The Secrets We Hide: The Four - book 2

by Steele, Becca

My mind tried to make sense of what I was hearing and seeing.

  I didn’t understand.

  What the fuck was going on?

  TWENTY-NINE

  The back of a head, a small bald patch in his greying hair, a phone pressed to his ear. Speaking in low, rapid-fire Russian (I think). One word flew out at me, as loud as if he’d shouted it.

  Ivanov.

  He turned, and I could see his profile, even though I knew who it was without a shadow of a doubt, the moment I saw his back, clad in the same classic black butler’s outfit he wore constantly.

  Allan.

  I remained rooted to the spot, in total shock.

  Allan finished up his call, then switched to speaking in English, his attention going to someone I couldn’t see.

  “They’ll be in touch with details.” His voice softened, as he took a step closer to whoever he was speaking to, and I carefully inched forwards, trying to get close enough so I could peer around the corner but still remain undetected. I could feel my heart pounding, and my palms were damp with sweat. “No need to worry. There’s no sign that anyone suspects anything, and Hyde has already assured us that he will keep up his end of the bargain, in return for his promised share.”

  “I know. I suppose I feel a little apprehensive, what with the end finally in sight. One wrong move, and all my years of careful planning could come to nothing.”

  That was a voice I knew all too well.

  My mother’s.

  Despite everything, though, until that moment, yeah, I knew she was involved in all this, but until I heard her voice, it hadn’t really sunk in, I guess. The only way I could describe it was…you know when someone tells you something, but it takes seeing it for yourself to really hit home?

  I hadn’t realised how fucking much it would hurt.

  Leaning forwards, I saw something that made my jaw literally drop, the way you read about happening but never think it happens to anyone in real life. Well, it happened to me. Right then. Allan was standing very close to her, his hand on her arm, squeezing it in a soothing, almost fatherly gesture, and she leaned into him, looking up at him with a… maybe not a loving expression, but the closest I’d seen to any kind of softness in her face.

  He looked down at her, then turned his face away, barking out a cough into the crook of his elbow. “My apologies.” He cleared his throat. “All will be well.”

  She straightened up, the expression disappearing. “I’m going back to the party. Could you serve another round of drinks to the men?” Then she opened the fridge, muttering, “Where are those blasted olives?” And without wasting another second, I slipped my feet from my high heels, swiped the heels from the floor, and fucking ran.

  I reached the stairwell and skidded into the hollow under the curving staircase, placing my hand against the wall, trying to catch my breath. A minute or two later, my mother tottered past with a jar of olives in hand, followed not long after by Allan carrying a silver tray with various bottles and glasses balanced on top.

  A sense of determination filled me. It was clear to me now that my mother and Allan both had secrets they were hiding, and I was not leaving here without any answers. I darted for the stairs—now was my chance, while I knew for a fact that Allan and my mother were both occupied downstairs.

  Once at the top, I paused for a moment on the landing to shoot a quick text to Caiden. I needed a few minutes to check out Allan’s room, and the last thing I wanted was for the Four to come barging back in the house, rousing suspicion. I knew they’d shout at me afterwards, but realistically, what was going to happen? Everyone else was downstairs, and I was going to be in and out as quickly as possible.

  Me: Be a few more mins. Sorry. Warm the car up for me, it’s a cold night!

  It buzzed almost instantly with a reply.

  Caiden: OK. I can think of a few ways to warm you up…

  Yeah, I bet he could. But as much as I’d like to think about that, I needed to hurry up and check Allan’s room. Which way was it? I tried to picture the layout of the house, and taking a guess that it would be at the opposite end of the house to my mother and Arlo’s bedroom, I headed for the end of the long corridor, peering into rooms as I passed.

  Nothing.

  I reached the last door. This had to be the one. I just had to hope it wasn’t locked. Closing my eyes and reaching out for the handle, I pushed.

  The door slid open smoothly, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Slipping into the room, I carefully closed the door behind me, then took a moment to catch my bearings.

