The Undercover Affair

by Cathryn Parry

  “I’m Zena Baines, Wallis Point PD dispatcher.” Zena pointed toward the end of a row of machines. “It’s right over there, though there’s just apple juice right now, I’m afraid.”

  “At this point, that sounds like heaven.” Lyndsay fished two crumpled bills from her pocket and smoothed them out as best she could. Then she fed them to the machine, retrieved her beverage and sat at one of the communal tables.

  “This is a nice station,” Lyndsay remarked, glancing around at the freshly painted walls and new furniture. “It’s bigger than I realized.”

  Zena took her breakfast from the microwave—a large muffin that she’d heated up—and joined Lyndsay at the table. “Yes. It’s home to me.”

  “I noticed the community room in the back. And the training room.”

  Zena cocked her head. “Are you new here? I haven’t been in the job long myself, but I’ve never noticed you before.”

  “I’m a state police officer.”

  “Oh.” Zena nodded. She looked a bit intimidated, but open to talking.

  Lyndsay gave her a wide smile. “You can call me Lyndsay.”

  “Okay. Hi, Lyndsay.”

  The woman Lyndsay had met earlier in the hallway entered, pushing baby Jamie in his carriage. “Hi, again,” she called to Lyndsay. Lyndsay waved back.

  The woman turned to Zena. “Is Officer Pierce in this morning? I have a document I need to file with him.”

  “No,” Zena answered. “He was on shift last night.” She smiled at Lyndsay. “Natalie is my former employer. She’s an attorney in town.” She turned to Natalie. “This is Officer Fairfax—Lyndsay. She’s a state police officer.”

  “Pleased to meet you.” Natalie shifted her folder to her left hand and extended her right hand to Lyndsay. “I’m Natalie Kimball. I own the Kimball Law office in town.”

  “Oh. Do you work in criminal cases?” Lyndsay asked.

  “I specialize in wills, probates, estates and minor criminal cases, yes.”

  Natalie was someone John might call if he needed legal help. Lyndsay would need to watch what she said. Still, she shook Natalie’s hand. “Why don’t you sit down with us? I was going to have breakfast.”

  “Okay.” Natalie glanced at her watch. “While I wait for Hannah, I have a free hour. A very rare thing for me these days.”

  “I can imagine the little ones keep you busy.” Lyndsay smiled at little Jamie with his dimpled cheeks and wispy tuft of brown baby hair.

  “Yes,” Natalie said softly. “But I wouldn’t change it for the world.”

  It dared to cross Lyndsay’s mind then. Wouldn’t I love to have a little one like this with John someday? The unexpected longing went so deep that she needed to blink away the moisture in her eyes.

  Wallis Point was a place she had grown to love, too. She could see herself here. Given her present difficulties, though, it was a near impossibility.

  “Would you like half of my blueberry muffin, Lyndsay?” Zena asked. “It’s huge, and I wasn’t going to eat it all, anyway.”

  “Well...if you’re sure you don’t mind?”

  But Zena was already cutting it with her plastic knife. “You’ll love it. Trust me on this.”

  Lyndsay felt teary with gratitude. Imagine that, she thought. She was trained to be outwardly tough, but now it seemed she was softening on the inside.

  Maybe John could eventually soften, too, enough to find it in his heart to forgive her.

  She hoped so, fervently.

  Please, Pete, hurry up. She needed to find out if he’d been able to check on John. She needed to know how he was, good or bad.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  JOHN FOUGHT THE urge to lean against the wall of his shower stall and stay there, zoning out as the hot water sluiced over his aching back.

  He had no idea what time it was.

  He was fuzzy on last night’s details.

  But he remembered everything that had happened with Lyndsay—the worry about her safety, the fight with the combatant, the shock to learn that Lyndsay was a police officer, then the raw, cold fury over the way she had duped him.

  After that, though, he wasn’t real clear on what had happened or how he’d gotten home. He just had the memory of the shock of her betrayal wearing off him, followed by a raging headache from the fight he’d had with the thief. He remembered sitting on his couch for two seconds to pop down some ibuprofen tablets, and the next thing he knew, he’d felt an overpowering urge to close his eyes and rest for just a moment.

  Evidently, he’d faded. Hours had passed while he’d either slept or been passed out—he still wasn’t sure which—and the remnants of that monster headache remained even now in the sunlight.

  Wincing with pain, he straightened. He didn’t have the luxury to waste minutes babying himself in a hot shower. He had to get to his mother before somebody else in this too-small town scared her with the details of last night’s incident. She would be a wreck once she heard. He needed to check on Patrick, too.

  He still didn’t know what, if anything, he would tell his family about Lyndsay. The pain in his heart hurt worse than the pain in his head. He twisted the knob to cut the flow of water, then grabbed a dry towel, stepping onto the mat.

  Immediately, he was confronted with his reflection in the mirror over the sink. He saw how he looked through other people’s eyes. Like a monster.

  He had a black eye, facial bruises and a deep cut that was red and raw. He should put a bandage on it if he didn’t want to scare the public.

