The Nanny's Secret

  The Nanny’s Secret

  A Locke Industries Novel

  Kiersten Modglin

  Copyright © 2020 by Kiersten Modglin

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.

  www.kierstenmodglinauthor.com

  Cover Design: Tadpole Designs

  Editing: Three Owls Editing

  Proofreading: My Brother’s Editor

  Formatting: Tadpole Designs

  First Print Edition: 2020

  First Electronic Edition: 2020

  Contents

  Prologue

  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

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  The Locke Industries Series

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  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Kiersten Modglin

  To the essential workers keeping us going throughout the 2020 pandemic. There are heroes in every story. In this one, the hero is you.

  I thought about how there are two types of secrets: the kind you want to keep in, and the kind you don’t dare let out.

  Aly Carter

  Prologue

  We will die for our secrets.

  I think we’ve proven that by now.

  Each of us, the smiles we hide behind, the niceties we observe, we know at a moment’s notice, we will take those secrets to the grave.

  That’s the difference between the three of us and regular people. For most, secrets are embarrassing and you’d rather not share them. For us, our secrets are the reason we breathe. The reason our hearts continue to beat. We’d sooner give it all up than betray them.

  As much as I can’t respect these two, I can respect that. We are alike in that way, but so different in all the others.

  In just a few moments, this could all be over. Three will walk into the room, but not all three will leave. One of us won’t make it. I know this much is true, like I know I’d do this all again. Maybe it’ll be more than one of us. Maybe all of us.

  We won’t back down, won’t lie our way out of it like we’ve been lying to each other for weeks.

  For the first time since we met, all our truths will be on the table, and then we decide where to go from here. We decide who gets justice, who gets revenge, who gets peace. There could be a way for all of us to leave safely, but I’m not interested in that anymore. I’ve come too far. I know too much.

  Secrets really are our most powerful weapon, and I plan to wield mine like a blade in battle. I expect they will do the same.

  I take a breath before I step out of the room where I know my fate will be decided, where I will decide theirs.

  I will die for my secrets, but I can’t live with them anymore.

  The empire will crumble.

  Chapter One

  FOUR WEEKS EARLIER

  I’ve always believed you can tell a lot about a person from their front door.

  The door I am standing in front of is made of thick wood—oak or pine, maybe. It is painted maroon, with a green wreath hanging in front of the three panes of glass. Simple and elegant.

  In times of struggle, doors shut.

  In moments of solace, they’re offered as open.

  The rest of the time, doors hold the secrets we want to keep from the world. Our darkest desires. The thoughts and things we’d never let anyone else know.

  As the door swings open, I wonder what secrets I’ll find hiding inside.

  “Hey,” the woman greets me with a sharp intake of breath, barely glancing up from the phone in her hand. She is tall and regal, all sharp angles and lean limbs. Her shoulder-length blonde hair is messy in the sort of on-purpose way I’ve always been jealous of. “Hi,” she repeats, glancing behind her. “Sorry. Come in.” She steps back without waiting for me to tell her who I am or what I’m doing in her doorway.

  I step into the house, glancing around. It is breathtaking, though I expected no less from the exterior. More a fortress than a house, it is grand and modern—all geometric shapes and sharp angles; a steep, twisted stone staircase leading up to the front door; two levels of four windows across the expanse of the front; and a darkened entranceway, leaving just enough mystery to keep it interesting.

  Inside, the room is open and airy. There is a tall, floating staircase to my left and a single, wooden table with a large vase of flowers in the center of the room. I look up, trying not to gawk at the dangling chandelier. If it fell, it would take us both out in a second.

  The woman shuts the door, spinning around to face me and shoving the phone into the back pocket of her designer jeans. “Sorry,” she apologizes again, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ears. “Okay, I’m ready now.” She holds out her hand, her fingers long, thin, and wispy.

  I take it, though I admittedly feel annoyed. Who answers a door like this? “No, that’s okay.”

  “I meant to be much more prepared for this. My husband was supposed to be here, but he’s stuck at work. I hope it’s okay that it’ll just be me?”

  “Of course.” I smile, with nothing else to say. She releases my hand and holds her arm out to her right. Her heels click across the marble floor, leading us into a room that looks like it could be a living room, minus all the living. It is immaculate. The sofa against the window is white leather. There is a glass coffee table in the center of the room and a maroon chair that looks more like a statue than a place to rest—two giant loops connecting in a single, padded space. Mrs. Locke perches on the edge of the sculpture-chair. She nods toward the sofa.

