Secrets

By Cin Medley

Nash Houston hates secrets, but his life is surrounded by them. Losing everything to the best-kept secret. He is left devastated and broke, with nothing but his car and the lake house his parents left him when they died. Retreating from society to the one place he felt safe. Forced to see himself as the true man he has become, he vows to become the man his mother wanted him to be. He finds it to be the hardest thing he has ever accomplished.Emma Wilson aka Katie Summers has a mountain of secrets. Her secrets, however, are deadly, not only for her but for anyone who gets close to her. Hidden away for most of her life, she keeps a low profile, until her neighbor moves in. Fighting her natural instinct to stay away from him, she seems to be drawn to his familiarity.Nash and Emma discover a secret that explodes and has the potential to end more lives than their own. Join them on their journey to uncover the secrets, and discover a truth that takes them both by surprise.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cin Medley
• Release date: Oct 31, 2018
• ISBN: 9780998974859

Book preview

Chapter One

Nash

Secrets Nash said softly to himself. I hate fucking secrets. He stood, unable to sit still as he stared at his lawyers. So, what you are saying is that it’s all gone? Every fucking thing I own is gone?

I’m sorry, Mr. Houston, but yes, one lawyer said.

Explain to me how I got on a plane in Paris yesterday owning a Fortune 500 company, and this morning, after walking off the plane, I’m broke. I no longer own my company. He gripped the back of his chair.

Sir, lawyer two began, your financial advisor and Miss Derby have taken everything. Mr. Years put everything in an untraceable account, and Miss Derby took the rest while you were away. There is nothing left.

Thank you. Gentleman, please excuse me. He gestured for them to leave, his hand gripping the back of his chair to the point of pain. Watching while they gathered their papers, he was just barely hanging on to his temper. As the lawyers walked out, he felt blind fury building within him.

His life was gone. It was over. The betrayal he felt was so overwhelming that he struggled to breathe. His body wouldn’t move, his brain frozen and stuck on the words lawyer one said. "Took everything…untraceable account…cleaned you out. I’m sorry." Slowly, he turned and looked out the window at the skyline, the sun slowly moving down the horizon into the lake. He couldn’t help but wonder if this was why people threw themselves out of high-rises.

He took a few deep breaths, the feeling in his body slowly returning, and looked around the room. Nothing here belonged to him any longer. Just a few personal things on his desk, and the painting he picked up at an art festival one weekend while he was at the lake house. Shaking his head, he moved toward the painting at a pace a turtle would laugh at. It was strange, this dream-like state of being he felt as his hands lifted the artwork from the wall. Is this what it feels like to have a stroke?

The devastation, the reality that his billion-dollar empire was gone, left him in suspended animation. Standing in the doorway, he looked back at the room where he’d spent the majority of his days. The realization that it was no longer his hit him hard. His eyes closed slowly as a tear escaped and slipped down his cheek. Wiping it off, he turned and walked out. The office was nearly empty. None of these people working for him knew what had happened here today, but they would all know by morning. Shaking his head, he knew he couldn’t be the one to tell them that they would probably be unemployed soon.

When the elevator doors opened in the garage, he made his way to the waiting car. After sliding the painting into the back seat, he flopped wearily beside it. Take me home please, he mumbled to his driver.

Pulling up to the building where he lived was surreal. She should have been there waiting for him. Ali Derby, the woman who literally fucked him, both in the bedroom and in life. Three years they’d spent together. He wondered if she’d cleared out his safe as well. The ring he bought her from Tiffany’s was in there. He had planned a beautiful weekend at the lake house she loved so much, tucked away on a deserted area of the upper part of Lake Michigan. He planned on asking her to marry him, to share his life with him, and now she was gone, taking everything from him. Including his heart. Nash breathed in; it burned to swallow the reality.

The doorman greeted him with a nod, swinging open the door to the building. Good evening, Mr. Houston.

Good evening, Mac. Nash forced a smile. Humility was not something he did very well.

