The Undercover Affair

by Cathryn Parry

  “No.” He wiped his face with his long-sleeved sweatshirt. “I was just about finished anyway, and I need the cooldown.” He glanced at her. “Honestly, I was coming over to check on you. You must have read my mind, being outside as you were.”

  She laughed. “I’d originally had it in mind to walk this way anyway.” She pointed toward the jetty, which was in the opposite direction of the boardwalk where she usually met her team. She’d meant to check where the paintings had been made, but now wasn’t the right time. It would seem too forced. “Anyway, I was going to walk for fifteen minutes or so. Just to clear my head.”

  “It’s possible to walk out on the jetty rocks,” he said. “Past that, you can see a cove known for its fishing.” He glanced back at her. “But I don’t mind heading back and checking on the carpets now, if that will make you feel better.”

  “You won’t get in trouble, missing the early shift?”

  “I own the Seaside. How can I get in trouble?”

  “True.” She smiled. “In that case, then, let’s keep walking.”

  “I was hoping you’d say that.” He gave her a smile that showed a dimple. She felt like sighing.

  “Do you run every morning here?” she asked him as they continued heading toward the jetty. He looked fit, not in a runner way but more of a soldier way. “I mean, I lived on post for a while, and I remember all the physical training after morning formation.”

  “That was a long time ago.” He turned for a moment and watched a group of young men and women in wet suits, swimming after a boat. “Lifeguards,” he pointed out. “They’re prepping for hiring tryouts now.”

  Nice. But she didn’t particularly care to talk about anyone other than him. “How long have you lived in Wallis Point?” she asked as she kept to her path just above the shoreline.

  “Most of my life.” He kept pace a half step ahead of her.

  “Were you born here?”

  “Mmm-hmm,” he answered.

  She took that as a yes. He shaded his face with his hand. Between his body turning away, the dark sunglasses and his noncommittal attitude, she understood something. “You don’t really want to talk about yourself, do you?”

  He grinned at her. “Nope. I’m not interesting. But you are.”

  “Am I?”

  “Yes. Where did you grow up?”

  “Very well. If you really want to know about me,” she mentioned pleasantly, picking up a stick and using it to trace along the sand beside her. This was an easy question to answer. She had an entire false backstory mapped out. “Well, I’ve lived all over.” Partly true, but not completely. “I’m an only child.” She skipped the cop-dad part—he already knew that. “I went to college for interior design, then I got married.”

  She stopped chattering long enough to notice that John had a distracted look on his face. Of course, he probably didn’t want to talk about her late husband. He’d been married once, too.

  Yeah, she didn’t want to talk about old loves herself, come to think of it.

  “You have a local accent,” he noted.

  “I didn’t know there was such a thing as a local accent.”

  He chuckled. “Everybody has an accent of some type, whether they realize it or not.” He looked at her, as if wanting her to give a name of a hometown. She didn’t want to get too specific like that. But his eyes watched her so closely.

  A little boy was up early, flying a kite with his granddad. As she gazed up at him, she saw the kite begin to swoop down.

  He turned around and saw it, too. With a look of concern and a warming, he pulled her close to him, out of the way.

  “Sorry!” she heard the granddad call vaguely as he got the kite under control again.

  John’s arms were around her. His hand was on her head, as if protecting her from the sky.

  She didn’t need to be protected. The kite hadn’t come that close, and even if it had, the damage would have been slight.

  Breathing slowly, she was instead vividly aware of how it felt to be within his arms. Easy. Pleasurable.

  “Sorry,” he murmured, stepping back.

  “No, don’t be,” she found herself chattering. “You saved me from a potentially nasty head wound.”

  He smiled as if joking with her. “You know I wasn’t trying to cop a feel or anything.”

  Not that it would be unwelcome, she bit back.

  “Are you the type to cop a feel?” she asked lightly instead.

  He barked out a laugh. “Yeah. Right.” Then he glanced toward the house. “I should take a look at the carpet so I can get to the restaurant.”

