Dirty Rich Secrets Part One Read online

  “Based on present circumstances, it’s hard to see it any other way.”

  “Right. It’s hard for you not to see me as the biggest fucking mistake of your life.”

  That emotion in my chest expands, and I think back to that first coffee date. “Maybe we should start again, this time, with hot chocolate instead of coffee.”

  “You’re telling me to slow down.”

  “Yes. I’m telling you to slow down. I need time to think.”

  His hands come down on my arms, his forehead pressed to mine. “I don’t have a slow button with you.”

  I think of the past, of the kiss in the bar bathroom, and a part of me smiles. “I noticed.” My fingers curl on his chest, and for the first time since we’ve come back together, I let myself believe that maybe he is the man I know. “But there’s a side of you beyond Noah and beyond the assassin that I need to know.” I pull back to look at him. “Tell me about Aaron.”

  “I’m a pretty simple man. I love. I kill. I kill for who I love and that’s you. Does that scare you?”

  “And if it does?”

  “It should.” He steps into me. “I can’t change what I’ve done, but I can tell you that you have changed me. I promise you, when this ends, you’ll have your freedom, from all of this, including me, if that’s what you choose. I just hope like hell you don’t.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  “I’ve made a lot of money; payout from side jobs the CIA contracted me out to perform. Enough that we could live a good life for the rest of our lives, anywhere we want.”

  “Anywhere?” I find myself asking, leaning into him.

  His eyes soften. “Are you saying you’d go with me?”

  “I—I don’t know.” My lashes lower then lift. “I want to trust you.”

  “You can trust me, but if we run now, we’ll always be hunted. I don’t want that for you. I don’t want to bring that on you.”

  I believe him. God, I believe him. “You really were setup?”

  “I swear to you, on everything I am, on everything we are, that I was setup, but fuck, that means nothing to you, I know. How can it? I shouldn’t have ever proposed before I told you.”

  “Why did you?”

  “There was a part of me that believed when you found out, knowing you had that ring on your finger would matter.” A text dings in his pocket, and he curses. “There’s too much going on for me not to look.”

  I nod, and he grabs his cell from his pocket, his gaze brushing the screen, tension radiating off of him. “Change of plans, baby,” he says, shoving his phone back into his pocket. “We’re leaving. Now. The owner of the cabin is on his way here.” He picks up the gun he’d given me and places it in my hand. “Keep that. I brought your purse. You can hide it there like we planned in the past.” He turns and heads toward the living room.

  Like we planned in the past. Those words pull me back to him more than any other he’s spoken; they tell me why he wanted me to learn to handle and fire a gun. He never meant to hurt me. He was afraid for me. I race after him and find him tossing two duffle bags on the couch, one that is mine from my apartment.

  “The owner?” I ask. “Do you know the owner?”

  He rounds the couch and pulls a shoulder holster from under it, fitting it in place.

  “He’s my mentor, and one of the few people I’ve ever trusted.”

  “Then why are we leaving in the middle of a blizzard?” I ask.

  “I don’t like unexpected visitors.” He reaches back under the couch and pulls out not one, but two guns that he attaches to his person.

  I step in front of the coffee table. “But you know him. And how was it unexpected? He told you in advance, right?”

  “So I wouldn’t shoot him before he walks in the door.” He sets my bag on the table. “I brought some of your clothes. Find your purse and make sure your gun is accessible.”

  “What about the blizzard?” I ask again. “And I thought you trusted your mentor?”

  “I don’t trust anyone with a price tag on both of our heads.”

  I slide my purse strap across my chest and place the gun inside. “If he’s your mentor, is he better than you?”

  “Used to be,” he says, zipping his bag.

  “Used to be?”

  “We’re well-matched now, too well-matched for comfort.”

  “I don’t understand,” I say. “He’s your mentor. You trust him.”

  He moves to stand in front of me, his hands back on my shoulders. “Relax, baby. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  “What about you? You can’t save me if you’re dead. I’m sold. Screw the blizzard. Let’s leave.”

