Chapter 12

CHAPTER TWELVE

My arms ached. My back hurt. And my mood was total shit.

After we left Smith's office, we grabbed a drive-thru lunch and went to the house. Cooper and Kira went to my house so Cooper could check my car for a tracker. For the last few days I'd done a great job not allowing myself to dwell on the situation as a whole. I'd done what I'd taught myself to do and broken everything down to small, consumable parts.

The letters were in one box.

The red Tesla following me in another box.

The break-in was in its own.

I'd pushed the letters to the back burner—those seemed the least of my worries. The Tesla following me freaked me out, especially after Smith pointed out that I was followed from my home, so I'd shoved that down deep so I didn't think about it at all. The break-in affected my livelihood so that was the box I decided to worry about. The one part of the situation I could kind of control.

The rest, I didn't want to think about. But, Cooper asking to check my car made it impossible for me not to think about and that was what I'd done the entire time I was chiseling out the ugly bathroom floor tile while I was filming. Later I'd do the voiceover while I edited. I had a feeling very little of the footage would be used since I'd felt myself frowning to the point my facial muscles hurt along with the rest of my muscles.

Now, I knew Kira and Cooper were downstairs. I'd heard them come in as I was popping up the last row of tile, thus I was procrastinating going down and finding out if Cooper found anything on my car. Try as I might, the Tesla was now forefront in my mind and fear had crept in.

I'd spent the hours of mindless, lonely work—since Smith and Jonas couldn't help because I was recording—thinking about who would follow me. I didn't have any crazy exes. I didn't have any old friends I'd fallen out with. I paid all my subcontractors and invoices on time. None of the people who had worked on any projects with me gave me a creepy, bad vibe. No one had shown me any romantic attention. None of them had even shown the slightest hint of interest. I literally had no enemies. Other than the occasional shitty know-it-all post in my comment section I couldn't think of anyone who would fuck with me.

I nearly jumped out of my skin when I heard movement behind me.

"Damn, Smith," I snapped. "I need to get you a bell so you stop sneaking up on me."

"I wasn't exactly quiet—then or now."

He meant yesterday when he came into the garage. Both times I'd been lost in thought and hadn't heard him, not that I would admit that.

"Well, stomp around or something."

I wasn't sure I was fond of the way Smith stared at me. It wasn't his normal hungry look, which I totally loved. This was more of a study, him trying to puzzle out where my head was at and that was a frightening prospect—him seeing how freaked out I was might lead him to feel like he needed to do something about it.

That would feel good—sweet even—and the last thing I needed was Smith being sweet or sweeter than he'd been. I needed him hot and hungry and ready to throw me down and devour me. Not caring, considerate, or attentive. Those things would dig me deeper into the pit of crazy I'd allowed my heart to fall into.

"Everything okay? Did Cooper find anything?"

"Yes and no, he didn't."

Well on one hand that was a relief. On the other, it was bad. That meant that the theory I'd been followed from my house had been proven true. Some creep had been lying in wait. It also sucked I hadn't seen the Tesla follow me the first time. And by sucked, I meant freaked me the hell out I'd been so oblivious.

Smith's gaze dropped to the floor, lingered for a moment—the bathroom wasn't that big, so there wasn't much to see—before it landed on the tub-shower combo I hadn't ripped out but definitely would be.

Then he smiled.

"Resourceful," he muttered.

I assumed he meant me using the tub for the chunks of broken tile.

"I needed somewhere to put the scraps and the room's not big enough, or it is but I didn't want a garbage can in my shots so I tossed the pieces in the tub."

"Like I said, resourceful."

I needed out of the bathroom. I needed Smith to stop looking at me with something that looked a whole lot like pride. I needed to shove the Tesla—or more to the point the driver of the Tesla and his intentions—back into the box where they belonged and get my shit together.

"Double work. Now I need to clean out the tub." I checked my watch. Seeing it was much later than I thought I asked, "Did you check the mail?"

The soft look of pride cleared and we were back to business.

"No letter, and before you ask, Kira checked. Neither Brittney or George put in for mail forwarding."

"Way to crush my hopes and dreams," I mumbled. "Though I will take this opportunity to point out, the letters were innocuous. ‘I know' is hardly a threat."

He looked like he was going to argue but instead he pinched his kissable lips and craned his neck to look over his shoulder.

"If Aria's done, her phone's downstairs ringing," Cooper's voice rumbled from semi-faraway. "Caller ID says Captain."

"Her dad," Smith returned. "We'll be right down." When Smith turned back he turned into bossy Smith. "Talk to your dad, but before you do, tell me where the trash bags are. I'll clean up in here. If you're done for the day we'll head back to my place, call it an early night."

