The Undercover Affair Read online

  “And so now you’re the responsible one, taking care of everybody because you’re the oldest and you feel like that’s your job.”

  He took a bite out of the cookie. “Yeah, maybe that is the gist of it.”

  “Is that what you want?”

  He smiled at her, this perceptive interior designer who’d dropped into his life and made him think about what he was missing. “No. But it’s the way that I’m wired.”

  “Patrick,” she said sadly. “You’re really trying to help him, aren’t you?”

  “He’s said he wants to take over running the restaurant. I was really praying that I could train him. That he’d avoid prison and adapt to this vocation that would make him happy again. He was just a kid when I left home.”

  “But...he’s not doing well, is he?”

  John shook his head. “No.”

  “And until Patrick’s okay, you feel like you’re in limbo?” She looked so pained for him that he wanted to do something about it.

  “You know, Lyn, I didn’t tell you this stuff for you to judge me or to feel sorry about it.”

  She reached for his arm and clasped him with her warm hand. “I do judge you and think about you, but not in the way you expect.”

  “Okay.” It came out warier than he’d wanted.

  “What I mean is, I think you’re strong and respectful and you don’t leave people in the lurch. And...you have no idea how important I think that is, do you?”

  He reached out and cleared a strand of blond hair from her lips. She was wearing pink lip gloss. She’d been speaking so passionately she hadn’t noticed the strands sticking. Her hair felt silky and her eyes were shining, and suddenly it was all he could do not to touch her.

  “I like you,” she whispered.

  He brushed his thumb across her soft cheek. Sifted his fingers through her hair, near the delicate spot at the nape of her neck. He shifted in his chair, and was vaguely aware of Toby’s weight shifting, then a set of claws digging into his thigh as Toby jumped to the floor.

  John didn’t care. He just wanted to touch Lyn. To lean closer and breathe in her aura. She smelled like warm chocolate and vanilla scent. He just knew she would taste like the sweetest woman he’d ever kissed.

  Her tongue slowly licked her lips.

  He leaned closer to her as she leaned closer to him, and they met halfway. He kissed Lyn Francis with gentleness, savoring the hunger she kissed him back with. Her hand lingered on his arm near the sleeve of his sweatshirt, then finally, tentatively, pressed against his bare chest, her small palm sending heat to his skin.

  It felt right to him. She had a heart he could retreat to. A way about her that made him feel refreshed and regrouped.

  * * *

  AT WORK, LYNDSAY was Officer Fairfax. One of the members on the team. Asexual in her work uniform. Levelheaded on the gun range. Full of authority to the occasional motorist she had the duty of ticketing.

  But John kissed her the way a man kissed a woman, in a way she hadn’t been kissed in years.

  She felt warm in her most intimate places. Damp between her legs. Tingling in her nipples.

  She kissed him back, again and again. He tasted good, like her own baking, and he smelled good, like sandalwood soap, and he made her feel like she wanted to find a warm bed to climb into with him, get naked and curl up her toes...

  She moaned, lacing her fingers through his fine, shower-damp hair. She moved to deepen their kiss, wanting to get closer to him. But their pace was sweet, leisurely and unhurried. Like a slowly building fire.

  A sharp, piercing pain hit her in the bare ankle. “Ouch!”

  Toby glared at her from under her kitchen chair. If she wasn’t mistaken, Justin’s cat had just stabbed her with his claw.

  “Bad Toby.” Chuckling deeply from his chest, John reached to pick the tabby up. “Sorry, Lyn. I’ll put him upstairs to bed.”

  She loved that John loved cats. It was a surprising, tender side of him that she hadn’t expected. “Don’t be too hard on him,” she chided as John headed for the stairway. “He’s jealous that I’m taking your attention.”

  “He’s just going to have to get used to it,” John called back.

  “I didn’t come here planning to kiss you,” she said guiltily. She was thinking of her job. From a professional perspective, it had been an unwise move.

