The Undercover Affair Page 9

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  LYNDSAY DROPPED THE last of the dry towels she’d found in Kitty’s linen closet on to the puddle on the floor, and ran downstairs to answer the doorbell.

  John stood on the welcome mat with his fists in his jacket pocket and a wary cast to his expression. He stared at her like the intense alpha male that he was.

  Well, hello to you, too, she thought.

  “Hi,” she said out loud, crossing her arms. “Thank you for coming.”

  He gave her a slow nod. Those gray-blue eyes hooked on hers and held.

  She inhaled, stepping back. Best to keep this all business. “Right. The plumbing problem is upstairs,” she said in a crisp tone.

  He nodded. “Okay.”

  This didn’t feel comfortable. She wasn’t sure if he still thought she was a cop or not. Rubbing her arms, she decided it was probably best to be honest about everything she possibly could with him.

  That limited her conversation mostly to the state of her emotions. “Um, I’m glad you’re here, John, because I’m really over my head here.” She lifted her arms in feigned helplessness. “I’m honestly overwhelmed, and I don’t know what to do.”

  He seemed to relax a bit. “Yeah, I know what that’s like.”

  “You do?” She gave him what she hoped was a winning smile. “I, um, haven’t been outside much these past few days. I’m even having my groceries delivered. It’s my first big, solo assignment with this firm, so I’m trying to do a good job.”

  He nodded. He could’ve mentioned that his restaurant delivered meals, but he didn’t. She was thankful for that.

  He glanced at the ceiling above the foyer. The water stain was clearly showing. He gazed at her. “You’d rather not tell your client until the leak and the damage are fixed, I assume?”

  She nodded, relieved that they were both speaking more freely. “Yes. I’m trying to...make them happy and give them everything they asked for. This damage isn’t going to reflect well on me, I’m afraid.”

  “Don’t you have any contractors helping you out?”

  “Ah... I did, but Andy had his license plate run and then he told me he wasn’t comfortable with him being in the neighborhood.” She decided not to mention that she would have continued to use Gary anyway, had she been in a normal situation. But she was in anything but a normal situation.

  John squinted at her. “This contractor was from out of the area, I assume?”

  “Yes. He was from a company that my firm uses.”

  John gave another wry smile. “Andy is sort of the unofficial ruler-of-the-roost around here.”

  “I noticed.” She sighed again, for John’s benefit.

  “We’re just going to have to work with the situation.” John was careful to gaze into her eyes. With a start, she remembered she was in jeans, wet at the knees, a paint-spattered baseball shirt and a ponytail that was in all likelihood ratty and tangled, seeing that wisps were constantly getting in her eyes. But John didn’t look down at her wet knees, or her—she’d just realized—wet, white T-shirt. She was glad about that, too.

  He glanced behind her, up the stairs. “Why don’t you show me the problem?”

  “Well, okay. It’s in the second floor master bathroom. Before he left, my contractor was removing the old tile, and when he was smashing it, I think he may have damaged a pipe. It didn’t rupture until after he left, of course, and as you can see, I’ve had a huge mess to clean up. Andy turned off the water, thankfully, but I’ll need to get that pipe repaired.”

  “That’s not all you’ll need,” he muttered, glancing at the ceiling stain.

  “How so?”

  He looked her in the eyes again. “First, show me the pipe.”

  “Okay.” She’d secured any evidence of her real job behind the locked door of her guest room. Thankfully, that part of the house had escaped damage. “Come right this way.”

  She headed up the front staircase, and he followed. On the way up, she self-consciously grabbed her long, gray, woolen sweater from the rail where she’d tossed it during the confusion. She put her arms through the sleeves, drew the front edges tight, then tied the fabric belt around her waist. That covered up her wet T-shirt.

  When they came to the threshold of the master bathroom, she paused. John seemed to be noting the squishy hallway carpet as he lifted his foot up and down. Then he glanced at her sweater. “Andy turned off the heat, I assume?”

