The Undercover Affair

by Cathryn Parry

  “No. I’m sorry,” she said in a whisper. “I’d hoped to make a clean break.” She wiped her damp eyes with her hand.

  His breath expelled as if he’d been punched. “It doesn’t have to be this way.”

  Her big blue eyes gazed up at him. “Yes. It does. We have no future.”

  “I was thinking the opposite—” Great. He hadn’t expected it, but his heart had softened, more and more, just by being with her, and now...

  I’m in love with her.

  He hadn’t wanted it to be true, and yet, here it was.

  Raking his hands through his hair, he tried to figure out what to say that might change her mind. This feeling of being left was too uncomfortably close. He’d been through it before, and for a long time afterward, he’d regretted that he hadn’t spoken the truth or even tried to stop it from happening.

  “Can I just tell you a few things before you make your decision?” He grasped at straws. Anything to convince her to give them a second chance. “Justin’s drawings in the bedroom upstairs...do you want to know about them? Can I tell you why I didn’t explain about him and the paintings earlier?”

  Her lip quivered. But she wasn’t pushing back on him any longer, so he spoke before she stopped him.

  “I never used to open up enough, Lyndsay. I know.” Hadn’t he heard this time and again? It was why he’d initially been reluctant to start a relationship with her. “But since I’ve met you, I’ve learned to risk more. I’m better with Patrick than I used to be. In fact, he was the one who told me how Justin had turned into an artist after I left home. He’s even got one of Justin’s paintings in his bedroom. Once I saw it and I knew, the only reason I didn’t tell you Justin painted those watercolors was because I hadn’t told you yet who Justin was. It’s painful to talk about him. I didn’t see the point in bringing him up again. But now there is a point, because you’re hurt by it, and I don’t want you to be hurt.”

  He paused because she was paying attention, really listening to him. And suddenly, letting her into his inner world, all of it, was less dangerous to his well-being than keeping her out. “This is how I really feel about my brother Justin. He was...one of a kind. I wish you could have met him, Lyndsay—he would have loved you. He used to talk to people, especially people on the beach and he—”

  “Justin was an artist on the beach?”

  “Yes. I think he developed into one after I left. I mean, he was always creative, so I’m not surprised. I’d like to talk to Patrick more about that, because I want to know what happened to him. His drowning never made sense to me. Maybe you could go with me when I talk to him?” He was grasping at straws again, but she seemed to be wavering.

  “I would like to meet Patrick,” she said softly.

  “Then we can do that.” He nodded, relieved. “If I can help Patrick past his problems, then that will help a lot of people. Justin was really the one who was suited to running the business. I never felt the same way he did. But after he drowned... I always felt guilty that I wasn’t here for him. I felt like I’d left him behind, and guilty that I hadn’t tried harder to stay in Wallis Point and make a life here.”

  “You shouldn’t feel guilty,” she said, leaning forward and touching his arm. “You’re not guilty of anything.”

  “No, but I’m responsible for my brother.” Literally. He’d sworn in a court of law to be responsible for employing him, for watching over him while he wore the monitoring bracelet. For keeping him off drugs and out of trouble.

  “Why is that on you? If anyone, shouldn’t your mom be taking care of it, not you?”

  “Maybe, but at the time she was too distraught to make any promises to the court, and since I’m the Marine veteran, I stepped forward. But, Lyndsay, I’m not willing to sacrifice my life any longer.” He searched her face. “Am I swaying your decision at all? Because I can’t accept the thought of you leaving just yet. It’s killing me.”

  Suddenly, her face crumpled as if she was going to cry. “It’s killing me, too.” She leaned her head into his shoulder. “You have no idea,” she whispered.

  “Shh. It’s okay,” he said gruffly, his voice muffled by her hair. But he pulled her as close to him as he could without hurting her. Her soft body melded against his. Her arms squeezed him tight.

