The Undercover Affair

by Cathryn Parry

  “My father was a police officer.” She hadn’t wanted to tell anyone this, but she was fast seeing it was her only way out. “Maybe that makes me different from other women you’re used to, but my dad didn’t have sons. He had me, his only daughter.”

  John nodded slowly. “Okay.”

  “He taught me self-defense maneuvers. And to observe my surroundings. And to sit in corners of rooms in order to better check for danger. But I am an interior designer, not a cop.”

  He seemed to be assimilating the information. “Did your father want you to be a cop?”

  “No.” She couldn’t help smiling. When she’d been young, her dad had thought her hopeless that way. She’d been a girly-girl, drawn to all things feminine. She participated in Girl Scouts. Cheerleading. Heck, she really had signed up to go to interior design school.

  “So, the way he was, it just rubbed off on you,” John stated.

  She nodded slightly, wondering what was happening. The conversation was turning into a mix of half-truths and half-lies. None of it comfortable. “I...should really just grab a coffee and then get back to work.”

  “Yeah. Me, too.” But he wasn’t taking his eyes from her.

  This...wasn’t good. Yes, he’d seemed to buy her story, but in convincing him, she’d exposed herself, too. And he hadn’t said a thing about himself.

  “Why were you watching me, anyway?” she asked. “Do you watch everybody to see if they’re police officers? Do police officers worry you or something?”

  He looked sharply at her.

  “What is it?” she pushed him, tilting her head to see his expression better. “You’re allowed to question me, but I can’t question you?”

  “I’m a Marine veteran,” he said forcefully.

  She knew that, but he didn’t know that she knew that. She gazed steadily at him. “So you’re no longer active duty? Are you a reservist? Or are you transitioned out?”

  “I’m out.”

  “Were you honorably discharged?”

  He scowled at her. “For several years now.”

  “How many years?”

  He thought for a moment. “Four.”

  He would have been active duty while Jason was still alive.

  “Were you in theater?” she asked.

  His jaw worked. “Iraq and Afghanistan.”

  So had Jason.

  The thought made her reel. What if they’d known each other? It wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility.

  She felt...even more off balance than she’d been. She’d prepared as best she could for this assignment, but being faced with the possibility that someone here had known her late husband hadn’t been part of that. Without thinking, she leaned back against her car, felt the door handle on her backside.

  “Are you okay?” he asked. Her reaction would make anyone suspicious. To keep him off the trail, she had to throw him another kernel of truth, however painful for her.

  “My late husband was in Army Special Operations. I can’t really talk about it, but he...” She shook her head. A raindrop spattered down on her face. It had gotten dark outside. It looked like it was going to rain harder.

  “Can we get in the car and talk for a few minutes?” he asked.

  “I’d rather not. I’m fine.”

  “It’s raining, Lyn.” His look had changed to one of concern. She realized that it had worked, that he believed her, that she’d deflected him from accusing her of being a police officer. He’d even called her by her undercover name.

  It had taken the truth to do that. And now he wanted to really talk. Just great.

  She shook her head, then turned and fumbled with her door handle, opening it and rushing inside. The rain seemed to pour from the sky, hitting the windshield, running down it in quickly gathering streams.

  She heard her passenger door open, and she glanced over, startled. John was getting in, too. He sat on the leather seat and ran his hand through rain-spattered hair. He still wore his short, military-style haircut. She should have realized this about her initial attraction to him.

  “When did it happen?” he asked her. “How?”

  He had such a direct way about him. She’d sworn she wouldn’t go there. But she was cornered, and it was easier to tell him the truth, or something with a kernel of truth. That seemed to be working.

  “Six years now,” she murmured. “Jason died in a training accident.” She clamped her lips shut. Too much information. Too much of it true.

  All of it was true.

  He was gazing at her with such tenderness. She’d never have guessed him capable.

  Don’t say you’re sorry. Please don’t say you’re sorry. Everyone says they’re sorry...