  “We won’t make it if he doesn’t want us to leave, not without a war. I need you to hide in the bedroom. There’s an extra gun in the nightstand drawer. Use it. Save the bullets in the one in your purse.”

  “Am I going to need the bullets?”

  “Go hide, baby, and I need you to remember this: trust no one but me. No one. I don’t care who they tell you they are. I don’t care what badge they show you. They come at you, you shoot first and ask questions later.”

  “You’re scaring me.”

  “I’m preparing you in case something goes wrong. Go, now.” He turns me to face in the opposite direction, and I do as he says. I rush forward, hurrying to the right, down a short hallway, I enter a bedroom, shutting and locking the door and taking in the small space. There’s just a bed, two nightstands, and a small, very small window that’s eye level, which strikes me as by design. No one is breaking in that tiny thing. I rush to the nightstand, where I open the drawer and pull out the gun, grateful for those classes. So much makes sense now.

  My mind goes back to the past, to only a few weeks after Noah, no, Aaron and I had met, the two of us sitting on my couch, eating popcorn and watching the new JLo police drama.

  “Do you know how to shoot?” he asks, pausing the show.

  “I’ve never even touched a gun,” I say, “and I like it that way.”

  “No woman should live alone in a city like Houston and not know how to shoot.”

  “I’m afraid of guns,” I say. “I’m not shooting one. I don’t want to own one.”

  “That’s a problem we need to fix. You learn to handle a gun, you learn to make it your friend, and you’ll stop being afraid.”

  I frown. “You know how to shoot that well?”

  “Yes,” he says simply. “Very well.”

  “Why is a lawyer and financier an expert with a gun?”

  He leans in and kisses my neck, whispering near my ear, “You know what a control freak I am.”

  Heat rushes through me as I think of just how much of a control freak he is, most certainly when we’re naked. “Yes. Yes, I do.”

  He inches back to look at me. “Owning a gun, knowing you can defend yourself, is control.” He brushes a strand of hair behind my ear. “I’m going to teach you how to have that kind of control.”

  “Then you won’t be in control,” I tease.

  His eyes burn hot, and the next thing I know, I’m on my back with his big body on top of me. “Who’s in control?”

  “You,” I say, sounding and feeling breathless. “But only because I let you.”

  “That’s right, baby. Only because you let me and be careful who you give that power to.”

  “Should I be careful with you?” I challenge.

  His eyes darken, shadows in their depths, before he murmurs, “It’s too late for that,” and then he kisses me.

  My mind comes back to the present, but I’m still remembering that comment: it’s too late for that, and I believe now is why he didn’t just get me a gun. He pushed me to practice using it. I’m a damn good shot now. I could kill him, and he knows it. That didn’t worry him. Me protecting myself from everyone else did though. I scan and find a door that stirs unease in me. I walk toward it and pull it open to find nothing but a small shallow empty closet. I walk back to the door and lean on
the surface where I listen and listen hard. There is no sound beyond the wind outside, a gusting sharp wind that seems to rock the house. I listen for voices. I listen for anything at all, but there’s nothing but the storm outside.

  The silence suffocates me right up until the moment that I hear a tap on that one single window in the room.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Ashley…

  The tapping on the window stops.

  I stand there with the door of the cabin bedroom at my back and watch the window, the gun in my hand. Seconds tick by that turn into minutes. There is no more tapping, but I’m not crazy. I heard it. I know I heard it. It hits me suddenly that this could be a sign that there is someone other than Noah’s, Aaron’s, mentor here. I have to warn Aaron. I reach for my phone, digging in my purse with the hope it will be there, and it is, but I have no number to contact Aaron. I’ve tried in the past. Even a tough CIA agent could need backup if there was a multi-layered attack, and while I’m not much in the way of backup, my gun is another story. As Aaron himself taught me, a bullet evens the playing field, and sometimes, ends the game altogether.