  Averting his head, he dried himself—gingerly—with the towel. He hurt all over, from head to toe. It even hurt to breathe, which probably meant he had a cracked rib or two. He’d been through worse. He could take it for now—he would deal with any medical issues later. He’d most wanted to wash off the blood because he didn’t want his mother to be upset when she saw him.

  Go. Get dressed. Get to work. Get on with your life.

  It was what he knew best. He screwed his eyes shut. He hadn’t known Lyndsay long, but she’d shredded him. The force of her betrayal had hit him worse than the work over he’d gotten from that goon. He would rather fight a thousand goons than think about Lyndsay again, talking to Patrick, having coffee with his mom.

  In bed with me.

  Ding. The motion-detector alarm in his driveway went off. John blinked. It had to be Lyndsay. Who else would it be?

  Ding-dong.

  That was his doorbell. If he didn’t go face her, she would force herself inside anyway. The woman could handle herself defensively, he would give her that. Still, she could wait.

  With a groan, he bandaged his cut. Put on a long-sleeved, button-up shirt, then winced again as he pulled on his jeans. Pocketed his wallet and keys and phone. He found a clean pair of socks and laced on his work boots.

  Strangely, he felt naked. And foolish. Outwitted by a woman he’d put his trust in. Last night he hadn’t fully dealt with his anger—the fight with the intruder and the presence of the police had confused him more. Now that the action was behind him, John didn’t want to talk to her or revisit her betrayal.

  Ding-dong.

  “I’m coming!” he called out peevishly. But you’re gonna wish I hadn’t.

  His brother’s cat curled around his ankle. He took the time to gingerly bend over and pat his furry head. “Hang tight, Toby,” he murmured. “I promise I won’t forget you this morning.”

  He took the stairs slowly. It was the best he could do.

  But the face in John’s front window wasn’t Lyndsay’s. It was the guy from last night. Fortyish, with a haircut that screamed authority figure. Lyndsay’s partner.

  A law enforcement badge slapped against the window. “Pete West. Police. Open up.”

  John opened the door a crack. “I alread
y made my statement.”

  “You look like crap,” Pete said in a matter-of-fact tone.

  No kidding, John thought.

  Pete shifted his stance. “I want to talk to you.”

  “Fine. We’ll talk outside.”

  Pete shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

  John stepped out on the porch and shut the door behind him. Pete was dressed like John, except he wore a Glock pistol on a holster at his waist, right out in the open.

  Pete gave him the up and down. “Did you go to the hospital yet?”

  “Why? Is this a welfare check?”

  “Actually, it is. Don’t get defensive with me. I’m here to help you.”

  “Does she know you’re here?” John couldn’t help asking.

  Pete sighed. “I got your address from your interview sheet, if that’s what you mean.”

  John had given little to no information in his incident statement. Name, rank and serial number. The very bare minimum he could get away with, anyway.

  But this guy had him at a disadvantage. As Lyndsay’s partner, he likely knew everything that John had told Lyndsay. Just knowing that was like salt on his wound.

  “Are you undercover, too?” John asked sarcastically.

  A tick went off in the guy’s cheek, but he controlled himself. “Lyn covered for you. You might not realize this, but she’s in trouble for letting you interfere in a police response. You’re lucky you weren’t charged for your actions last night.”

  John drew in his breath. “She’s in trouble?” He crossed his arms. It was cool in the early morning wind.

  “Yes. And it’s going to get worse for her, and you, because your brother is involved, and that’s just a bad thing all around.”

  “My brother?” Alarm screamed through him. “Why are you bringing him into this?”

  Pete slowly exhaled. He stared John square in the eye, and John saw pity. He instinctively braced himself for bad news.

  “I just got back from a hospital-bed interrogation,” Pete said. “The perp had a lot to tell us about the burglary ring that’s been hitting the seacoast region. Does that strike a chord with you?”

  “No.” But John’s heart quickened. Could Patrick be involved in something criminal that John didn’t know about?

  “The perp told us how the burglaries happened. He told us about Patrick’s involvement. Are you ready to hear this, John?”

  All John could do was give him a short nod.

  “Patrick hacked into the alarm company’s password files. In exchange for deliveries of mostly worthless paintings, he colluded with a criminal gang.”

  John reached for the porch railing. His head felt dizzy again. “My God.”

  Right under his nose. Right under his freaking nose.

  “I’m telling you this before Lyndsay even knows. She’s still in an interview room at Wallis Point Police Department, waiting for her boss to reprimand her. Tell me, John, what do you know about the burglaries?”

  “Nothing.” Patrick is going to jail. He couldn’t think. For once in his life, he didn’t know exactly what to do.

  The ringing of his phone brought him to life again. He checked his screen.

  His mother.

  Adrenaline pumped through him. John knew what he had to do—what he’d always had to do. Protect his family.

  “Before you answer that call,” Pete said, checking his watch, “you should know that the search warrant has already been delivered to the Seaside Bar and Grill. If you are involved in the burglaries at all, then you’ll be hearing from me again.”

  With that, while John swallowed his shock, Pete headed to a black SUV that blocked John’s truck in his own driveway.

  John answered the still-ringing phone. “Mom?”

