Girl Undercover 4 & 5: Ariel & Financial Devil (13 page)

“And you think he’s up to something shady there?”

I nodded. “Yup. I’m thinking he has some very interesting clients.” I leaned closer to Ian and said in a low voice, “Clients who may be involved with Adler somehow. At least that’s what my source says it looks like.”

The way Ian’s chameleon eyes lit up told me I was using the right strategy. But then they darkened and narrowed again. He pulled me close and whispered into my ear, using a tone that was more appropriate for lovemaking than what we were discussing. “And why exactly does your source think that Adler is involved..? Who
is
your source, by the way?” Ian’s breath was hot against my ear and as much as I hated to admit it, it was a very pleasant sensation. Very pleasant…

Against my will, I felt electricity run up the insides of my legs, colliding in my erotic center. With what was left of my willpower, I pulled myself away from him. But given that we were discussing sensitive issues, I couldn’t remove myself too far. I faced him and whispered,

“If I told you that, I’d have to kill you. Or my source would kill me for outing him. All jokes aside, I’m not at liberty to tell you who my source is.”

Ian held my arm still, looking deeply, searchingly into my eyes. For a brief moment, I thought he would pull me close and kiss me hard his eyes had gone so dark, almost black. Or maybe that was just my brain imagining things again. Projecting things it subconsciously wanted to happen.

A small smile curled Ian’s lips then. “You’re a clever, clever girl, aren’t you?”

“I have my moments,” I replied, hating myself for feeling and sounding so breathless all of a sudden. I really needed to get laid, though not by Ian. This was
so
not good.

“Are you two going to hog that machine forever?” a familiar but sharp male voice behind us wanted to know. Both Ian and I whipped our heads around to face its owner.

It was Jonah and one of his clients, a small man with a potbelly and a sad face. Jonah himself was smiling, but his gorgeous blue eyes were definitely not. They were darker than normal, full of emotion.
Is that jealousy?
I wondered. I honestly couldn’t tell.

“Sorry,” I muttered. Only then did I realize that Ian hadn’t actually done any rows on the machine. We had just occupied the machine as an excuse to talk about Ron. We should get moving and leave it to people who wanted to use it the way it was meant to be used. I grabbed Ian’s shoulder and motioned with my head for him to stand up. “Let’s go.”

We spent the next several minutes working out and only resumed talking about Ron and his potential delinquency when I was stretching Ian at the end of the session.

“So what do you want me to do?” Ian asked as I stretched his glutes.

“Find out who his clients are.”

“Can’t your source find that out for you? I thought you told me your sources were so great.”

Well, he had me there, but I wasn’t about to admit that straight out. “My sources
are
great. However, I think it would be more effective if we could do this together. My source is not here on the East Coast, so I can’t do it with him.”

“Are you telling me you want to be with me when I hack this bloke’s email account?”

“Something like that. That would be okay, right?”

Ian looked like he was considering this. I held my breath until he finally smiled and said, “Sure.”

I exhaled quietly. “Okay, great. When can we do it?”

“Tonight. At my place of course. I want to use my own server for this kind of work.”

“No problem. I’ll come over.” I finished stretching Ian and got to my feet. “When should I come over?”

“Not so fast.” Ian pushed himself up into a sitting position. “You haven’t replied to all my questions yet. Your colleague interrupted us before I could ask again—how does Adler tie into all of this? What did your source see? If you tell me that, you can come over to my place after eight tonight.”

I struggled to keep a straight face; I should have known Ian wouldn’t be that easy to work with. He always needed to have the upper hand. Fine, I’d give it to him. Or, at least, make him think that I did.

I curled my lips into what I hoped was an enigmatic smile. “My source found some emails in Ron’s account between him and someone working at Adler.” If Ian wanted to check these emails—which weren’t there and never had been—I’d just say that someone must have erased them, either Ron himself or Adler. If Hillary Clinton could make emails disappear permanently from her private server, so could Adler and Ron. I didn’t doubt for a second that Ian would try to find these non-existent emails.

“Really?” he said, looking very interested. “What did the emails say?”

