The beam illuminated first several piles of stock certificates. No good. They needed liquid. He pulled out the stocks and pushed them aside. Next he pulled out a cedar box the size of a loaf of bread. He opened it.
Jewels! Had they belonged to his grandmother? Or, God forbid, his mother?
He pushed the thought from his mind. Mom and Grandma were gone, and he was here to get his due.
A string of small pearls caught his eye. In his mind, Mia was wearing them, their white sheen a beautiful contrast to her tan skin. He grabbed them and pocketed them, and then said, “Check these out, guys. They’ll be worth a buck or two.” He handed the box to Max and continued searching.
He pulled out a pocket watch. An old pipe. The old man smoked a pipe? Or maybe this had belonged to someone important. He tossed it aside. In the back were stacks of bills. Show time! They were hundreds. About twenty packs of hundreds, each totaling ten thousand dollars.
He’d hit the fucking jackpot.
He shoved one in his pocket with the necklace and tossed the others out to the guys. “Pay dirt, fellas.”
“Shit the bed,” Max said. “There’s two or three hundred grand here. And you said the big money ain’t in this safe?”
“I said it’s probably not in this safe. My guess is it’s in the wall safe.” He deliberately didn’t mention the safe in Grandpa’s bedroom. That was for his eyes and his eyes alone. He just had to figure out when to check it out.
Only a couple of gold coins were left in the safe. He pocketed one—hell, he was related to the man and these others were nothing to Grandpa Norman—and threw the rest to the guys.
“That cleans this out.”
“Where’s the other safe?”
Jeff stood. “It’s over there.” He pointed to the Leonardo painting. “Behind The Last Supper.”
Trey beamed the light on the painting. “What are we waiting for?”
“Yeah, Bay,” Max said. “Let’s quit fucking around.”
“Who’s fucking around?” Jeff put the stock certificates and pipe back into the safe and replaced the books and statue. He walked to the painting and ran his gloved hand over the top of the frame. His fingertip was coated in dust. Whoever Gramps was paying to clean his house sucked. For some reason, the thought made him laugh out loud.
“What’s so funny?” Max said.
Jeff shook his head. “Nothing.” He prepared to lift the painting and then jerked when a voice invaded his thoughts.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
Chapter Seventeen
Let her in? Jeff shook his head. “You don’t want to be let in to this hell, Mia. Trust me.”
Still behind him, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed his head again. “I won’t pretend to understand what you’ve been through. I know I can’t. But I want to help. Sometimes you just need to let it out.”
“Oh, God.” His face hit his hands again. Damn it! He was not going to cry. Not going to be weak. Weakness gets you killed.
“It’s okay, Jeff.” Her lips touched his head once more. “Let it out. It’s okay.”
But it wasn’t okay. It would never be okay. His shoulders shook as the unwanted tear fell into his hands.
Mia’s comforting hands caressed his shoulders. Then she curved her arms around him, t
ighter this time. Her lips slid over his neck. She said nothing.
A giant sob racked through him. He heard his own voice crying—like an echo, as if the sounds were coming from far away. He hated it, but he was powerless to stop the onslaught. It was coming out now, and he no longer had any control.
Mia loosened her hold and knelt down next to him, combing her fingers through his hair. He looked up, knowing his face was red and tear-stained.
She had tears in her eyes too. No! That’s the last thing he wanted, for her to hurt. He pushed the chair back, its legs squeaking against the tile floor, and stood. “Mia, you have to go.”