  “Thank you, John. Come on.”

  “Sure.” Now the sun was at their back, no longer in their eyes because of the curve of the beach.

  “I spent part of my childhood upstate in the mountains,” she said softly. “I don’t know why, but I always felt lonely without siblings.” It was absolutely the truth, and not what she’d planned on divulging. Mostly, she told him because she wanted him to know what was real about her. Crazy as that seemed.

  He glanced at her for a long time, longer than was natural as they walked to the MacLaines’ patio. It seemed to her as if she’d surprised him, or as if he didn’t quite know what to make of her. Either way, he held himself back somewhat. As if there were some things he kept to himself. Like her. They were both burdened with obstacles because of their circumstances, it seemed.

  They passed by the outdoor hot tub, and he remained silent as if thinking over everything they’d said. On the surface, the quiet was congenial and friendly—underneath, she wasn’t certain what was going on. She just knew that she felt good to be with him.

  She unlocked, then opened the slider.

  He stepped inside the homey kitchen. She was glad that one room, at least, hadn’t been torn apart.

  “Lyn,” he murmured in that gruff, sexy voice of his, “if you ever need help with anything, you’re welcome to come and get me.”

  “Okay,” she said softly. She would gladly do that. Smiling at him, she led him through the kitchen toward the staircase. “I’ll stop by the Seaside and avoid Andy the middleman,” she joked lightly.

  But John paused by the window near the front door, a crease on his forehead. “Actually, I meant to say that I live over there.” Pointing, he indicated the house across the street. “Behind the blue house, two cottages are tucked into a cove beside the town dock. The smaller house, the gray one, is mine. Do you see it? Just head over there if you have any more problems you need help with. You’re always welcome.”

  “Oh,” she said softly. She stood beside him, gazing at the tiny speck of the corner of his house in the distance. She was grateful for the offer. For the concern. For the human connection, however slight. For suddenly not feeling so lonely anymore. “Thank you, John.” Silly her, she had a lump in her throat.

  He nodded. He seemed protective of her, and proud of it, too.

  Which made her smile to herself. If only he knew, she didn’t need his protection. Not at all. She just wanted his company.

  Too bad she was leaving in a week. Successful in her mission or not, she still had to leave this pleasant little community when her job was finished.

  * * *

  JOHN GAZED AT yesterday’s handiwork with satisfaction. In the daylight, the bathroom plumbing he’d fixed looked fine. He’d expected nothing less. No, it was the water-soaked carpeting and under-padding that he’d been most worried about.

  Luckily, though, it had all dried out. If Lyn chose not to tell the MacLaines what had happened, then they wouldn’t see it, in his opinion. She would come out of the broken-pipes drama okay.

  “I have a carpet-cleaning machine at the Seaside.” He straightened, stretching his arms. “How about if I bring it by tomorrow? Any carpets that you choose to
keep will look like new.”

  “Thank you,” she said, straightening along with him. “Kitty wants the carpets in the main rooms replaced, but I need to keep the carpet in the bedroom, so I appreciate the offer, John.”

  “No problem.” He liked being helpful with her. In his own life, Patrick wasn’t real grateful for what John did for him, and honestly, his mom was so fragile he didn’t expect much as a matter of course.

  He blew out a breath. He didn’t want to think about them right now. “In the meantime, Lyn, let’s get this bedroom carpet stapled into place. I’d like to fix the swollen doors, too. My tools are at the house. I can get them and be back in ten minutes.”

  “Okay. If you don’t mind.” She gazed at him with her windblown hair and rosy cheeks, and part of him was a goner.

  Mind? It was getting easy to be in her presence. He didn’t regret taking the time to talk to her more. His suspicions were getting replaced by the beginnings of friendship. It made his burden with his family seem easier, somehow.

