Girl Undercover 1, 2 & 3: Three-Part Bundle Read online

  Or maybe he was clean now, which still meant he was lying as in that case he’d be drinking no alcohol at all. There was no in between with alcoholics.

  Instead of jotting down his answer the way I had been doing, I paused, my pen lingering over the health history card. “Really? Are you sure about that?”

  He chuckled. “Why? Is that too much?”

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “Is that supposed to be a joke?”

  He wetted his lips with his tongue and said in a barely audible voice, “Maybe we should continue this conversation out there?” He nodded his head to the glass door beside him.

  The area outside the small room where we sat was an empty passageway. It was only populated whenever people took the elevators up to the sixth floor where the group exercise studios and the boxing area were. At the moment, the passageway was completely quiet.

  I reached for my phone that I had placed on the desk next to me as I’d sat in the chair. I smiled at him. “Have you heard the latest Usher song? It’s so good.”

  He instantly brightened. “No, but I’d love to hear it.”

  I found the Usher song I had been referring to on my smartphone and pressed Play.

  Soon Usher’s smooth voice streamed out of my phone, filling the room with rhythmic beats loud enough to enable us to speak without being overheard. Even though I didn’t think the room was bugged, I didn’t mind playing along with Ian’s paranoia if that was what it would take for him to keep talking. I was dying to hear what he had to say about all that had been written about him in reputable papers such as the Washington Post.

  He nodded approvingly. “Smart thinking. There are eyes and ears everywhere in this building. Then again, I would expect no less from a cop of your caliber. I’m sure one of the first things you did after you got home the other night was to look me up online.”

  “That’s absolutely correct. Why didn’t you tell me you were an alcoholic and a former druggie?”

  “Because it’s not true.”

  I crossed my arms and just looked at him. “So you’re telling me the reporter who wrote that story about you in the Washington Post made that up? Did he also make up that you were involved in a burglary and that you served five months of a ten month sentence in federal prison?”

  “Precisely. Those are all lies made up to discredit any accusations I might make against the FBI and The Adler Group.”

  This time it was I who burst out laughing. “Wait, so you’re actually telling me that if I was to call up the U.S. Penitentiary in Lee. they would tell me you were never there? How would the Washington Post ever get away with writing something like that?”

  “No, the Lee penitentiary would tell you that I’ve done five months there, just like that article stated. The prison officials there are in on it as much as certain parts of the government. All media was served with the same news release. These lies have led me to become blacklisted in all government organizations—which effectively means I’m blacklisted everywhere.”

  “Really? So the government created all those lies about you. How convenient.”

  “It’s not so convenient if you’re me. I can’t get employed anywhere because of my record. Fortunately my father had some money that I inherited a couple of years ago.”

  “Wow, yeah, that is fortunate.” I tapped my pen against the health history card on my clipboard. “So where were you then during those months when you were supposed to be in prison?”

  “I was on an undercover assignment in Europe.”

  “Ah. So no one can confirm that you weren’t actually in prison because you were pretending to be someone else?”

  “Exactly. Which is why they can get away with doing this to me.”

  “Huh.” Talk about elaborate lies… I wanted to roll my eyes, but I restrained myself. “Is the president in on it too?”

  “I don’t think so. He’ll be done with his second term soon, which means he’ll be out of power. The Adler Group doesn’t need someone like that; they need up and coming power players. I’m convinced a fair amount of senators and congressmen and maybe governors are involved with them and that at least some of them are members here since Nikkei is their headquarters. That was one of the reasons I wanted to train with you—I’m going to need you to find out who they are for me.”

  I really didn’t like the fact that he was essentially blackmailing me with his request. He smiled at me as if he’d asked for no more than for me to find out when the club closed on weekends.

  But I wasn’t about to reveal how annoying and rude I thought he was behaving. Again, the good-looking nut job before me knew way too much about me and I wanted him to keep that to himself. It was better to act like I’d love to help him and then do nothing. Hopefully, by the time Ian was onto me, I’d figured out who had killed Nick and could return back to L.A.

  My approach should work. Nikkei had more than 9,000 active members, which meant it could take quite a while for me to go through all of them. Still, I might as well start by acting stupid, pretend I had no idea what he was talking about. So I tilted my head and frowned slightly.

  “And how am I supposed to find out that?”

