Whatever it takes, p.1
Whatever It Takes, page 1
Whatever It Takes
S. Jones
Contents
Prologue
1. Charlotte
2. Quinn
3. Charlotte
4. Quinn
5. Charlotte
6. Quinn
7. Charlotte
8. Quinn
9. Charlotte
10. Quinn
11. Charlotte
12. Quinn
13. Charlotte
14. Quinn
15. Charlotte
16. Quinn
17. Charlotte
18. Quinn
19. Charlotte
20. Quinn
21. Charlotte
22. Quinn
23. Charlotte
24. Quinn
25. Charlotte
26. Quinn
27. Charlotte
28. Quinn
29. Charlotte
Epilogue
Thank You
Also Available by S. Jones
About the Author
Copyright@ 2020 by S.Jones
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any way form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of quotations in a book review.
Editing:
Virginia Tesi Carey
Proofreading:
Marla Selkow Esposito
Formatting:
Leanne Clugston at Irish Ink
Cover Design:
ME Kusel at Steamy Designs
Photo:
Lindee Robinson Photography
Cover Models:
Shelby Smith & Andrew Kruczynski
“Hey, Bartender, another shot of Patron,” Grant Anderson muttered as he continued his pity party of one. He was at a dive bar down by the river in South Philly. Although his meeting with Dom Scarantino wasn’t for another hour, the thought of going home and having to face the very people he continued to let down was too much to bear.
As the burn of the tequila hit the back of his throat, he couldn’t help but wonder how his life had taken such a drastic turn for the worse.
From the outside looking in, Grant appeared to have it all. He came from a well-respected family, married the woman of his dreams, and had a beautiful little girl. He even managed to build a career with a promising future.
Everything should have been perfect, but things were seldom as they appeared. His wife was on the verge of leaving him, and his role as an ADA had turned into a sham.
At first, the requests from Scarantino seemed small and insignificant. He would help with a plea here and there, get some inside info when needed, or steer a cop in the wrong direction without suspicion.
Tonight’s request, however, was crossing a line. The threats had advanced, and his double life was becoming harder to keep quiet.
About ten minutes before nine, Scarantino walked into the bar, scanned the room, and slid onto the empty stool next to Grant. He removed his suit jacket, rolled up his sleeves, and leaned back.
“Good evening, counselor, what brings you out to our shitty side of town?” Scarantino smirked, the only hint of humor he ever showed. He was powerful and deadly—a man you didn’t fuck with.
The amount of alcohol that had built up in Grant’s system over the past hour had him forgetting that fact. “Well, Mr. Cartel leader, I’m here because a friend of yours told me that if I wanted my knee caps to stay attached to my legs, that I needed to meet with you.”
Scarantino tapped his meaty hand on the bar and ordered two of whatever Grant was drinking.
He waited until they were alone before he spoke. “If you keep running your mouth like that, you’ll find your lips will no longer be connected to your face.”
Grant clenched his jaw and thought it would be best to not provoke him any further.
“Look, Grant, my father always told me if you’re going to dance with the devil, you’re going to have to pay the fiddler. I’m here to tell you that your tango with the devil has come to end. It’s time to pay up, and I’m here to collect.”
Grant wrapped his hand around his drink. “What do you want?”
“I took the liberty of placing a backpack in the trunk of your car. Just like we discussed earlier this week, I need you to deliver the package to an associate of mine. Easy peasy, lemon squeezy, my friend.
“I’m not your friend,” Grant hissed out.
“No, you’re not, Grant. You’re a self-centered, drug-addicted prick, that was stupid enough to let his addiction to nose candy get out of hand.”
The words stung, but it was the truth.
“My friend is expecting this package to be dropped off at exactly midnight. That gives you plenty of time to sit here and think about all the ways you’ve fucked up your life.” He took a hefty sip of his drink and squinted his eyes. “Or you could spend the next two hours banging your whore that’s waiting for you in that swanky hotel room across town.”
Grant concentrated on the ticking clock on the wall. He was about to lose everything that mattered to him if he didn’t do as he was told. There had been enough implied threats over the last few weeks directed toward his family that he knew he was out of options.
Scarantino pushed back to stand up. “Enjoy yourself, amigo. If I were you, I might switch those shots over to espressos. I’d hate to see you fuck this one up.”