  “Hang tight,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”

  On the jog to his house, he couldn’t get her out of his head—this sweet mystery woman with the face like an angel, yet a cop father who’d taught her to carry a sidearm. No sidearm today, though. Not last night, either. He’d thought briefly of asking her about it, but he was deliberately not probing too much. The sight of her curled up on the beach crying had torn at his heart. Things here obviously weren’t easy for her.

  There had been that one moment with the kite mishap when she’d curled against his chest as if not wanting to leave.

  At the end of the day, she was lonely. Maybe he was, too. In any event, he trusted her story. And the fact that she was leaving had made her a safe person to confide in.

  At his house, he dug around in his toolbox to make sure he had what he needed. Then he hopped into his truck and drove to the cottage.

  She met him at the door. Upstairs in that weirdly locked master bedroom, he fixed the doors, then showed her how to work with him to get the rugs straight so they could staple the ends again.

  No one would be the wiser. The MacLaines would never know she’d accidentally flooded the place.

  The whole operation took about an hour.

  “I don’t know how to thank you,” she said, rubbing her arms as she knelt in the bedroom, still empty of furniture. “Yet again, you’ve saved my butt.”

  While he’d been gone she’d changed her clothes, and now she wore jeans and a soft, fluffy sweater. When she’d leaned forward beside him, working, the loose edges had moved, showing him a sliver of skin on her back. He’d felt himself wanting to touch it. To move his hand up her back beneath the white sweater.

  She sat back on her heels. “You know, it’s a funny thing about those two watercolors,” she said, pointing to the nook in front of them. “I wonder if you can tell me what you think of them.”

  Still distracted by her show of skin, he reluctantly glanced up to see what she was talking about.

  Oh, the paintings.

  “I’m trying to figure out whether to keep them in the design plan or not,” she mused. “I checked the internet for the artist’s name, but I didn’t see anything. What do you think?”

  That it was best not to bring Justin into it. John hadn’t talked about him to her. He wasn’t sure he was ready to. “I think maybe it’s an amateur’s work,” he said carefully.

  She tapped her chin. “I hadn’t considered that. Then again, I’m not an art specialist. I wonder if anyone around here is.”

  “Not that I know of,” he murmured. Where had Justin learned to paint? John wasn’t even sure. It wasn’t something he’d done when John was at home. “There are art colonies, especially in summer,” he remembered.

  “Yes, that’s a good point.” She was about to say something else about it, but he was saved by his phone ringing.

  He glanced at the screen. It was his mother calling. “I have to get back to the Seaside,” he said reluctantly to Lyn.

  “Of course.” She stood, looking at him as if not sure what to say.

  He stood and set the table back in place, beneath Justin’s paintings. “Shall I send you my bill?” he deadpanned.

  “Um, yes, that’s fine. I’m certainly willing to—”

  He scowled at her. “End that talk. I was just joking with you, Lyn.”

  “Oh, right.” Her cheeks turned pink, then she laughed.

  Maybe she was confused by what exactly was going on, but he wasn’t. Bottom line—he liked this woman. He was attracted to her. And by the way he’d been catching her looking at him, especially when they’d been on the beach together, he knew she was interested, too.

  * * *

  AFTER JOHN LEFT, Lyndsay let out a long breath. She couldn’t deny that spending time with him had turned her mood completely around. She actually felt like smiling, which was a miracle after her disastrous early morning.

  Standing in front of the watercolor paintings in Kitty’s bedroom, Lyndsay contemplated them once more. The subject was a thin woman wearing a long skirt, her face obscured. She frolicked with two matching golden retriever dogs. A seascape was the backdrop, with a hint of the jetty showing in the background.

  The paintings were pretty enough. If Lyndsay owned them, she might display them, too. John’s point about them being produced at an artist colony made sense. Once more, she got the feeling that John knew more than he was saying, but then again, that was classic John.

  He kept most things tight to the vest, although every once in a while he surprised her by showing his true feelings and what he’d been hiding. And he did so more frequently, as they got closer.

  Yes, her job was to get closer to members of the community and to keep her eyes and ears open. But how close was she supposed to get?

