The Undercover Affair Read online

  Commander Harris raised an eyebrow, but he keyed the number into her phone, then slid it across the table.

  “Congressman MacLaine,” she said, only when she was sure that his number was safely stored inside her phone, “I have some questions about the watercolor paintings inside your master bedroom. Where did you get them, and what is the name of the artist who made them?”

  “Whoa.” The congressman chuckled. “I’m not sure what you’re referring to. You might want to talk to Kitty about that.”

  “I did. She doesn’t seem to know much, except that the paintings came from you.”

  There was a short silence. “I really don’t know the answers to your questions, Officer.” His tone had turned a bit cold. Lyndsay glanced at Commander Harris, and his arms were folded, but he nodded at her, so that meant he was backing her up.

  “When did you acquire the paintings?” she asked calmly.

  “Surely you don’t think anybody cares about those cheap things?”

  “We need to rule things out, sir. What can you tell me about them, please?”

  He sighed. “My late wife bought them. I couldn’t say where, I couldn’t say how, I couldn’t say from whom. In fact, you have my permission to throw the damn things out. It’s been more tiring keeping them than letting them go.”

  She couldn’t help smiling. Kitty would be happy to hear this. “I’m sorry to disturb you,” she said, “but your answers are helpful to our investigation. Thank you.” Then she remembered the golden retrievers. “Sir, one last question. Did the two golden retrievers in the watercolors belong to you?”

  “What? No. I haven’t had any pets since I was a boy.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  The line clicked off. She glanced at her superior. “What’s the status of the burglary investigation?” she asked.

  “We have a suspect in custody.”

  “What?” She blinked. “How? When did this happen?”

  Commander Harris leaned back in his chair. “Two nights ago, a maid was caught entering the home next door to where she worked.” Commander Harris seemed to be focusing on her and Wesley when he spoke. It was likely that Pete and Simon already knew about this development. “We brought the maid in for questioning, and we have her confession that she’s part of a burglary ring. She’s being interviewed as we speak.”

  “That’s great. Where was she caught?”

  “Up the coast near Portland.”

  “In Maine? But that’s—”

  “Outside our jurisdiction. Yes, we know.”

  Lyndsay studied the looks on her colleagues’ faces. Simon, in particular, seemed irritated, judging by his frown.

  “Why didn’t we tell the congressman this?” she asked.

  “We don’t report to him in the chain of command, Lyndsay,” came the rebuke from Commander Harris.

  “Yes, of course.”

  Simon leaned close to her ear and muttered, “His friend the governor probably already told him.”

  Politics. She understood.

  “As of now, we’re disbanding the task force,” Commander Harris announced. “Each of you is responsible for writing a report. Lyndsay, include what you learned about the watercolor paintings during your investigation. Don’t be discouraged—your input is valuable and may be used for further inquiries. Simon will be coordinating with the Maine group, arranging for our time to further interview the suspect, and this will be a necessary part of it.”

  That made her feel better somewhat, but she still wished she could take part in the interrogations and arrests.

  “Lyndsay, you’ll also be meeting with Mrs. MacLaine next week when she returns,” the commander continued. “As far as she is to know, you’re still Lyn Francis. For now, give Wesley access to the cottage to clear the site of our cameras. You may stay until you’re finished. The design work is secondary to the investigation, of course, but it’s still a necessary part of your cover. After you’ve finished the design work, close up the house.”

  She was reeling. This was it? The task force was finished? “Is there anything else to do, sir?”

  “Yes. You’ll meet with a department psychologist before you roll off.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s standard procedure. Everyone meets with the department psychologist after an undercover assignment. After that, I’d like you to take some time off. You’ve been working round the clock for weeks now.”

  Simon winked at her. “Lucky you. I could use time in the sun and sand about now.”

  She’d had all the sun and sand she wanted, right in Wallis Point. “I think I can finish in a few days. If I need to leave the house during this time, will I be required to call Pete?”

  “No. At this point, I don’t think your area is at further risk from break-ins. I know you’re disappointed that the tip didn’t pan out, but there will be other opportunities. Finish this undercover job for the MacLaines, see the psychologist and then take some time off. When you return, we’ll discuss your next steps.”

  “I’d like to request a permanent position as a detective,” she said.

  Commander Harris inclined his head to her. “I’ll put in a recommendation for your promotion.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  * * *

  LYNDSAY STILL HADN’T stopped smiling.

  She, Simon, Wesley and Pete had met for a quick drink at a local pub near the headquarters building. It was after the meeting, and for the most part, they were off duty.

  Wesley shot a game of pool with Pete. Lyndsay finished up her slice of pizza, then relaxed for a moment before she headed out for the drive to Wallis Point.

  “You’re looking happy.” Simon took a long drink of beer.

  “I am,” she said. “Except for the part where we’re not the ones making the arrests,” she added hastily.

  Simon laughed. “Don’t count on it. The fat lady hasn’t sung yet.”