  The room was large, as all the rooms were in this mansion, but much more simply furnished, the walls a plain, creamy colour with no ornamentation. Heavy, navy blue velvet curtains covered the windows, currently open and letting the view of the moonlight reflecting on the sea in through the window. Light was provided by a floor lamp standing in the corner of the room, bathing everything in a soft yellow glow. A large, mahogany bed with a navy bedspread stood at one end of the room, with a small table next to it. A dresser, again in the same mahogany, stood against the opposite wall, with a large wardrobe next to it. On the nearside wall was a bookcase, filled to overflowing with books, trinkets, and papers. A trouser press stood against the foot of the bed, and a large Persian rug covered the floor under my feet. I noticed a door, slightly ajar, which I assumed led into the bathroom as it was in the same position as the door in the bedroom that had been allocated for me here.

  Where should I start? The bookcase was probably a good bet. I riffled through the papers—nothing of interest, mostly old clippings of various sporting events. It looked like Allan was a big football fan, as he’d saved articles on the Premier League going back years. Scanning the books, I noted that he was a fan of the classics—The Count of Monte Cristo, Don Quixote, and War and Peace were all among the hardcover editions weighing down the shelves. I guess I’d been hoping for something obvious, like maybe a book in Russian, or a Russian dictionary. Something to explain how on earth Arlo’s very English butler could speak fluent Russian.

  Of course, nothing could be that simple. No conveniently placed clues for me to find.

  Where else could I look?

  I got down on my hands and knees, checking under the bed, but the only thing I got was a face full of dust. Coughing, I clambered to my feet, casting my gaze around.

  Only a few more places I could check in this room.

  Crossing to the dresser, I eased open the bottom drawer, figuring if anything was likely to be hidden in here, the bottom drawer was the best bet. I carefully moved aside a scratchy woollen blanket, and my fingertips touched something solid.

  Reaching forward, my hand closed around the item, and I lifted it out of the drawer. It was a solid wooden box, slightly smaller than a standard shoebox, with a hinged lid, with intricate carvings running over the lid and around the sides. I quickly pulled my phone out of my bag and snapped photos of the box at all angles, then sat down on the floor, cross-legged, to examine the inside.

  I gently opened the tarnished gold clasp and lifted the lid.

  It was full of letters, most yellowed with age, the ink faded and illegible.

  Lifting the pile of letters out, I was about to unfold the first one, when I saw a glint of metal out of the corner of my eye.

  My stomach churned as I touched the smooth gold sovereign-style ring, picking it up, already knowing what was going to be on it before I’d seen.

  The cloaked man with arms outstretched, one holding what looked like a lightning rod, and the other resting on top of what was either a number eight or an infinity symbol.

  The Strelichevo syndicate crest.

  My heart was pretty much beating out of my chest at this point, and all I wanted to do was get away from this house, to escape to the safety of my boys, but I had to at least check these letters. I quickly snapped a couple of photos of the ring and let it fall back into the box, then returned my attention to the letters.

  I unfolded the first with shaking hands,
the paper crinkling under my fingers.

  Then the next. Then the next.

  All were in Russian.

  I photographed the letters I’d unfolded, anyway, even though the ink was barely legible. There were no envelopes, so I didn’t have a return address to give me any clue. Deciding to look at just one more, conscious that I’d already been here much longer than I’d planned, I opened the next one on the pile, and a photograph fell out, face down.

  Lifting the photo from the floor, I turned it over in my hands and gasped aloud. The little girl in the photo looked so much like me when I’d been a child, that I instantly knew who it was.

  My mother. Maybe around four or five, if I had to guess. What the fuck was Allan doing with my mother’s photo and a box of Russian letters? I snapped another photo, then quickly piled everything back into the box and replaced it back in the drawer.

  I’d just reached the door, when footsteps sounded in the hallway, and a barking cough that I recognised, since I’d only heard it ten minutes earlier.