  She shook herself. Enough. Time to get Pete on the phone so she could get back to work.

  Now that John was gone, she armed herself and went outside on the back terrace. She was in the midst of dialing the emergency number to reach Pete when she saw a dark shadow creeping up behind her.

  Adrenaline shot through her veins in an instant. Springing into action, she grabbed her Glock from her concealed holster and dove behind Kitty’s hot tub.

  “Lyn?” a voice whispered.

  It was Pete, dressed in a generic brown uniform. Her heart still pounding, she lowered the Glock and stepped from her hiding spot.

  “What are you doing?” she asked him, suddenly angry. “You nearly scared me to death.”

  “I got your signal earlier, and I needed to check for myself that you weren’t in any danger.” Pete lowered his hand away from his belt, where she knew he kept his concealed holster. Obviously, he was on edge, too. “Things are heating up, and we’ve been busy behind the scenes. There’s a lot more going on with the case than you’re aware of.”

  “Well, make me aware, and I’ll make you aware about what’s going on here.”

  “Okay,” he said cautiously. “You first.”

  She pointed to a camera, above and behind them, aimed in the general direction of the hot tub. “Is anyone even monitoring these cameras? They’re positioned all around the outside of the house, but does anyone even check on them?”

  “No.” Pete spoke in a low voice. “We don’t have the staff right now. Wesley is busy fitting cameras in another house up the coast, and Simon and I are busy chasing down leads.”

  “Then why did we bother with this camera charade?” she seethed.

  “Because if something happens and we need to check the recording on the saved hard drive, then we can. Furthermore, we’ll have evidence for the prosecution.”

  “Okay, but if we’re so shorthanded, then pull me off this renovation project and let me do some investigating.”

  “That woul
d be tantamount to breaking your cover. No, Lyn. Based on the patterns of the break-ins, it’s only a matter of time before this cul-de-sac is targeted. We need you here. I know how hard it is. I know it’s boring work sometimes.”

  “Boring isn’t the word I would use,” she said sarcastically.

  Pete sighed. “Did something happen that we need to know about?”

  She put her hands on her hips. “Last night I suffered a water-leak blowout upstairs. I hired a local plumber to fix it, but the damage is significant. Worse, I’m even further behind on these renovations. I’ll need the go-ahead to hire other local guys to repair the damage and complete the tile installation. I have Kitty’s permission to use her credit card at my discretion, but I’m just letting you know from an operations standpoint so you don’t flip out if you happen to catch one of the tradespeople coming and going on the cameras.”

  Pete’s forehead creased. “Have we already vetted these tradespeople?”

  “Yes, all of them. And by the way, you missed that John Reilly is a plumber’s apprentice.”

  He shrugged. “Is that relevant?” He held up his hand. “Never mind. Hire whomever you need. Any other problems?”

  She blinked, momentarily surprised that he’d agreed so easily. Pete was certainly different from Simon.

  “Yes, there is something else,” she continued, staying on the offensive. “I want to know what the follow-up is from Gary, the art expert you sent here last week. What did he say about the origin of Kitty’s paintings?”

  Pete planted his feet and gave her a look. She got the feeling he was going to launch into a speech, and he didn’t disappoint. “Lyn, you don’t need to worry about that aspect of the investigation because we—”

  “Is my intel important to you or not? I’m keeping my eyes and ears open, as Commander Harris directed. And after Gary left, I learned further information from one of the locals, but I couldn’t forward that information to anyone. Simon told me to stop communicating with you at all except in the case of a dire emergency. And sorry, it may not be dire to you, but to me, a waterlogged second floor with no working plumbing or heat is.”

  Pete winced. He held up his hands. “Okay. I get it. Don’t blame Simon or me, though. We’ve been ordered to keep electronic communication to a minimum. We’re pretty sure that hacking is involved, but we’re not sure what technology the burglary ring has, and as such, we don’t want to take chances.”