I wasn't sure if ‘early night' was code for getting busy or if it was his way of nicely telling me I looked exhausted. Which I probably did. It wasn't like I was used to back-to-back nights of incredible sex into the wee hours of the morning only to be woken up and treated to more orgasms. If I was keeping track, which I wasn't, but it was still a good guess, I'd had more orgasms in the last two days then I'd had in the last two years combined.

"We ate all the leftovers last night," I reminded him. "We have to stop at the store on the way home."

I wasn't prepared for the shutters to slam shut and Smith's expression to blank at the mention of leftovers.

"We'll order in."

Flat. Void. Strange.

"It's my turn to cook."

If it was possible, my suggestion made Smith's blank expression turn empty.

What in the world?

"I can cook," I rushed to tell him. "It won't be chicken piccata but it'll be edible."

Just as fast as he'd shut down, Smith flipped back on and smiled. And when he did, he tagged me around the back of the neck, and hauled me close. When he had me where he wanted me his lips hit mine in a hard, closed-mouth kiss. This maneuver had me dazed and confused and his words only added to that.

"You worked all day, I'll cook."

With another hard press of his lips to mine he let me go.

"Trash bags," he ordered.

Gah, if he wasn't so freaking hot I'd tell him where he could shove those trash bags.

"It's a good thing you're so good with your mouth and your fingers and your dick and you're hot or your orders would piss me off," I informed him.

I watched up close as he busted out laughing.

He was still chuckling when he informed me back, "Yeah, baby, it's good to be me."

"Wrong, Sailor, it's good to be me ."

Smith dropped his hand, found mine, and pulled me out of the bathroom. This meant he was still holding my hand when we hit the kitchen where everyone congregated. This also meant we were met with wide eyes and strange smiles.

Before Smith let me go he gave my hand a squeeze.

I read his silent question and told him, "In the garage, by the side door."

Smith's departure left me standing in a room with his friends all staring at me like I had five arms and six eyes.

"What?" I asked the room at large.

"Nothing," Jonas lied.

"Then why are you staring at me like?—"

"Like you're a walking miracle and I hope like fuck this shit penetrates his hard head and sticks," Jonas wrongly finished my sentence.

A walking miracle? What the hell did that mean?

I didn't get to ask. Smith was back with a box of trash bags. Jonas followed Smith, leaving me with Cooper and Kira—neither of whom were looking at me.

What the hell?

Moving on .

"Smith said you didn't find anything."

"No. Car's clean."

"We also checked your camera angles," Kira put in. "Coop walked the perimeter and I tapped into your system to make sure you didn't have any blind spots. You're secure on that front."

It was good to know they were thorough but that was not new knowledge. When I'd installed the cameras I'd made sure every inch was covered.

"You tapped in?" I asked with my brow raised.

Kira shrugged.

"It's my job," she said, not sounding one bit remorseful. "I also double checked all your socials to make sure I couldn't geo-track the pictures you have of your exterior remodel of your house."

"Like see my phone's location from the pictures?"

Kira's head tilted to the side and she smiled. "No, girl, I can pinpoint the location from the surroundings."

"Seriously?"

"Haven't you ever watched that monkey guy on TikTok?"

I had no idea who she was talking about.

"I don't TikTok, it's a cesspool of negativity and disgusting behavior I refuse to participate in."

Kira looked shocked.

"Not even to doom scroll?"

"Hell no. So, who's the monkey guy?"

"I'd show you but I don't have my throwaway phone and that app doesn't touch my real devices." Kira closed her laptop in front of her and shifted her rear end on the one stool I had at the house so her knees weren't hitting the side of the cabinet. "So, this guy asks people to send him selfies and he tells them where they are using the surroundings in the pictures. Like the last one I watched, this guy was on a balcony. All you could see was what looked like a runway, and a tall building to the right and what looked like a loading dock to the left. Nothing else."

"She watches the videos to see if she can find the locations," Cooper told me. "It's a game to her."

"And can you?"

"Hell yeah I can. Google maps, social media image libraries, stock footage sites. Easy day."

I had to admit that was both fascinating and a little scary. I never thought about posting a selfie on social media and someone being able to use it to pinpoint my exact location. Okay, scary wasn't the right word—downright frightening was more like it.

"Well shit," I muttered. "But you couldn't find my house from the pictures I posted?"

"No. The images were cropped close."

Thank God for that.

I eyed my phone on the counter next to Kira's laptop and snatched it up to see I had two missed calls. One from my dad, one from the place where I'd ordered the bathroom vanities. The design center would have to wait. My dad would give me an hour to call him back before he'd go into full blown Daddy Bear and call incessantly until I answered.

"Do you mind if I call my dad back?" I asked.

"No, go for it. We were getting ready to head out," Kira said as she slid off the stool.

After that, she shocked the shit out of me by pulling me into a hug.

"I programmed my number into your phone and called myself so I have your number."

