Page 2 of Whatever It Takes

“Emery, your breakfast is getting cold,”I yelled from the bottom of the stairs and prayed that there wouldn’t be any more delays this morning. Who knew that getting a six-year-old ready for school could turn into an Olympic event?

Frustration pushed through me because she was running behind as usual. I brought my hand to the back of my neck, forcing the tense muscles to relax. A part of me just wanted to crawl back into my bed and pretend my life wasn’t such a mess.

I glanced around the three-thousand-square-foot house that Grant and I purchased just over two years ago. We sold our little townhouse and bought this dream home when Emery was four. We wanted her to have space to run around and maybe one day grow our family.

I walked to the kitchen window and stared out into the sprawling backyard that backed up to a wooded forest.

When we first saw this house, I envisioned backyard barbeques and princess-themed birthday parties. I pictured little kids playing tag, running around the green open space, and splashing around in the in-ground pool. Grant would walk through the front door at the end of the day, sneak up behind me, and kiss me softly on the neck. We would gather around the table, laugh, and talk about our day. Later in the evening, once Emery was in bed, we would sit out on the porch swing, sipping on a nice glass of Malbec and stare up at the stars, basking in the life that we had built for ourselves.

Unfortunately, my entire marriage was a lie and the life I had built for myself was all wrapped up in this house full of smoke and mirrors.

My hands gripped the granite countertop that he insisted we buy, wishing I could smash it to pieces. I hated what my life had turned into. I liked things calm, steady, and predictable. Instead, my well-organized life has turned into complete chaos in just a matter of weeks.

It only took one bad decision to change everything we had built for ourselves. One fateful night filled with bad choices tainted all the good that Grant had done and destroyed whatever little love I had for him.

“Mom, have you seen my library book?”my six-year-old asked from behind me.

I turned around and forced a smile on my face, not wanting Emery to sense the anger I felt every time I thought about her father.

“I think I saw it on your dresser last night.”

She huffed out a deep breath that sent her bangs flying across her forehead and ran back up the stairs yelling something about not getting a piece of candy if she didn’t return the book on time. The doorbell rang, just as I was getting the syrup out of the fridge for her pancakes.

I wiped my hands on the dish towel and walked over to the front door and peered through the sidelight window. It shouldn’t have surprised me to see Detective Rubin standing on my front step.

I swung the door open to greet him. Only he wasn’t alone.

My heart damn near beat out of my chest at the sight in front of me. I blinked once and then twice, feeling my limbs visibly start to shake. I stared at the man, wondering if my eyes were playing a trick on me. The last time I saw Quinn Walker, things did not end well. It had been over seven years since I’d seen him, and he looked to be a far cry from the boy I had once known.

He had on a pair of Ray-Bans that should have shielded his face from my view, but I’d recognize those grayish-blue eyes anywhere. Just like I knew they changed color with the weather. Those intense eyes are what drew me in right from the beginning. Seeing that the sun was out today, I knew they’d be blue, instead of a stormy gray.

I quickly glanced in the hallway mirror, taking a quick check to make sure I didn’t look like a housewife that had just rolled out of bed. I could guarantee you there was nothing worse than a surprise visit from your ex-fiancé showing up out of the blue.

“Can I help you, Detective Rubin?” I asked, trying to downplay the panic in my voice, and hoping that Quinn didn’t pick up on it. Which was useless, because he was the type to notice everything.

“Good Morning, Mrs. Anderson. This is Detective Walker from the Philadelphia Police Department.” He coughed into his hand, like he was trying to choose his words carefully. “I understand that an introduction probably isn’t necessary.” He scratched the back of his head, looking a little uncomfortable. “We are here to ask you a few questions.”

My throat grew tight, and my mind was so overwhelmed by seeing Quinn after all this time, I could barely form a damn thought, let alone words. I shifted my eyes over to him. He was watching me closely, the intensity in his eyes brought a chill across my skin. My gaze cut back to his partner, and I did my best to school my expression. I figured acting indifferent was better than allowing him to see how rattled I was.

“I already told you and the US Marshals everything I know,” I reminded him. “So, unless you have something new to add, or are here to tell me you’ve found my husband, or the person who left me that threatening note the other day, I’m not really sure what more you could want from me?”

Two days ago, I found a package on my doorstep. It was a small wrapped box with a red bow on top. When I opened it, I found an antique stopwatch with a note attached that said, “Tell your husband that time is running out.”

I called the detective on the case and he rushed right over. With the amount of backup he brought with him, you would have thought my house was a murder scene. My neighbors were probably having a field day with the amount of national attention my husband’s case had brought to our quaint suburban neighborhood.

Detective Rubin rubbed his hand along his jawline before dropping it. “May we please come in?”

I took a moment and begged my brain to come up with an excuse to send them away. I’d given out dozens of written statements and I’ve spoken to every law enforcement agency that existed. Answering questions about my husband wasn’t what troubled me. It was easy to remind everyone about what a snake I had married. What I couldn’t figure out was what Quinn’s role was in all this. And when the hell did he become a cop?

A million scenarios ran through my head, none of them making any sense. Last I remembered, he was living the dream out in California. The same dream that ended things between us.

I was just about to invite them inside when a little hand wrapped around my leg. “Mom, I found my book.” Emery’s head peeked around my side, as her stare alternated between the two men. “Who are these people?”

“They’re friends of mine who just stopped by to ask me a couple of questions,” I said with a calmness that I was far from feeling. I’ve been a little shaken up from that little special delivery the other day, but thankfully, she hadn’t picked up on the panic I felt every time I opened the door.

“Your breakfast is on the counter. Why don’t you eat it before it gets cold?”

Quinn stood a few feet away and stared at Emery with a curiosity that extended way beyond a professional interest. His jaw was clenched, and his hands were balled into fists at his side.

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