  “I guess so.” Was he implying that it was cold in here? Even though it was April, it was cool outside, and she’d been running the heat at night.

  “It’s a forced-hot-water heating system,” he explained. “You won’t have heat tonight until the pipe is repaired and the water is turned back on.”

  She hadn’t realized that. “I’m really glad you came, then.”

  “Not a problem. Let’s take a look at it.”

  She followed as John went inside the bathroom, his sneakers sloshing over the flooded, broken tile. Taking off his coat, he draped it over the edge of the old-fashioned soaking tub, then took a small penlight from his back pocket. As he crouched down, his shirt rode up, and she couldn’t help staring at the skin it exposed above his waistband. A sexy, muscular lower back.

  Scooping her damp hair away from her eyes, she bent over him. It was tight inside this small alcove section of the bathroom, and she felt aware of the closeness and the heat of his body as he worked.

  Abruptly, he clicked off the flashlight and straightened. Caught off guard, she didn’t move away in time. They bumped shoulders.

  “Oh,” she murmured. Her cheeks flamed. “Sorry about that. I’m just anxious, I guess.”

  He raised one eyebrow at her. “No need to apologize.”

  Downstairs, the door creaked open, loud enough that Lyndsay jumped.

  “Lyn?” It was AJ Hannaman’s voice. “Are you here?”

  “Yes!” she called. “I’ll be right down.”

  Without glancing at John, she headed downstairs to the foyer. From the footfall on the stairs behind her, she knew John followed. Just inside the front door, Andy’s gangly son smiled sheepishly when he saw them both. “My dad sent me over with this.” AJ hefted what looked to be a very heavy toolbox.

  “Great,” John said.

  They all trooped back up the stairs.

  To his credit, John looked at nothing on either side of him. He didn’t gawk or appear to judge. Not at the towels she’d spread, or at the MacLaines’ personal possessions. He just headed back inside the partially demolished bathroom.

  Her sneakers still damp, she stepped carefully over the spongy mess and joined him again. He squatted on the floor as he sifted through the contents of the toolbox.

  “Do you think you can fix it?” she asked, unable to keep the hope from her voice.

  He straightened, palms on his knees. He turned slightly. AJ was right there, behind her.

  “I need you to go buy a part,” John said calmly to AJ.

  John jotted down a part name on a notepad he’d fished from the toolbox. What was it about John that all who encountered him obeyed him?

  John noticed her nervous expression. “It’s not the end of the world, Lyn. I’ll fix it. No one will be the wiser. You’ll be fine.”

  “Just look at the mess.” She twisted her hands.

  “We’re lucky the electricity is working—that way I can set up the fans. We’ll need to turn up the carpets and dry the floor beneath as best we can. Hopefully that will keep mold from forming. We can probably salvage the carpet this way.” He glanced at AJ. “Do you have any fans in your dad’s van?”

  “Yeah,” AJ answered. “Three of them.”

  “Excellent. Let’s go bring them in now.”

  “Okay,” AJ said.

  They left, then she watched as John and
AJ lugged in three of the largest industrial-size fans she’d ever seen. John picked two of them up like they weighed nothing, then trudged up the stairs.

  “Thank you,” she said honestly as he headed into the bathroom again.

  Coming from inside the bathroom, she heard the rattle of a doorknob.

  Oh, no. Was he trying to access the MacLaines’ forbidden bedroom? She ran inside just in time to catch him trying to force open the door.

  “We can’t go in there,” she said. “That’s off-limits.”

  His bent head lifted to her, and she was struck mute by his remarkable light blue-gray eyes. Like gunmetal.

  “We have to,” he said pragmatically. “If there’s carpet and it’s wet, it will mold.”

  She nodded uneasily. “There’s carpet,” she reported.

  “Then we’ll need to roll it back, along with the padding beneath it. Hopefully, the damage isn’t too bad. Best-case scenario, we dry it out, then put it back. With a cleaning, it will be okay.”