  “With one of their own in custody, do you think the burglary ring will strike again?”

  “It’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it?” Simon turned and walked off.

  She put down her pizza slice.

  “You okay with what he said?” Pete stood beside her, pool stick in hand.

  “If what he says is true, then why is Commander Harris shutting down the task force?”

  Pete shrugged. “Resources. That’s what it always comes down to.” He gave her a pointed look. “You okay with staying undercover?”

  “I am.” She smiled at him. She liked Lyn Francis, and she liked being in Wallis Point. “And your point is?”

  Simon came back smirking. “I know where this is going,” he said to Pete.

  “What?” she asked.

  Pete sighed. “Just keep your task-force phone with you at all times, all right? And call me if you need backup.”

  “He’s such a softie.” Simon laughed. “He’s worried about you,” he teased her in a singsong voice.

  “Thanks,” she said to Pete, “I appreciate your concern, but really, I doubt I’ll need backup this week.”

  She stood and wiped her hands, eager to get back and start the process of removing the cameras from the house. Then, she wanted to see John. She planned to spend as much time with him over the next week as they could manage. She didn’t need to check in with anyone from her old life because she was still on undercover assignment. “Gentlemen, good luck with the interrogations. Maybe I’ll get the chance to work with you all again someday.”

  Simon raised his beer mug to her. “Hear, hear.”

  “See you in about two hours, Lyndsay,” Wesley called from behind the pool table.

  Pete just sighed. “Be careful, Lyn,” was all he said.

  * * *

  DING-DONG.

 
John saw Lyndsay’s face through the side window. She stood on his front porch. The last he’d checked, Lyndsay’s car hadn’t been in the MacLaines’ driveway. Wherever she’d gone, she was back now.

  “Who is that, dear?” his mother asked. She sat at the table in his kitchen along with his uncle Frank. They were about to clear the dinner plates and bring in dessert. Uncle Frank often came on Sundays to see his sister, but they didn’t usually meet at John’s place.

  “Ah...” John wasn’t sure what to tell his mother. “It’s a friend,” he said. “Why don’t you guys get dessert out, and I’ll be back in five minutes.”

  “Don’t take long,” said Uncle Frank, rubbing his hands together. “I brought cannoli from that place in Portsmouth you like.”

  “Great,” John murmured. The Italian half of him liked cannoli, too, but all of him craved Lyndsay.

  He went out to the porch, careful to shut the door behind him.

  “Hey.” He caught Lyndsay up in a kiss. They always greeted each other this way now. He lingered longer this time, though. Maybe tomorrow would be the day she finally drove off for good. The end was coming—they both knew it—but he’d chosen to turn a blind eye to it, refusing to ask questions.

  Releasing her lips, he leaned back to gaze at her in the sunlight.

  She seemed happy. Wherever she’d been, it had been good for her. She worked way too much, in his opinion. He smoothed back her hair.

  “I’ve got news,” she said.

  His heart skipped a beat. “What’s going on?” He tried to keep his tone casual.

  “The congressman’s trip has been extended, so I can stay a bit longer and work at a more reasonable pace.”

  He exhaled. “No goodbyes just yet?”

  She smiled shyly at him. Then she peered around him, gazing at the door. “Is somebody here?”

  He had a choice. He could bring her in to introduce her to his mother and uncle, or not. It was a big step for him. His family, knowing them, would expect it to mean that he and Lyndsay were serious. Lyndsay might see it the same way, too.

  Lyndsay put her hand to his forehead. Her hand felt cool on his hot skin.

  She frowned at him. “Are you okay, John?”

  “Yeah.”

  She shook her head. “No, you’re not.”

  She knew him. She saw inside him more than anybody else did. She seemed to see past his duty and his baggage, to what he was really feeling.

  “I’m trying to decide whether to invite you inside to meet my mother and my uncle Frank.”

  Her face lit up. “That would be lovely.”

  Not the reaction he’d been expecting. He rubbed the back of his neck. “She’s probably going to ask you what your plans are beyond next week.”

  Her eyes met his. And held, like a line. The moment seemed to stand still for him.

  I want her to stay, he thought. Right here. I want her not to leave me.

  From the way she looked at him, he could tell she felt the same way. A calm settled over him. A feeling of knowing. He picked up both of her hands. She didn’t wear rings or anything, and he found himself lifting her hands to his mouth and kissing her fingers where her rings would be.

  She laid her head against his chest, pressed close within the circle of his arms.

  “Shall we go inside?”

  * * *

  LYNDSAY WALKED INTO John’s house with him close behind. Her high-heeled boots clicked on the tiled floor of the kitchen. His hand rested lightly on the small of her back, which felt nice.

  The kitchen was sunny and warm, and it smelled of something savory that had been cooking on the stove. A huge pot of beef soup or stew was Lyndsay’s guess.

  A man and a woman sat at John’s kitchen table, and a third place was set for him. The two were digging into a large box of cannoli.