  His smile grew wider. “Oh, I’m sure you won’t have any problem. I’m well aware that you, being an employee here, have access to members’ information one way or another. I spoke to one of the other trainers on the gym floor and he told me you guys can look up all kinds of information about members. You’re not supposed to of course, but you can.”

  Unfortunately, what Ian was saying was true—all the trainers had easy access to crucial membership information

  “That’s true,” I said. “Well, I suppose those politicians must be government officials in nearby states then or it would be pointless for them to be members here.”

  “Not at all. They only need to come to New York a couple of times a year for meetings with the other executives of the company.” He lit up, as though he just thought of something great. “In fact, this will make your search even easier.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I know Nikkei has the option for members to become executive members in addition to becoming a regular member like I am. Surely the politicians are all executive members. If you start looking among the executive members, you’ll soon find out which politicians might be involved with the experiments.”

  I smiled at him, struggling not to smirk. What he was saying made perfect sense—most of the club’s high-powered members were executive members, especially ones who didn’t live in the neighborhood the way many of the club’s regular members did. The laundry service and extra large lockers in the executive locker room were amenities out-of-towners needed.

  The Usher song came to an end. I waited for the next one to begin before I spoke, using a cool voice. “I’ll take a look. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

  “I wouldn’t mind some great training. Believe it or not, I’m not only interested in you doing some spying for me.” He winked and gave me what I’m sure was his version of a congenial smile. To me, he couldn’t appear any smarmier.

  I felt like throwing up. I cleared my throat and said, “Well, in that case, how about we continue with what we’re supposed to be doing during this meeting?”

  Before he could answer me, I reached for my phone and pressed the Stop button, cutting Usher’s blaring song off short.

  We proceeded to discuss his fitness goals and any potential injuries he might have. Then it was time for me to weigh him and measure his body fat levels. I pointed to a piece of equipment that looked more like a baby robot than the high-tech scale that it was.

  “We will be using this machine to check your weight and body fat levels,” I said. “You need to take off your shoes and socks for that.”

  He nodded and removed all of his footwear, displaying a pair of feet that were in much better shape than his hair and scruffy face. The man obviously liked pedicures. I shouldn’t be surprised; I already kne
w he was a total freak.

  I wiped down the machine’s metallic footplates and handles with antiseptic wipes, then motioned for him to get on it. As paranoid as he was I expected him to protest, claiming the machine would record his vitals and then use it against him somehow. But he didn’t, just calmly positioned his feet and handles where I indicated.

  I entered his height and age in order for the machine to be able to measure his body fat levels. We both remained quiet as the machine sent an electric current into his body via his palms and feet. A minute later, the machine printed out a sheet of paper with his numbers while he put his socks and shoes back on.

  I removed the sheet from the printer and looked at it.

  “Your body fat is ten percent,” I stated.

  He stood back up and frowned. “Really? That sounds a bit high for me.”

  I pointed to the part that displayed his body fat percentage to show him that I wasn’t making it up.

  “I don’t believe that’s correct,” he maintained. “It must be something off with that machine.”

  I smiled. That was a claim I often heard from men in particular when putting them on this machine because they refused to accept they were slightly fatter than what they had originally thought. I wasn’t in the mood to argue with Ian, though, so I would just agree with him.

  “Well, it does measure your hydration levels,” I said, “so I suppose you might be dehydrated. If you’re dehydrated the machine will read it like your body fat levels are higher than they really are. Is that possible?”

  I was sure it was very possible considering that Ian was an alcoholic—I didn’t believe for a minute that the government had planted all that info about him like he was claiming—but naturally I wasn’t about to mention that.

  “Maybe,” he replied. “Though I’m usually pretty good with drinking water and I haven’t had a drink since the beer I had at that bar the other night.” He gave me a meaningful glance, which I pretended not to notice.

  “I’m happy to measure your body fat using calipers instead,” I offered.

  “Sure, why not?”

  “Okay.” I walked over to a cupboard that contained the calipers I needed in order to measure his skinfolds, another method to determine a person’s body fat levels that was exceptionally accurate if a person was very lean. Not that Ian was that lean. I couldn’t wait to show him that the machine was correct.

  With the calipers in my hand, I told Ian to turn around so I could pinch the back of his upper arm to see his fat levels there. He immediately turned around and let me do what I needed, pulling up the sleeve of his light blue T-shirt. To my surprise, his arm was not only more muscular than I had thought, but also leaner.

  Well, that isn’t unusual. Most men carried their excess fat in the stomach and around the waist. Why would Ian be any different? Surely he had sizeable love handles.