Approaching the door to his home, he paused. He wasn’t sure he could do this, unsure he could walk through the doors knowing she wasn’t inside. Fear gripped his heart, a feeling he had never known before. Turning the key and pushing the door open, he left his bag and the painting sitting just inside the hallway.

Walking into the palatial apartment, Nash felt the cold, dark expanse of the living room. His footsteps echoed off the empty walls. His hand reached for the switch as the door closed behind him, lighting the room. The walls were void of the works of art that hung there a week ago when he left for Paris.

Nash’s heart slammed in his chest. It pounded in his ears, the reality of what happened hitting him like a ton of bricks. It really is the truth. Everything is gone. She took it all. Everything he owned, everything that made him the man he was. The power, the prestige, the name, the clout, the money, his life, his inheritance. Everything.

He felt sick as he made his way through the apartment to the bedroom until he reached the closet. Her side was empty. He expected that though. Spinning, he went to the office, opening the safe to find only one thing remaining. The ring he bought her, sitting in the empty space, the box gaping open. She took it all: stocks, cash, the deeds to every property he owned except for the beach house. The titles to all his cars except the Corvette. All gone.

Moving to the desk, Nash turned on the computer, logging into their joint bank account. The balance read $0.00. Fuck, he yelled, shoving the computer to the floor and punching the top of the desk. Pulling his phone from his pocket, he dialed her number.

I’m sorry but the number you have dialed has been disconnected. Please try your call again.

Before he realized what he had done, the phone was flying across the room, slamming into the wall, breaking into pieces. Fuck!

Nash had never in his life experienced this kind of rage, even when his parents were killed in a plane crash off the coast of Italy. A blanket of dread covered him, along with the rage and emptiness. There was nothing he could do. There was nothing left. Pushing away from his desk, he knew he couldn’t stay here in this apartment. The memories were too much for him. Taking the titles to his car and beach house and the bitch’s ring, he returned to the bedroom. He fought with himself not to set the place on fire, chuckling. He couldn’t afford to repair anything; hell, he couldn’t afford to stay in a fucking hotel. Reaching in his pocket, he pulled out his money clip. He had three thousand dollars. Overnight, he went from having well over a billion dollars to being in possession of a measly three thousand.

Nash had never really wanted for anything; his father was a very successful businessman. He grew up in a huge mansion and later went to Princeton. Never did he worry about how much something cost. At that moment, Nash Houston was a very vulnerable man. Gutted, torn to shreds by the woman he loved, by the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. Sitting on the bench at the foot of his bed, leaning his arms on his thighs, he popped open the box holding the ring. Fucking bitch, he whispered. Snapping the lid shut, he threw it across the room.

He wasn’t a drinker, but this warranted a drink or two. In the living room, he grabbed the decanter of scotch and a glass and walked out onto the balcony. Plopping his ass down, he poured a drink and proceeded to get drunk.

The sound of voices woke him. What the fuck? Who is here? He got up and wandered into the apartment.

Excuse me, I didn’t realize anyone was here. Can I help you? a woman said to him as she disconnected the call she was on.

Chuckling, he said, I live here. Who the hell are you?

I’m sorry, but I just purchased this property for a client of mine. I was told it was vacant.

Again, who the hell are you?

My name is Elizabeth Adler. Who are you?

Nash Houston, the owner of this place. Now, could you please get the hell out of my house, Miss Adler? He was getting pissed.

I have the bill of sale right here. My client owns this place. I’m sorry, Mr. Houston, but the sale went through this morning. She handed over a piece of paper. The title transfers this afternoon. You are trespassing, she snapped at him.

Nash grabbed the paper out of her hand, scanning it. Sure enough, it was a bill of sale. This is bullshit. That is not my signature. I’m sorry, Miss Adler, but you’ve been scammed. I did not sign this paper or the title. I’m not going anywhere, but you are. He walked to the phone on the wall to call security. Yeah, John, can you send security up here? There’s some woman claiming she bought my apartment. She refuses to leave.