  “No?” John came back and smiled at her from the doorjamb, Toby giving her a pouty-cat expression from the safety of John’s arms. Lucky cat.

  “I...just wanted your company,” she said. It was the truth, she realized. Her old foe, loneliness, seemed to go away whenever she was with John. But now there was something more. She could get dangerously used to coming over here at night and kissing him.

  “Tell you what,” John said. “How about if I put Toby upstairs, then come back and open a bottle of wine? While I’m gone you can find an old movie on Netflix for us.” He hitched a thumb toward a doorway that led to another room. “The television is in there. Bring the plate of cookies and we’ll...”

  We’ll what? she thought, as his words trailed off. We’ll get comfortable together on the couch? We’ll get along well, we’ll crave and enjoy each other’s company, build our rapport?

  She could just see them getting comfortably mellow with the wine, her feeling loved and excited by his company, then the two of them going upstairs. They would have a lovely, lovely night together. While Pete was at home watching on the camera, waiting for her to return, and wondering where she was—perhaps even calling her on his department phone to check up on what she was doing...

  It could never happen. She had to stop this, now, because it was completely impossible with her job. She’d forgotten her work circumstances in the joy of getting closer to John. To bring up paintings, or art colonies now seemed silly. There was no place to gracefully slip that into their conversation, and honestly, she didn’t want to. There was only...this she wanted. His company. The two of them talking. And kissing...

  “Or not,” John said slowly, his gaze on her face. He thought her hesitation had to do with him. It didn’t; it had nothing to do with him. It had only to do with her ability to keep her two lives separate: work and personal. And yet, she was only one person, and they were both two sides of her, and all during this night, she had been showing him the true personal her.

  She got up and went to him in the doorway, and this time she was the bold one. Stretching her arms around him and the furry, scowling Toby, she tilted her head and looked up to John. She gazed at his beautiful, masculine face, dark with stubble from not having shaved since morning, and gave him a quick but passionate goodbye kiss.

  When he rested his hand on the curve of her back, she broke the kiss and whispered in his ear. “May we have a rain check for some other time?” Maybe once her assignment was over. “I have to be at the MacLaine house tonight because I—” she reached into her imagination and pulled out a perfectly plausible excuse “—I have to be present for a work call. I’m afraid I didn’t plan this visit out very well, but I should head back now.” She sighed. “I’m sorry I’m such a workaholic. It’s just...”

  “Yeah, I know how much your job means to you. That’s good, actually.” He nodded thoughtfully.

  But before she could ponder over why she felt sad to hear him say that, he put Toby down, then sat on a kitchen chair as he reached for a pair of boots.

  Wait, where was he going? Her heart leaped in alarm. “I can walk myself back,” she said quickly.

  He laughed. “Yes, I know you can. I know you have your weapon, too,” he teased. “I can see it concealed at your hip. But, sorry, I can’t let you walk back in the dark without company. It’s just how I’m made.”

  He had to be such a protective gentleman, didn’t he? She sighed, exasperated. Jason had been the same way. She k
new better than to argue, because that was to criticize their definition of manly honor.

  “In that case,” she directed, “I’d rather you drive me than walk.”

  He shrugged without hesitation. “Okay.”

  There was a method to her madness. If they drove, then they could say goodbye in a darkened car, away from the cameras and Pete’s watchful eye. If John kissed her goodbye in front of the MacLaines’ door—and now it would be awkward if they didn’t kiss—then Pete might get the wrong idea about her commitment to the case, and nothing could be further from the truth.

  “Thank you, John,” she said gently. With a light voice, she said, “You can keep the cookies.”

  He smiled in good humor, but he still looked thoughtful as he stood and grabbed his truck keys from a nearby shelf. His gunmetal-blue eyes didn’t meet hers now. His gaze seemed to skim away from hers, as if he was already withdrawing from her.