  “You’ve made a big sacrifice,” he said.

  Something about his tone made her pause. “Are you married?” she asked.

  He gave a short shake of his head. In response to her unasked question, he explained, “Divorced.”

  “Oh.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Ditto,” she murmured.

  But she rubbed her hand over her eyes. He just put her so off balance. She glanced away from his wry smile and the T-shirt that fit his wide chest in such a nice way. “Well, the rain has slowed now. I’ve got to get to my job site. Please...don’t tell Andy what I said, all right? I don’t want people to gossip or feel sorry for me or anything like that.”

  He made a cross sign over his heart, then pressed it to his lips.

  He had such nice lips.

  Without a word, he turned away and opened the door. The rain had petered to a misty drizzle. Without saying goodbye, he got out of her car and walked into his bar.

  Lyndsay turned on the engine, threw the shifter into Drive and headed for her meeting at the MacLaine home, her morning coffee put off.

  As she careered down the coast road, she blew out a breath. Had she just screwed up? Or had she done the right thing?

  All of this was new to her. She couldn’t get her mind wrapped around it. Yes, it was true there was something about him—she respected his forthrightness and the fact that he noticed things about people. But John noticing too much about her put the operation at risk. She needed to be extra careful where he was concerned.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Congressman MacLaine’s Beach Cottage

  Wallis Point Beach, NH

  FORTY MINUTES LATER, Lyndsay’s weapon was secured inside her glove box. She sat inside her car, engine idling, in the driveway of the MacLaine cottage, waiting for Kitty MacLaine to show up for their morning appointment. Kitty was twenty minutes late.

  Though the rain had stopped, the sky was nevertheless gray and overcast. The wind was brisk, and the clouds moved quickly—a volatile weather pattern.

  When she’d arrived here, she’d still felt volatile. Her mind kept wandering over her encounter with John. To save her cover, she’d had to confess so much truth to him. She couldn’t help thinking about Jason, too. She’d had no idea what she was getting herself into when she’d first been drawn to him. It had been at a party during her first year of college—a lifetime ago, it seemed. She’d been sheltered and naïve, out in the world on her own for the first time. She’d fallen head over heels in love and had done an impulsive thing—she had married the soldier in her hometown that summer. Her parents had supported her decision—eventually—but it hadn’t been easy at first, because then she’d moved across the country with her new husband. She hadn’t even finished her college degree until years later when she was a young widow not knowing what else to do with her life.

  Well, she knew what to do now. And that’s what she needed to focus on. Her professional assignment.

  She pulled out her phone and dialed Pete.

  “Lyn?” His voice was scratchy, but he was alert
, even at this early hour. That was a good sign.

  “Hi, Pete. I need to tell you something. I met with John Reilly and—”

  “Oh, hey, I was just going to call you about them.”

  She paused. “What’s happened?”

  “I’ve got information about the background checks.”

  “Go ahead. I’m listening.”

  “Margaret—Margie Reilly is a widow. As you know, she’s co-owner of the Seaside and lives next door to the business.”

  “Right.”

  “Patrick Reilly is the interesting case. We’re pretty sure there is a juvenile criminal record, which is closed. Probably related to drugs, because a stint in drug rehab does come up on the adult record.”

  She remained silent. Drug use among area teens was a terrible problem.

  “What’s interesting is that Patrick is currently on home detention, wearing a court-ordered ankle bracelet.”

  She sat up, shocked. Maybe this explained why John was on edge. Why he so carefully watched anyone who came into the family’s establishment.

  “What’s the charge?”

  “An assortment, all boiling down to possession of drugs.”

  “Is he pre-or post-judgment?”

  “He pled guilty, but his status is presentencing. The hearing is scheduled for June 5. The John Reilly you reported, the Marine veteran brother? Well, he’s on record as being a court-appointed sponsor. He’s signed a statement promising to supervise his brother as he’s allowed out of the family home to work in the business. Otherwise, Patrick can’t leave the two properties. There’s a notation about him working in the kitchen.”