I’ll send them right up.

Thanks. Nash hung up and turned to look at the woman. I’m not going anywhere, and I’ll have my key back. He put his hand out.

Mr. Houston, my client paid five million for this place.

Nash cut her off. Well, he paid too much, because it wasn’t, nor is it, for sale. Now, please, give me my key and get the hell out of my house.

She went to speak, but someone knocking on the door stopped her.

Nash let security in. Thanks, guys. Get her out of here, and don’t let her back in the building.

Of course, Mr. Houston.

As they escorted her out, she turned as Nash went to shut the door. This isn’t over.

As far as I’m concerned, it is. Have a good day, Miss Adler.

What the fuck? He thought as he headed to the shower. How could people just fucking accept someone’s word that they were who they said they were, especially when selling property? This was fucking Ali and Years.

After a long, hot shower, Nash called to have the locks changed. Three hundred dollars later, he headed to the Apple store to get a new phone, but when he gave the guy his credit card, it was rejected. Card after card was rejected. Finally, he gave up and paid cash for it.

Fuck, he mumbled as he waved down a cab. By the time he got home, he was down fifteen hundred dollars. Nash didn’t waste any time; he headed to the balcony to drink. He was broke, and the sooner he accepted it, the better off he would be. But who the hell wanted to accept something like that? He poured another drink, and another, and another, until he passed out, the tumbler falling to the patio floor. For Nash Houston, life as he knew it, lived it, loved it, was over.

Lying in the chaise lounge, he felt like he was getting wet. His eyes slowly opened. Fuck, he moaned, his head pounding. It was raining, storming actually, and he was soaked. Groaning, he pulled himself up, grabbing the nearly empty decanter of scotch. He dashed inside, but as soon as his feet hit the hardwood, he slipped. Slamming his head against the floor, he knocked himself out.

Hours passed before Nash came to, opening his eyes, his vision blurry, he lifted a hand to his head. The pounding got worse. What the fuck, he moaned. As he rolled over, a piece of broken crystal sunk into his arm. Fuck! Sitting up, he looked at his arm where a huge shard of crystal stuck in it. He slowly pulled it out, dropping it onto the floor. There was blood everywhere. Getting up, he went to the bathroom to wash his arm, but when he looked in the mirror, his face stared back, covered in blood.

What the hell. Nash felt his head, wincing as his fingers brushed the gash at the back of his scalp. Shaking his head, he stripped and jumped in the shower. The minute the water hit his head, the shower floor was covered in red from the blood. When he got out, he wrapped his arm in a towel and got dressed the best he could. He knew he needed stitches and to have his head checked out, so he grabbed a cab and headed to the emergency room. A friend of his was the Chief of Surgery at Loyola, so he headed there.

Can I help you? the nurse at the desk asked him as he headed to his friend’s office.

I’m looking for Mark Alexander. He smiled at her.

I’m sorry, but Dr. Alexander is with a patient. Can I ask who you are?

Nash Houston. Would you please let him know that I am here to see him?

Just as he finished talking, he heard, Nash? Turning around, he saw Mark walking toward the receptionist desk. What the hell happened to you?

Yeah, you don’t want to know. Can you check me out?

Sure, come on back. Mark turned to the nurse, giving her a grin. Hold my appointments for about an hour.

Of course, Dr. Alexander.

Come on. Mark motioned for Nash to follow him. How have you been? It’s been a while.

Nash just shook his head. You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.

Try me. Mark pushed open a door, gesturing for Nash to enter ahead of him. Here, get up on the table and let me have a look at you. Nash did as directed and watched as Mark unwrapped his arm. Jesus, what the hell happened?

You haven’t seen anything yet. He leaned his head down so Mark could see the damage there as well.

What the fuck? Were you in a fight?

Nash’s laugh was bitter. Yeah, with the floor and my scotch decanter. He gave Mark an abbreviated version of how his injuries happened.

Well, both of these cuts need stitches. What the hell, Nash. You don’t drink like that.

