Page 123 of Enemies with Benefits

“She’s my wife—”

“She’s nothing to you! I warned you about calling her that again—”

“Neither of you is helping Makayla. We need to figure out where she is and who has her.”

“Askhim.”

“I thought she was here. I’m not going to keep repeating myself—you know what? I’ll just have a conversation with the local police. Non-corrupt ones.” He turns and walks away.

“Where’s Rebecca?” I call out. He stalls in his step and slowly turns.

“Wha—What did you say?”

“Rebecca Taylor. Where is she?” He stares at me, the color draining from his face.

“How do you know that name?”

“She’s been here going by the name of Jenny Swanson. She befriended Makayla.”

He freezes, his eyes wide. His head shakes. “No.”

“Oh, don’t act like you didn’t know—”

“I didn’t. I swear. That’s why I came here. Rebecca’s been MIA. Not that I’ve minded. I was clear with her to leave me alone, and when I didn’t hear from her, it didn’t sit well with me. She’s. . . well, very adamant about our situation. So, I went to her place. I still had a key. When she didn’t answer, I let myself in. I was worried she may have harmed herself. She’d threatened to do it before.” He pauses to swipe his hands through his hair. “When I went into her bedroom, I saw it.”

“Saw what?” I demand.

“The wall. It was filled with photographs. Pictures of me. Makayla. Snapshots of her at work. At the grocery store. Us in our home. I could barely grasp what I was looking at. But all the ones with Makayla in them. . . they were. . .”

“They were what?” I snap.

“They were vandalized. Torn. She had scratched her eyes out in every single photo.”

“You saw this and didn’t think to call the cops?”

He put his hands up. “I panicked. I tried calling her, but her phone just goes straight to voicemail, and now it’s full. So, I came straight here—”

“Well, she has her, and God knows what she’s done. If something’s happened, it’s on you.” I go at him, but Steve grabs my bicep.

“Stand down, Ben. Mr. Fischer, if Rebecca went anywhere, where do you think she would have taken Makayla?”

He presses his lips together, stuttering out his reply. “I—she could have—maybe—”

“Answer the question!” Every second that ticks by is vital. He’s wasting time.

“I don’t know. She’s a wild card when she’s mad. Sometimes she’d go home to her place or to a bar. When she wanted to rile me up, she’d come to my house and stand on the lawn, hoping my wife—Makayla would see her. My house. She could be at my house, but it’s thirty minutes away—”

“Give me your address.”

“I can call her. Ask where she is.” He pulls out his phone and dials, but Steve stops him.

“Hold on now. Giving her a heads up is not going to help us. If she knows we’re on to her, we’re putting Makayla at risk.”

“So, what do I do? What should I say?”

I open my mouth, but Steve puts his hand up. “Act normal. Tell her you want to talk. Ask if you two can meet.”

“What if she suspects something? Doesn’t believe me—?”

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