The Undercover Affair

“How is the shower stall coming?” she remembered to ask Moon after he’d finished a bite of his Italian submarine sandwich.

His face brightened. “Stop by and see it. I should be done tomorrow. Maybe you could put one into your design plans for Mrs. MacLaine?” he asked hopefully.

Bingo, here was her opening. Job done.

“If I have time,” Lyndsay said offhandedly, as if it wasn’t important and she was really busy. Even though the design plans were just a front, she was doggedly spending a few hours each day calling up her foggy memory of how to wrestle with the design software installed on her task force-issued laptop. “What are you using for tile?”

“They wanted standard white subway tile.” Moon scratched his head. “I think.” He shrugged. “For sure the showerheads are something else. Special order, real high-end.”

“I’d like to see that,” she said. “Okay, you’ve piqued my curiosity. I’ll stop by this afternoon. The MacLaines were looking for some high-end suggestions,” Lyndsay lied.

Moon stopped chewing and swallowed. “Keep me in mind for the installation. I could use the business.”

“Of course,” she promised.

Andy returned from the bathroom. Over the rim of her glass, Lyndsay saw the McAuliffe brothers gathering up to leave. Millie was busy with another table, so it was John who passed the two brothers each a white plastic bag and rang up their orders, which they paid separately. One of the brothers took his phone, touched the screen, then pressed it to his ear.

At the same time that the McAuliffe brothers were on the move, Andy approached John at the bar, leaning casually in to speak with him. The two men seemed to know each other. John still kept that level, guarded expression while Andy talked with his hands and grinned.

Both men turned and looked at her. Andy brazenly, without guile, and John surreptitiously.

They’re talking about me. It looked like Andy was going to bring John over to introduce him to her.

John’s gaze remained on hers. And even though his look was stoic, almost fiercely shielded behind lips set in a solid line and facial muscles gilded bronze and hard, his eyes told a different story. They searched her, up and down.

To her legs beneath the short dress. The thin T-shirt she wore beneath the leather jacket, and the high ponytail that bared her neck and collarbones to him.

Oh, no. Had she overplayed her role? All she’d wanted to know was his name. And to keep her cover, but he certainly didn’t look suspicious of her now.

He looked like he was interested in her. As a woman.

Swallowing, she glanced at her hands. She didn’t want to feel attracted to anyone. Not on an undercover assignment. Not during her big career break.

She glanced up again, and he took another long look at her, gazing directly into her eyes. She exhaled, not sure what to do. It wasn’t an unpleasant feeling he gave her, on the contrary. But professionally, it could be dangerous.

Andy seemed to notice her torment. With growing realization, he stared from his friend to her. His friend noticed, too, giving Andy an irritated look, then turned back to the evident problem with his beer tap.

Quickly, Lyndsay turned to Moon and murmured, “Who is the guy behind the bar with Andy? What’s his name?” The more advance intel she had, the better for her to play her part. She was giving up on subtly, but this was typically lost on Moon, anyway.

“Who, John Reilly?” Moon asked.

Bingo, that’s all I need. “Yes, I guess that’s his name,” she murmured. “I haven’t been introduced to him yet.”

Moon shrugged, not looking too happy that her attention was on John Reilly instead of on him. “He’s usually in the kitchen when it’s busy.”

Indeed, two more contractor vans had pulled in. It seemed that everyone at the beach was getting ready for summer season.

“So he’s a bartender here?” Lyndsay murmured quickly. “Or is he an owner?”

“Owner.” Moon sighed and took a guzzle of his sports drink. “It’s a family business.”

Ah. So Margie must, indeed, be his mother.

Andy ambled back to their table. Lyndsay swallowed but stared steadily at him.

“Would you like to meet my friend John?” Andy asked her.

Act natural. She’d told Andy three days earlier that she’d wanted to meet as many people as possible in the area. I’m building my business from the ground up, she’d told him. That was part of her cover.

“Sure,” she replied in a neutral tone. “But I can see that your friend is busy now. Maybe another day.”

But Andy didn’t take the hint. He glanced at John, then sat at the table, placing his bag of chips and his pastrami on rye before him. “I’ve known John a long time,” he remarked. “Coached him in youth hockey back before I got married and had kids. He left for the military when he grew up.”

