can—”
“She’s too close. She’s Joe’s wife.”
“She’s also about ready to pop a kid. If you’d stop interrupting me, you’d know I was going to say that Melanie can recommend someone.”
Of course. Not like I hadn’t already thought of that. Problem was, a therapist couldn’t help me with the new development Joe and I were dealing with.
No one could help me with that.
As much as I wanted to share everything with Marjorie at that moment, I owed Joe my confidence. He wasn’t telling his wife, so I could hardly tell his sister.
“I’m just saying think about it,” she said.
“I will.”
It wasn’t a lie. I’d already thought seriously about it. And I’d do it…after Joe and I took care of the Justin Valente situation.
Marjorie snuggled into my shoulder, and I kissed the top of her sweet-smelling head.
“You still going to Paris?” I asked.
“Depends.”
“On what?”
“A lot of things. Are you willing to stop pushing me away?”
“I’m not ready for a relationship,” I said. “That won’t change.”
“What if I like you the way you are?”
“Then you’re nuts.”
She chuckled. “Maybe I am.”
“I was honest with you, as much as I could be without breaking a confidence.”
“I’d never ask you to break a confidence. I hope you know that.”
“I do now. So will you be honest with me?”
She sighed. “I’ll try.”
“All right, then. Tell me about that cut on your thigh.”
She pulled away from me. “I did tell you. I scratched it.”
“Sweetheart…please.”
“It’s nothing. It’s under control.”
“It’s a new wound. It’s scabbed over.”
She rose from the bed and paced over the area rug covering the hardwood floor of the small bedroom. “This is hard, Bryce.”
“I know.”
“It’s just that—” She lost her footing and tumbled to the floor.
I stood quickly and grabbed her. “Baby, are you okay?”
“Yeah, just clumsy. Seems to happen a lot when I’m trying to get away from you.” She moved the corner of the rug out of the way. “Wait. What’s this?”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Marjorie
Our eyes had long since adjusted to the darkness. One of the floorboards was loose, leaving a slight bump under the rug. That must have been what had caught on my foot and made me trip. Bryce threw the rug out of the way and knelt on the floor.
“What the hell?”
“It’s loose,” I said.
“I can see that.” He tugged but couldn’t pull the board up. “I’m going to need some tools.”
“Are there any here?”
“There used to be. I’ll be right back.”
While he was gone, I looked around the room for anything we could use to jimmy up the floorboard. Nothing, and all I had in my purse was a nail file. That would hardly be strong enough.
Bryce returned with a small crowbar.
“Where’d you find that?”
“Out back. My dad kept some tools back there.” Then he stopped.
“What?”
“What if I don’t want to know what’s under here? What if…”
Oh, no. He couldn’t be thinking… “Babe, no. There’d be a smell.”
“Not if it’s been a long time.”
“Then let’s not look, okay? We can get someone else out here to—”
“I have to know,” he said. “I have to know.” The second time more to himself than to me. He stuck the crowbar between the seams of the wood.
Within minutes, the board had loosened and Bryce pulled it up.
“What is it?” I asked.
He picked up some manila folders. “Looks like documents.”
“We’ll need more light,” I said.
“Yeah, definitely. I’m just going to grab everything out of here, and then we’ll take it… Shit. Where can we take it?”
“The guesthouse? You said your mom and Henry are leaving for Florida tomorrow.”
“I suppose. I’d prefer a safer place.”
“Then maybe we leave them here. If no one’s found them by now, they’re not looking. Plus, these could be nothing.”
“Marj, things hidden underneath floorboards aren’t usually nothing.”
He had a valid point. “Anything else down there?”
“Yeah, hold on. It’s like a box or something. I may need to remove another board.” He jammed the crowbar back into a seam to remove the hidden staples, and soon another board sat next to the first one on the floor. “Oh my God.”
“What?”
“Do you have a handkerchief or something?”
“I’ve never carried a handkerchief in my life, Bryce.”
“A tissue. Anything.”
I grabbed my purse and pulled out a small package of tissues. “Here.”
He removed one and then pulled a gun out of the floor. “I don’t want my prints on anything here,” he said. Then he pulled out another gun. And another.
“Three?” I gasped.
“That I’ve found so far.” He pulled out a metal box secured with a combination lock. “I’m guessing there are more in here.”
“Is that all?”
“Joe