The Undercover Affair

by Cathryn Parry

  Simon looked at her blankly.

  “Come on, Simon. The tiles are essential to this job. Where are we at right now?”

  A woman wheeled her cart slowly past them. They waited until she passed. Despite how frustrated Lyndsay felt, she needed to remember to speak in code so that anyone who overheard this conversation wouldn’t suspect what they were talking about.

  “Do you have a picture of the tiles he was working on with you?” he asked in a low voice.

  “You know I do,” she whispered. She pulled out her phone and showed it to him.

  “Good. Give it to me and take this new one.”

  “What? Why?”

  “In case this was hacked.” He pocketed her phone, then passed her another.

  She stared at it in disappointment. It looked exactly the same, but it wouldn’t have her contacts or her photos. “Is that a real problem here?” The thought of her phone being hacked took the risks of this investigation to another level.

  “Possibly. Only talk to Pete when you see him—he’ll be off-line otherwise.”

  “What about if I’m in the middle of a situation and need a hand?” The task force had given her an emergency number to call.

  “You have a number. But don’t overuse it.”

  “Okay, now you’re making me nervous,” she said in a laughing tone. “What’s going on?”

  Simon gazed at her full-on. She had to blink at the intensity of his dark brown eyes. Coupled with his neck tattoos, she felt—

  Oh, no, she suddenly realized. “There’s been another event, hasn’t there?” she guessed. Another break-in spelled trouble.

  Simon gave her a terse nod. Glancing to the left, he waited until a couple was out of sight. Then he passed her something small, wrapped in a cloth case. “There was an unexpected guest who ended up taking a trip down the stairs. The party organizers—” this was the task force’s agreed-upon name for the perpetrators “—didn’t stick around, so we’re even more eager to catch up with them.”

  “What is this?” she whispered, slipping the package into her pouch.

  “A special alarm. Plug it into an outlet beside your bed. If there’s a power outage, it will alert you. You’re not a heavy sleeper, are you?”

  “With this job, of course not.”

  He nodded, understanding what she meant. Law enforcement jobs were shift work. Oftentimes, it was tough to get to sleep afterward. Lyndsay always felt wired at the end of a shift.

  “If the power goes out unexpectedly, get outside to call us immediately. Don’t try to fix the electricity yourself.”

  “Are power outages common to all these events? Is that something the organizers plan for?” she asked. It was possible that cutting the power to the houses could allow the thieves to bypass the security systems.

  “We’re not sure yet, but it’s a possibility.”

  “You know, I had the television on the local station all day to keep me company.” Newscast after newscast, recycling the same stories. A wayward raccoon, an early season hurricane down in the Caribbean, a multi-car crash that had sent several to the hospital. “I heard nothing about this.”

  “Private parties don’t get broadcast.”

  Of course. The task force had been keeping reports of the most recent burglaries out of the media.

  “Did they get the same party favors this time?” she asked.

  “Oh, look at that.” Simon made an elaborate show of checking his watch. “It’s time to leave.” His expression was deathly serious.

  “I’m on the planning committee, Simon. I need to do my part.”

  “You are doing your part. It’s essential the venue gets redecorated in time. At some point, we’ll need you to do more. In the meantime, do whatever it is an interior designer does.”

  Yet another reminder to maintain her cover. “Tell me about those tiles Gary examined, at least.”

  “Sorry, gotta go. Just keep at the redecorating and if the organizers show up unexpectedly, do what we discussed.” Follow protocol.

  “If there’s an unexpected meeting, then I’ll start the agenda.” She would make the arrest. “I know. You don’t need to remind me.”

  “Make sure you call us right away.”

  “I heard you,” she snapped.

  Simon gave her a death stare. “I mean it, Lyn. Forget about those fancy tiles and focus on getting the venue ready. And call me if there’s a power outage.”

  * * *

  NO POWER OUTAGE CAME.

  Another long, uneventful day of Lyndsay working to keep her cover, this time accepting deliveries for pallets of upscale vinyl flooring and making phone calls to furniture showrooms to inquire about specifications and availability. Gary never showed up. Neither did any other contractor. And she was too tired to worry about that, or about what the locals might do next to inadvertently threaten her cover. And what about John—was he part of Andy’s scheme? Had she somehow shown more evidence to convince John that she really was a cop? What if he was the one who’d suggested that Andy get the license plate run? And what if they both decided to have her plate investigated, too?

  Just dwelling on the possibilities was enough to unnerve her. Thank goodness internet shopping was a great distraction. Lyndsay used her iPad to order the throw rugs, pillows and accessories needed to make the house a spectacular redo for Kitty.

  The flooring installation was still her main problem, and time was running out. Gary had left the tiles and grout for the master bathroom on-site, but she’d never tiled before and had no idea how to do it.

  In desperation, she watched YouTube videos. Didn’t help a lot. Inside the bathroom, she poked at a piece of half-pulled-up tile, thinking that maybe she could at least remove the rest of the floor herself, to help the situation somewhat, when all of a sudden, a burst of water shot into the air.