  “The police are here! There are four cruisers in the parking lot with their lights flashing. John, please, you have to come!”

  “I’m on my way. When they knock on the door, check their warrant before you let them into the house. If the warrant is for the Seaside, don’t let them in. They can only search the restaurant.”

  “I haven’t talked to them yet. They haven’t approached the house—”

  “Whatever happens, don’t let Patrick say anything without his lawyer present. I’ll call his office now.”

  John ended the call and shoved the phone in his pocket even as he ran toward his truck.

  The cop’s SUV went roaring out of the driveway, and John followed behind. But the cop didn’t know Wallis Point like John did, so he took the main road—the long way—while John cut across a side street that was more direct. It was a back-alley shortcut and it would buy John a few minutes. If the cop hit the traffic light on a red instead of a green, it would be even more time to gain.

  When John got to his mother’s house a few moments later, he saw the ring of police cruisers surrounding the Seaside. The grounds of the two properties were swarming with police officers. John parked beside one of the SUVs, cut the engine, then jumped out.

  As he ran up the hill toward his mother’s house, he put in a call to Patrick’s lawyer.

  * * *

  WITH MOUNTING HORROR, Lyndsay sat outside the Reilly residence in a black SUV with Commander Harris and his personal driver. She sat in relative comfort—dark windows, leather seats, VIP access. As she watched the search unfolding before her, it was dawning on her that she was also watching her hopes for a life with John being ripped to shreds.

  He would be devastated. Lyndsay had seen Margie’s stricken face in the window. That Lyndsay had been the mole who’d used her relationship with John to get inside their home, to connect the pieces she’d pried from John—and which John had unselfishly, unknowingly given her—and to instigate Patrick into striking the congressman’s home, would certainly feel like the worst possible personal betrayal.

  The outcome that John had most dreaded for Patrick was happening now, and solely because of her influence. How could he possibly forgive her?

  Commander Harris watched the arrest preparations with satisfaction. He turned to smile at her in the back seat. “I talked with both the governor and the congressman an hour ago, and they’re pleased with the work the task force has performed, especially you. Despite a last-minute glitch or two, I have to agree with that assessment. Overall, Lyndsay, you’ve done good undercover police work in Wallis Point.”

  From a professional perspective, she supposed he was right. She’d helped solve the case, done everything asked of her and met her goals.

  Still, it had devastated her personal relationship. Or maybe her work life simply prevented her from having the satisfying personal relationship she’d desired. It appeared she’d been fooling herself thinking she could keep the two lives separated.

  Now that she saw the pain John’s family was going through because of her work, a big part of her regretted her role in deceiving them and taking advantage of their relationship with her.

  She’d learned a lot of things during this job, that was for sure. About herself, mainly. And she didn’t want to ever again do anything that wasn’t right for her values. She’d thought she’d been doing what she was supposed to, but she hadn’t examined the situation closely enough. All her life, it seemed, she’d been influenced by other people and what they wanted for her. Maybe, in a sense, she’d been undercover from her true desires, acting a part.

  Ironic that being undercover, acting contrary to her normal personality, had caused her to see herself more clearly. She wasn’t just a lonely widow, a loyal policeman’s daughter, an all-around good employee, busying herself with work. Those were parts she played. She was none of those things at heart. She was...herself. Messy, complicated, passionate, alive.

  “We have another undercover assignment for you,” Commander Harris said. “After you debrief and roll off this assign
ment, we have a bigger job this time, more important, with higher-profile criminals to take down.”

  “No,” she said softly.

  “But you haven’t heard what the job is—”

  “No,” she repeated.

  She couldn’t go back to deceiving people, especially good people, who were only trying to live their lives honestly.

  Commander Harris twisted in the spot, expressing his surprise at her reaction. His pressed uniform squeaked against the leather seats. “Lyndsay, why don’t you take time off and think about it?”

  She said nothing, because just as the commander spoke, John’s truck pulled up beside them. Her heart broke to see him. His handsome face was a marred, bruised-and-bandaged pulp, and she ached for the physical pain he was feeling. But his mental anguish would be far worse, she knew.

  She placed her hand on the window, wishing she could reach out to him. The SUV was so close to his truck that if she had access to the electric window, then she could touch his face with her fingertips.

  He didn’t notice her. He was so focused on the house, Margie and Patrick, so desperate to protect them from the arrest that would rip his remaining family apart.

  John had loved her so much, he had tried to change for her. He’d left his comfort zone and confided in her—but it had come back to bite him, hadn’t it? She wondered how a person could recover from such a betrayal.

  * * *

  “WHAT ARE YOU telling me?” Margie gazed at John, her shocked face not appearing to see his bruises and cuts. John needn’t have gone through the trouble to clean up—it hadn’t mattered. “Patrick couldn’t have been involved with any burglaries,” she protested. “How could he? He’s wearing a tracking bracelet.”

  “The police are saying that he managed it anyway.” And the more John thought about it, the more he realized it was probably true.

  Hacking into passwords. Yeah, that was classic Patrick. He’d also been staying up late and sneaking into the business office to use John’s laptop. More disappointed than anything, John shook his head. “Wait here, Mom. I’m going to talk to the police.”