“Adios, motherfucker,” Grant said under his breath as he watched Scarantino walk away in his well-tailored suit. His goons followed close behind him. After he was gone, he ordered two more shots of Patron. Once he was finished, he dialed up his side piece and told her he was on his way.
Looking back, Grant shouldn’t have gotten behind the wheel of a car after downing all that tequila. Maybe then he wouldn’t have run the stoplight at ninety miles an hour. Perhaps he should’ve just stayed at the hotel with his girlfriend. If he weren’t so jacked up on coke, he probably would have seen the car in front of him.
But Grant didn’t have time to react or second-guess his decisions. He barely had touched the brakes as he skidded through the intersection, tearing the van in front of him in half. His airborne BMW slammed into a tree; the airbag hit his face, and when he woke up, everything hurt like a bitch. He waited a few minutes as he watched the van he destroyed burst into flames.
He didn’t have time to call for help; the only thing he could do was save himself. So, he took the backpack filled with ten kilos of cocaine and ran…
“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 t
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.
I didn’t like how he looked at her. His stare was too focused and too intense.
She rolled her eyes and grumbled, but thankfully, she let go of my leg. The drama queen in her had taken over, and sometimes it felt like she was six going on sixteen.
Heat bloomed in my face, and I pressed my sweaty palms together, trying to hide the fact that they were trembling. “I really don’t want to talk about any of this in front of my daughter,” I said to Detective Rubin as Emery disappeared into the house.
“We understand and we won’t take up much of your time.” He gave me a reassuring smile, spotting Emery over my shoulder. “If you want, we can wait until she’s taken off to school?”
I looked down and took inventory of what I was wearing. I certainly wasn’t dressed to impress in a simple gray top and black leggings. But at least I had showered this morning, so I was thankful for that.
I opened the door and gestured for them to come inside. As soon as Quinn’s body got close enough to mine, everything around me stopped, especially my breathing. He paused for a brief second as he passed me; the scent of his familiar cologne caught me off guard. It was the same damn cologne that he always wore. The one that I would put in his stocking every year on Christmas Eve.
He stepped inside, paying close attention to everything as we moved from the foyer to the living room. His eyes seemed intrigued as he studied the photos of Emery lined along the wall. His steps faltered, and he hesitated at my wedding picture on the mantel, a frown formed on his face. I turned my gaze to the ceiling, wishing I had more time to prepare for this. Maybe then I wouldn’t be so anxious.
The sound of our footsteps echoed down the hall as the two men followed me into the kitchen. I walked over and placed Emery’s lunch in her backpack and zipped the pouch shut.
“All right, sweet pea, you’re all set.” I turned to put her empty plate in the dishwasher. “Go wash your hands. The bus will be here any minute.”
Her nose scrunched up as she looked curiously at the two large men standing in the middle of our kitchen. A little line formed in the middle of her forehead. “You guys are friends of my mom’s?”
Detective Rubin’s expression softened. “As a matter-of-fact, we are.”
She rested her chin in her hands. I could see her inquiring mind working overtime. “What are your names?”
“I’m Marco and this is Quinn.”
Emery tilted her head to the side and focused on Quinn. “You know, the sun isn’t shining in here. Why do you still have your sunglasses on?”
“You’re right. Sorry about that,” he said with a wobbly voice as he pushed his glasses up to the top of his head. “Nice to meet you, Emery.”
His familiar voice stirred up things inside of me that I didn’t want to remember. Memories of broken promises and declarations of love came rushing back, creeping into places where they didn’t belong. While it had been more than seven years, it still felt like time stood still. I never imagined that seeing him again would be so painful.
“Emery.” I swallowed nervously. “It’s time to go. You don’t want the bus to leave without you.”
“Why does the bus always have to come so early?” she griped while taking one last bite of her toast.
“Maybe if you went to bed earlier, you wouldn’t be so tired in the morning.”
She gave me the stink eye letting me know what she thought of my suggestion as she stalked over to grab her backpack.
I fastened the strap along her shoulder and pressed a kiss to her head. I could see the bus pulling up at the curb through the window. “You have a good day. I’ll see you when you get home.”
“Love you, Mom.” She smiled and waved goodbye to the two men. “Bye, Marco and Quinn.”
Detective Rubin laughed, while Quinn stared at her across my kitchen table with a stoic look on his face. I wanted to know what he was thinking, but then reminded myself that it didn’t matter what the bastard thought.
