Page 62 of Dirty Rotten Cheating Husband

“That’s toxic,” I said severely, but I couldn’t help the little flickers of heat that went through my body at his words and his set, possessive jaw as he looked at me.

“Let’s go,” he said.

All clad in black, we went to the docks. You could see why Rocky used this marina. It was little-used and run-down. A perfect place for a fraud kingpin to use as his base.

“These boats are all crappy,” Dad said indignantly. “I don’t trust any of them to be seaworthy. We better just take mine.”

“Since when do you have a boat?” I cried.

And here Dad pointed to one of the most dilapidated boats of all. “Your Uncle Sebastian loaned me this one.”

“If Rocky uses this dock,” Grayson put in. “He probably stores the actual good shit in a shed somewhere. Follow me.”

And sure enough, after we had all circled the marina, there was a big shed with a heavy lock on it.

“Grayson,” I hissed, putting a hand on his huge muscular forearm. “Once you do this, you can’t go back. You’ll be a dirty criminal.”

He turned to look back at me, his stern face transformed by the flash of a smile.

“Sweetheart, I’ll do anything for you. Up to and including second-degree breaking and entering.”

“We’re just borrowing the boat,” Dad put in unhelpfully.

“I’m only doing this for Clementine,” Grayson warned him. “And because this will get you out of my hair.”

He didn’t even bother with the lock, just ripped at both doors, and they tore open.

Inside were several new boats, gleaming bright in the moonlight.

We all got in and Grayson motored us carefully over, following Dad’s hasty whispers.

Fog began to roll in, covering the choppy waves as we moved from the bay into the open ocean.

I began to fear, not for the first time in my life, that my Dad had no idea what he was doing, but then the fog parted, and I saw it.

A small island, densely covered with pine trees, with a little dock on the side next to a high sheer cliff.

“That’s it!” Dad cried.

“Sit down!” Grayson said sharply. “You’ll tip the whole boat over if you jump about like that.”

He pulled up to the dock and let Dad and I out, then he eased the boat back a bit.

“For easier getaway,” Grayson said.

Then he took a huge leap and landed easily on the pebbly shore beside us.

Together, we climbed a shallow ladder.

At the top and through the trees, we could see the house for the first time, a big, neo-Gothic mansion.

“Clementine and I will wait near the treeline for 20 minutes,” Grayson warned. “If you aren’t back by then, we’ll leave without you.”

Dad looked indignantly at me. “Are you going to take such cheek from this big ox? If you were 10 years older and maybe two feet shorter, boy, you’d really be sorry.”

“I don’t see any way of stopping him,” I admitted. “I’ve done everything I can to get him to go away. Hit him with a baseball bat, made him go to open mic night at the coffee shop. Nothing has worked.”

“Correct,” Grayson said. “I’m not giving up until you let me have a second chance.”

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