If You Must Know (Potomac Point #1)(101)

He laughed, cocky as ever. “Amanda and your mother will never risk the scandal. Nor would my wife put her child’s father in jail.”

It took every bit of restraint not to rush him and shove him off the boat. Only a monster could use my sister’s love against her . . . and harm his own child. I’d give him points for knowing my family pretty well, but he should’ve considered the way painful events change and harden us.

“Don’t count on my sister’s sympathies, Lyle. Your wife has started divorce proceedings and, given the way you’re treating your daughter, hardly thinks of you as her child’s father. From the bottom of my heart, thank you for proving yourself to be the dick I always said you were before your child is born. But make no mistake, Amanda won’t protect you. Don’t believe me? Roll the dice.”

He hesitated, his cold blue eyes heating with menace. In contrast, Ebba had fallen silent and turned white as the fresh paint on this old boat. Lyle took another step toward me. I gulped and stepped back, bumping into the side of the ship. Trapped. Shoot. Had Eli been right to worry?

My gaze darted between him and Ebba, but I refused to say “bravo” before I got that title.

Lyle spoke through gritted teeth. “Whatever ‘evidence’ you think you have is a long way from a conviction. I’m sure Kevin explained how hard it is to prove fraud absent a confession. Is that why you’re here? Are you wearing a wire?”

We’d anticipated this possibility, so I pulled up my T-shirt to reveal a red bikini top, then spun around to show them the “absence” of any wires and recording devices. Meanwhile, the bracelet kept track of every word, but Lyle wouldn’t think twice about a yoga instructor wearing a Fitbit.

Sticking as close to the truth as possible, I said, “It’s just the three of us on this boat. Maybe bimbo here doesn’t know all you did, but you and I know the truth, so let’s cut the crap and make the deal. You don’t want to go to jail, and I don’t want the government to seize this boat and auction it off for peanuts, leaving my mom holding the bag. Gimme the title and we all walk away.”

“Lyle!” The desperation in Ebba’s eyes suggested she’d finally started to believe me. “You said you got a loan.”

“I did.” He smiled.

“Yes, he did. A loan from my mom that he repeatedly said—verbally and in writing—was for a real estate deal in Florida.” I made a show of gesturing around The Office with a quizzical expression. “This doesn’t look like a South Florida condo complex to me. Oh, and by the way, the first interest payment date came and went, so my mom is calling the entire balance due. Absent a four-hundred-thousand-dollar money order, I need the title to settle up.”

Lyle sneered. “I’ll give you credit for being the only Turner with the balls to threaten me, but you’ll be going home empty-handed. The cops will need time to investigate before they get a warrant, so I’ll be long gone. You can’t touch me where we’re headed.”

“Wait a second.” Ebba’s crestfallen expression gave me a little thrill. If she hadn’t ruined my sister’s life, I’d almost feel bad for her, because it couldn’t be easy to see the ogre in someone you loved. “Is she telling the truth? Did you steal the money?”

“I borrowed it.” Lyle took another step toward me, but I ducked out of the way. Adrenaline had me on high alert. If I had to, I could jump into the water.

He stopped his advance, choosing another tack. “Ebba, change in plans. We’ll be taking off sooner than expected. Go inside while I escort our guest off the boat.”

I was running out of time, and if Ebba went inside, I’d lose my weak link. “I never liked you, Lyle, but I never thought you were this stupid. But, hey, if you want to risk your life by sailing stormy seas rather than hand this boat over, no one will miss you.” Then I spoke directly to Ebba. “In the meantime, now that you know the score, everything you do to help him escape makes you an accomplice after the fact at best, or a coconspirator at worst, so I sure hope he’s worth it.”

“Lyle!” Ebba cried. “I don’t want to go to jail. Tell me the truth.”

“Seriously, lady?” I laughed in her face. “You got involved with a married man—one with a pregnant wife—and you still want to trust him over me?”

“Shut up!” she shouted, then spun and pounded on his chest. He grabbed her wrists, but she screamed, “Just give her the damn title, Lyle. I’m not going to jail for you.”

“Ebba, calm the fuck down. Don’t let her get in your head. Focus on the life we want. The one we’ll have as soon as we sail away. We’ll be safe in Venezuela.”

“Oh my God, you’re guilty.” Ebba grabbed her head, visibly shaking. “I thought we’d planned an incredible life, investing in international properties, not one looking over our shoulder. How could you be so stupid?”

“‘Stupid’?” His stricken face revealed a crack in that fragile, narcissistic ego. “I did this for us. For the adventure we wanted.”

“I thought we had a legitimate plan . . .” She started tugging at her hair, turning in small circles, talking to herself.

“Relax,” he said.

“No! I’m not sailing into a storm, and I’m not going to jail. This is over. Give up the boat, Lyle, so you don’t end up in jail, too.”