If You Must Know (Potomac Point #1)(98)

Eli choked down his tea. “What?”

“I leave tonight, and you can bet I won’t leave Puerto Rico without getting Lyle’s confession on tape. He’s easy to bait because his giant ego cracks in a flash. In one swoop, I’ll save my family and make up for keeping quiet back in February.”

Eli shook his head. “From what you’ve described, no one would’ve listened to you in February, so you shouldn’t feel guilty about that. Certainly not enough to justify taking this kind of risk. You’ve got a history of animosity with this guy, who’s now committed a couple of felonies. He’s got to anticipate that, sooner or later, people will be after him, so he’s probably prepared to defend himself. What if he pulls a gun or worse?”

I closed my eyes to picture Lyle pointing a gun at me. Nope. Couldn’t see it. “Lyle’s an obnoxious ass, but he’s not a killer. And not for nothing, but I can take him in a fight. He’s fit, but he’s not much bigger than me, and I’m wily.” I winked to loosen Eli up.

No dice. His chilly expression gave me goose bumps. “This isn’t funny, Erin. You’re putting your safety in jeopardy for what . . . money? Money won’t mean much if you’re dead or seriously injured.”

I leaned across the table, patting his hand. “Thanks for caring, but you’re overreacting. The FBI will be nearby if anything goes awry.”

“It only takes a second for a bullet or a knife to do permanent damage.” He straightened his posture as if his muscles were tightening bit by bit.

“I’ve taken some self-defense classes in the past five years. Trust me, I know my limits.”

“That sounds uncomfortably familiar, and to be blunt, I know mine.”

“What’s that mean?” All my happy vibes from earlier fizzled.

He tugged his earlobe as his lips pressed together. “The last time I got involved with a stubborn, passionate woman with all the answers, it didn’t work out so well. Not sure I want to sign up for that ride again.”

I blinked, suddenly feverish. “Are you saying that I’ve got to do things your way—play everything safe all the time—in order for us to be friends or whatever?”

He stared at me for what seemed like forever. “This trip’s not some little thing. I’m not setting a curfew or micromanaging your life. But you’ve got no training in undercover operations. You don’t know what this woman he’s hooked up with is capable of doing, either, so at least be honest with yourself if not with me. You’re so determined to get what you want that you can’t be objective.”

I gulped my chai, which now tasted sour thanks to my bitter disappointment. “If this were that dangerous, the FBI wouldn’t go along with it.”

“I hope you’re right.” He opened his wallet and tossed five bucks on the table before he stood. “I wish you well. Truly. I know there’s a lot at stake for your family. But I’m sorry, Erin. I can’t do this with you. I left Nashville to live a quiet, comfortable life. One without worry.”

“You’re being unfair.” I slapped my hand on the table, then winced when his brows rose. Still, he was in the wrong. “From the moment we met, when I barged my way in with Rodri to get my albums back, you knew what kind of person I was—one who hardly thinks things through, let alone overthinks them. I’m working on that a little, but now you suddenly want me to be someone else entirely.”

He shook his head. “No. I don’t. I like you exactly as you are. But this right here reminds me that what I like about you is exactly what scares me about caring for someone like you. I don’t expect you to understand. You haven’t been through what I have. You don’t know how hard it was for me . . . still is. How I’ve struggled with my own guilt for agreeing to the pregnancy, agreeing to the camping trip . . . The tears I’ve cried. The booze. The anger. I can’t do it again. I just can’t. I’m sorry.”

I stood and reached for his hand. “Wait a sec . . .”

He raised mine to his lips and kissed my knuckles. “Please be safe and take care of yourself.”

That sad little smile of his appeared before he turned, shoved his hands in his pockets, and walked away.

I sank back onto the chair with a thud, as if I’d gained two hundred pounds in ten minutes. Aching from losing something we never fully explored.

Dad had always told me to be true to myself, but when it came to relationships, was there a line between self-respect and selfishness? Since my breakthrough with my sister, I’ve thought about that. About how my attitude—the delight I’d taken in defying my mom and Amanda under the auspices of following my father’s advice—helped shape their attitudes toward me. Had I also repeated that pattern with Eli, or were we actually incompatible?

One I could fix. The other, not so much.

Either way, I had a plane—and a liar—to catch.



I wished I could roll down the window to get a better view of the island along the one-hour drive to the Puerto del Rey Marina, situated in the northeast coast of Puerto Rico. It’d been too dark to see much of San Juan last night, and my morning had been consumed with interviews and a mountain of paperwork. Now I was trapped in the back of this squad car.

The wireless recording device on my wrist resembled a Fitbit. Much less likely to be detected than the tapes, wires, and recording devices I’d grown up seeing on TV. Still, wearing it made what I’d signed up for suddenly very real, and Eli’s dire predictions more fathomable.