  “There’s so much we don’t tell each other,” she whispered, her breath warm against his neck. “There’s so much you don’t know about me, either.”

  He tried to lighten the mood. “I don’t need to know about your hero husband, if that’s all right with you.”

  She chuckled softly. “I wasn’t thinking about him, John.”

  “Okay, that’s good.” He took a breath. “Here’s a proposal for you. Let’s go slowly. One small noncommittal step at a time.”

  “How does that work? Honestly? Because I don’t see it happening, no matter how much I try.”

  “Let’s just start with one night. Now. For the next few hours, we’ll put aside your job and my family. There will be nothing but you and me. A mini-vacation. We won’t talk about anything beyond these next few hours.”

  She pressed her forehead against his chest. “That is so tempting. You have no idea, John. None.”

  He was glad to have something to tempt her with, because she always tempted him. He angled his head beside hers. Caught her lips and kissed her. Feeling her kissing him back was an immediate turn-on.

  She closed the space between them, and he felt how much she cared about him too. They had an attraction that just wouldn’t die, no matter how futile a longer-term relationship might feel to her.

  She broke their kiss. “I want to, John,” she murmured. “I so want to. But I have to leave soon, you know that.”

  “How many days until your next job?”

  She hesitated.

  Maybe he wasn’t being fair, but he wasn’t going to let her concentrate, because to concentrate was to come up with a reason why this wouldn’t work. Why they wouldn’t work. He kissed her with as much feeling as he had in him. He didn’t stop kissing her.

  “I...can’t think...” She ran her hands over his chest. Down his shoulders and then his arms. She groaned.

  “Just think about one night at a time,” he murmured. “I have another idea.” He stopped kissing her long enough to reach for his phone. “I’ll make a reservation at a hotel for tonight. We’ll get away from all this.”

  “I’m sure I’m going to regret it,” she said, “but...okay. Just...for this one night.”

  “You won’t regret it, Lyndsay.” He kissed her one last time. “Let’s get out of here.”

  * * *

  BREAKING IT OFF with John was turning out to be the hardest thing she’d ever done.

  Even as she stepped into his truck with him, she knew she was only prolonging the pain.

  She justified it by telling herself that tonight was their goodbye. As Personal Lyndsay, she spent one last night with John in a romantic, moon-soaked room at the Grand Beachfront Hotel, a beautiful old rambling structure in the center of the beach district at Wallis Point. They ordered room service and stayed in bed. She didn’t want the dawn to come, but of course, it did.

  The next morning, not having really slept, she pulled the tousled sheets around her shoulders and nestled in John’s arms while he slumbered beside her. His hand rested on her hip, his breathing light and regular against her hair. She watched helplessly as the sun’s rays snuck in through the slats in the blinds of the balcony window.

  A phone would ring soon—probably John’s first, followed by hers. The restaurant business started early. Toby needed his fluids, then the MacLaines’ last delivery would be arriving. By nightfall, she would be gone from Wallis Point. Pete would help pull her out.

  Moisture prickled her eyelids.

  A sharp knock sounded on the door. She started
while John groaned and stretched. When he saw her lying beside him, he smiled. “Good morning, darling.”

  “Who’s at the door?” she whispered.

  “Probably room service. I put in an order last night while I was ordering dinner.”

  She relaxed. That was so like John. “Good thinking,” she murmured. She watched him as he got up, naked, and put on a terry cloth robe.

  He opened the door, then stepped out, and she heard voices, followed by the rattle of a cart being wheeled past. She smelled the fresh aroma of breakfast. She’d pulled the covers up to her chin, just in case the hotel employee caught a glimpse inside the bedroom area. Little chance of that, though, because John stood in the doorway like a wall, blocking her from view. He signed a receipt, then made sure the heavy door shut behind him.

  She sat up as he placed the tray on the bed. It would be hard to eat when her heart was breaking.

  I’m leaving today and he can’t know it.