  I turn to the door and unlock it, nerves ripping through my belly. I can do this. I have the gun, and while this particular Glock I’m holding is large for my hand, I can use it. Aaron made sure I knew how to adjust accordingly, and I will. Slowly, I turn the knob and open the door, peeking into the empty hallway. I listen again, but the only sound that touches my ears is the crackle of the fire. I step forward, and I cringe with the creak of the wood beneath my foot. I stop again and wait, nervous that I’ve alerted someone, who I don’t want to alert, that I’m approaching. Seconds pass, and still, there is nothing but the popping of the fire. I step slightly right to avoid an uneven board then slowly, I step and repeat, step and repeat, maneuvering my way up the short hallway, the gun heavier with each passing step.

  I reach the end of my path and press my back against the wall, easing around the corner just enough to view the empty living area. That’s when Aaron and another man walk into the room, and I quickly flatten against the wall again.

  “This was a dick move, Edward,” Aaron says. “You’re lucky I haven’t already killed you.”

  Edward laughs a low laugh. “You think I can’t kill you first?”

  “You want to try me?” Aaron challenges, his voice low, lethal.

  Silence follows, stretching long and wide, and I think they’ve left the room. Or, someone is dead. That idea scares me, and I peer around the corner long enough to find the other man standing in profile with Aaron as the two men stare each other down. I step back behind the wall as a memory comes back to me. It was a Sunday, a few months after I started dating Aaron. I all but lived with him in his fancy River Oaks apartment. We had woken up to make love, take a jog, shower, and eat. By the afternoon, we were in the coffee shop on the lower level of his building. Me doing work for my boss and him working on something for a client.

  Finally, I’ve finished the contract my boss, Cole, needs for the Monday morning meeting, finishing my coffee in celebration, with the knowledge that Noah just ordered us refills. I blink, suddenly aware of him staring at me. “What?” I ask, setting my cup down.

  He strokes my cheek. “You’re beautiful,” he murmurs softly, his eyes warm with sincerity, and now I feel warm and special in a way that I’ve never known before this man.

  “Thank you,” I whisper, feeling a bit shy when shy isn’t my thing.

  He leans in and brushes his lips over mine. “Thank you.”

  I pull back to look at him. “Thank me? For what?”

  “So many things you can’t understand right now, but, one day, you will.”

  I open my mouth to ask for more details, wanting to understand now, but his cell phone rings. He grimaces and looks at the number. “My client and he’s an ass. I’m going to step into the lobby and take this.” He doesn’t wait for a reply. He kisses me again and then stands up, the faded jeans he’s wearing hugging his perfect ass and strong thighs as he walks away.

  I sigh and smile, easing back into my seat and thinking about how much this man has changed my life. “Noah! Drinks up!”

  I stand up and walk to the counter, grab our drinks, and then return to the table. I set mine down and decide to take Noah his while it’s hot. He can fight and talk while enjoying his coffee, and he does love his coffee. I leave our things behind but motion to the lady behind the counter, who knows us, to watch over it. Once she confirms, I hurry into the lobby, but I don’t see Noah anywhere. I frown and decide that because it’s a pretty fall day outside, he may have gone out to the street to avoid prying ears.

  I step outside, a cool, perfect breeze lifting my red hair from my shoulders, but I still don’t see Noah. I look left and right and back left, as Noah and a tall, fit man, about ten years his senior, step around the corner and face off. I can’t hear what they’re saying, but they look like they’re about to throw punches. I don’t know what to do, but as I stand there like a doe in the headlights, the stranger with Noah suddenly turns and looks at me, his eyes hard and sharp.

  Noah does the same, but a moment later, both men are focused on each other again, but something has shifted. Noah is calmer, but, somehow, almost lethal in his quieter anger. He says something to the man, and the man turns and walks away. Noah immediately walks toward me, his strides long and urgent and then he’s standing in front of me, his hand under my hair at my neck. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

  “I thought you might want your coffee and—who was that? What was that?”

