The Undercover Affair Read online

  Only to catch him staring at her again. Then, after that split second when they met gazes, he abruptly looked away. And he continued his conversation with the beer distributor guy.

  John bent over, and for a moment she was treated to the sight of his clearly muscled torso that had been hidden by his oversize black T-shirt. He had...a nice body. She inhaled and crossed her legs beneath the wooden table. But it wasn’t the appropriate time or place to be thinking of such things, not by a long shot.

  She forced herself to look away from the bar and toward the door. Through two sets of plate glass windows she saw the small parking lot where her sporty, black, undercover car was by itself. In early April, the place was still briskly cool, too early for the summer season, and thus, not crowded with traffic and beachgoers on vacation.

  The sound of tires on gravel crackled, and Lyndsay refocused. Right on time, Andy Hannaman and his crew had arrived in their large white work van with Hannaman General Contractor stenciled in red paint inside a white oval-shaped logo.

  In the front seat was Andy’s son, AJ, and in the back seat, AJ’s friend Chet Evans. A black pickup truck followed the van into the lot. Moon Buzzell, who was building a new tile shower under Andy’s direction at the mansion next door to where Lyndsay was undercover, had shown up.

  As Andy exited his van, he saw her through the window and waved. Cheerfully—because she had genuinely come to like him—she waved back. Andy was older than her, closer to her father’s age than to her own, and she felt comfortable with him. It had helped even more that he’d taken her under his wing on their four-mansion cul-de-sac in the wealthy section of private beach. None of the residents were back yet; it seemed all of them had hired work out to local contractors in order to prepare for the upcoming summer season.

  Andy strode inside, trailed by his son and two employees. Lyndsay wasn’t worried about them—she’d spent four days now as part of their little community.

  To Lyndsay’s pleasure, the contractors and workers in the cul-de-sac had bought her cover story lock, stock and barrel. Indeed, she’d enjoyed these lunches and afternoon breaks with Andy’s crew so much, she’d even felt like an interior designer, which wasn’t so strange, considering that had been her original life’s plan when she’d first left home, at eighteen. The police force had come later.

  “Hey, Lyn.” Andy greeted her with a smile.

  Lyndsay nodded to Andy. “How’s it going?”

  “Great. I saw you taking off early for lunch,” he remarked, sitting across from her at the table.

  “Yeah, playing hooky,” she admitted sheepishly.

  He laughed, the lines around his eyes squinting as he did so. He was in his late fifties, she judged. Andy reminded her so much of her father, with his graying temples and crinkled blue eyes.

  He peered at her plate. “So you took my advice—I told you to try the BLT. What do you think?”

  “You’re right, it’s really good.” It was easy to give him a genuine smile—she liked the sandwich. A movement caught her peripheral vision, and she chanced a glance at the bar. John was ducking into the door toward what was presumably the kitchen, and Millie was beside the register, taking a phone order.

  Andy saw her glance away and turned around, noting what she’d been looking at. Then he turned back. He seemed like he was going to ask her something—possibly about John—so Lyndsay intercepted that thought. Not the right time.

  “What are you going to have today?” she asked Andy. “Want me to read the menu for you?” He usually squinted as he strained to read the menu blackboard across the room. “There’s a pastrami on rye. Salads, but I know you don’t like salads, so—”

  “Pastrami on rye.” Andy nudged his son. “Will you order for me while I hit the can?”

  Yes, the crew had grown ever more comfortable with her by the day, to the point where they were no longer worried by their language. Lyndsay hid a smile and focused on what was left of her sandwich. The bread and the vegetables were fresh, and the bacon had been cooked just right.

  When she’d finished a bite, she turned to Moon Buzzell, nicknamed “Moon” because of his round face and somewhat spacey manner. Or so she’d been told by Andy. Moon had just returned from the soda case and was opening a bottle of blue sport drink.

  “Hi, Lyn.” He gave her a goofy look. “You came out early today.”

  “I did.” She deliberately kept her gaze from the bar and focused only on him.

  Moon’s cheeks turned red. “Andy told me today is your last day.”

  “It is. I’m hoping I can come back and implement my proposal, but we’ll have to wait and see if it gets accepted.”

  The door opened. Lyndsay made sure to smile and wave at the crew of guys—and one gal—who streamed inside before heading over to the soda case. The Burke crew, she privately called them. She’d already recorded information for all of them. It was a close-knit microcosm of men and women who serviced the wealthy beach homes. But she’d gotten to know their habits.

  John was back behind the bar. Today one of them asked him for a draft beer. Instead of a draft, John opened a bottle of local brew for the gregarious painter without comment.

  Lyndsay took a sip of her iced tea and pretended to pay full attention to Moon Buzzell as he recounted to her his opinion of the hockey game the night before. At the same time, she observed the McAuliffes.

  They’d arrived alone, in their white box truck with the New Hampshire license plates whose numbers she’d already phoned in to Pete. The two men put in a to-go order and stayed apart from the others. Both scrolled their phone messages quietly as they waited.

  “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 he
r 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 ri
ght 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.