The Undercover Affair. Cathryn Parry

her reel. What if they’d known each other? It wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility.

      She felt...even more off balance than she’d been. She’d prepared as best she could for this assignment, but being faced with the possibility that someone here had known her late husband hadn’t been part of that. Without thinking, she leaned back against her car, felt the door handle on her backside.

      “Are you okay?” he asked. Her reaction would make anyone suspicious. To keep him off the trail, she had to throw him another kernel of truth, however painful for her.

      “My late husband was in Army Special Operations. I can’t really talk about it, but he...” She shook her head. A raindrop spattered down on her face. It had gotten dark outside. It looked like it was going to rain harder.

      “Can we get in the car and talk for a few minutes?” he asked.

      “I’d rather not. I’m fine.”

      “It’s raining, Lyn.” His look had changed to one of concern. She realized that it had worked, that he believed her, that she’d deflected him from accusing her of being a police officer. He’d even called her by her undercover name.

      It had taken the truth to do that. And now he wanted to really talk. Just great.

      She shook her head, then turned and fumbled with her door handle, opening it and rushing inside. The rain seemed to pour from the sky, hitting the windshield, running down it in quickly gathering streams.

      She heard her passenger door open, and she glanced over, startled. John was getting in, too. He sat on the leather seat and ran his hand through rain-spattered hair. He still wore his short, military-style haircut. She should have realized this about her initial attraction to him.

      “When did it happen?” he asked her. “How?”

      He had such a direct way about him. She’d sworn she wouldn’t go there. But she was cornered, and it was easier to tell him the truth, or something with a kernel of truth. That seemed to be working.

      “Six years now,” she murmured. “Jason died in a training accident.” She clamped her lips shut. Too much information. Too much of it true.

      All of it was true.

      He was gazing at her with such tenderness. She’d never have guessed him capable.

      Don’t say you’re sorry. Please don’t say you’re sorry. Everyone says they’re sorry...

      “You’ve made a big sacrifice,” he said.

      Something about his tone made her pause. “Are you married?” she asked.

      He gave a short shake of his head. In response to her unasked question, he explained, “Divorced.”

      “Oh.”

      “I’m fine.”

      “Ditto,” she murmured.

      But she rubbed her hand over her eyes. He just put her so off balance. She glanced away from his wry smile and the T-shirt that fit his wide chest in such a nice way. “Well, the rain has slowed now. I’ve got to get to my job site. Please...don’t tell Andy what I said, all right? I don’t want people to gossip or feel sorry for me or anything like that.”

      He made a cross sign over his heart, then pressed it to his lips.

      He had such nice lips.

      Without a word, he turned away and opened the door. The rain had petered to a misty drizzle. Without saying goodbye, he got out of her car and walked into his bar.

      Lyndsay turned on the engine, threw the shifter into Drive and headed for her meeting at the MacLaine home, her morning coffee put off.

      As she careered down the coast road, she blew out a breath. Had she just screwed up? Or had she done the right thing?

      All of this was new to her. She couldn’t get her mind wrapped around it. Yes, it was true there was something about him—she respected his forthrightness and the fact that he noticed things about people. But John noticing too much about her put the operation at risk. She needed to be extra careful where he was concerned.

       CHAPTER FOUR

      Congressman MacLaine’s Beach Cottage

      Wallis Point Beach, NH

      FORTY MINUTES LATER, Lyndsay’s weapon was secured inside her glove box. She sat inside her car, engine idling, in the driveway of the MacLaine cottage, waiting for Kitty MacLaine to show up for their morning appointment. Kitty was twenty minutes late.

      Though the rain had stopped, the sky was nevertheless gray and overcast. The wind was brisk, and the clouds moved quickly—a volatile weather pattern.

      When she’d arrived here, she’d still felt volatile. Her mind kept wandering over her encounter with John. To save her cover, she’d had to confess so much truth to him. She couldn’t help thinking about Jason, too. She’d had no idea what she was getting herself into when she’d first been drawn to him. It had been at a party during her first year of college—a lifetime ago, it seemed. She’d been sheltered and naïve, out in the world on her own for the first time. She’d fallen head over heels in love and had done an impulsive thing—she had married the soldier in her hometown that summer. Her parents had supported her decision—eventually—but it hadn’t been easy at first, because then she’d moved across the country with her new husband. She hadn’t even finished her college degree until years later when she was a young widow not knowing what else to do with her life.

      Well, she knew what to do now. And that’s what she needed to focus on. Her professional assignment.

      She pulled out her phone and dialed Pete.

      “Lyn?” His voice was scratchy, but he was alert, even at this early hour. That was a good sign.

      “Hi, Pete. I need to tell you something. I met with John Reilly and—”

      “Oh, hey, I was just going to call you about them.”

      She paused. “What’s happened?”

      “I’ve got information about the background checks.”

      “Go ahead. I’m listening.”

      “Margaret—Margie Reilly is a widow. As you know, she’s co-owner of the Seaside and lives next door to the business.”

      “Right.”

      “Patrick Reilly is the interesting case. We’re pretty sure there is a juvenile criminal record, which is closed. Probably related to drugs, because a stint in drug rehab does come up on the adult record.”

      She remained silent. Drug use among area teens was a terrible problem.

      “What’s interesting is that Patrick is currently on home detention, wearing a court-ordered ankle bracelet.”

      She sat up, shocked. Maybe this explained why John was on edge. Why he so carefully watched anyone who came into the family’s establishment.

      “What’s the charge?”

      “An assortment, all boiling down to possession of drugs.”

      “Is he pre-or post-judgment?”

      “He pled guilty, but his status is presentencing. The hearing is scheduled for June 5. The John Reilly you reported, the Marine veteran brother? Well, he’s on record as being a court-appointed sponsor. He’s signed a statement promising to supervise his brother as he’s allowed out of the family home to work in the business. Otherwise, Patrick can’t leave the two properties. There’s a notation about him working in the kitchen.”

      Which would explain why, as a patron, she’d never seen him.

      Then it occurred to her. “Should I investigate Patrick as potentially being involved