Cathryn Parry - The Undercover Affair

“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.