Girl Undercover 4 & 5: Ariel & Financial Devil (14 page)

Ian’s chameleon eyes went round with surprise and his mouth dropped open. “You will? Hallelujah! She’s actually going to have some alcohol. My, oh my…”

I rolled my eyes at him. “Okay, if you don’t stop acting like an idiot, I might change my mind again.”

Ian’s face instantly went back to normal and he headed to the fridge and got the bottle. A minute later he returned with two glasses dangerously close to brimming over with wine.

“That’s a big pour,” I couldn’t help but remark.

“You don’t have to drink all of it,” he countered. “But when you taste it, I’m sure you won’t be able to resist having it all. I’m just looking out for you is all.”

I gave him a playful smirk. “Yeah, I’m sure you are…”

We clinked our glasses in a toast and then had a sip. To my annoyance and delight, Ian had been right—it must have been the most delicious white wine I had ever tasted. Vanilla, citrus, apple, grass all exploded in a blend of perfection on my tongue. I immediately had two more big sips it was so incredibly tasty. I closed my eyes as I let the liquid slowly imbue my taste buds.

Ian was watching me, a content smile dancing on his lips. “What did I tell you?”

I opened my eyes again. “You’re right. It’s incredible.”

“I’m glad you like it. Now, let’s have a look at this bloke’s email account.”

It only took Ian a couple of minutes to get inside Ron’s personal account as well as the one he had on B of A. He claimed he was able to determine that Ron only had these two accounts. Just as the buzzer by Ian’s door sounded half an hour later, announcing that our food had arrived, we already had a fairly good idea who Ron’s clients were.

We took a quick break to eat some of all the courses Ian had gotten for us, and when we were full, we returned our attention to the laptop and Ron’s business associates.

“Well, so far none of these people look particularly suspicious,” Ian said. “Of course, they rarely do on paper. Only a moron would put down incriminating details in writing.”

“That’s so true. But at least now we know who some of his clients are. There may be more if he’s using means other than email to communicate with them, but it’s a start.” I studied a few of the emails currently visible on the laptop screen. “He seems to be on particularly good terms with Ms. Geraldo and Mr. Rockford, don’t you think?”

“Yes, I noticed that as well. And they also seem to be in a different category compared to his other clients. Their businesses are more upscale. I’ve heard of both her nightclub and his restaurant.”

“Really? They must be pretty famous then.”

“They are. They also happen to be great vehicles for money laundering.”

“Yep. I’m thinking one or maybe both might be who we’re looking for.”

It turned out Ian was as fast a reader as I was, so scanning several dozen emails went at the rapid pace I preferred doing such tasks. We soon found out that, in addition to being perfect for money laundering, Ms. Geraldo’s club and Mr. Rockford’s restaurant were located close to the Mexican border in Texas; the addresses and their titles were in the signature of all their emails. As we investigated these two, I was certain we would discover they were somehow friendly with Cardoza. I didn’t bother saying any of this out loud, though. Doing so would only complicate things.

“I can’t imagine a restaurant and a nightclub no matter how successful would bring in the kind of money Ron’s making on their own,” I added.

“That’s true,” Ian said and scrolled through a few more emails. “But keep in mind that your friend Ron here might be using several establishments for money laundering, not just one.”

“You think he might be using several places to launder dirty cash?”

Ian shrugged. “Why not? Sometimes it’s better to go wide. Many of his clients run businesses that would serve as excellent fronts for a huge money laundering scheme. For example, Mr. Wachovy here is the manager of a carwash and Ms. Benson has a beauty parlor, or at least is in charge of it. Can’t tell from her emails.”

I checked the signatures in Mr. Wachovy’s and Ms. Benson’s emails. The carwash was apparently located in South Dakota and the beauty parlor in Idaho. In addition to being so far north of the Mexican border and in the middle of nowhere, the establishments were so lowbrow that I doubted Cardoza would ever have met their owners. Knowing what a foodie he was and how much he loved clubbing, hitting the restaurant and the club owners was definitely our best bet for now. The club was located in San Antonio and the restaurant in Houston, both cities I knew Cardoza had visited quite often. Still, I acknowledged that Ian made a good point.

