Girl Undercover 4 & 5: Ariel & Financial Devil (11 page)

Oh, God, of course it must be him…

I couldn’t see any other reason for him to be here so late tonight. It was just too much of a coincidence that Ron—a friend of Cardoza’s—would choose to work out so late on a Sunday night and then go visit the bathroom right before closing. He just had to be the text stalker.

Had I finally gotten the breakthrough lead to Nick’s murder I had been yearning to find for so long?

KEEP READING. PART FIVE IS COMING RIGHT UP. BELOW IS A DESCRIPTION SO YOU KNOW WHAT TO EXPECT:

Finally it looks like Gabi has found a lead to Nick's killers that's worthy of following. As she pursues this lead, things between her and Ian heat up...

GIRL UNDERCOVER

Part Five—Financial Devil

Julia Derek

Published by Adrenaline Books

Copyright © 2015 by Julia Derek

This is a work of fiction. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Published as an e-book May 2015 by Adrenaline Books.

To find out more about the author and to sign up for her new books release, visit
JuliaDerek.com

Cover design by Luly Blazek at
Kalosys Art.

Chapter 1

It appeared Ron Slaight hadn’t changed much in the last few years—he was still working as an investment banker at Bank of America, he was still married, and he was still cheating on his wife with his assistant Yvette, a porcelain-skinned redhead with pea-green eyes.

Of course, maybe the thick gold band on his ring finger meant that he was now officially attached to Yvette, not the wife he’d been married to when I’d first gotten to know him while undercover as Swedish Annika. He and Yvette might just like to visit expensive hotels during the day for an hour or two for a quickie before they went back to work. The hotel they had gone to this afternoon when I’d shadowed them was extremely fancy. As in $15,000 a night fancy. This was the sum that Ron had paid in order to spend a short time with Yvette.

“You’re kidding me,” I said to George, who was at the other end of the phone line at the moment. In addition to finding out where Ron was employed, he had just checked Ron’s credit card statements and found this outrageous charge made to the Four Seasons in midtown Manhattan. “They must have been celebrating some kind of anniversary for him to spend that kinda money. Maybe today is the date they got married.”

“I don’t think so,” George replied. “There are four additional charges to extravagant hotels in the city made this month alone. And unless Ron is a bigamist, it’s not his wedding anniversary to Yvette. According to the most current information I can find about him, he’s married to a Nora Hawkins and has been for the last seven years. He also has two children, aged two and four.”

I tskd and shook my head. “Amazing. I can’t believe his wife hasn’t dumped his ass yet.”

“Maybe she likes the financial security he has to offer. From what I can see on his credit card statement, this man likes to spend lots of money at luxurious places such as Tiffany’s, Bergdorf Goodman and at four-star restaurants. His credit card bill this month alone comes out to $69,000. He’s either getting seriously in debt or making very, very good money to afford all this.”

“Hmm. I don’t think he was such a high roller when I used to know him. Is there a way you can see if he’s in debt or if he’s making a lot more money these days?”

“Sure.” I could tell that George was smiling; he loved digging up stuff on bad guys as much as I loved to catch them. “Hang on a sec and I should have some information for you.”

As I waited for George to work his magic, I thought back to the time when I had first caught Ron and Yvette hooking up. It had been up in the women’s restroom on the sixth floor at Nikkei during my first stint undercover. I walked into that particular restroom after having bumped into Nick. Almost instantly, I heard odd sounds coming out of the other stall. It took me climbing on top of the toilet seat in my own stall and peering over the wall before the origin of the grunts and moans was revealed to me—Ron was doing Yvette doggie-style in the cramped space below me.

When my brain had processed what my eyes were seeing, I jumped off the toilet seat and dashed out of the restroom, having barely pulled up my tights. Not that I hadn’t already seen my fair share of raunchy stuff due to my line of work. It was just that seeing two people having sex in public like that had been so unexpected at a chichi club like Nikkei.

The phone crackled in my ear and George was back. “According to the latest tax return I found on his computer, he took in five million bucks last year. So it looks like he can afford spending the huge amounts of money he’s out.”

“
Damn
… I wonder what’s changed. Is he claiming income from sources other than Bank of America?”

“Let’s see… Nope. B of A is it.”

“Wow. He must’ve gotten some new clients that are creating all this new wealth then. Do you have access to his previous tax returns? Did he make a lot of money, say, four years ago?”

“Yes, it appears he has all his returns on his computer…” Silence accompanied us as I waited for George to take a look at the older returns. I was checking my nails, considering giving myself a manicure, when George muttered, “Holy mackerel…”

I gripped the phone more tightly. Whenever my computer-savvy friend used an expression like that, I knew he must have found something fascinating. “What is it?”

“Four years ago Ron Slaight only made three hundred thousand. He’s sure advanced quickly at B of A.”

“When did he start to make significantly more money?”

“Last year, it looks like. The year before that he made three hundred and fifty grand.”

I chewed on the inside of my lower lip. It wasn’t unheard of for people in finance to all of a sudden make a lot more money. One of my friends back in L.A. worked for Goldman Sachs in the investment department and had told me stories where this had occurred—her colleagues hooked up with the right clients and their lives changed dramatically in a matter of months they were making so much more money. And it was all perfectly legal. Was this what had happened to Ron? Had he suddenly scored a few great clients all on his own? Or was this somehow tied to Cardoza’s drug business? The latter seemed more plausible. All kinds of super wealthy people had moved in Cardoza’s circles, many of them as dirty as the drug lord. Ron probably met his new clients while hobnobbing with Cardoza, but had waited until all the hoopla around the Mexican and his cartel was over until he went ahead and did business with them. Surely he thought he was safe having used this strategy because he’d been thoroughly investigated by the FBI and found squeaky clean. They wouldn’t bother checking on him again. But then I appeared—and Ron must have figured out I was a detective somehow, deciding to get rid of me by using a hitman.
Felix Bose.
When Bose’s attack on me had failed, Ron had resorted to scare tactics hence the threatening texts. The question was how exactly Cardoza fit into this picture. I didn’t think the drug lord himself knew I was in NYC sniffing around for leads or I would have been dead already, but there must be some kind of a connection between him and Ron and Nick’s murder. I thought about how the last text had differed from the rest—my text stalker had wanted to reveal everything. Why the sudden change of heart? Or had that just been a ploy to be alone with me so he could kill me? The only way to find out all of this was if I investigated him.