  No! Something inside her stomped its foot and pouted. Talk to him! Bring him back!

  This was very surprising to her.

  Lyndsay pondered this new aspect to herself as she followed John to his truck. As he unlocked the driver’s door, she headed over to the passenger side. Before she got there, though, he leaned over the seat and opened her door for her. Gentlemanly, but not too solicitous. She liked that.

  As she climbed in his truck, the seats felt cold. It would be so much nicer in Wallis Point when the weather got warmer.

  John started up the engine. Unfortunately, they were at the MacLaines’ driveway in no time. She was still mulling over in her mind what to say to him by way of a goodbye.

  “It’s okay, you don’t have to take me to the door,” she murmured. The driveway was long and curved, and it was awkward to navigate into or out of. “Pull over here, on the street, and you can wait until I’m inside.” Did she sound too bossy and meticulous to him?

  But John did as she asked. As he put his hand on the gearshift, she lightly placed hers on top of his. “I’m sorry if I’m confusing you, John. I really do like kissing you.”

  He turned to her. In the shadows, she couldn’t see his expression. But he wasn’t leaning toward her to kiss her goodbye.

  “It’s actually better for us,” he said smoothly. They weren’t connecting anymore. She could feel the shift in energy. “I have a lot of responsibilities right now, and I have to focus.”

  “Well, I’m willing to work with you,” she said quickly. She just wasn’t ready to stop being friends with him yet. There was a public, professional Lyndsay, and a private, lonely Lyndsay. It was true she’d crossed a line by kissing him, but maybe that would be okay if she didn’t let it derail her from her work. She would always prioritize her investigation. In fact, keeping the lines open with him was the good choice, because then she could have that conversation with him about the paintings, later, and work it into dialog in a much more relaxed and naturally flowing way.

  Maybe he’d heard the disappointment in her voice because he wasn’t exactly tossing her out just yet. And she wasn’t making a move for the door handle, either.

  “Lyn,” he said. “I have one failed marriage behind me. It happened because I couldn’t make my relationship my priority. I let these family problems take over. It’s still that way with me. It hasn’t changed.”

  “I’m okay with your responsibilities,” she said quickly. Heck, she had her own priorities—work priorities—even if she didn’t voice them. He might even be—dare she think it—convenient for her with his family situation.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “I think you should sleep on it.”

  “All right.” That was fair. She reached for the door handle, and he didn’t stop her.

  As she exited his truck and walked down the driveway and up the front stairs, she thought of Pete. At least he wouldn’t see her kiss a local man by the MacLaines’ front door. She thought of giving Pete a small smile and a furtive wave, but the lights from John’s truck remained on her until she’d safely entered the house.

  Then his truck slowly pulled away. From the safety of the silent, empty home, Lyndsay watched John leave.

  CHAPTER NINE

  THE WATER STAIN in the MacLaines’ foyer ceiling disappeared with each stroke from AJ’s paintbrush, while upstairs in the master bath, Moon applied floor tile to the sounds of ’80s music on XM radio.

  Andy sipped coffee beside Lyndsay as he stared, appreciatively, at the artwork of Kitty over the fireplace. “Things are going pretty well here, I think,” he remarked. “What time did you say they’re delivering the new furniture?”

  “After lunch,” she murmured.

  “Sounds good. Chet will be coming by then, and I’ll send him and AJ to start installing the oak flooring in the den.”

  “Thank you.” She should have been jumping for joy with the morning’s developments. Her cover was immeasurably improved from the day before. Not even ten o’clock and her most pressing problems with maintaining her cover as an interior designer were disappearing, thanks to new contractors and internet shopping.

  But her mind kept skipping to her kiss with John Reilly, and to the abrupt way they’d parted. Restless, she put down her coffee mug and headed for the foyer.

  “Where are you going?” Andy called.

  “Upstairs.” She needed to prepare for her phone call with Commander Harris at eleven o’clock. It was time to put Personal Lyndsay away, and bring out Work Lyndsay.