“Oh.” Lyndsay lowered her gaze to the remaining crumbs on her plate. Her own husband had been Army Special Operations. A Ranger. But no one needed to know that.

“John came home a few years ago,” Andy was saying. “But he came back different than he was before. He never used to be so quiet.”

She nodded, not saying anything. Maybe this explained what was going on with her. She couldn’t be personally interested in him. It was just that they had more in common than she’d realized.

“Well,” Andy said, sighing, “you’re leaving us tomorrow anyway, right? Unless Mrs. MacLaine accepts your design. And if she does and you come back, then maybe I’ll introduce you to John.”

“Sure.” She smiled at Andy. “We’ll do it then. And put in a good word for me, because he’s been giving me funny looks all morning.”

“I know he comes off as intimidating sometimes, but you don’t need to be worried about him. He’s a good guy, Lyn.”

“I’m not worried,” she said lightly, taking another sip from her iced tea. But her gut told her that maybe she should be. Across the room, John Reilly was staring at her, intently.

He hadn’t stopped staring at her.

* * *

JOHN REILLY STOOD with arms crossed, watching through the break room window while Lyn Francis roared out of his parking lot in her little black Audi. He could feel his eyes narrow the longer he watched her. He didn’t know what it was about her, but there had been something—something he couldn’t put his finger on. On the surface she seemed to have been making a business call in his parking lot—some sort of catalog that she was reading numbers from—but there was more to it than that. Something that set off his inner alarm bells. The more he studied her, the more curious he felt about her presence.

He stuffed his hands in his pockets. It wasn’t that she was attractive. She definitely was, but that wasn’t why he’d been watching her in the first place. Not the only reason, anyway.

The door opened suddenly beside him, and Millie, his mother’s best friend and their longtime waitress, moved inside as quiet as a ghost and began to wipe down the table. That was a reminder to John that he had other priorities to concentrate on. Lyn Francis wasn’t his business. The Seaside Bar and Grill was.

Gritting his teeth, John nodded to Millie, then headed out behind the huge, carved wooden bar that was the pride and joy of their small beach-restaurant business. John’s father had built the Seaside twenty-five years before. John had helped put up the shelves in the back, and he knew exactly, by feel, the spot where he had once secretly carved his initials. John was part of this place. He couldn’t just walk away, much as he sometimes wished he could.

The lawyer’s bill for his brother had come due today. John needed to meet with the bank and somehow scrape up the money to pay it. And on top of that, the screwup with the beer line not working wasn’t helping matters at all. It was costing them, too.

John squatted beside the open closet that led to the big silver keg of domestic beer beneath the bar. “What do you think?” he said to the technician—Cody. “Can you get this line fixed by five o’clock?”

That was when the after-work crowd came in. And John couldn’t keep selling bottled beer for the same price he charged for cheaper drafts, because John was such a good guy to his old friends. He was losing money on the deal.

Cody sat up and scratched his head. “Don’t know,” he mumbled. “I got a call in to my supervisor.” He looked at John. “Actually, I need to leave for a while. I’ll be back later, though.”

“No,” John said reflexively. If Cody left, he likely wouldn’t be back today, and John wasn’t going to let that happen.

Cody blinked. “I have to leave.”

“Why?”

“I, um, need to get a part.”

“Really?” John crossed his arms again. For not the first time today, he wished he was back in active service. That way, people might actually listen to him and follow his orders. “And what part is that, Cody?”

Cody gave him a stubborn look, but John stared him down.

Cody’s cheeks turned red. “I need to replace my flashlight. The bulb isn’t working, and I can’t see.”

John had a million flashlights on the premises. Without a word, he leaned over the bar, reached the top shelf, then chose among three working flashlights. The first was large, more of a weapon than a source of light, the second was medium with a bright glare, and the third was small with pinpoint accuracy—just right.

John turned the small flashlight on and put it into Cody’s hand. “Go to it. If you need anything else, I’ll be right here.”

