The Undercover Affair

by Cathryn Parry

  He put the table down. His head slowly tilted.

  She went over to stand beside him. John was staring at the two watercolor paintings with a strange look on his face.

  “What’s the matter?” she asked him. It seemed personal to him the way he gazed at the paintings.

  He slid a sideways glance at her. “Nothing. They seem familiar, is all.”

  Her heart beat faster. “How?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. They depict this stretch of beach. Take a look at the jetty in the background.”

  She peered closer. He was right. “Do you know the artist?”

  He gazed at the watercolors. “No, they’re not signed that I can see.” With a quick shake of his head, he bent to pick up the table again. “Are you going to help me?” he said with a smile. “Or move out of the way?”

  She grasped two legs of the table. It was probably nothing, but he had given her a clue about the paintings. Maybe it was even safe to assume that Congressman MacLaine’s first wife was the subject. Too bad she couldn’t call him herself to ask...

  Backing out of the bedroom with mincing steps while he walked forward, muscles nicely flexed, was making her throat dry. John really was an attractive man. But I’m here for the investigation, she chided herself. Tomorrow she would venture out to the beach and check exactly what the paintings showed. Perhaps there were locals she could question...

  Her reverie was interrupted by AJ, returning with the plumbing part John had wanted, and John made quick work of fixing the leak. AJ stayed to help, because he said he was interested in plumbing. Lyndsay hovered near, but spent most of her time wringing out wet towels and sopping up water.

  After John finished and tested the water and heating systems, AJ went home. It was just the two of them. Just as they finished setting up the last of the fans, the doorbell rang and their hot pizza was delivered. It smelled mouthwatering.

  She put out two place settings on the kitchen island, using Kitty’s seashell-themed ceramic plates and aqua-blue glasses.

  John washed his hands, then sat at the stool opposite her. He waited while she helped herself to a slice.

  The crust was crispy; the sauce and cheese sparse but delicious.

  “We have a wood-fired pizza oven in the kitchen,” John said. “But it can get busy, especially on Friday nights. I apologize that we had to wait so long.”

  “I didn’t know you have a pizza oven.” She wiped her mouth with a napkin.

  “Yeah, a good part of our afternoon and evening business is take-out pizza. Lunchtime is mostly sandwiches.”

  “Which makes me curious.” She set down her slice. “How is it that a Marine veteran—who now co-owns a restaurant—also has the skills to be a plumber?”

  John took a long swig of cola before answering. “You really want to know?” he murmured.

  She already knew the answer to her question—sort of—from Andy, but she wanted to hear the details from John’s lips.

  “I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want to know.”

  He made a small laugh with a slight exhalation, as if her answer amused him.

  She was feeling more comfortable with him. Some of her caution was even wearing off, enough to want to know more about him. She was interested in him.

  “I went to Wallis Point Vocational High School and trained in plumbing,” he said.

  “Oh. That was before you joined the Marines?”

  He nodded. “I worked for my uncle during summers and for a few years before I joined up.”

  “Did you like plumbing?” she asked. “Honestly, you seem pretty good at it to me.”

  “It’s been a handy skill to have, especially as a small business owner, and I still help my uncle every now and then when he needs an extra hand.”

  She believed him. “Did you ever think of starting a plumbing business?” she asked him.

  He smiled at her, his eyes crinkling. “Funny you say that. A long time ago, my brother and I had a plan to go into business together. Reilly Brothers Plumbing.” His smile faded. “But then my father made us an offer to go into partnership on the restaurant. I didn’t want to. My brother did. I joined the Marine Corps and...” He shrugged. “I liked it.”

  “But now you’re co-owner of the Seaside.”

  “Yep, I came back after my father passed away, and it’s for the best for everyone.” Abruptly he stood and found his jacket. “Sorry, I really should get back and check on the business now. Fridays are busy nights. And then there’s my brother.” He shrugged. “You should be all set with your water, and with the rugs. Just keep the fans on until morning. I’ll stop by and check on it all after the morning rush.”

  She wiped her hands and stood, too. Obviously, he was as busy as she was.

  “Okay,” she said. “Thanks for everything. I mean it, John.”

  He gave her a mock salute. “Anytime.”

  Then he was out the front door, carrying the toolbox to his truck and carefully placing it in the back.

  She watched him, hands in her pockets as the truck lights faded around the corner. He’d helped her so much tonight, and she really did feel less lonely. It just made her achy that he was so mysterious. And wary. And yet, so responsible.

  * * *

  JOHN STRODE INTO his mother’s family room in time to see both his brother and Andy pumping their fists into the air.

  Andy stood when he saw John. “Boston won a nail-biter, four to three.”

  “A real close game,” his brother said, his eyes shining.

  John shoved his hands deeper into his pockets. It was good his brother was happy. Andy was a decent guy for doing this for him. Nosy, but decent.

  John walked Andy out to his truck, alone. The evening rush had tapered off, but there were still a number of cars in the darkened lot. John checked to be sure no one could overhear before he spoke.