  “My client knows where I live. I’ve met him at the coffee shop. He’s pissed off because I pulled him from a packaging deal I was doing on a financial deal. I’m sorry that happened.” He takes the coffee. “Thank you for my coffee.” He kisses me. “Let’s go back inside.” He takes my hand and leads me back to our spot in the coffee shop.

  Once we sit down, I turn to him. “Why do I feel like there’s more to what just happened than you told me?”

  “Because there is, baby. Just nothing worth hearing. He’s a dick. I’ll make sure he doesn’t come around again.” He cups my face. “Let’s go upstairs and get naked.”

  “Noah—”

  He kisses me. “Let’s go upstairs and get naked.”

  I blink back to the present, hating the part of that memory that’s a lie. He was never packaging a deal for anyone. Nevertheless, we’d gone upstairs and gotten naked, but I’d still felt funny about that man, and that man was the same man standing in the living with Aaron now.

  It’s then that I become aware of the empty space in the room beyond the hallway. There’s no sound. I ease around the wall again, and oh God, the man sees me. He not only sees me, he starts charging toward me.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Ashley…

  Everything seems to move in slow motion. The gun shakes in my hand as I tell myself to pull the trigger, but I never get the chance. All of a sudden, the man running toward me is on the ground, and Aaron has him face down, tying up his hands. “He’s not dead, right?” I ask urgently. “You’re tying him up because he’s not dead?” It seems logical, but I just need to know.

  Aaron straightens and closes the space between me and him. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes.” I catch his wrists. “Is he alive?”

  “He’s asleep, and that’s because I want answers. Otherwise, he’d be dead right now after charging at you like that.”

  “Why would he charge at me?” I ask. “Why? He knew you were right there. He knew. He could have shot me.”

  He takes the gun from me and shoves it in the back of his pants. “He wanted you to shoot him.”

  “What? I don’t understand.”

  “It’s the only logical answer. He doesn’t do stupid things. He wanted you to shoot him. Why? I don’t know, but he did. When he wakes up, we’ll find out.”

  “What if he’s not alone?”

  “He’s a loner. He doesn’t work with anyone. We’re fin
e.”

  “Someone was tapping on the bedroom window.”

  “There’s no reason anyone would tap on the window, especially not in the middle of a blizzard. It was the wind.”

  “It wasn’t the wind,” I insist, grabbing his arm. “I’m telling you. Someone tapped on the window. We need to leave. We can’t stay here. Everything in my gut says staying is a mistake.”

  “The storm just blasted into us about fifteen minutes ago. There’s no way in or out. We can’t leave. And if we can believe Edward, the roads are blocked.”

  “Then how did Edward get here?” I ask. “How?”

  “He was already here. That’s the only answer.”

  “But you don’t know?”

  His hands come down on my shoulders. “We’re safe.”

  “Someone was tapping on the window. Please listen to me. I’m not being paranoid. When have you ever known me to be paranoid?”

  He considers me a moment. “You’re right. You aren’t one of those people. I’ll go check it out.” He releases me and starts to turn.

  I catch his arm. “No, don’t go out there. Not unless it’s because we’re leaving.”

  “I’m going to go check it out,” he insists. “After I deal with Edward.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I want him secure.” He kisses me. “Keep your gun at your hip. It’ll make us both feel better.” He walks toward the kitchen, and I hear furniture moving around before he reappears, picks up Edward, and throws him over his shoulder.

  He heads toward the kitchen, and I pursue him, catching up to him as he walks down a set of stairs in a hole in the floor where the table used to be. I walk to the opening and listen for movement below, but almost immediately, Aaron returns. He steps to my side, shuts what appears to be a cellar door that folds seamlessly into the wooden floor, and then shoves the table back over the top. “Now I’ll go outside and see what the tapping noise was.”

  “I can’t even believe this. Who has a secret room?”

  “A CIA agent. He also has chains, which is why he’s chained to the wall down there. He’s not going anywhere.”