  “Not a lot of fat there,” I said as I motioned for him to turn around so I could get to his stomach and chest.

  He gave me a lopsided little grin. “I told you so.”

  Mentally rolling my eyes, I told him to lift up his T-shirt so I could measure his abs and chest. Instead of pulling up his shirt, he grabbed the bottom and simply pulled it off completely.

  I had to bite my lip not to gasp out loud. The man had one of the most perfect upper bodies I had ever seen and I was a trainer and had seen lots of them in my day. Especially lately with all the gorgeous specimen that made up my coworkers. There was just a touch of hair on Ian’s wide, muscular chest, and another string of hair grew from the waistband of his low-hanging athletic shorts up to his navel. Shorts that hung very, very low on slim hips… I swallowed and forced myself not to stare at his exceptional body. There wasn’t an ounce of extra fat on that ripped stomach. I didn’t need to pinch his abs in order to determine that.

  “That give you enough skin to pinch?” he asked in a lightly mocking voice.

  It took all I had to act like I wasn’t at all affected by how amazing he looked without his shirt. Yeah, I had known he was well built—that had been clear from his broad shoulders, long legs, and narrows hips already. But I had come to learn that men who were as tall as Ian often turned out to be a lot chunkier than they seemed in clothes. Not so with this one.

  Clearing my throat, I said yes and proceeded to pinch his abs and chest, determined not to show just how much his half nakedness had me all hot and bothered suddenly. It wasn’t like he wasn’t aware of how good he looked or he wouldn’t have peeled off his shirt so readily.

  That smug bastard.

  Without a word, I sank to my knees and measured the skin on his mid-thigh, which was as lean and muscular and gorgeous as the rest of him.

  He peered down at me as I removed the calipers from his leg.

  “What’s the verdict?” he asked.

  I got to my feet and put the slim calipers back into their black leather box, calculating the numbers I had gotten from the four skin fold areas. Thirty-two.

  I gazed up at the body fat chart that hung on the cupboards to see where that number would fit into the predetermined charts. I sighed. According to the chart, Ian’s body fat was six percent.

  I would have to either act like I had no idea what I was doing measuring people’s body fat using the skinfold method, or admit that Ian had been right—the machine had been slightly off, making him appear fatter than he actually was.

  I quickly decided that I was not about to incriminate my own skills and just let Ian be right—after all, anyone with normal eyesight could easily tell that this man was extremely lean.

  I smiled at him. “Your body fat is six percent.”

  He grinned pleased at me and pulled the T-shirt back over his head. I could finally relax again and breathe normally.

  When his head reappeared, his blond hair tousled like he had just rolled out of bed, he said, “What did I tell you? That machine is useless.”

  I put my fists on my hips. “I don’t know about that. As I told you, it determines a person’s body fat levels based on how hydrated they are. You must be a lot less hydrated than you thought to score that high.”

  I couldn’t stop myself from letting a triumphant smile stretch my lips and the words I should probably have kept to myself flow out of me. “Of course, someone with your unhealthy lifestyle could easily lose track of how much water they’ve been drinking, so I can’t blame you. But at least I now know that you must have had more to drink than that single beer. And as your trainer, this is important information for me to have. Ready to go work out?”

  Chapter 3

  When I got home later that evening, I was exhausted and crashed onto the couch in my living room. Unlike the other nights when I had finished with shifts and clients, I didn’t put myself through an intense workout before going home and I was not about to run in the park despite the great weather. Not after what had happened the other night.

  I was too beat to even let myself get bothered by thoughts of how much I missed Nick tonight. All I was capable of doing was gaze at the TV screen before me, hoping that New York’s twenty-four hour local news channel would have more to say about Felix Bose. It had been more than a day since his body had been found where Ian and I had left it.

  Ian had been no help in finding out more about my attacker.

  During our training session, he told me he hadn’t had time to investigate Bose yet. Of course, since he remained convinced the black-haired stranger was a hit man from The Adler Group and the government coalition, he was in no hurry. He definitely didn’t think he had anything to do with the rape wave currently going through the Upper West Side when I suggested it.

  I didn’t get an opportunity to really prod Ian regarding his hit man assertions, ask him what made him so incredibly sure of them, because too many other trainers and members had been around us at the time. You never knew who was listening in and, while I wasn’t worried about spies from Adler, I still had to be careful for my own reasons.
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