The Undercover Affair

by Cathryn Parry

She stepped inside and looked again... There it was.

  The same size as the MacLaines’, on the same type of paper, but with a different frame.

  “What are you doing?” said a cold voice.

  She took a calming breath and plastered a smile on her face before she turned.

  A young man wearing a gray sweatshirt and black track pants glowered at her. He looked like John—handsome face—but he was a thinner, slighter version of him. John looked like a soldier. Patrick didn’t. She caught a flash of defiance in his dark blue eyes.

  He isn’t like John at all. The cop in her whispered a warning. If she’d come up on Patrick’s vehicle for a routine traffic stop, she would have taken extra care. The fact that he wore an ankle bracelet made the warning sound louder.

  She smiled even more cheerfully. “You must be Patrick. I’m Lyn. Hi.”

  “You’re John’s girlfriend, aren’t you?”

  “Yes. Yes, I am.” She turned toward his room and continued in a chatty voice. “John told me about Justin. I recognized his watercolor in your room.”

  Patrick didn’t say anything, but he didn’t close the door to the room, either.

  “I’m an interior decorator at the MacLaine cottage. You know—the congressman’s house down in the cul-de-sac near where John lives? I’m pretty much finished with the job—I’m leaving this afternoon and headed up to Maine next—and then tomorrow the MacLaines are coming back to live there full-time.”

  Patrick remained silent.

  “Anyway...” She shrugged nonchalantly. “There are two of these watercolors in the master bedroom upstairs in the MacLaines’ house. A lady and two golden retrievers frolicking on the beach.”

  “Jack and Annabelle,” he murmured, excited. “Justin’s dogs.”

  “How did that painting end up with the MacLaines?”

  “Justin painted people on the beach. Later he bought some of the pictures back, but not everybody would sell them.”

  “Why did he want them back?”

  “Because he wanted to have a showing.” Patrick crossed his arms. “That’s why.”

  “I’d love to see more of his work. Do you have any more I can look at?”

  Patrick eyed at her suspiciously. She gave him her most guileless look. He glanced toward his room. “Some,” he said softly.

  She breathed slowly, careful not to give away her excitement. May I see them? she was just about to ask.

  “There you are.” John’s voice. She turned.

  “I was just talking with Patrick.” She turned to Patrick. “It’s nice to finally meet you. John’s told me a lot about you and Justin.”

  There was a silence while Patrick reached down to scratch his ankle. Overall, she had a hinky feeling where Patrick was concerned. People wore ankle bracelets in law enforcement for a few reasons. Patrick’s was presentencing in extenuating circumstances. That was the explanation that Pete had given her when he’d done the background check on Patrick.

  The extenuating circumstances appeared to be that Patrick was help in the kitchen. The way bracelets worked was that if Patrick left the perimeter, then a phone call would be generated. If drugs were involved, some bracelets were armed with sensors that could detect the drugs and transmit the information to law enforcement. Not every jurisdiction had access to those bracelets, but she was pretty certain this one did.

  She doubted Patrick was on drugs any longer. He didn’t have the telltale dark hollows and blank look to his eyes. She would bet that he was clean.

  It was the anger that rolled off him in waves that alarmed her. Patrick was obviously troubled.

  “Lyn?” John touched her arm. “I need to give Toby his fluids now. I’ll give you a lift to the MacLaines’ if you’d like.”

  “Yes,” she said with reluctance.

  Patrick needed more investigating. The part of her that wanted to solve the case was in tune with that fact. But the part of her that loved John was in turmoil.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  IN THE TRUCK, headed toward the cottage, she listened to John as the wind rushed through this hair. The window was open, and the air smelled and felt on her skin like a day at the beach, except that it wasn’t.

  “We don’t usually let people into our confidence where Patrick is concerned,” John was saying. “But I’m glad that we did. He seemed to be opening up to you.”

  She swallowed. The statement was eerily ironic.

  He glanced at her. “What did you think of Patrick? Honestly?”

  She wet her lips. This was a fine line between her work and her love, and she’d more than realized that it couldn’t be separated anymore. She struggled with one big, messy problem of illusions, mistakes and honest emotions.

  She opted for honest emotions. “I think that Patrick is emotionally troubled about something. Maybe Justin’s death.” She pressed her lips together, aware that John watched every nuance on her face. Despite believing her lies about not being undercover, he perceived her emotions quite well. “If Patrick were my brother, I’d try to convince him to talk with a trained counselor. I don’t have any expertise there, I’m afraid.”

  John nodded. He ran a hand through his hair again. “You and I agree about that. The problem is, our hands are somewhat tied until he makes it through his hearing with the judge on June fifth.” He gave her a wry smile. “My biggest goal is to keep him out of prison so that he can get that help, and the judge is the one who will decide his sentencing fate. As part of the terms of the bracelet, we’re actually limited on who we can bring him in contact with. I made a judgment call with you.”

  Her breath sucked in. John was completely unaware that he’d let a cobra into his den. And yet, if Patrick was part of the burglary ring, then he needed to be stopped, as soon as possible. If what she feared was true, he needed to be arrested. Whether incarceration was to be involved or not was the judge’s call. “No one else has been to see him?” she asked.