Yeah, well, my life kind of blew up. I’m not sure what I’m going to do. I’m thinking I’ll take a break and go stay up at the lake house for a while.

What’s going on? I thought you were going to propose to Ali. How is she anyway?

Nash ground his teeth She is fucking fantastic.

Mark studied him. Nash, what’s going on?

Nothing worth giving voice to.

Mark didn’t say much more as he stitched Nash up. Listen, be careful when you shower. Try not to get them wet for a few days. After that, you should be fine. Just be careful. You got three in your head and four in your arm, and I’ll need you to come back and see me in a week or two. Here. He handed Nash a piece of paper. Antibiotics, just in case. Don’t drink when you take them.

Thanks, man, how much do I owe you?

Don’t worry about it. I’ll bill you.

Shaking his head, Nash said, No, man, let me pay you. How much.

Listen, we’ve been friends for a long time. What’s going on? Mark asked again, putting supplies away and waiting for Nash to open up.

Nash shuddered. He was destroyed, too embarrassed to tell his friend he was flat ass broke. Nothing, really. Hey, since I’ll be up at the lake house, when you get a few days off, why don’t you come on up?

Yeah, I’ll do that. And listen, if you don’t come back here, go see a doctor to get those stitches out.

Will do. Nash stood, shaking hands with Mark. Thanks, man.

Once home, he cleaned up the mess he’d made and headed to the bedroom. He had to get out of here. Grabbing a bag from the closet, he packed his clothes, taking one suit and leaving the rest. He knew he wouldn’t need them, not where he was going. If he stayed in that apartment, he was going to drink himself to death.

With three suitcases packed, he picked up the rest of his things, along with the painting, and left. But, before leaving town, he stopped by the jewelry store to sell the ring. He needed money. When he finished, he headed to the lake house.

He'd been to the cottage a few times with Ali but not enough to taint the place. His family memories meant more to him than the ones he made there with her. On his way up, he called the caretaker and asked if she would stock the place with food. He knew he didn’t want to go anywhere for a few days. He asked her to leave him a bill for her services and informed her that he was moving up there and wouldn’t need her anymore.

The drive was hours long, which left him alone in his own head. When he looked at the big picture, he could do nothing but shake his head. How had he not seen this coming? Trust, that’s how. He trusted fucking Alex Years. The man had been his accountant for as long as he could remember. But fucking Ali? How the hell did she pull this off? Was it her plan all along? The questions were never-ending.

Miles passed in a blur, the hours flying nearly as fast as Nash drove. When he finally pulled up to the house, he opened the garage and pulled his car into its spot. He didn’t bother with the luggage or his belongings. He just went in, stripping along the way, until he fell naked on the bed. He was out like a light in no time.

Chapter Two

Emma Wilson

Ten years. For ten years, she’d lived in the small cottage on the lake with her secret. The secret that would ultimately end her life if it was ever known. If she was ever found. It took a long time to become Katie Summers. She had slipped a few times and told people her name was Emma. Thank God, no one ever remembered her. She made sure she was invisible. But her handler, David Ellis, was true to his word that he would hide her and keep her safe. The small town where he planted her was definitely a place no one would look for her. A few years ago, she finally got a bit brave, not so much brave but desperate. Being hidden was not easy, especially when you were basically given an allowance. Mr. Ellis paid her bills personally and sent a small amount of money for her to buy food and clothing each month, but he didn’t want her to be on any records anywhere within the agency. The hardest part was not leaving but changing her name. She still referred to herself as Emma Wilson, and since she had no one to talk to, it had taken years to get used to the name Katie Summers.

She had no choice. Well, she had a choice, but with that choice came the very real possibility she would end up with her parents. She had walked away from her life of privilege, taking nothing but the clothes on her back, and it was the right thing to do. It was the only thing to do. At the tender age of sixteen, she watched as both of her parents were murdered, and in a closed courtroom, under the guise of a brilliant makeup artist supplied by the feds, she testified against the three men responsible. None of them had known she was