  Lyndsay smiled warmly at the couple. “Hello.”

  “This is Lyn.” John introduced her. “She’s been working at the MacLaines’ cottage for the past few weeks. Lyn, this is my mom.”

  “I’m Margie.” John’s mom smiled at her. She had short brown hair and a pleasant face. While patronizing the restaurant, Lyndsay had seen glimpses of Margie in the kitchen.

  “Margie, hello.”

  “This is my uncle Frank, the plumber I told you about.” John laughed. “Technically, I should have had him come over and inspect my work, remember?”

  “Pleased to meet you.” John’s uncle was a handsome man, with a shock of white hair and clear blue eyes that were piercing. She would bet John would look similar when he was that age.

  She took the chair John offered her. His mother and uncle were staring at her openly. She supposed she was a curiosity to them, but felt slightly awkward for being the center of attention.

  “Would you like some coffee?” John asked.

  A full pot already sat on the table. “Thank you. I would.”

  John poured her a cup, then sat opposite from her.

  “Lyn is an interior designer,” he said.

  Margie gazed at Lyndsay. “Do you live in Wallis Point, Lyn?”

  She took a sip to compose herself. She’d known full well what she was getting herself into when she’d walked through that front door. “No. I’m here just while I finish this design project.”

  “Is your firm in town?” his uncle asked.

  “No,” she answered.

  “Where are they?”

  “Concord,” she answered reluctantly, knowing how the locals felt about people from out of town being hired to do work.

  “How did you end up here?”

  She smiled politely. “Congressman MacLaine has a connection with my boss.”

  “He couldn’t use a local firm?”

  “Apparently not,” she murmured, sipping at her coffee.

  “Well,” John said, scraping back his chair. “If you’re ready to head out, I’ll walk you back home.”

  Lyndsay put her cup down. “It was nice meeting you both.”

  When they were out the door, John whispered into her ear, “I’m sorry about the third degree. They’re just anxious about me meeting someone new.”

  “I can understand that. My dad would be the same way.”

  “Yeah. A police officer. I can’t wait.” He chuckled and pulled her closer, his arm around her shoulder. Together they walked down his driveway toward the MacLaine cottage, but she felt uneasy.

  She couldn’t ever tell him who she really was.

  She couldn’t ever break her identity cover.

  The sad thing was, she wanted to tell John who she really was. She didn’t want to be Lyn Francis to him forever. She would love to be able to introduce him to her parents, too.

  Her legs felt numb, as if she were going through the motions, walking toward the MacLaine cottage, and marching toward an eventual execution.

  “Look.” He abruptly stopped short. “Something’s going on across the street.”

  She snapped her focus to the MacLaine residence. A police cruiser was parked in the driveway. Wallis Point Police Department, it said on the side.

  She felt her jaw drop.

  The driver’s door opened, and a uniformed patrol officer stepped out. A young officer, bulked up, his head shaved. He wore a pair of Maui Jim sunglasses, and he strode up the walkway as if to take no prisoners.

  She had to do something! But she couldn’t run down there and announce herself as a member of the state police force. She was still undercover. Her old rules still applied.

  The patrol officer knocked on the MacLaines’ front door.

  “Excuse me,” Lyndsay said to John. “I’ll be right back.” She walked briskly toward the officer, wondering how she would handle this scenario when she got there.

  Talk to hi
m, just talk. A good police officer always knew how to defuse a difficult situation.

  She took a deep breath and charged forward.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “HELLO, SIR. MY name is Lyn Francis. I’m staying here at the MacLaine house. Is there a problem?”

  The police officer was unsmiling; he had on his duty face. The name tag on his uniform read P. Pierce.

  “Do you have identification, ma’am?” he asked.

  “Yes.” Obviously a by-the-book guy, he was not the type to be charmed. She reached for her back pocket but came up empty. “My driver’s license is inside the house, in my purse,” she explained sheepishly.

  “Ma’am, I’m going to ask you to please step off the stairs. Stay on the grass, please.”

  Her heart sinking, she did as she was told.

  A small crowd was starting to gather at the end of the drive, drawn by the blue police lights. John was fast approaching, as well.

  She couldn’t tell the officer who she really was. If he decided to ask her to accompany him to the station, then she couldn’t break cover there, either. To do so would no doubt get her fired. She couldn’t even call Pete to bail her out. Her job was to sit and wait. To keep the undercover ruse going, at all cost.

  “Officer,” she said, trying again to reason with him, “what has happened? I’m responsible for this home. I have the congressman’s phone number if we need to contact him and I—”

  “Ma’am, I’m going to ask you again, please remain on the grass.”

  She stopped where she was. Went back to the grass. Officer P. Pierce was on his radio, perhaps even calling for backup.

  Had someone tried to break in? Had an alarm gone off? She’d been told the system was a silent alarm; it went to the alarm company, who typically called the local police station if there was a problem.

  “Officer,” she called to him, “if it’s the alarm that went off, then I—”