  Which would explain why, as a patron, she’d never seen him.

  Then it occurred to her. “Should I investigate Patrick as potentially being involved with the burglaries?”

  “Simon already did that. The bracelet tracking indicates he’s never been past the boundaries of the family home or restaurant. Evidently, the brother watches him like a hawk. He also has a court-appointed counselor who drops by to give drug tests unannounced. Patrick has never tested positive.”

  “I understand.” Yes, this explained John’s protective behavior. “Tell me, Pete, is there anything I should do in relation to Patrick?”

  “No. In general, keep your eyes and ears open, but don’t attract undue suspicion.”

  “Right.” She glanced up as the rumble of an engine sounded, then snapped to attention. From her position facing the street, she saw Andy’s van head up the hill. Raising her hand, she waved, wondering if he knew the story about John’s brother. Probably. Andy knew everybody in town, it seemed.

  He waved back. His son, AJ, sat in the front seat; their helper, Moon, followed in his pickup, the sides dirty. Both vehicles turned into the driveway next door.

  “Okay, Pete, I need to go.”

  “Has Kitty arrived?”

  “No, she’s late. I hope she’s still coming to meet me.”

  “Want me to check for you?”

  “Not yet. I’ll call Karen if there’s a problem.”

  “Keep me posted.”

  She watched Andy’s team hop out of their vehicles. They were late for work, too. Maybe they had stopped at a building supply store, or maybe they were freshly come from the Seaside Bar and Grill, perhaps even quizzing John about just what she and he had been discussing inside her car.

  Enough. Her future course was clear: no more lunches spent at John’s establishment. Not for the foreseeable future, not until the morning’s incident had passed from memory.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow morning at our meeting point,” she said to Pete. They’d agreed on the market down the beach.

  “Good luck with the congressman’s wife.”

  “Not a problem.” She hung up.

  Frowning, she kept her gaze forward, scanning the street, waiting for Kitty MacLaine’s vehicle. Lyndsay hadn’t mentioned the encounter with John to Pete because John’s concern made sense to her now. If she saw him again, she could handle him. Still, it really would be better to avoid the Seaside for a few days. Let John cool down. Let him think that he’d upset her, talking about Jason.

  Her immediate mission was clear: convince Kitty that Lyndsay was a capable interior designer. In no way should people suspect otherwise.

  I have to live here, she thought. Two weeks, while the MacLaines are on their transatlantic cruise.

  Fourteen more days and nights—mornings and lunch breaks and evenings—working in the house beside Andy’s crew. They were going to wonder why she didn’t head to the Seaside with them for lunch. She needed an excuse. Maybe Kitty could give her one—if she showed up.

  Her mobile phone trilled. Pete again. Connecting to the line, she said, “Yes, Pete.”

  “I’m down the street from you, headed up the coast to meet with an insurance company. Thought you might like to know that the congressman’s wife just zoomed past. She almost hit me—the woman is a menace. My guess is that she’ll be at the house in no time.”

  “Thank you.” She really was thankful that Pete was alert and looking out for her.

  “No problem. Remember, Lyn, keep your cover.” The phone clicked off.

  As he’d warned her, up the street roared what had to be Kitty MacLaine, driving a cherry-red Mercedes SUV. Kitty exceeded the speed limit by at least fifteen miles per hour—Lyndsay would’ve been hard-pressed not to issue her a ticket, had she been in uniform.

  Kitty parked her vehicle in front of Lyndsay’s and hopped out with a saucy wave. Lyndsay felt the smile on her lips and waved back. Given the petite woman’s attitude, she surely would’ve talked Lyndsay into a warning instead of a ticket.

  Kitty reminded her of a firecracker. Flaming red hair, a petite, straight-up-and-down boyish build and a manner of walking that fit about three quick steps into what Lyndsay usually took as one long stride.