  “Please, Olivia, have a seat.”

  I move to the couch, the leather squeaking as I sit. Do they ever sit on their furniture?

  “So, the agency said you’ve worked with children before?”

  “I have,” I say. “I worked with my last family for three years. I had their child from infancy.”

  “May I ask what happened? Why you left?”

  “The family moved,” I explain. In her pocket, her phone chimes, and she moves her
hand toward it, but stops midway.

  Her grimace seems to be an apology, though her eyes are distant.

  “I see.” As her phone chimes again, she pulls it from her pocket and places it on silent. “I’m really sorry about this.” She sets it face down on the table. “I’m dealing with a meltdown at work.” The smile on her lips brightens. “Which, as you can imagine, is why we need you. Johnny’s last nanny left our family when he started school, and between our drivers, house manager, and myself, we’ve been able to handle his care without needing to find a replacement. Unfortunately, the demand of our work has just gotten to be too much for that to be feasible anymore, which is why you’re here.” Again, the phone buzzes and she looks down, her eyes troubled. “Your agency sent over your references, which were excellent, but it seems like you’ve mostly worked with younger ages. Have you ever been employed by a family with school-aged children?”

  I shake my head, one side of my lips drawn in. “Not employed, no, but I have two younger sisters that I took care of for most of my life. We were raised by a single mother, who worked several jobs, so it was just the three of us home alone quite often.” I realize right away that it may not have been the best thing to say. Is she looking for someone who comes from a similar background as her child? I study her face, trying to decide if I just ruined the interview.

  “So would you say you’re comfortable with all ages, then? We’d like to have someone who could stay with us long term, either until business slows down—” Her phone buzzes again, letting us both know that isn’t likely. “Or he outgrows needing you.”

  “I would love that,” I tell her. “I’m definitely comfortable with any age. In fact,” I pull a story from thin air, “one of my best friends has a son who’s ten, and I’ve watched him for her several times.” Please don’t ask for a reference, please don’t ask for a reference.

  “Oh, excellent.” She runs her hands over her knees. “Well, we’re very interested in having you work for us if you’re still interested. Your agency sent over your background and drug screenings, which, of course, all came back fine. Did they discuss salary with you?”

  I shake my head. “They usually don’t.”

  “Well, we’d like to start you out at ninety thousand a year. You’ll be provided with a car in the event you need to take John anywhere, but you’ll also have a driver here, so the times that you’ll be required to drive are minimal.” She pauses. “You are comfortable driving him, aren’t you? I didn’t think to ask.”

  “Yes, of course,” I tell her, swallowing hard. Have I gotten the job? Somehow, I was sure I would manage to ruin the chance. It is the highest-paid job I’ve ever been offered—a salary that makes my jaw nearly drop—but I remain cool and collected. I can’t afford to screw this up.

  “Great. Okay, so while he’s still in school, we’ll need you here at six in the morning to get him ready and make sure he eats breakfast. You won’t have to cook it—” She says it quickly, as if cooking an omelet might be a dealbreaker for me. “Maya, our chef, takes care of all meals, so you’ll just need to make sure he’s ready in time to eat something before school. Danny will take him to school, so you’ll only have to be here for an hour in the mornings. There may be days where Danny’s off, which would be when we’d ask you to drive John, but those days are few and far between. While he’s in school, you’ll have the day to yourself—feel free to go home and take care of what you need to—and then Danny will bring him home after school ends. We’d like you to be here at two thirty waiting for him when he gets home and then spend the evenings with him. He’ll need help with homework and company at dinner. He can wash and get ready for bed on his own, so you won’t have to be extremely hands-on, it’s just important to us that he doesn’t feel alone. We have staff, of course, but they all have jobs to attend to. We want someone whose sole focus is on John.”

  “Of course,” I say when she glances at me. I’m not sure when I’m supposed to add myself to the conversation she is mostly having with herself.