  Allan.

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

  This was the last room in the corridor, which meant he must be headed straight for me. That, and the fact it was his bedroom. Where could I go? The bed was too low to squeeze my whole body under.

  I was in full-on panic mode by this point, and I darted for the ensuite door, pulling it almost all the way closed behind me, just leaving a tiny crack that I could look through.

  My panicked gaze darted around the darkened bathroom, my breaths shallow, a wave of dizziness assaulting me as I took in the tiny space.

  Fuck.

  There was nowhere to go. The bathroom consisted of a toilet, sink, and a white porcelain roll-top claw-footed bath with a shower attachment on the taps. Nothing else. Nothing to hide behind.

  I was trapped.

  All I could do was watch, with a dawning sense of horror, as the handle turned, and the bedroom door began to open.

  THIRTY

  The window. That was my only option. Okay, I probably (definitely) wasn’t thinking straight, but I couldn’t exactly jump out in front of Allan, waving my hands like I’d appeared after some bloody magic trick.

  Quickly, quietly, I made my way to the sash window, original to the house, which meant wooden frames and single panes of glass. I undid the catch that held it closed, and holding my breath, slid it upwards as carefully as I could. Luck must’ve been on my side, because it moved upwards smoothly and noiselessly. I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised—knowing what I did of my mother, she probably had someone check all the windows on a regular basis to make sure they didn’t creak.

  Back in the bedroom, I heard a soft click as Allan closed the door behind him. I hoped and prayed with everything I had that he wouldn’t come into the bathroom. I eased the window the rest of the way up, enough to create a gap I could slide through.

  I threw my shoes through the opening, aiming for the manicured bushes down below, then without bothering to give myself time to think through this insane idea, swung my body out, gripping tightly to the sill. I scrabbled for a moment, allowing my feet to find purchase on the top of the wooden trellis that ran around the outside of the house, ivy growing over it. My bare toes touched the rough wood through the ivy and I breathed a sigh of relief. The trellis was narrow, but it gave me extra support while I held on to the windowsill with my right hand, my arm thrown across the length of the sill to give me extra support. Holding on with everything I had, I used my left hand to carefully ease the window shut.

  Just as my hand dropped back to the windowsill, the light suddenly flickered on in the bathroom, and a sense of sudden panic hit me like a cricket bat to the head.

  I. Let. Go.

  I was falling, and fall—

  I hit the tall bushes, scrabbling for purchase as my body bounced off the rounded top of the topiary, cut and shaped in a curve. I grabbed a handful of the hedge, managing to somehow stop my momentum, and dropped my body to the floor.

  The cool grass, already damp with dew, was the most welcome relief under my body. My senses were in overdrive, and my flight instinct kicked in, telling me to get as far away as I possibly could, but if there was even a chance Allan was looking out of the window, he’d see me.

  I waited.

  A weird, vibrating sensation came from under my rib, and I shifted, pulling my tiny bag away from my body. I carefully drew out my phone, shielding it with my body, hiding the glow of the screen in case anyone was looking.

  Caiden: Where the fuck are you? I’m coming back.

  Shit.

  Me: I’m outside. Round the back of the house.

  Caiden: WTF?

  Me: Be there in a few. DON’T COME FOR ME.

  Caiden: Fuck that. Coming now.

  Argh! He was so bloody frustrating, sometimes. Time to get out of here, and I just had to hope and pray that Allan didn’t see me. Or anyone, for that matter. If Arlo’s security caught me sneaking around the back of the house, I’d have some serious explaining to do.

  Taking a deep breath, I crept around the side of the house, then ran for the gates, no thought in my head other than to get to the Four and get out of there.

  “Winter!”

  The shout came as I barrelled across the grass, running blindly in my bare feet, my heels left behind somewhere in the bushes.