“But let’s start by investigating Mr. Rockford and Ms. Geraldo,” I continued. “Since he seems friendliest with those clients.”

“Fine,” Ian said and went to get the wine bottle. I didn’t have time to put a hand over my almost emptied glass to block him from filling it up again. I just shook my head at him when he finished pouring.

“Do you have an early client tomorrow?” he asked.

“Normally I do, but she cancelled right before I came over here. It’ll be nice to sleep in a little.”

And not have to endure my old client’s farting every two minutes. Carol Green was one of the first clients I had picked up and was a handful to work with, having a rather grumpy nature. She either wasn’t aware of all the farts that came out of her each time she pushed herself, or she simply didn’t give a damn. Unfortunately, they were of the quiet but deadly kind. Since she couldn’t handle any form of criticism, I wasn’t about to inform her that she might have gastrointestinal issues she might want to look into.

“Well, in that case, you should allow yourself to enjoy this tasty wine some more,” Ian said and put the bottle down. “I have another of the same kind that we can open.”

“Uh-uh. I’ll finish this glass, but that’s it. I’m a lightweight. And a bad drunk too.”

Ian looked suddenly very interested. “Really? Exactly how bad are you?” His eyes had turned a navy blue and were gleaming with mischief.

I tskd at his obvious lecherousness “Not
that
kind of bad drunk. All that happens when I drink too much is that I fall asleep on people.” This wasn’t true at all—I handled alcohol quite well and, instead, what tended to happen was that I got horny. And I sure as hell wasn’t about to admit that to Ian, especially not given the way he’d just looked at me. I was already feeling disturbingly hot in his presence and I had only had one glass of wine so far, albeit a huge one. Hell, most women would. The guy was hot, and even more so without clothes on. As his trainer, I was well aware just how good his body was. Probably even better than when I had first done his body fat as much as he worked out. I’d better not finish the glass he’d just poured me to be sure I didn’t do something I’d later regret.

“You’re welcome to sleep on my couch,” Ian offered and pointed to the leather couch in his living area.

“Thanks, but it doesn’t look very comfortable.”

He gave me a wry smile and those eyes gleamed with renewed power. “There’s always my bed.”

I huffed. “In your dreams, baby.”

Innocence washed over his features and he looked almost hurt. “I would of course be sleeping on the couch in that case. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

I chuckled inwardly.
This guy is so obvious
. “Ah, okay, got it. Still, I’d better not drink too much.”

We continued going through all of Ron’s emails and then formulated a plan of how we’d approach our investigation of Ms. Geraldo and Mr. Rockford. As we did, we kept nibbling on the many dishes Ian had gotten. Soon, most of it was gone and so was the wine in my glass. I couldn’t remember having drunk any of it I’d been so absorbed in reading emails and discussing ways to go about learning more about our prime suspects.

It was only when I got to my feet, having announced that I was calling it a night, that I realized I was rather tipsy. I was also feeling better than I had in a long time, relaxed, like I didn’t have a care in the world.

“Thanks for doing this with me,” I said to Ian, sincere gratitude flowing through my veins with an intensity that must be due to me being under the influence. “I really appreciate it.”

“Don’t even mention it,” Ian responded, smiling. “I’m not just doing it to help you. If Ron is in fact the person texting you, I’m sure he has some kind of a connection to The Adler Group. So I’m glad you brought it to my attention instead of going at it alone. As we investigate, we’ll surely learn more about what ties them together. Let me walk you to the door.”

He held out his hand as if showing me the way to his small hallway. I walked in that direction and he joined me. We stopped before his front door and I turned to face him.

That was the first mistake.

What I should have done was mutter a “thanks for dinner and see you later,” turn the doorknob and get the hell out of there. But instead I remained, letting the moment so full of delicious, electric tension between us grow stronger as Ian looked deeply into my eyes. I allowed myself to sink farther, the air that had suddenly become thick fill my lungs. I had been alone for months now, gone from being happily married and sleeping with my husband in the same bed just about every night to miserable and in a bed that always felt too empty, too big for me. A desperate need for a man’s hands all over my body spread inside me, a man’s lips on mine, and right then, I didn’t want that man to be any other than the one who stood before me, gazing into my eyes with so much emotion.