  “Lyn’s water is working and turned back on,” he told Andy in a low voice. “The wet carpets are drying out. I’ll check on them tomorrow morning.”

  Even in the faint light of the streetlamps overhead, John could see that Andy was smiling. “Good. I don’t know what it is about Lyn, but I worry about her like a daughter.” He eyed John. “And you two Reilly boys were like sons.”

  “Yeah, well. What do you think of the third Reilly brother, Patrick?”

  Andy cleared his throat. “Margie is friends with Cynthia. She’s been sharing some of her concerns.”

  His mother went to church with Andy’s wife, Cynthia. Of course. John closed his eyes. He’d never thought his mother would be the one to let the news out. “Do a lot of people know?” John asked.

  “No. It’s not a shame to you, John—don’t think of it that way. It happens to people. Yeah, it’s true that Patrick is going to have a hard row to hoe, and that some people will hold it against him, but you don’t have to feel responsible. You can live your own life, you know.”

  John was trying. But it wasn’t as simple as Andy made it out to be.

  “I told Lyn about him,” he said.

  “That’s great!”

  “Because I assumed that if you hadn’t already told her, then you would be telling her soon.” He gave Andy a hard look.

  Andy had the grace not to protest.

  “Look,” John said. “My priority is getting Patrick safely through his court date. That means I can’t have people coming in here looking to talk to him about his problem, or gawking at him, or what have you. Especially if he’s going to run the Seaside someday. And I promised the court I’d watch him. I promised my mother I would protect him and get him through this. She’s terrified of him going to prison, with good reason. I’d appreciate it if you would support me with this.”

  “John, you always know I support you.”

  “I
know.” John clapped Andy on the back. “Just do me one more favor. Don’t say anything else about me to Lyn. Okay? Not one word. Anything else that she knows about me has to come from me in my time, as I trust her more. Can you honor that?”

  Andy gave him a sly smile. “About time you did some courting.”

  John didn’t know about that. It was true he was intrigued by her. And he really didn’t know all that much about her beyond the fact that she was a work-focused interior decorator and widow of a Special Ops soldier.

  If he decided to get to know her better—big if—he would make his own assessments.

  He waited until Andy had driven off, then turned and went into the house. The light in the television room was off; his mother had gone to bed, and Patrick appeared to be inside his bedroom. The door was closed, but a sliver of light shone underneath.

  John knocked on the door. “Patrick? Can I talk to you?”

  The reply was muffled; John couldn’t tell what he’d said, so he opened the door and went inside. Patrick was lying on his bed, wearing headphones. When he saw John, he sat up.

  John leaned on the edge of the doorjamb. The room was a mess, but he wasn’t going to say anything about it. It was hard enough on him and Patrick as it was.

  “I’m sorry I’ve been rough on you. I’m just trying to get us both through the court date. I’m thinking that after that’s over, we’ll work more about transitioning you to running things around here.”

  Patrick blinked. “Okay,” he mumbled.

  “How was it with Andy? Would you like him to come back and visit you?”

  “Yeah. He’s a good guy.”

  John nodded. “I’ve been keeping our friends away not to hurt you, but because I thought I was protecting you. How about if I go easier with that?”

  “Yeah. That would be good.”

  Not a great conversationalist, his brother, but John shared that trait, so he couldn’t complain. “Okay, then.” He stood awkwardly. “Want me to turn off the light?” He turned for the switch. There was a picture on the wall beside it.

  “No. Leave it on,” Patrick said.

  But John was staring at the picture. It was a watercolor painting of a beach scene and someone surfing in the distance. He’d noticed it before, of course, but he’d never really noticed it. And, now, when he looked closely, he saw that a signature on the painting was legible: “From Justin to Patrick.”

  A lump formed in John’s throat. Justin’s death was like a ghost that hovered over everyone in his family. Patrick missed him as much as John and their mom did.

  John touched the corner of the frame. He hadn’t known that Justin had taken up painting watercolors. It was an amateur effort, but pretty good.

  Justin and Patrick had surely grown closer while John had been away in the Marines. Dumb of John, but it had never occurred to him before.

  “Good night, Patrick,” he said softly, and closed the door behind him.

  On the way to his truck, it occurred to him that this was where he’d recognized the watercolor paintings that Lyn had shown him earlier. He’d known the style had seemed familiar, but he hadn’t been able to place where he’d seen it until now.

  It was probably nothing. Justin had always had a lot of friends.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  LYNDSAY SPENT A fitful night. Dozing off, she had an erotic dream, and the man in the dream wasn’t her husband. It’s was John’s face she was seeing. John’s smile. John’s eyes. John’s touch.

  She woke in the early dawn hours, shaken. How was it that she was so taken by a wary but kind bar owner/Marine veteran she’d only recently met?

  She needed to shake off her confusion, because later this morning—after the rush, he’d said—he was coming over to check on the plumbing work and the drying carpets, and she’d better get herself straight before he arrived.

  Outside her windows, the weather looked sunny, with puffy, white clouds. She’d been cooped up too long with little outdoor exercise, and she needed to walk and stretch her legs. She assumed that John wouldn’t arrive until after nine o’clock, so she tossed on her jogging clothes and sneakers.