Cody made a small noise in his throat that sounded like something between a groan and a whine. John felt his teeth clenching. He knew he was probably feeling some prejudice against Cody because of his youth and poor work ethic—similar to John’s younger brother’s youth and poor work ethic, and Patrick wasn’t exactly giving John an easy time of it, either. But these two young guys would have to grow up and learn to be responsible. He’d said that to his brother, and his brother had told him to get off his case.

John sighed and rubbed his hand over his eyes. He was dealing with Cody right now, not Patrick. “Look, Cody, you need to get this done by five o’clock, no excuses.”

It irritated John to have to be a hard-ass in order to get the job done. He had the skills to fix the beer line himself with much less time and emotion expended. But if he touched these beer lines, then he voided the contract with the distributor.

John played by the book. He was honest. He was direct.

He stared at Cody. “Are we clear?”

“Okay. Give me a few minutes.” Cody’s shaggy mop top and beard disappeared under the counter.

John planted his feet and crossed his arms, watching over the kid. He would stay here as long as it took.

Across the room, Andy Hannaman stood, stretched, and gathered his group’s plates and empty bottles. John glanced for Millie, but she was probably in the kitchen with his mother. It was after one o’clock, past the lunch break and well before quitting time, so the place was nearly empty. He went around the bar and helped Andy clear the table of dirty plates and empty wrappers.

“Thanks,” he told Andy. He appreciated that his old friend was there to help him.

“I don’t see why you didn’t want to say hi to her,” Andy said.

“Who?” John asked, though he knew who. The cute blonde with her ponytail and big blue eyes was still on his mind. He had no idea why—it bugged him that he couldn’t put his finger on the specific reason why—but she did something to him, and it wasn’t just because she was hot. A lot of hot girls walked through these doors during summertime. This whole question of why he was getting uneasy vibes about her was driving him nuts.

Andy rolled his eyes at him. “Lyn’s nice. She’s a sweetheart, actually. I saw you two looking at each other earlier.”

“You saw wrong,” John growled.

“Moon said she was asking about you, too.”

Now this just pissed him off. “Stop this line of thinking.”

Andy squinted at him. “I don’t get it. What’s the big deal? I thought you’d be happy. You can’t judge all women by—”

“All women?” John nearly exploded. His former marriage was old news, years-ago news, and what he did or didn’t do with his dating life was no one’s business but his.

“Don’t get riled up,” Andy said, holding up his hands. “I’m just trying to help you. She’s a decent sort. An interior designer working for the MacLaines. Lyn’s not a slouch.”

“I never said she was a slouch.” But that made him think. The congressman? That would imply that she worked for a high-end firm, and that she had serious skills. He turned to Andy. “Why is she so friendly with us?”

“What’s wrong with us?” Andy looked genuinely flummoxed.

John sighed. Even if Andy didn’t see it, the lady was suspicious. A woman like her, with her hot car and her good looks and her high-end interior design skills—at least, according to what Andy had just said—here, in this place? In this little dump of a bar in this sad, dead-end stretch of beach?

“You don’t think she’s too friendly?” he said. “Getting to know all you guys on the crews?”

“No. It’s good for her business, and frankly, it’s nice.”

“You don’t see any ulterior motives?”

“Like what?”

He didn’t want to get into his reasons for watching everyone in the bar so closely. “She’s too alert,” John mused. “Too interested in us.” She paid too much attention when most people didn’t pay any attention at all—fiddling with their mobile phones all the time as they were.

She seemed to be hiding something—he thought of the way she’d covered up her notes when he’d come up behind her in the parking lot. He hadn’t imagined it—she’d flashed him a surprised, guilty look before giving him that sweet smile that would turn any man’s knees to jelly.

“I caught her,” he muttered to himself. “I know I did.”

It was almost as if she was trained to pay attention to everything going on around her, and his sneaking up on her had been a rare slipup.

Andy burst into laughter. “You’ve been spending too much time behind the bar, my friend. You need to get out of this place and mingle more.”

Sure, he could laugh, John thought. Andy didn’t have a younger brother in trouble with the law. But not even Andy knew the extent of the trouble—John hoped nobody did. As much as possible, John didn’t want the information to get out.