She'd programed her number into my locked phone.

As soon as she released me I turned and shouted, "Jonas!"

"What can I say?" he yelled back. "I like living on the wild side!"

I rolled my eyes hoping Smith punched Jonas in the gut for screwing with my phone again when bizarrely, strangely, so out-of-the-blue I don't know what made me think about it, except that I'd used my personal cell, not the one I used for taking pictures and quick videos of my work, and the thought smacked me in the face.

I didn't bother looking through my phone to look at the picture I knew I'd taken.

Instead, I shoved my cell in my pocket and jogged out of the kitchen, muttering, "Be back."

I heard footsteps behind me but didn't stop until I was in the bedroom—not the one I was demolishing for the closet-slash-bathroom, the one next to it with the stain on the floor. I went straight to the closet and stared at the bottom right corner. There hadn't been carpet in any of the closets. It was weird but all the rooms had exposed wood floors in the closets.

"Do you have a pocketknife?" I asked.

"Yeah."

Cooper produced a knife and held it out me, smartly not inquiring if I knew how to use it.

I slid the safety off and flicked open the knife before I bent to my knees and scooted farther into the closet.

"What's going on?" I heard Smith ask.

"I remembered something," I answered, and wedged the tip of the knife between the small crack between the boards.

"What'd you remember?"

I was too busy trying not to break the tip of Cooper's knife to answer Smith. When I could pry the board up I sat back and looked over my shoulder.

"I can't get the board up with the knife. I need a?—"

"Aria! What did you remember?"

I used the knife to point to the boards and explained, "When I was doing a walkthrough before I started work, I noticed some of the boards in this closet needed to be nailed down. I didn't think anything about it and forgot until just now. But what if something's under these boards and that's why they're wonky?"

Now that I said it out loud, it was kind of embarrassing. Not me forgetting to nail the boards, but the flooring was old. Boards twist if they're not installed properly, and I was probably making something out of nothing. Especially since we hadn't found anything in the other room and the bottom three feet of drywall had been cut out.

I knew that was Smith's doing, and I appreciated the effort. But now the remaining drywall would have to be removed as well in case there was something hidden higher up.

"I'll grab the crowbar from the other room."

Smith disappeared into the hallway. I closed Cooper's knife and handed it back to him.

"Three rows," he noted.

"Could be twisting."

"That's not twisting. Someone pulled those rows up and didn't fully nail them down."

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.

Pictures?

"What kind of pictures?"

Please don't be of dead people .

Please don't let my house be infested with the bad juju of a murder .

"Pictures of girls."

Oh my God! A pedo was worse than a murder.

I was totally dumping this house.

"Girls?" I whispered.

"Didn't get a good look, not gonna take another look, but yeah, girls. Look to be teenagers."

"Why do you want Kira?" I asked.

And that's when I noticed Jonas hanging back in the hall watching. No, not watching—glaring at the tin box with a scary scowl on his face.

"I'm not looking at the pictures again but someone has to."

"I can?—"

"Baby, you look like you're gonna puke. No way are you looking at these pictures."

So, he was right. I did feel nauseous but it was my house and I needed to suck it and do my part.

"I can?—"

"Coop said you needed me," Kira interrupted.

"Yeah, grab some gloves and bag this. Then when you get back to the office, I hate this for you, KK, but you need to catalog the pictures inside before you dust them for pints."

"Coop's better?—"

"Girls, darlin', they're pictures of girls," Jonas put in.

Kira's face turned pale before it turned a shade of unnatural red.

"Motherfucker," she cursed.

"Jonas, you're wearing gloves," Kira pointed out. "Bag that for me, yeah?"

I watched helplessly while the box was passed off.

Then I stood there longer in absolute shock.

Girls.

Pictures of girls.

A break-in.

Someone following me.

Letters that no longer seemed so silly.

"What if the person sending the letters knew what was happening to those girls?" I tipped my head in the direction of the door even though Jonas and the tin box were no longer visible. "The letters say ‘I know.' Whoever?—"

"Aria, listen to me. We got this, yeah?"

I was glad Smith sounded so confident because I no longer was.

"Yeah. Right. You got this," I snarked. "And what you have is creepy as fuck and happening to me."

"Baby—"

And that was when I lost it.

"Don't ‘baby' me, Smith. There were pictures of young girls hidden under the floor. That isn't creepy, that's totally fucking whacked!"

As soon as I was done with my rant I noticed two things. First, Jonas was crowding me from the side, a look of sympathy and understanding clear on his face. The second was Smith had gone vacant. Both had registered but didn't penetrate, not fully because my phone in my pocket was ringing and I knew who was calling.

My time was up.

"I have to take this, it's my father," I announced and left the room.

But not before Smith's gaze finally hit me. And when it did I got an overwhelming feeling something had just broken.