  With a blazing smile on her face, Kitty met her at her driver’s door. Lyndsay gathered her oversize purse from the seat beside her and stepped outside. The salty air felt sharp and fresh to her nostrils.

  “Lyn Francis? Are you Lyn?” Kitty asked in a loud, clear voice. The words were fast and crisp and seemed to run on in sentences that made Lyndsay strain to keep up. “’Cuz I am so excited to get started today. I’m honored to have you here. I’ve been a huge fan of DesignSea, your firm, and I can’t believe that Paul commissioned you as a surprise for my birthday!”

  “Oh, happy birthday, Mrs. MacLaine,” Lyndsay said, feigning innocence. In Lyndsay’s presence, Karen had conducted a phone call with Kitty’s husband on Saturday. The congressman had filled them in as to what he wanted to do for his wife.

  “Call me Kitty. And I already checked you out online on the DesignSea website. What a beautiful portfolio you have.”

  “Thank you, Kitty.” Lyndsay tried not to gulp. When Commander Harris had said that Wesley had made her a plausible background story, he hadn’t been kidding.

  Lyndsay followed along as Kitty wove her way past a picket gate, down a pathway edged by beautiful beach landscaping with rambling beach roses, not yet budded, and clumps of local grasses planted artfully in between white pebbles.

  “I can’t wait to see the finished home,” Kitty said. “I’ve been staying with my sister in Maine while Paul finished up work in DC. Well, let me get out my keys.” Kitty fumbled with a jangly, oversize key ring. Picking out the appropriate key, she unlocked the front door, then squinted at the panel that housed their home-alarm system.

  All of the micro-cameras that Wesley had installed last night were well hidden. Lyndsay knew—but Kitty didn’t—that they covered every angle of the exterior of the home. In fact, Wesley might be watching them both entering the home now, for all Lyndsay knew.

  “Just a moment while I let us in. But you already kn
ow about the security...” Kitty keyed the numerical code into the panel with one finger. Lyndsay stayed respectfully back until Kitty waved her way inside.

  The foyer never failed to take Lyndsay’s breath away. It was the bank of windows straight ahead that gave the most beautiful, calming view of the beach and sky that Lyndsay had seen from any home, ever. She would love waking up to those windows in the early morning, watching the majestic white seagulls fly through the air. The cloud formations over the wavy blue-gray ocean at dawn. The expanse of soothing beach sand.

  “Sit down, let me take your coat,” Kitty urged. Lyndsay complied, and sat on the beige leather couch in the downstairs living room.

  “Your purse is so beautiful,” Kitty cooed.

  “Thank you,” Lyndsay said. It was made of the softest almond-color Italian suede, and she hadn’t been able to resist it. “It was a splurge, but I have a weakness for pretty things.” She stroked the soft suede. It was nice to feel like a woman sometimes. These past years, she hadn’t seemed to receive that pleasure enough.

  “May I?” Kitty asked.

  “Of course,” Lyndsay replied, and the congressman’s wife stroked her hand over the suede.

  She looked at Lyndsay and smiled. “I love your plans for the upstairs sitting area.”

  Lyndsay felt the flush of pleasure spread in her chest. That had actually been her idea, not Karen’s, though Karen had warned Lyndsay that the final detail approvals were to be all Kitty’s, of course.

  “I know that Paul helped by showing you ideas of my tastes,” Kitty said, “but honestly, I never would’ve thought of that style of flooring. And enlarging the closets is a wonderful idea.”

  Lyndsay’s heart seemed to slow. “Closets?” she asked. There had been nothing of the sort in the design plans.

  Kitty stared at her directly, as if waiting for Lyndsay to contradict her.

  “Let’s talk about the back terrace,” Lyndsay suggested. “I understand that’s where we’re starting.”

  Kitty’s hand stilled on Lyndsay’s purse. “No, I don’t think so.”