“Nothing really incriminating from what I can remember or I would’ve already told you about it. But the fact that they are there at all should tell you Adler might be involved.”

Ian sighed as he contemplated me, probably to try to figure out if I was full of it—which I was. He put his hands behind his neck.

“Fine,” he said.

“Fine what?” I asked.

“Let’s check his email tonight and see what we find.”

***

When I got home a few hours later, I sent that email to Captain Brady that I had been procrastinating in doing. I gave him an update about my life in Hungary and asked about the status of Nick’s investigation. Then I went to take a long, hot shower, exfoliating my entire body with a loofah sponge that I had picked up on my way home. I hadn’t bothered doing this since some time before Nick was killed. What was the point of having glowing, smooth baby skin when I wasn’t going to share my body with anyone? In addition to scrubbing off months’ worth of old skin cells, I shaved my legs and every other area that could use a good trim. When I had dried myself and rubbed nice-smelling body lotion all over, I went to the nail salon that was conveniently located two doors away from where my apartment building was and got that manicure and pedicure I’d wanted to get so badly earlier. I kept reminding myself that this complete overhaul of my exterior had nothing to with the fact that I was going over to Ian’s place in a little while. No, it was only the spring cleaning I’d secretly yearned for and was finally allowing myself to get. I was a girl after all.

When I got back home, toes and fingers painted a pretty red, there was an email from Brady waiting for me in my inbox.

I clicked it open.

Dear Gabi,

Thanks for checking in. I’m glad you’re well over there in Budapest. I’m also happy to be reporting that we’ve made some progress in Nick’s case. At the moment, Geller and Davidson are investigating the leads. When I know more, I will write you with specifics.

Be well.

Yours,

Brady

I stared at the email, reread it a couple of times. Had there actually been some progress made in Nick’s investigation, or was this just Brady making it up in an attempt to make me feel better that they were finally getting somewhere? George had claimed there had been no progress made whatsoever. Of course, if these were brand new, yet unexplored leads, he wouldn’t know about them.

I was deep in thought as I signed off from my computer and went to blow-dry my hair. When my red tresses were dry and shaped in sleek waves, I had decided that I thought these must be real leads, not something Brady was simply making up. My captain would never do such a thing just to make himself look more competent, even if it was for a “noble cause”—to soothe my impatient, frayed nerves.

What if I was wrong and Nick’s killers had been in Los Angeles all along?

What with my instincts being so off, it could very well be the case. Even so, I should still investigate Ron. There were too many odd things going on with him. If it turned out the new leads Brady spoke of were dead ones, I wouldn’t have wasted valuable time. All leads, be they in L.A. or NYC, were worthy of pursuing.

With that in mind, I went to my closet to decide what to wear. I wasn’t in the mood to wear jeans and a big sweater. It was too nice out for bulky clothes like that. A warm May night like the one outside called for a dress or at least a skirt. Unfortunately, the only dresses, tops and skirts in my closet were sexy ones I had acquired when I had wanted to look my very best in order to get men to do what I wanted them to do for me. No innocent spring dresses hung from the hangers, the kind I wanted to wear when interacting with Ian tonight. And I didn’t have the time or energy to go out shopping for one.

Fuck it.
I’d just wear one of the sexy outfits already there. A couple of them I had never even worn and it was a shame to just let them hang there, gathering dust. If Ian made a comment, asking if I had dressed up for him, I’d put him in his place. I was very good at putting men in their places when I wanted to be. But surely Ian wouldn’t be stupid or rude enough to make any such comments. The bloke was British after all, I reminded myself, giggling. And he was always extra polite when I was at his house.

I picked out a red, silky top and a black skirt that fit me like a second skin. There was no way I could wear this outfit with sneakers or flip-flops on my feet, so I stuck my feet into a pair of gorgeous four-inch black heels that also happened to be incredibly comfortable. You would never know that just from looking at them, but they definitely were.

