Page 56 of Smith

So maybe he didn’t think I was crazy.

“Here.” Smith was back with the crowbar.

I hesitated taking it from him, suddenly not so sure I wanted to see what was hidden—if something was under there. I also didn’t want to look like a wuss.

Thankfully Smith asked, “Want me to do it?”

Wordless, I scooted out of the way, then pushed to my feet.

“Have at it.”

Smith hunched down. His big body blocked what he was doing, but I heard wood crack, then the sound of a board being tossed aside. Then another crack, another clatter, then finally a muttered, “Coop, let me see your phone, mine’s in the other room.”

Cooper pulled out his cell, unlocked it—probably to save Smith the time of breaking into it, since I was positive Jonas wasn’t the only one with the skills to crack the passcode—and handed it over.

“What’d you find?” I asked, trying to look over Smith’s shoulder.

“There’s an old cigar box wedged in there.”

My stomach did a flip-flop and my heart started racing.

No one hid a box under the floor unless there was something not good in the box. And I was afraid that ‘not good’ really meant bad.

“I think at this juncture maybe I should sell the house.”

“Baby—”

“No, seriously, if there are bones in that box, I’m cutting my losses.”

“The box isn’t big enough for bones…a bone maybe, but not bones.”

Ugh.

Gross.

“If you’re trying to be funny to make me feel better, you’re failing.”

Smith passed Cooper his phone and I stood there waiting like a chickenshit to do more than half-heartedly peer over Smith’s shoulder.

It wasn’t even thirty seconds later but it felt like an eternity when Smith’s furious rumble hit the room.

“Jesus fucking hell.”

“Oh God, what is it?”

“Fuck,” he repeated. “Coop, go get Kira.”

Cooper turned and sprinted out of the room.

“Smith! What is it?”

“Move back, baby.”

I did as told, which gave Smith room to exit the closet holding a tin container no more than eight inches by ten inches.

“What’s in there?” I tried again.

“Pictures,” he rumbled.

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