognized her—knew who her father was—and thought she was going to jump . . . “I really need to go.”
“Ma’am—”
But Lane didn’t wait to hear what the stranger had to say. A crack of thunder echoed in the distance like a warning and Lane headed for the protection of the copse of live oaks guarding one side of the river. It wasn’t the way she had come, but she knew the Coastal Highway ran parallel to the river. If she could get to the highway, she could follow it back to where her car was parked and avoid any further questions. Questions she couldn’t answer.
Wasn’t allowed to answer.
The dense woods grew darker the deeper she went, making the path difficult to see—if she was even on a path. Too dark to tell. Large roots climbed out of the ground and forced her to slow to avoid tripping over them. Humidity thickened the air and Lane’s chest squeezed with each breath. As she passed beneath a low branch, a vile odor washed over her. She jolted to a stop.
What is that? The odorous assault made Lane’s head swim and her stomach rebel. Was it a dead animal? She didn’t want to find out. Forcing herself to breathe through her mouth, Lane searched for a way out of the overgrown brush surrounding her.
Where was she? She pressed forward, guessing the direction of escape. What if she was heading back to the river or deeper into the trees? A noise spooked her and she spun around. Her eyes searched the darkness for the source of the sound. A squirrel? A twig snapped and Lane’s gaze swung to the right. Was the man from the bridge following her? You’re being paranoid.
Rain began to penetrate the canopy of branches overhead and run into rivulets, churning the ground into sticky mud. Lane covered her mouth and nose with both hands and backed up, but something grabbed her foot and pitched her backward onto the ground.
Ouch. She scowled at the tangle of thick roots stretching from the massive tree next to her and adjusted the straps of her backpack, thankful she hadn’t landed on it. Trying hard not to breathe in the toxic air, Lane used the tree to steady herself and free her foot but stopped when her hand landed on—a shoe? Lane froze. It was a tennis shoe. Laces untied. Attached to a foot and then a leg and then a body.
“Aghhhh!”
Blank eyes on a bluish-green face stared up at her. Lane scrambled, digging her fingers into the mud to get away from the body. A swarm of black flies buzzed around her head. Angry. Like she had interrupted their morbid feast. Bile choked Lane’s ability to scream again.
Run. Move.
Lane clawed at the tree next to her, ignoring the way the bark cut into her palms as she yanked herself up. Finding her footing, she backed away from the lifeless body and ran. Branches slapped at her arms and face as fear chased her into the darkness.

The scream stopped Charlie Lynch in his tracks even as his pulse jackhammered in his ears. It came from his left. He dropped his bike and surged forward, ignoring the twigs catching on his skin.
That was distress. It didn’t take six weeks at the police academy or six years as a Marine MP to recognize it. It was her—the woman from the bridge. Charlie had no problem recalling the features of her face, even as she tried to hide it behind a curtain of auburn hair. Green eyes awash with emotion so deep they revealed the answer to his question that she did not answer—what had brought her to the edge of that bridge?
Sad hazel eyes and a lopsided smile flashed in Charlie’s mind. Tate Roberts. How many conversations had he shared with him in Afghanistan? And how many times had Tate stared at death as the only answer until he’d allowed it to swallow him? Was that what he saw in the woman’s gaze? Defeat? The kind that stole life? Or was he jumping to conclusions? Charlie ground his molars and raced in the direction he thought he had heard the scream come from. He had to find her. Make sure she was okay.
He wouldn’t fail. Not this time.
A movement to his left captured his attention and he instinctively reached for the weapon he no longer carried. Biting back a curse, he forced himself to take a breath. This wasn’t a war zone. It was Walton, Georgia, and about as idyllic as a Norman Rockwell painting. And the peaceful charm was exactly why Charlie had chosen the small town to call home. This was not Afghanistan.
Charlie searched the thicket of trees for the source of the movement. Could be an animal. He hadn’t even been in Walton a day before he saw his first alligator sunning near the bike trail. He’d avoided that route this time, which led him to the bridge—to her. From the corner of his eye, a branch swayed, and before he could turn a force slammed into him.

“Aghhhh!” Lane struggled to break free from—it was him. The guy from the bridge. “What are you doing? Let go.”
“Wait.” He looked down at her anxiously. “I heard you scream. What’s wrong? Are you alright?”
“I . . . I . . .” No . Lane swallowed, but the odor still clung to her—the eyes still staring. “I’m going to be sick.”
The man released her arms just in time for her to turn and expel the contents of her stomach.
“Ma’am, what’s wrong?” A warm hand covered the skin on her bare shoulder in a gesture he probably thought was comforting but only made her feel worse as she continued to retch. “How can I help?”
“9-1-1,” she gasped, wiping at her mouth with the back of her hand. “There’s . . . a . . . g-girl.”
“A girl? Where? Is she hurt?”
“D-dead.” Nothing was left in Lane’s stomach, but it didn’t stop her body from purging again. She couldn’t shake the glassy stare of the girl. Young. Too young.
“A dead girl?” Disbelief colored his words as his hand slipped from her back.
Lane fought through the retching long enough to peek up. The man rocked back on his heels and was scanning the area as his gaze darkened. Where was his bike? How did he get here? Why was he here? Pulse pounding in her ears, Lane took a step back. “Were you following me?”
The man’s eyes rounded. His hands flew up in surrender like he kn