  In the face of that, what could she say to him? How could she make idle chitchat?

  “I’m hoping you like this treatment,” he said shyly.

  Her fingers clutched the sheets. “I’ve loved every minute of it,” she whispered. Her voice cracked. She meant it, she had loved every moment of her time with him.

  “You deserve a good life.” He passed her a glass, taking care of her, and it was so bittersweet a feeling. Nobody ever took care of her.

  He raised his glass to her. “Someday soon we’ll go on a real vacation.”

  Somehow managing to hold her glass without spilling it, she drank the freshly squeezed orange juice. The vision of flying away with him was too much to bear.

  I’m in love with him.

  But she couldn’t be. There was zero chance of a happy ending for them.

  Biting her lip, she glanced at the clock. “Toby will be needing his fluids.”

  “Yes, Toby.” John nodded. “You can stay here and sleep in if you’d like.”

  “Maybe I’ll do that.” If she did, then she wouldn’t have to say goodbye to him twice. “I have a delivery truck to meet at ten o’clock.”

  He put his arm around her waist and pulled her closer. A lump was forming in her throat, and if she wasn’t careful, she was going to cry.

  * * *

  JOHN COULD FEEL his heart opening to her even as he accepted her embrace. She was the one for him. He loved being with her. Loved the progression of closeness that they were experiencing. Yes, she had to leave this week, but he was confident that would be temporary. They would work something out. A long-distance relationship wasn’t so great an obstacle that they couldn’t overcome it.

  His phone rang. He would have liked to ignore it, but given his family, that wasn’t an option. He reached for his phone on the bedside table and accepted the call.

  “John? This is Mom.” Her voice sounded anxious.

  His heart sped up. “Is everything okay?”

  “I’m a bit swamped. And I’m worried because you’re usually here by now.”

  “Where’s Patrick?”

  “He’s still sleeping. I tried to wake him, but I think he was up most of the night.”

  “This has got to stop, Mom.”

  “I know, but I’m beyond knowing how to handle it anymore.”

  John glanced at Lyndsay. She was alert, head cocked, listening. He’d told her about his desire to reorder his priorities, and yet, here he was being sucked into them again.

  “I’ll be right there.” He hung up, tasting the regret in his mouth.

  “Was that your mom?” she asked quietly.

  “I need to go to the restaurant. I’m sorry about that.”

  “Patrick is giving her trouble.” She said it as a statement.

  “Yes,” he said in a low voice.

  She nibbled her lip, and appeared to be thinking. He sincerely hoped his family problems didn’t sway her against him.

  “I’d like to come with you, too,” she finally said.

  He exhaled. “Okay. Yeah, we’ll do that.”

  She nodded at him. Her mood was somber and tentative, but he had promised last night to let her meet Patrick.

  He couldn’t help feeling that this would be a test. What would Lyndsay think of his brother?

  * * *

  SHE WAS STILL leaving tonight. There was no confusion about that on her part. The problem was that Work Lyndsay needed to see the watercolor painting in Patrick’s bedroom. It was a loose end that the professional side of her couldn’t leave hanging. Yes, prolonging her time with John was painful, but it needed to be done. The reason she’d come to Wallis Point in the first place had been to complete her investigative work.

  She packed and tried to focus on each moment as it came. When they arrived at the Seaside, Lyndsay noted that the lot was busy even at this early hour. Andy hadn’t made his appearance yet, but he was surely on his way. John parked on the side lane up the hill, beside his mom’s small white Cape-style house.

  John stepped up to the side porch, then unlocked the door with a key he took from his pocket. He held the screen door open for her as he led her inside directly into the kitchen. Tiny, really.

  Yet, the home was small and scrubbed immaculately clean. While she was busy glancing around, noting the pretty windows overlooking a grassy side yard hemmed in by a tall fence, John said, “I’ll wake Patrick up.”