  “After dinner and once he goes to bed, you’ll be able to relax, but we will ask that you stay here until either Orrick or I return home. Then, on the weekends, we’ll need you to plan to be here all day, but how long you’ll need to stay will really just depend on what we have going on. We’ll always try to have you out by the early afternoon so you have some semblance of a weekend to enjoy. Of course, once school is out for summer, we’ll ask that you’re here all day during the week, with the occasional weekend, and we’ll find ways to cut out hours here and there so you don’t feel like you live here. I know it’s a strange schedule, which is why we’re attempting to compensate for that. Even though you’ll be here a lot, most of the time you won’t actually have to do very much. John’s very self-sufficient.” She pauses, studying my face. “Is that, I mean…are you still interested?”

  I nod. “Yes, very much so.”

  “Excellent.” She pushes herself up from the chair, picking up her phone and glancing at the screen. She scrolls with her thumb quickly, then slides it back in her pocket. “Follow me. I’d like to introduce you to our staff.” She leads me down a hallway off the unliving room. There are oversized family portraits adorning the walls. She and her husband are a perfect yin and yang—both with sharp, angular features and nearly the same height, but while she has pale skin, blue eyes, and blonde hair, he has thick, black hair and dark eyes. Their son is the perfect mix of them both, with her dark eyebrows and blue eyes and his dad’s shiny, raven locks. “We take security here very seriously. Every member of our staff is rigorously scrutinized.” I wouldn’t have expected any less from a family who owns a security company. “So, you can always feel safe here.” She stops just as we enter the kitchen. The room is triple the size of the living room, which is saying something already, with high ceilings, white and gray marble countertops, white cabinets, and a woman behind the island bent over a sheet of paper.

  “Lily, I want you to meet Olivia Mendes, our new nanny.”

  The girl looks up at me, setting the pen from her hand onto the counter so she is free to outstretch her arm toward me. “Hi!” She is younger than I thought originally, probably only a few years older than myself—early thirties at the oldest. Her strawberry blonde hair is tied back in a loose ponytail, and she is wearing a navy blue polka dot headband to match her pants.

  “Nice to meet you,” I say.

  “We’re really excited to have you here. You’ll love John; he’s the sweetest,” she chirps.

  I smile, hoping that is true. “Lily is our house manager. She’s around all the time and probably knows more about our lives than Orrick and I do, put together. If you have any questions at all, I’d bet my life she knows the answer,” Mrs. Locke goes on.

  Lily looks at me, gently shaking her head with pride at the compliment. “I’ve been with them for ten years, so if I didn’t know the answer, I wouldn’t be very good at my job.”

  I hear footsteps behind me and turn around. A man struts toward us with power and confidence, his jaw locked, shoulders squared. He has dark, curly hair, a thick goatee, and bright but stony eyes. Dressed in a suit, I wonder immediately if he’s the husband, Orrick, though, if so, he’s nearly unrecognizable from his pictures in the hall. This man is twice the size of the husband from the photographs.

  “AJ, right on schedule,” Mrs. Locke says, turning her body to face him. “Olivia, I’d like for you to meet our head of security, AJ Cross. AJ, this is Olivia, our new nanny.” His eyes bounce back and forth between us before giving a sharp nod.

  “Nice to meet you,” he says with a clipped tone.

  “You, too.” I expect him to shake my hand, like Lily had, but he makes no move to do so.

  “Do I need to get her added into the keypad today?” he asks Mrs. Locke, who shakes her head.

  “I think tomorrow will be fine. Could you please fill Warren and Greg in?”

  “Of course, ma’am,” he says, stepping back and zigzagging between us to leave
the room.

  “Warren and Greg are the other members of our home security team,” she explains, though I haven’t asked. “Warren works days, seven in the morning to seven at night, and Greg works the opposite. AJ is here all the time.”

  “That’s a…lot of security.”

  Lily chuckles, and I meet her warm, golden eyes. “Don’t worry, the Lockes keep them busy.”

  “Don’t scare her off, Lily,” Mrs. Locke chides, though there is a playfulness to her tone. “Being the head of a large corporation does come with its downsides, and needing a security team like we have in place is one of those.” Her eyes go wide suddenly, and she places a hand on my shoulder. “I don’t want you to worry, though. Our team is excellent. You’ll never be in danger as long as they’re here.”

  Lily is smiling from where she stands. “It’s true, and I was only joking. AJ runs a tight ship. I never worry about anything with him in charge.”

  I sigh, feeling only a small bit better as Mrs. Locke begins to walk in the direction from which AJ had originally appeared. She leads me down a small hallway with just one door at the end. We step out of the house, and I inhale the fresh air, sweet with honeysuckle.