  “And...worst-case scenario?” she asked nervously.

  He gave her a wide grin. “You’ll need to write somebody a big check to replace it.”

  She gulped. It was true the MacLaines had been generous with their budget, but she and the team would be accountable if there was a problem.

  Quickly, she made her decision. “Turn around,” she told John. “Keep your eyes closed.”

  He raised his eyebrows at her. Oh, she could have kicked herself. She sounded exactly like the highway cop she was.

  But she gave him a saucy smile, so he complied.

  Lifting his chin to the ceiling, as if letting her know that he was in charge and this yielding to her whims was only temporary, he crossed his arms. With a grudging twist of his lips, he shut his eyes.

  As quickly as she could, she groped for the hidden spot where Kitty had shown her the brass key, then gripping it in sweaty fingers, she plunged the key in the lock and turned...

  The door must have been swollen stuck, because it didn’t budge. Great, she would need to have this fixed, too. She put a shoulder into it, cringing when she only seemed to give herself a bruise.

  Behind her she heard a grunt, and felt John’s body heat, his slight snort of expressed breath. “Move aside,” he ordered softly.

  She was learning not to argue, just sigh and step aside. It was easier this way.

  With one firm push John had the door open.

  Inside, it didn’t look bad. In fact, it looked the same as when Kitty had shown it to her. Lyndsay took a tentative step inside.

  Squish.

  Immediately she groaned. The carpet was a sopping sponge.

  And the bed...that huge, mammoth, monstrosity of a bed with its frame—and legs—made entirely of wood...

  The water couldn’t be good for it.

  “I’m lucky that Kitty asked me to replace the furniture. I already ordered her a new bedroom set. This might not be such a bad thing if the old one is ruined.” But she was worried about the clothes closets. Holding her breath, she peeked inside. Both were designed such that shelves kept everything up off the floor. Only a pair of rubber flip-flops were on Kitty’s floor, not put away. How lucky she was that Kitty was neat.

  She poked her head back from the closet, and saw that John was stepping carefully around the room. “Not all the carpet is wet,” he reported. “Just the side near the bathroom.”

  “Is that good news?”

  “It is.”

  She blew out a breath in relief. She needed to keep this carpet.

  “However,” John said, “we still need to clear out the furniture on this side so we can pull up the rug to dry it. Help me move this bed.” He stripped off the bedding and pillows, set it on a couch on the other side of the room, and was in the process of dragging the mattress upright.

  Feeling herself blushing, she rushed over to help him. Grabbing the mattress by the handles, she used all her strength to lift her end and walk forward with tiny, awkward steps as he led the way to a drier place in the den.

  She suspected that he bore the heavier burden, but she wasn’t about to protest.

  “Okay. Steady,” he told her. She lowered her end, then stepped out of the way, watching him.

  The muscles beneath his T-shirt strained as he lowered the mattress into place. A slight sheen of sweat glistened on his brow, but he shot her a wry smile.

  She didn’t know what to say. She felt strangely tongue-tied. Aware, that was the word. Aware of his strength. His maleness. Her own vulnerability.

  But she wasn’t lonely. In fact, she felt rather...pleased with his company. He hadn’t acted suspicious of her, asking questions and probing. Could it be that he was accepting her at face value?

  She faked giving him a sheepish look. She didn’t feel sheepish, not at all. “Besides the box spring, there are two more overstuffed chairs and a bedside table.”

  “Let’s get to it, then.”

  She nodded, and walked ahead of him. “Um, please remember not to mention to anyone that you were in the MacLaines’ bedroom.”

  He paused beside the first chair. With a secret smile to her, he crossed his heart with his hand. “What bedroom?” he said, winking.

  She exhaled. “Thank you, John. I mean it.”

  He bent and picked up the chair himself, in one swoop. “You’ll owe me, though.”

  She blinked. Her heart raced harder. “How so?”