I asked George for an update about the official investigation into Nick’s murder back in L.A., and again he confirmed that little progress had been made. No wonder Captain Brady hadn’t been in touch for so long. I made a mental note of sending Brady an inquiring email myself, however, just to keep up appearances.

“Speaking of the captain, I have to go to a meeting with him and a couple of the new recruits now,” George said. “Boring routine stuff.”

“I feel for you. Talk to you soon. Thanks again for getting me all this info. I have a feeling it’s the break I’ve been looking for.”

“Let’s hope you’re right.”

***

Emma was sitting in the cafeteria at Nikkei the following morning as I arrived for my floor shift, eating a humongous croissant that she held with both hands. She looked so miserable I felt compelled to see how she was doing, even though I was a couple of minutes late already.

I strode up to the table where she sat alone and chewed, cheeks round like a chipmunk’s.

“Hey, Emma, how are you doing?” I asked as I stopped before her.

The dishwater blonde gazed up at me with a tired expression. A few angry, red zits on her cheek caught my attention. Was acne a symptom of pregnancy? I had always been under the impression that it was a period during which women enjoyed glowing skin. In that case, Emma was an anomaly because her skin looked worse than ever. It must be extra hard for her suffering such outbreaks what with all the gorgeous trainers around.

“I’m okay,” she muttered and had another big bite of her croissant.

Not bothering to ask, I pulled out a chair and took a seat next to her. “You don’t look so happy.” Leaning close, I whispered, “Is the pregnancy hard?”

“Not really. The only thing that’s changed is that I’m having extreme carb cravings.” She nodded toward the half-eaten croissant in her hands. “Can’t get enough of these. Wish I could stop ’cause at this rate I’ll be gaining 100 pounds long before I’m due.”

“That’s okay. You’re eating for two now.” I patted her shoulder encouragingly.

“Yeah, that’s what they say, but I’m not feeling good being this fat.” She sighed heavily. “I
hate
being pregnant. Hate, hate, hate it!”

I didn’t know what to say those last words had me so thrown. Plus, she didn’t exactly lower her voice when she spoke, so anyone who was nearby could easily hear what we were talking about. There were several people seated around us in the cafeteria, members as well as trainers. Maybe she didn’t care if anyone else found out any longer. It wasn’t like she could keep it a secret for long anyway. What was more interesting was that when she’d revealed her pregnancy to me a couple of weeks ago, she’d sounded so excited about it. Looking at her now, you’d think someone had raped her and made her keep the baby. Of course, it wasn’t the first time I’d noticed that she had a tendency to be moody. Being pregnant surely exacerbated that. The one thing I did know about pregnant women was that hormones tended to rage through their blood. Maybe this was just a matter of Emma feeling depressed due to suppressed serotonin levels.

“You’re gonna be fine, Emma,” I said and smiled at her. “Some days are just harder than others, and this is one of them. It’ll be over sooner than you know it. How many weeks are you now?”

“Eleven.”

“Okay, great! Only twenty-nine to go then, less if the baby decides to come early.” Since Emma didn’t bother to speak in a discreet tone, I didn’t either. “The good news is that you’re almost out of the first trimester, which means that you can soon stop worrying about having a miscarriage at least. I’m sure you’ll start to feel better any day now. It’s only hormones making you depressed.”

She raised her gaze and looked at me, trying to smile. “Yeah, maybe. It’s just been so hard the last couple of weeks. I’ve been so down.”

I grabbed her arm and squeezed. “It’ll soon get better, much better. This is just a phase you’re going through.” I wanted to tell her that she looked more beautiful than ever, but I wasn’t sure it would come out right. Part of her feeling so down might be because she’d gained more weight and her skin had gone worse, so hearing me telling her she looked great might feel like empty flattery.

As I got ready to tell her I had to go clock in for my shift, she started to cry. Watching her trembling body, there was no way I’d be able to leave; the poor girl needed some emotional support. Quickly, I decided that staying to give it to her was worth risking Rolf getting mad at me for being late for my shift.

I got to my feet and extended Emma a hand. “Come on, let’s go to the restroom by the yoga studios. It’s usually empty and we can talk.”

Not saying a word, she took my hand and let me lead her through the cafeteria where people turned their heads and glanced at us as we passed. Soon we had entered the part of the club where the restroom I had referred to was located. It was indeed empty.

I got some tissue that I handed the blubbering Emma. She leaned her butt against the long vanity with the sinks and took them from me.

“Thanks,” she mumbled and blew her nose, wiped at her eyes that had gone red and swollen. “Sorry for bawling like this. Not sure what’s wrong with me.”

I got her some fresh tissue since the tears just kept coming and coming. “No worries, sweetie. It’s just the hormones screwing with your head. That’s probably why you’re feeling so low.”

“No, it’s not just the hormones.” She brought the new tissue to her nose and blew it with renewed force.

“No? Then what is it?”

Emma’s chest heaved under her black trainer shirt as she inhaled and exhaled deeply a couple times. “So many things... So many you would never believe.”

“Really? Is anything in particular bothering you more than the others? Anything I can do to help?”