Andy just shook his head sadly at him. “You’ve really grown paranoid. I’m worried about you.”

John doubted that. And the more he thought about the idea of her being so alert, like some sort of secret investigator, the more it made sense that’s what she was. That’s why he’d been so drawn to her—his subconscious had been alerting him to the danger she posed. Making him notice things about her that he normally wouldn’t study in a person.

She’s had situational-awareness training, the same as I have. He would bet the Seaside on that fact.

And if he ever saw Lyn Francis again—or whatever her name was—then he was going to confront her about it.

Thoroughly.

CHAPTER TWO

Meeting of the Seacoast Burglary Task Force

Concord, New Hampshire

LYNDSAY TIGHTENED HER duty belt across her hips. Regulation gun, nightstick, flashlight, handcuffs and key were all in place. After a week of undercover work in her chosen street clothes, the duty belt felt tight and uncomfortable. But she was still an officer—not yet a detective—and so she was required to wear her uniform for the meeting with the other members of her task force.

With one last look in the mirror, she smoothed her hair bun and straightened her collar. Leaving the ladies’ room, she headed upstairs to the conference room in the massive, granite-faced headquarters building.

She was outside in the corridor when her mobile phone vibrated. She glanced at the screen and saw that it was her father’s number. Since she had a few minutes before the meeting officially started, she moved to a window in an alcove off the main corridor and took the call. Outside, the lazy river wound along the heart of the state capital. Not wanting to be overheard taking a personal call in a professional setting, she kept her voice low.

“Hi, Dad.”

“Lyndsay! I wasn’t sure if I’d be leaving you a voice mail. You’re off the undercover assignment now, I see.”

“Yes. I’m about to head into a meeting. What’s up?”

“Oh, I’m just calling to check on you. Wanted to make sure everything went well.”

“It did.” Lyndsay watched a police car turn the corner of the building, down on the street several floors below. She knew her dad wanted to hear details about her assignment, but she couldn’t say anything just yet. “I met my objective for the week, so I can say that I’m pleased.”

“You were successful, I assume.”

She smiled to herself—her dad always expected the best of her. She could forgive him for the pressure of the expectations—she knew he loved her, and she knew how he loved the job.

“Well, I’m not sure if my small part will help catch the bad guys, but I’ll get a better idea shortly.” Honestly, she wasn’t sure about the big picture, but that was because she’d been on a need-to-know basis. Today, she hoped to be moved beyond that.

“I’m proud of you for seeking out the assignment,” Dad said. “It’s a tremendous opportunity you’ve snagged.”

“I’m not sure what happens now,” she admitted. Her father was her best confidante, and she’d missed not talking to him during the past week. A police chief himself, recently retired, he felt nostalgic for the job. And, he enjoyed living vicariously through her. It drew them closer, and she didn’t mind that. In fact, she liked it. “Dad, honestly, now that I’ve got a taste of it, I’m not keen to go back to patrol.”

“Enjoyed being an undercover detective, did you?” The pride in his voice was unmistakable.

“Yes, I did like it. Very much.” She thought briefly of the freedom and the camaraderie she’d felt at the beach. It had been fun. Even being checked out by a handsome bar owner was something she’d decided she could handle. Especially after she had called Pete yesterday afternoon and he’d relayed that so far, John Reilly’s background wasn’t raising any red flags. In fact, he had an honorary discharge from the Marine Corps. She should be able to relate to him when and if the time came.

“...You need to go in there and tell them you want the promotion to detective,” her father was saying. “You need to step forward and ask for the increased responsibility. Obviously, they needed a woman with your skills for the short-term task force. Who would have known that year in interior design school would come in handy for you? But the point is, you can’t let them discard you now. There’s a bigger picture, and you need to insert yourself—”

“I know, Dad.” He was getting too passionate. Among the drawbacks of having a father who had also been in law enforcement for his entire career was that he sometimes got too involved.

“So what’s your game plan?” he demanded.

Going with the flow, that was her plan. Working with what came up, as it came up, had always gotten her through life’s difficulties. “I’ll handle it, Dad. I’ll be okay.”

He sighed aloud. “Aw, I’m just so proud of you.” His voice lowered. “I never had the opportunity to do what you’re doing. I always regretted that.”