  She watched him walk down a short hallway with two doors, one of which she could see was a bathroom. The second must have been Patrick’s bedroom, because the door was open and he peered inside.

  “He’s not here,” John called.

  She noticed a staircase. “Is he on the second floor, maybe?”

  “No. My mom sleeps up there. He’s probably in the restaurant kitchen. I’ll go check.”

  “All right. I’ll wait here for you.” She reached over and pulled out a kitchen chair. She had no intention of sitting, though.

  He nodded at her, distracted with his thoughts.

  Before he could head out the door that led through the sheltered entryway to the restaurant, his mom came through it. “John, I’m glad you’re here.” She turned and noticed Lyndsay. “Oh.” She glanced from Lyndsay to John.

  “Good morning, Margie,” Lyndsay said. “I’m sorry you’ve been having trouble.”

  “I’ll go down and talk to Patrick,” John said to Margie.

  Margie wrung her hands. “I was mistaken when I called you. He wasn’t actually sleeping. His door was locked, so I just assumed...”

  “Where was he?” John demanded.

  “In the business office.” She sighed. “He was...using your laptop.”

  “I lock that door.” John spoke tightly, through his teeth. He seemed to be holding in his anger for his mom’s sake.

  “I know. He must have figured out a way in. He’s upset, and he asked me not to tell you. He knew you’d be angry.”

  John tore his hand through his hair. He paced from one end of the kitchen to the next.

  Lyndsay put her hand on John’s shoulder. “It will be okay,” she murmured, even though she instinctively knew that it wouldn’t. She felt for him, personally, but she was also starting to get a sickening hunch about Patrick.

  If he could sneak into a locked room, could he also sneak out of the bracelet that tracked him?

  She would give anything to search the house for evidence. There was a legal limit to how much she could snoop while undercover, though. If she made a mistake and overstepped her boundaries, then any evidence she found could be ruled inadmissible in the event of a prosecution. She had to be invited in, for one thing—she couldn’t just barge or sneak her way past.

  She eyed the hallway that led to Patrick’s room. It was true that her initial motivation for coming here this morning
had been to see the painting that John had said hung in Patrick’s room. Somehow, she needed to wrangle an invitation in there.

  She squeezed John’s arm. “Maybe Patrick would like to talk with someone outside the family.”

  “It couldn’t hurt,” Margie agreed.

  John closed his eyes and shook his head. “We’re so close to his court date,” he muttered.

  “Why is using the laptop forbidden?” she asked, curious. “Was that a stipulation from the court?”

  “No. It’s my rule, because that’s how he used to buy his drugs, and he fooled me once already,” John said curtly.

  “That was before he finished rehab,” Margie insisted. “He’s clean now.”

  “He’d better be,” John muttered under his breath.

  Margie cringed. Lyndsay could see how upsetting this was for the family. She rubbed her hand on John’s back, wishing she could help them.

  She couldn’t. She was trained to take criminals off the street, and she considered that hugely important. But she’d honestly never thought about it much from the point of view of the criminals’ families.

  You’re jumping to conclusions, she chastened herself. Something strange might be going on with Patrick’s behavior, but she hadn’t investigated him enough to determine just what that was. It might be completely innocent.

  “Wait for me here, Lyndsay,” John said abruptly. “I’m going to talk to him.” A muscle ticked in his jaw. He headed for the door, his mother on his heels.

  “May I use the restroom?” Lyndsay called.

  “Of course. First door on the right, down the hall.”

  “Thank you.” She waited until the door shut behind them, then headed into the bathroom. She turned on the faucet and washed her hands, considering her reflection in the mirror. She looked drawn and haggard. That was loss of sleep and anxiety over the way that she was leaving John.

  She didn’t want to leave him. But she did need to solve this case.

  Cocking an ear and hearing nothing, she headed into the hallway and stopped before Patrick’s small bedroom. The door was open. An unmade bed, clothes on the floor. No watercolor on the wall.