  Gasping, she wiped at her wet face. Cold water seemed to be flooding everywhere. Had she broken a water main, or something? Whatever they were called? She knew nothing about plumbing.

  And the water didn’t stop coming—it just gushed and gushed. Her feet sloshed inside her sneakers. “No, no, no! Stop!” she shouted, but no one was there to hear her. All she could do was stand and gape, her hands in her hair.

  Her heart pounded, her pulse raced. Everything was being ruined.

  The carpet in the hallway. The legs of the furniture. The ceilings downstairs—was it possible the plaster could fall?

  Shut off the water! a voice inside her screamed.

  But how? She tried to call up any knowledge of plumbing she could think of...

  There was a valve under the sink. She fumbled with it, tightening it, but this didn’t stop the shooting stream of water coming from the floor. Neither did the valve behind the toilet.

  Maybe there was something downstairs in the utility closet. Or near the street.

  She had no idea. And she couldn’t call the emergency line, because this wasn’t a burglary situation. She couldn’t even call Karen, because it would take too long for her to get here.

  Lyndsay didn’t know what else to do but run across the street to get Andy’s help. She didn’t stop to find her coat, and her gun was upstairs in the guest bedroom, unsecured in her holster and sitting on the bed, but she ran outside into the sunlight anyway, a sob escaping from her throat.

  Stop crying, she told herself. Pull yourself together!

  She ran into the Goldrick cottage. Andy was leaning against a counter, drinking a cup of coffee. The entire living room had been gutted since the last time she’d been here. Moon and AJ were on their knees hammering hardwood flooring together. She vaguely registered that it had a gray wash, trendy but beautiful.

  She’d been spending much too long looking at flooring catalogs—she was officially going crazy!

 
“Andy, can you come next door, please? Hurry, it’s an emergency!”

  Andy’s face perked up. Emergencies were his forte, thank goodness.

  Without waiting for him to follow, she ran back to the MacLaine cottage, her wet sneakers slapping on the pavement, her breathing loud. She was going to have a heart attack if this kept up.

  When she got inside the MacLaine home again, the hissing sound of the water flowing from the pipes seemed even louder than before. “Do you hear that?” she asked Andy, her voice sounding hysterical.

  Andy stood inside the foyer and cocked an ear. “Why didn’t you turn off the water, Lyn?”

  “Because I don’t know how!”

  The hissing sound was crazy. And worse, a great big, wet stain had formed on the ceiling overhead. Her stomach sank. “This looks horrible!”

  “Yep, it’s pretty bad,” Andy agreed.

  She gaped at him. How could this be? She wasn’t used to screwing up. She liked to do things right. To be a model police officer, a good daughter, a fun and understanding wife...

  And there was water everywhere. It leaked from places she hadn’t expected. Obviously, she’d hit a hidden pipe. It was messy and unexpected and she was afraid, so afraid that her cover was going to be blown, that the task force would be affected, that the burglars weren’t going to be caught. And, yes, even that the MacLaines were going to find out and think less of her for it.

  “Where is the utility closet?” Andy asked, calm in all the excitement. But of course he was, this wasn’t his job on the line.

  “There!” She ran ahead, opened the door and flicked on the light. “Down those steps.”

  The steps creaking under his weight, he disappeared for a moment. She heard the grating sound of metal on metal, and just like that, the hissing stopped.

  Lyndsay exhaled in relief. The silence was wonderful.

  Andy came back and shut the door behind him. “Let’s go take a look at the damage.”

  Nodding numbly, unable to swallow, she followed him upstairs.

  It was an absolute disaster. The whole floor—carpets, tile, everything—was covered in water. Feeling shocked, she could only stare at the disaster she was responsible for.

  “You’ll need to move into a hotel,” Andy said, matter-of-fact.

  “No! I can’t leave the house. It’s out of the question.” Not for more than fifteen minutes, in fact, or else she was supposed to notify Pete.

  Andy rubbed at his chin. “We’ll have to find you someone to fix the pipes, then.”

  A plumber? On a Friday evening? “I...don’t know anyone.” She gazed at him. “Do you?”

  Andy thought for a moment.

  “Yes,” he said. “I know someone.” He glanced at her. “Do you have a problem with John Reilly?”

  John Reilly. Who’d accused her of being a cop.

  “Why would he be able to help?” she asked nervously.

  “He was a plumber’s apprentice.”

  She blinked, her mind feeling scrambled. “I thought John co-owned the restaurant.”

  “He does.” Andy casually rocked on the balls of his feet as he studied her reaction. “He also has an uncle who’s a licensed plumber. Frank, I think his name is. John worked with him when he was young, before he joined the Marines, enough hours to qualify as an apprentice. I’m sure Frank can stop by next week to check on John’s work, if that’s important to you.”

  Why hadn’t this come up in Pete’s background check? She would have to have a word with Pete when she saw him.

  “Um, does John have liability insurance?” she remembered to ask. Karen had mentioned something about that. No one was supposed to work on any aspect of the MacLaines’ renovation project without it.