  Strong arms grabbed me from behind, pulling me back against a large body, and we skidded along the ground, losing our balance on the slippery turf. Then we were falling, and I landed with a thud, my face mashed into the cold, wet grass, unable to speak as the air had been knocked from my lungs.

  Spots danced in front of my eyes as I struggled to take a breath, badly winded.

  “Fuck. I didn’t mean to hurt her!”

  I could’ve sworn that was Zayde’s voice.

  “Let me get to her!”

  Zayde’s weight was suddenly gone, and I could breathe again. I lay there, kind of stunned, and then I was suddenly lifted, surrounded on every side by pure, hard male. Muscles. Fucking delicious ocean scent. Strength but gentleness. Arms holding me tightly.

  I burrowed into his warm body, sliding my arms around him. He carefully carried me, lifting me into the car, then pulling me back to him. He tightened his grip on me, running his fingers through my hair, and I closed my eyes.

  I felt the rumble of an engine, and we were on the move. He held me still, cradling me in his arms.

  “It’s okay, baby. I’ve got you.”

  * * *

  I was starting to feel a little awkward. Now we were safely back at home, Caiden had deposited me on the sofa and was currently pacing up and down in front of me, his jaw set. The others were giving each other sidewards glances, which I translated as “you be the first to speak.” “No, you do it.”

  Finally, Weston broke the silence with a heavy sigh. “What happened to your shoes?”

  I chewed my lip. They weren’t going to like this. “Um…they’re in the hedge somewhere around the back of your dad’s house.”

  “What the fuck were you doing?” Cade stared at me accusingly. “You’d better not have gone off on your own again.”

  “It was a total accident. I didn’t mean to…I overheard something.” Before he could say anything else, I held up my hand. “Just a minute. Answer me this—how long has Allan worked for your dad, and how well do you know him?”

  “Allan? What’s Allan got to do with anything?” Weston stared at me, confused.

  “About nine years. We know him well enough.” Caiden stopped pacing and spoke slowly, the same confusion entering his gaze.

  “What about his family connections, friends, things like that?” I looked between Caiden and Weston.

  “Winter? What’s this all about?” Weston leaned forwards in his seat, his whole body tensing up as he took in my seriousness.

  I swallowed hard, glancing up at Caiden. “You might want to sit down for this.” He frowned but sank down next to me on the sofa, and I reached out to grip his h
and. “Something happened.”

  I told them the whole story.

  The four of them sat in stunned silence, but as I described how I’d decided to check out Allan’s room, the air grew thick with tension. Caiden’s eyes darkened, and he let go of my hand, clenching his fists, and the others eyed me with varying expressions of disapproval. When I got to the final part, where I heard Allan coming and escaped out of the window, Caiden went very, very still. As soon as I stopped speaking, he stood without another word and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

  Shit. “He’s really angry with me, isn’t he?” I asked the room in general.

  “You were irresponsible and you put yourself in danger. Fuck, Winter, couldn’t you have even given him a heads-up?” Cassius shook his head at me. “Do you know what he was like when you were missing? He was out of his mind with worry. He’s afraid of anything happening to you—we all are, for that matter. You’re his world, and for you to go and put yourself in danger like that, without telling any of us… And on top of that, he finds out that Allan is most likely a bad guy…” He trailed off with a shrug. “Y’know?”

  “I thought I’d be okay.” My voice was small. “I’m really sorry, guys. I honestly thought it would be a quick in-and-out kind of thing while he was downstairs.”

  “The window, though? You could’ve slipped and broken your back!” Weston glared at me, the anger in his eyes mixed with worry as we stared at one another.

  “I’m really sorry,” I repeated. The guilt swamped me as I took in their faces.

  “I’m gonna go and investigate Allan. Just be careful, please?” Weston stood and crossed over to me, leaning down to kiss the top of my head, before stalking out of the room.

  I needed to see Caiden. Standing, I went to follow Weston out of the room, then stopped in the doorway at the sound of Zayde’s warning. He spoke low and evenly, but his tone was coated in ice.