I felt weird not wearing an ounce of makeup wearing such a nice outfit, so I put on some mascara, blush and red lip gloss. My skin was nice enough to require only a touch of foundation. Taking one last look in the mirror, I decided I was good to go. If Ian was so brazen to say something, I knew exactly how to set him straight—had I actually put in all this effort to impress him, I would have also bothered to wear perfume. As it was, the only fragrance I wore when I left my house was the one I was born with.

Chapter 3

To his credit, all Ian did when I entered his apartment was smile pleasantly. Nothing about the way he looked at me could be considered even remotely improper. Every step I had taken as I’d climbed his steep stairs, I regretted having chosen to dress like I was about to have a hot date. The dim lighting made it hard to tell whether his eyes widened at all. I couldn’t have faulted him if they did—it wasn’t like I usually dressed this way.

“You look very nice,” he said. “Now I feel like a schlump wearing jeans and a simple shirt myself.” He pointed to the nice pink cotton dress shirt and the stone-washed jeans he was wearing, both of which surely hadn’t come cheap. He had also shaved, which completed his preppy casual look. The man looked anything but schlumpy. Then again, he never did, not even at the gym. He was always well put together in an understated way, something not even the occasional scruffy stubble on his face could undo. And as he leaned in and gave me a kiss on the cheek, I noticed that
he
was wearing cologne. It was very faint, but it was definitely there. No soap in the world smelled that exquisitely, a scent of musk, wood and wild oranges with just a hint of black pepper.

I decided to ignore the fact that he had bothered to apply cologne since he—so far—was behaving well.

“You never look like a schlump,” I said instead and took a step forward, almost tripping over Ian’s slender, ghost-like cat. Ian caught me before I could fall and break my nose on the table that was only a yard away.

The gray cat slipped under the couch, disappearing completely.

“Sorry about that,” Ian said and helped me to my feet. “Massimo is a bit energetic today.”

I looked at Ian, dumbfounded. “Massimo? Is that what you call your cat?”

“Yup. Anything wrong with that name? Massimo Vignelli happens to be my favorite designer. When he died last year, I wanted to commemorate him by christening my new cat with his name.”

“Oh.” As metrosexual as Ian was, I should have known it had something to do with someone in the world of art, music or fashion. Personally, I had never heard of a designer named Massimo Vig—whatever, but I didn’t see the point in mentioning that.

“Since it’s dinner time, I was about to order some take-out,” Ian said. “Please tell me you’re hungry and will join me. I hate eating alone.”

I was actually starving, having totally forgotten to eat after coming home from work I had been so busy spring-cleaning myself. My stomach gnawed quietly as if to warn me that I’d better not refuse Ian’s suggestion.

So I smiled at him and said, “Yes, that would be lovely.”

He grabbed his phone and held out a stack of take-out menus. “We’ll have whatever you’d like.”

I took them from him, even more impressed with his selection of menus than I’d been with his selection of beverages the first time I’d come to his house. I took my time studying them.

“Let’s have some Thai food,” I said finally. “Is that okay?”

“Certainly. I love Thai food. I order it all the time. Anything in particular that you’d like to eat?”

“How about you surprise me? I’m sure you know what’s really good at this place.” I handed him back the menu for a local Thai food place. “I eat anything. Except for snails.”

He chuckled and nodded, then called the restaurant and placed a long series of orders.

“Wow,” I said when he hung up at last. “You must’ve ordered at least half of all that’s on that menu.”

He smiled. “Not quite. I just wanted to make sure I got something that you’d really enjoy.”

“Oh, I’m sure you did,” I replied and smiled myself.

Putting the menus aside, Ian nodded toward his laptop that was already open and on.

“How about we do some hacking into your friend’s email account as we wait for the food to arrive?”

“Sounds like a great idea,” I replied and walked with him to the laptop.

He stopped in his tracks before taking a seat on one of the stools next to the marble island on which the laptop sat.

“What?” I asked.

“I’m so rude. I didn’t offer you anything to drink! What can I get you? I’m having some Sauvignon Blanc myself. It’s a lovely bottle that I just opened. You really should try some.”

“Fine, I’ll have a glass.” It was ages ago since I had alcohol of any kind. Now that I knew Ian and that he wasn’t someone I needed to worry about, I could afford to have a glass of wine.