  Before she went downstairs, she checked on last night’s problems.

  The water damage was still depressingly evident. Turned up carpets. Stained walls. A stack of tile that needed to be laid.

  There was no way she alone could fix what needed to be fixed. She could never coordinate or finish what she’d promised Kitty in time. The place was a disaster.

  She’d never felt so overwhelmed. Her eyes filled with tears. Blinking, she wiped her eyes on her sleeves.

  As she stumbled downstairs, she happened to pass the alarm panel in the hallway. There are cameras here, she remembered. Wesley had installed cameras that recorded everything happening on the outside of the house.

  She stopped, feeling even worse. Why hadn’t she thought of them last night during all the excitement? Surely, someone in the task force monitored them. They would have seen her running outside yesterday, in tears. They would have seen Andy arriving to help. Then John, then AJ. They would already know that she’d faced an emergency last night.

  And yet, no one had contacted her. No one had sent a signal. No one was really concerned about her at all.

  She’d been deserted by her real team. These few weeks, she’d been truly alone, and she hadn’t realized how much until now.

  Shaking, she took out her phone. If she continued on the path she was on, then the MacLaines would return, angry with the home destruction she’d wrought. The men on the task force might solve the case without her. She would go back to her old life worse off than she’d been before.

  She keyed in the emergency number that Pete had given her. Until now, she’d prided herself for not using it. No more. She needed the okay from Commander Harris to hire some properly vetted local contractors if he would not provide a department-vetted crew. She understood they were busy investigating the Seacoast crime scenes and following leads, but she needed the task force to step up and do their part for the MacLaine stakeout, too.

  She walked out the back, through the patio doors and about a hundred yards onto the beach. She sat directly on the soft, cool sand to wait for Pete to arrive.

  Two seagulls saw her approach, and they swooped in to stalk beside her. No, I don’t have any food for you, she silently told them. The gulls paraded around, orange beaks in the air, then deserted her, too. She put her head between her knees. Maybe she just needed a good cry. She couldn’t remember the last time in her life she had sat and indulged in a good cry.

  “Lyn?”

  A familiar, deep voice. She jerked her head up, blinking and wiping as fast as she could to blot away the telltale tears.

  John stood there, an early-morning jogger in shorts and a gray sweatshirt. She hadn’t even heard him approach—pathetic of her.

  “What happened?” he asked gently, crouching beside her on the sand.

  She made a small laugh. “Nothing. I’m just feeling sorry for myself, is all.”

  Straightening, he held out his hand, and she used it to hoist herself up.

  “Thank you.” She held his hand for a few seconds longer than she should have. He had a warm, strong, capable hand, and she really needed that right now.

  Shoot, she thought. The emergency call to my backup team. She needed to undo the call she’d just made.

  “Can you hold on a second?” she asked John, fishing in her pocket for her phone. “I need to finish a text message to my employer.”

  He nodded, walking a few paces away to give her privacy.

  He wasn’t leaving, though, she noticed. At least somebody wasn’t deserting her. He cared enough to stand by.

  With trembling fingers, she typed out the retraction code that let her backup team know all was well. No
need for you to come.

  She stuffed her phone in her pocket and rejoined John.

  The sun hung just over the waves to the east. The Wallis Point sunrise was spectacular, and for a moment she stood still to appreciate the red-and-orange rays. “It’s beautiful here,” she remarked.

  “Yeah. I try to get out on the beach every day.”

  “I should try harder, too.” She walked companionably alongside him, headed toward the jetty in the near distance. She’d never actually gone in this direction. “I think I’ve been alone inside that house for too long. I love my job, but...it’s really getting to me.”

  “How so?” he asked, turning to look her in the eyes.

  She felt herself blushing under his close attention. “Just that I’m doing too much of it alone. I don’t mean to complain, but I need to hire more tradespeople, and my firm isn’t helping much at the moment.”

  He nodded. “I was going to mention that.” He glanced at her again. “Do you have a budget?”

  If she got approval from Commander Harris, she did. “Yes.”

  “Then I suggest talking to Andy about it. Moon really does have tiling skills—he could finish the bathroom floor quickly.” John unconsciously moved faster as he problem-solved for her aloud, and since his gait was longer than hers, she had to walk quickly to keep up. “And AJ paints walls and ceilings,” he continued. “I know they’re contracted at the moment, but I’m sure they could squeeze you in. Andy thinks the world of you.”

  She couldn’t help smiling at that. “Andy reminds me of my father.” She missed not having him to bounce ideas off.

  John smiled at her, too. “Yeah. I know what you mean about that.” Then he frowned. “Sorry I had to leave you so abruptly last night.”

  “I understand,” she said, slowing down as he slowed, too. “You’re in charge of the restaurant and your brother. I just appreciate you helped me out of a bad jam. I don’t know what I would have done.”

  “You’d have managed,” he said softly. A few joggers were on the beach with them—she noticed him watching them.

  “Did I interrupt your run?” she asked.