  With a chuckle that made a low rumble in his throat, he strode out the door with the chair. As he passed her, over his shoulder he called, “You’ll have to eat dinner with me. As payment for my time.”

  She relaxed. Was that all? “Okay. I have groceries, so I can make us something.”

  He came back into the room. Shaking his head, he said, “No. Out to dinner.”

  “Oh, no,” she said firmly, brooking no nonsense. “Forget it. I’m much too busy. This is going to make me lose two days as it is, and I can’t afford—”

  “You can’t take the time out for an hour to have a meal at a decent place?”

  She shook her head. She didn’t want to go down this road and argue with him about this, because the truth was, she couldn’t just leave without arranging it with the team. Going to lunch at the Seaside had been part of her duty earlier, but now, staying close to this beach house and keeping her cover were her duty.

  She sat in the chair and realized she was worrying her lip.

  “What is it?” He leaned on the arm of the couch opposite her.

  She decided to just come out with it and be as blunt with him as he was with her. “Honestly, John, it’s just that you were so suspicious of me earlier. I’ve...been thinking about that.” She swallowed.

  “Yeah. About that.” He stared at his hands.

  Her heart was pumping crazily. She had to be very careful how she behaved here. Wait. See what he has to say.

  He finally looked into her eyes. “I’m afraid I owe you an apology.”

  She released her breath slowly.

  “I’m sorry I confronted you the way that I did.” His brow creased, as if weighing a decision. “I did it because I’m under a lot of pressure. The court made me responsible for employing my younger brother, and I’ve been...protective of him. It makes me extra suspicious of strangers. When I saw you in our parking lot that day, reading what looked like numbers into your phone, my antennae went up. I thought maybe you were an investigator or a cop checking up on my brother.”

  “Well, I’m not,” she said softly.

  “Has Andy said anything to you about me, or my family?”

  She hesitated. “He told me you were in the Marines. That you’d come back quieter than you used to be before you left.”

  He gave her a hurt look. “It’s true I was in combat, bu
t I’m not suffering from PTSD, if that’s what you’re thinking. I’m quiet only because I hadn’t expected to be working in the family restaurant. My brother has drug problems, you see, and he’s been through rehab twice. I’m hoping this time it sticks. He...has a court date June 5, and I need to get him through that without incident.”

  She reached out and touched his hand. “It sounds like you need a break.”

  He laughed softly. “Yeah.”

  Impulsively, she made a decision. John had made a big leap in coming clean with her. To a point, she could trust him. “Yes. I would love to have dinner with you.” But she still couldn’t leave the house. “Why don’t we order something in and eat here?”

  He smiled at her. “Sure. Let’s do that. We’ll make it easy.” He fished out his phone from the back pocket of his jeans and pressed at the screen. Someone on the other end appeared to pick up right away, because John said, “Hi. This is John. Can you send Jeff over with a Margherita pizza and a large salad? I’m in Congressman MacLaine’s cul-de-sac...” He gazed at Lyndsay. “What’s the house number here?” he mouthed.

  “Um...” She drew a blank.

  “...Ah,” he said into the phone, “I don’t have the house number, but my truck is parked out front. On the beach side of the street, second house in.” There was a pause. “Yeah, I know. Get to it when you can.”

  He discontinued the call. “Sorry we don’t have much in the way of dessert. I wish we did.”

  “You have a sweet tooth?” she asked.

  “Yeah, anything chocolate.” He laughed self-consciously.

  Just knowing that small detail about him seemed so intimate. She liked it. “I make killer chocolate-chip cookies. If I had the ingredients on hand, I’d make a batch for you.”

  He smiled. “That would be great.”

  “I owe you a big thank-you for coming to help me out.”

  “No problem.” He stood. “The order will take a while—Jeff, our nighttime delivery guy, says it’s busy. So how about we finish up with the furniture, then we’ll lift up the carpet?”

  She nodded, and he picked up the small table in the alcove. Flexing, he stretched his arms over his head.

  And stopped.