I’m not sure which one of us made the first move, all I know is that all of a sudden Ian’s lips were on mine and my arms were around his neck, pulling him closer to me, showing, not telling him that I wanted him to kiss me deeper. Tasting his tongue as it danced around mine was intoxicating, even better than I had imagined it to be. I would be lying if I told you I hadn’t thought of this moment, fantasized about it several times already.

The second mistake was when Ian removed his lips from mine, holding my head with his strong hands and gazing into my eyes again.

“You know where this is headed if we do this again, don’t you?” he asked, his voice hoarse, almost unrecognizable.

I was breathless as I looked back at him, feeling like I was drowning in the liquidity of his black gaze. A tiny voice in my head urged me to push him off me, turn around and leave this treacherous place and man. He had known this would happen; he must have known I wouldn’t be able to resist him when I got some alcohol in my body. He was taking advantage of my weak state of mind.

“Yes, I do,” I gasped, barely able to speak I was so excited. “But that’s okay. I want this.”

Something in his face changed then. The playfulness that had led up to this intense kiss was gone and replaced with a somberness I had never before seen in Ian.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, sincerely concerned. “Don’t you want this?”

“There’s nothing I want more than this, but I want it when you’re sober. When you can be one hundred percent sure you’re ready for this.”

I thought about how much I’d drunk then. Two glasses of white wine, one medium-sized and one large. That wasn’t very much. I wasn’t drunk. This was what I wanted, truly wanted. It would make me feel better. Sex was good for me.

So I made my third mistake. I cupped Ian’s face in my hands and gave him a feather-light kiss that made him shudder. I could feel him harden against me. I smiled and looked into his eyes. “I told you I have a tendency to fall asleep when I’m drunk, didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did,” he replied, looking uncertain.

“Does it look like I’m about to fall asleep right now? I’m not even yawning, am I?”

“No, you’re not…”

I gave him my most seductive smile and gazed up at him through my eyelashes. I began to unbutton my top so that my black bra was slowly revealed. Then I said, “That means I’m sober enough.”

Chapter 4

The sound of loud classical music woke me up the following morning. Opening my eyes, I looked around frantically, wondering where the hell I was. I didn’t recognize the bedroom with its sophisticated white armoire in a corner, strange painting on the wall, and tall French windows covered by light curtains so long they nearly kissed the hardwood floor beneath. I had no idea whose king-sized bed I was in, whose black silk sheets covered my legs. It was only when I spotted the slender, gray cat entering the room that it all came back to me, the night of amazing sex I had shared with Ian.

I buried my face in my hands.
Oh, God, what did I do?
That had been
so
fucking unnecessary, not to mention stupid. This would change everything between us.

Then guilt streamed through me as an image of Nick flashed through my mind. Had he known how much I’d enjoyed my night with Ian he would have been so upset. I sighed. What kind of woman slept with another man only months after the death of her husband?

The cat that was usually so unfriendly leaped into the bed and walked straight up to me. It began kneading my bare stomach with its soft paws, purring contentedly. I couldn’t resist patting it, having always had a soft spot for cats. It bucked its back, demanding more caresses.

Absentmindedly, I obeyed, stroking the sleek cat while searching for the off button to the alarm clock on the bedside table; it was still blaring out classical music. I turned a switch on top of it and the room suddenly went dead silent.

Where is Ian anyway?
I tried to sit up to glance out the bedroom door without disturbing the cat that apparently was in heaven judging by the volume and speed of its purring. I couldn’t spot Ian anywhere. As I was about to call out his name, I remembered what he had told me sometime before we both passed out last night.

“I have a meeting with someone in the morning, so I might not be here when you wake up. When do you need to get up by? I’ll set my alarm clock.”

I had told him he could set it to eight thirty. Checking now, I saw that the hour and minute hands of the alarm clock on the bedside table showed eight thirty-five.

I lay back down and tried to think.