  “Other than my mother, Millie’s family, Andy and you—no.” He smiled at her. “You were good with him. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I expect it of you. You’re different. That’s why I trust you.”

  She swallowed.

  “I won’t lie to you,” he continued. “Patrick stole to support his drug habit.” He was silent for a moment, lightly drumming his hand on the steering wheel. “You’re right, though. There was probably an underlying reason why Patrick turned to drugs in the first place. I’m not sure that rehab dug deeply enough into figuring out what the reasons were.”

  “It is a long road—” She added quickly, “I’ve heard.” She glanced at John. “Patrick wasn’t like this until Justin and your dad died?”

  “Not from what my mother has said, but I’m not sure I believe her, either. Justin wrote me once that he was working with Patrick. I never got to hear from him exactly what that meant.”

  “It’s not uncommon for young teens to fall into the drug life, unfortunately. I hope you don’t think it’s a stigma on your family.”

  He tilted his head. “I do, a little,” he said softly.

  She knew more about this than she was outwardly letting on. When she’d earned her criminal justice degree in the fog after her husband had been killed, she’d gravitated toward taking psychology electives, just because the classes had helped her personally. Obviously, drug addiction had been touched upon in those courses, and as a police officer, the knowledge had been helpful to her.

  “I’m sorry your family has had to go through this.”

  He reached over and clasped her hand. “Thank you.”

  She squeezed his hand tight, hating that she had to ask this question, but...

  “Who do you think he’s communicating with on the laptop, if it’s not his dealer?”

  John pursed his lips, thinking, as he flicked on the
directional signal. They were heading into the cul-de-sac. She didn’t have much time left in the truck with him.

  “He could,” John said slowly, “be hacking something.”

  “Hacking?”

  “He’s good with computers. I always thought that maybe he was a little different from most kids his age, because he’s lousy with emotions and good with tasks that require focus and technical problem-solving.” John sighed. “Right before I left home for the Marines, I remember him being all excited about pulling apart his home computer and then putting it back together again with new and improved parts. He read books to figure everything out, and he played around with all the different operating systems. He was just a kid then.”

  “Did he ever get in trouble with his hacking?”

  “Once. When I first got home and he was mad at me for something, he got into our restaurant website and screwed it up royally. He did it without even knowing the password—and I know, because it was in my head only, and it wasn’t something he’d ever guess. It was then that I realized my brother was scary smart with computers. And it’s such a waste, because if directed well, that talent could really help people, and Patrick could make a good life for himself.” He shook his head bitterly and stepped on the brake.

  They were stopped now in the MacLaines’ driveway, the engine idling. She was reluctant to open the door and leave John, for two reasons. One was to continue questioning him about Patrick for her investigation. The second...

  Her eyes teared up. She suddenly looked over at John, not able to keep it inside any longer.

  “I love you,” she said. “Please don’t ever forget that. I honestly love you, John.”

  * * *

  JOHN TURNED IN his seat, one hand on the steering wheel, one hand wrapped up in Lyndsay’s. He was fast getting to a place where he couldn’t imagine not having her in his life. She made it easier to press on, to slog along with Patrick’s problems. She was smart. Whip smart. And she loved him.

  It was all he could do to believe it. But tears were streaming down her cheeks.

  “Hey,” he said softly, wiping a tear away with his thumb. “We’ll make this work, have no doubt about that. You’ve got a huge talent, and I want you to take it where it goes, use it and not worry about me. Things will get easier on the Patrick front in a few weeks. I’ll be able to drive to see you wherever you end up.”

  She nodded, swallowing. “I really hope so. It would be so perfect if this could work.”

  Her phone made the chiming sound of an incoming text message. She pulled it out of her jacket pocket and glanced at it, then smiled tightly at him.

  “My dad. He wants me to call him back. He’s worried that I didn’t call him last night like I said I would.”

  “Are you going to talk to him about us?”

  Her cheeks reddened, but she nodded. “He’ll be happy for me,” she said softly. “He wants me to be happy.”

  “Then I like him already.”

  The phone rang this time, and she turned off the sound. “He’s getting insistent,” she said as an apology. “I really need to go call him.”

  “Yeah. Toby’s waiting for me, too.”

  She held on to his hand tighter, as if by letting it go, she would be letting go of the relationship.

  “Don’t worry, Lyndsay. You can count on me. I’ve got your back.”

  Her eyes flooded with tears again. “Me too, John,” she sniffed. “And... I promise I’ll help you with Patrick however I can.”

  He exhaled, his eyes closed. Then he drew her closer. In relief and in love. She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.

  “I have to go,” she whispered. “You do, too.”

  * * *

  LYNDSAY STOOD IN the driveway, waving limply, until John’s truck disappeared from the cul-de-sac. She was in so much trouble. She wanted nothing more than to climb into bed and cry her eyes out.

  But she couldn’t, because Pete had texted her.

  Meet me now.