  She checked in on Moon on her way past the master bath. The pungent odor of mortar smelled like progress to her. It was difficult to see how the tile pattern was progressing, given that Moon was on his hands and knees, working from the back corner toward the front. John had recommended that she should trust him, so trust him she would.

  Sighing, she stuck the key in the lock to the master bedroom, then headed for the watercolors. She took them both down from the wall, setting them on the now-dry carpet in the center of the room. Kneeling, she flipped the frames over, unfastened the metal points that kept the matting in place, and removed the pictures from the glass.

  It had occurred to her that Gary had never checked the backs of the paintings. Art snob that he apparently was, he’d turned his nose up at them, muttering that they were inconsequential to the investigation. She’d instinctively known otherwise.

  But the underside of the stiff paper gave her no more clues.

  She was on her knees, wondering what investigative step to take next, when Andy surprised her by poking his head in the door. “What are you doing, Lyn?”

  Ouch. She should have turned the lock. “I need to reframe these pictures to match the new decor.”

  Andy sauntered inside, scratching his chin. Tilting his head, he gazed at the watercolors she’d turned over. He grunted. “That looks like the beach out front,” he remarked.

  She already knew that. “Yes, it does,” she agreed. And since Andy was interested in them, it seemed like a good time to subtly grill him.

  Smiling at him, she held up one of the pictures. “You’ve been a member of this community for a long time. Does the woman in this painting look like a former girlfriend or wife of the congressman?”

  Andy took a swig of his coffee. “Sure does,” he rasped. “Her name was Candace. I liked her a lot, but she passed away from cancer some years back.”

  Well, that solved the mystery as to why Kitty had disliked the paintings. Presumably, she disliked having the reminder of her husband’s lost love in their bedroom. Lyndsay honestly didn’t blame her.

  “Do you know who painted this?” Lyndsay asked.

  “Nope.” Andy shook his head decisively.

  “How about the dogs? Did the congressman and his lady love ever own golden retrievers like these?”

  Andy peered closer, squinting. Then he shook his head. “I don’t think they had dogs.
They usually only spent summers here, once Congress was out of session, and I don’t remember them having any pets at all.”

  “Well, then, do you ever remember seeing any artists setting up with easels on the beach? Or selling watercolors door to door, or at craft fairs?”

  Andy narrowed his eyes. Shoot—she’d been too obvious. “No,” he said. “But why are you asking all these questions?”

  She sighed dramatically. “I’m trying to figure out if they’re valuable and if they should be incorporated into the design or not. I’m inclined to think it’s too controversial to keep them on display. But they are pretty, aren’t they?”

  “Um.” Andy rocked on his heels. Then he squatted down and patted the carpet. “John did a good job drying this out.”

  There was no reason why the mention of John’s name should cause her to stiffen, but it did. “Yes,” she murmured.

  “He got that broken pipe fixed up, too.”

  She nodded, not looking at Andy.

  “Everything okay there, Lyn?”

  No. Right now I’m Professional Lyndsay and you’re mixing that up with Personal Lyndsay.

  She got to her feet and carefully set the paintings and their framing materials in a corner. Then she took out the brass key from her pocket. “Let’s go check on your team’s work. Then I need to head out for a while. I have a conference call scheduled with my employer.”

  Andy straightened and wiped his hands. “I’ll see if AJ is ready to get started on those floors.”

  “Thank you, Andy.”

  * * *

  LYNDSAY WALKED DOWN the beach toward the busier, main section of boardwalk to meet Pete behind the market they’d been rendezvousing at. She’d never been here in full daylight and was surprised to see the foot traffic the store received. Though the vacation season was still about a month away, early-bird tourists wandered in and out, purchasing makeshift picnic items and extras like sunscreen and beach hats. Such an uncharacteristically warm, sunny day was surely good for business.