“I know,” she said softly. Her dad had been the big fish in a small law-enforcement pond—a small town in the mountains, the chief of police on a tiny force. Now he was driving her mom a bit nuts being underfoot all the time. “I’ll come and visit you both soon, but I have to go now, okay?”

“Remember to ask for the job, Lyndsay.”

She smiled in spite of herself. “Ten-four, Dad. And say hi to Mom for me.”

At two minutes to the hour, she found her conference room. It seemed that she was the last person they were waiting for, and as she sat, she lifted her chin higher and glanced surreptitiously around.

She was the only woman at the meeting, and she assumed that meant she was the only woman on the task force. Around the table she recognized Commander Harris, the imposing and serious man in charge of the task force as well as the superior who’d initially selected and interviewed her for the assignment.

Pete—her backup partner—caught her gaze and smiled broadly. Beside Pete were two other men that Lyndsay didn’t recognize. Commander Harris introduced them as Wesley and Simon. Wesley was a young, nerdy-looking camera technician. Simon was middle-aged and fierce, with a thick growth of scruffy beard and a tattoo showing on his neck above the collar of his dress shirt. He looked as if he’d be more at home on a drug enforcement or organized crime undercover task force. Lyndsay knew that a burglary task force was tame compared to operations that the state police were known for. Frankly, she was glad for this one. She’d spent her time at the gun range and at the gym for martial arts class, and she was confident of her skills. But she’d rather not be undercover with violent people if she could help it.

“Pete has taken the information you gathered from your surveillance, Officer Fairfax,” Commander Harris was saying, “and he was able to ascertain that none of the principals were the likely perpetrators of the burglaries.”

Lyndsay nodded. That was good news—she’d been hoping that none of her new friends were involved in anything illegal. She had suspected that was the case, but that Pete had confirmed it made her breathe easier.

“Furthermore, I’m told that nothing out of the ordinary occurred to break your cover. Is that the case, Officer Fairfax?” Commander Harris asked her.

“No, nothing out of the ordinary happened,” she confirmed. Frankly, the assignment had been easier than she’d thought. She hadn’t even had to lie much, really, because it was true she’d been trained as an interior designer. Sort of, if one year of design school counted.

“You did good work,” Commander Harris said. Pete gave her a quick smile. Wesley blinked, but truthfully, he looked greener than she did. Simon didn’t change his expression—he still looked bored by the whole thing.

Licking her lips, she shifted in her seat, wondering if she should break in and ask questions. She was aching for a broader view of the case.

“Last night we had another burglary ten miles up the coast,” Commander Harris said, his tone grim. “Our fifth burglary since February. Same MO. Paintings and jewelry stolen, and a safe cracked and emptied.”

“Any signs of forced entry?” Pete asked.

“None. The homeowner had a surveillance system, but nothing registered as out of the ordinary. The alarm never triggered. And there was no evidence of forced windows or doors.”

Simon sat up taller in his seat. “Sounds like an inside job.”

“We’re considering that possibility,” Commander Harris replied. “I’d like you to check it out, Simon. The theft has been kept from the police blotter. There’s no media attention. These paintings were uninsured, so there will be no outside interference.”

Simon nodded. “I’m on it.”

Lyndsay shifted in her seat. Obviously, paintings were an important part of the common thread. She thought of Pete’s request. The Goldricks had indeed displayed one valuable oil painting—a modern landscape, which she’d dutifully noted to Pete. She hadn’t told him yet, but within the MacLaine home there were two huge oil paintings over the congressman’s fireplace, but she didn’t know if the paintings were important or valuable. They were both female nudes, of the same model. To Lyndsay’s mind, the congressman’s private possessions weren’t her business, and she’d known better than to offer her opinion. But, if all the thefts had been of paintings... Maybe she should say something.

I want to be a detective, she thought. Good detectives always get to the facts. She cleared her throat. “Do all of the burglaries to date involve stolen paintings?” she asked. “Sir,” she remembered to add.

Commander Harris glanced at her. “Yes. Cut from their frames.”

“Like a museum heist,” she blurted.