  His subsequent phone call had been part of their signal. In ten minutes, if she didn’t show up at the prearranged meeting place, then Pete would come look for her.

  Even if Pete hadn’t called her first, she would have had to call him anyway. He was her partner. He needed to be told what she was working on. That was Detective School 101.

  As soon as John’s truck was out of sight, she sucked it up and put on her work mind-set. She dropped her purse inside the entryway of the MacLaine home, then ran out the back slider and onto the beach. Vaguely, she registered that it was sunny today, and warmer. She jogged in the direction of the convenience store, mentally running through everything she’d learned this morning and directing her brain to avoid any personal thoughts of John.

  Inside the frozen food section, she found Pete. “Why did you text?” she asked him, wasting no time.

  “Because the suspect we brought in has been released,” Pete said in a low tone behind her. “We’re back to square one.”

  She crossed her arms and leaned against the freezer case. She hadn’t expected that bit of news in the least. “What happened?”

  “The maid didn’t have anything real behind her confession. We got a connection through her—her cousin—but that didn’t pan out either, and we didn’t have enough evidence to continue holding them.”

  “But we were so sure we had them.”

  “Believe me, no one is happy about this turn of events.”

  She put her hand to her chest. “What happens now? I’m still leaving Wallis Point, right?”

  Pete nodded. “Tonight.”

  She took a breath. “I have news, too. Justin Reilly—deceased brother of Patrick and John—painted the watercolors.”

  Pete stared hard at her. “Really?”

  He knows about John and me. She bit her lip and nodded. “I had a chance to talk with Patrick this morning. He’s got watercolor paintings of Justin’s, he says, a collection of them. They’re in his bedroom, but I didn’t get to see them because our conversation was interrupted.”

  “So you don’t know if they’re stolen property or if they’re just more paintings of Justin’s?”

  “Exactly right.” Lyndsay shivered. It was cold in this section of the store. “Do you mind if we move to the canned goods aisle?”

  Pete nodded, and they walked slowly. She picked up a deserted red basket and plucked items off the shelf and put them in her basket as they walked. “Evidently,” she murmured as she pretended to shop, stopping to peruse a can of pineapple slices, “Justin was trying to buy back his paintings right before he died. Patrick is sullen and full of anger. He’s trouble for his family. It could be that he’s been participating in the burglaries. He’s also quite a hacker. The family has been locking away the business laptop, but they caught him using it this morning. I highly doubt this was the first time he’s used it.”

  “Do you think he could have been hacking his ankle bracelet and sneaking out?”

  “Possibly. But I’m more intrigued that he could have been hacking the alarm systems. I want to go up the coast today and interview the company that the MacLaines use.”

  “That’s a good idea. I’ll watch Wesley’s cameras while you’re gone.”

  She reddened, thinking of Pete watching them last night and seeing John knock on her door. Then, watching her leave with John.

  But he said nothing about it, and that relieved her.

  “There is one other thing, Pete. I told Patrick about Justin’s two watercolors that hang in the MacLaines’ upstairs master bedroom. I also told him that I was leaving this evening and that no one would be home tonight. To tee it up, I told a fib that the MacLaines were returning tomorrow morning to live full-time.”

  Pete chuckled. “Not real subtle, but it works.”

  “Yes, he w
as interested. I could see him practically drooling for it.”

  Pete rubbed his chin. “He might show tonight or he might not. Or, he could be passing along alarm codes to his friends on the outside.” He glanced at her. “I was going to pull you out of Wallis Point, but I think it’s best for you to stay one more night.”

  She swallowed. She hadn’t been thinking too far ahead this morning as she’d been taking her investigative steps. She’d been living moment by moment, just to survive the conflict she was having between her personal and professional sides.

  But Pete was right. Who else should be in the MacLaine house for a stakeout and a potential robbery but her?

  “Keep alert tonight, Lyndsay. So far, the burglary ring has always hit at night, either two or three burglars, judging by the evidence. Don’t mess with them. The physical threat is real.”

  She nodded. She wasn’t worried about that part.

  “I’d like to get warrants for the Reilly home and restaurant,” he said. “I want the laptop and I want the painting collection. I also want to question Patrick at the station.”

  “What? No!” She felt panicked. John would freak out about that. “We don’t have enough evidence to do that yet. This hunch might not even pan out, Pete.”

  He gave her a hard look. But he backed down, shaking his head. “We’ll wait and see what happens tonight.”

  “Thank you,” she said with relief.

  He gave her another hard look. “Lyndsay, you’ve got to be prepared for the possibility that you’ll be arresting Patrick Reilly this evening.”

  “As Lyn Francis,” she said.

  “No, as Officer Fairfax. Because when you make an arrest, you break your cover.”

  Right, she knew this. She rubbed her forehead. “Please don’t apply for the warrants until we find out what happens tonight,” she begged.

  He looked closely at her. “Are you prepared to arrest Patrick? You’ve gotten close to his brother.”

  “I’ll do my job. You know I always do my job.”

  “I don’t know.” He crossed his arms. “You’ve gotten real close to him.”