  Andy rolled his eyes at her. “He’s not going to sue anybody, Lyn.” He shrugged. “He’s your best option. Give me the go-ahead and I’ll call him. Otherwise...” He held up his hands and shrugged.

  She doubted John would come, even if Andy asked him. “I don’t know,” she said.

  “Trust me on this, Lyn.”

  Did she have a choice? She wasn’t about to call the emergency number because of broken plumbing, so it looked like she was stuck with Andy’s suggestion.

  She sighed. “Okay. Please ask John to come. And thank you, Andy.”

  But before John arrived, she needed to secure her Glock. The last thing she wanted was for him to be staring at her holster again, reminded of all his suspicions.

  CHAPTER SIX

  JOHN WAS READY to pick up Patrick’s video game and throw it against the wall. He was at his wits’ end. What to do with a brother who was so uncommunicative, so ungrateful, and so in need of someone to give him a swift kick in the butt?

  John had been closer to Justin—closer in age, closer in temperament. Patrick was so much younger. He was the baby and a momma’s boy. It frustrated John. How foolish, how needy had the kid been to get in trouble with drugs to begin with?

  John confided in no one, of course. Talking about it with other people wasn’t a good idea, in his opinion. Like everything else John did, he knew the best thing was to put his head down and press ahead.

  Since he’d been home, he’d tried many different ways of connecting with Patrick. Work had failed. He had to nag his brother to get him to do anything around the restaurant. Conversation? Patrick wasn’t interested. Honestly, play-off hockey on TV was John’s last shot for the night.

  John picked up the remote and tuned the channel to the pregame. Boston versus Montreal.

  He sat beside his brother on the couch and nudged him. John had taken the night off, and he’d let Patrick off, too. Millie and her sister were covering for them.

  Patrick glanced up from his electronic device and sighed.

  There was a knock on the doorjamb. Before John could react, Andy came lumbering through, yakking on his phone and waving at him.

  “You have to stop doing that,” John said to Andy. “This is private space. It isn’t part of the restaurant.”

  Patrick watched Andy with interest. Great.

  Andy shut off his phone and tucked it in his front pocket. “John,” he announced, “There’s something I need your help with. You need to come with me right now.”

  “Sorry, I’m off duty.” John shot a quick smile to Patrick. “My brother and I are about to watch the game.”

  Andy’s brow furrowed. “It started yet?”

  “In a few minutes,” Patrick said.

  John blinked. Those were the first words his brother had said in over an hour.

  “Hmm.” Andy leaned closer to the TV, which was showing a beer commercial. Then he shook his head. “John, this is serious. Lyn is in trouble.”

  John’s heart slowed. Patrick stared at him as if to ask, Who’s Lyn?

  He shouldn’t listen to Andy. He shouldn’t let himself care. He had more important things.

  “What kind of trouble?” John asked.

  “She was trying to remove some floor tile herself, and she broke a water pipe. She didn’t know how to turn off the water. The place flooded.”

  “She needs a plumber, huh?”

  “I told her about you.”

  This would give him the opportunity to see her again. He glanced at his brother.

  “I’ll stay with Patrick,” Andy said. “I want to see this game.”

  “You do?” Patrick asked.

  “Sure,” Andy replied. “I love the sport. I coached your older brothers.”

  “You coached Justin?” Patrick asked.

  “I did. He was a left wing.”

  The interaction would be good for Patrick. John wasn’t sure about the ankle bracelet, though. He was nervous leaving Patrick in Andy’s company.

  “I’ll head over to her pla
ce later.” John didn’t feel like he could take the chance of leaving Patrick right now.

  But Andy was already sitting on the stuffed chair opposite Patrick, jabbering about the opposing team—which players were rumored to be injured and who was expected to have a big game tonight. Patrick was lapping up the attention. John had never seen a kid more in need of a father figure.

  Patrick glanced over at John. “You don’t have to stay.”

  “He’ll talk your ear off.”

  “I don’t care,” Patrick mumbled. “Let him watch with me if he wants. You go.”

  John expelled a breath. If he didn’t go, it would look suspicious.

  “John, can I talk with you a second?” Andy gestured him to the hallway. John followed.

  “Look,” Andy said, spreading his hands, “I didn’t want to say anything, because I know you have your hands full. But I know your brother is on house arrest.”

  Oh, great. If Andy knew, that meant a whole lot of people knew. John let out a long breath.

  “It’s okay, John. I don’t think any less of Patrick or you for it.”

  “It’s not me I’m worried about.”

  “Patrick? Why? You’ve got to let him live his own life.”

  John stuffed his hand in his pockets, not answering.

  “So will you go help Lyn, please?”

  Andy has probably told her about Patrick, too. Or if he hadn’t yet, it was only a matter of time until he did.

  “How is she doing?” was all he could think to ask.

  “I think the stress of being alone out there is getting to her. She’s only here for a couple of weeks, and she’s far from being done.”

  She needed help. That made it easier for him. Part of him did want to see her. Find out why she hadn’t been to the Seaside, at least.

  Andy clasped his arm. “I called AJ to meet you there with some equipment. Go. Talk to her. Forget about us.”