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

  But glaring at Brady would be counterproductive. I was much better off trying to use logic with him instead. So I willed my face to assume a more neutral expression.

  “Everyone mourns in their own way,” I said demurely. “For me it would not be effective to lounge on a beach somewhere. I’m a doer. You know that. The only thing that would make me feel better is to make sure the monsters who did this to my husband are caught. Please help me make that happen. I surprised everyone with my skills the first time I dealt with the Cardoza cartel and I’ll surprise everyone even more this time. I’m a stellar detective.”

  Brady exhaled and shook his head. “Longoria, for the last time, I cannot put you on this case! You need to take some time off. Go somewhere far away where no one can find you. Go climb the Himalayas. Explore Africa. I beg of you. Don’t stick around L.A. and keep trying to be part of the investigation. It won’t happen.”

  He walked up to me and grabbed my arms, gazing at me intently with his watery blue eyes. “Gabi, I don’t want to see you dead too.”

  My begging Brady was clearly not going to get me what I wanted. What I needed. Craved. Thankfully, there were other ways. I made myself give him a sad, defeated grimace.

  “Fine. I won’t.” I straightened, ran my palms over my face, and sighed. “You’re probably right in that I need to get away from here, deal with what has happened. Chasing Nick’s killer won’t fill the huge hole in my chest. Remove my pain.”

  Brady looked relieved and embraced me, patting me fatherly on the back.

  “I know how you must long for revenge, Gabi. But believe me when I tell you—it won’t make you feel any better in the long run. It’ll eat you alive. Leave this to us and we’ll take care of it for you. We’ll get the bastards who did this to Nick. We’ll make them pay.”

  “Thank you, Brady,” I mumbled into his shoulder. I took another beat and then I removed myself from him. “Can you at least promise to tell me how it’s going? If I check in with you every now and then?”

  “Of course, Longoria. Of course. Now go home and book a ticket somewhere. Don’t tell anyone where you’re going and I’ll take care of your paperwork.”

  I nodded demurely. “Okay, will do. Thank you.”

  We exchanged a few more details regarding how I should go about booking my ticket using a fake name so I couldn’t be traced and so on. Then Brady gave me a kiss on the cheek and said goodbye for now.

  I smiled and said goodbye too. Then I went out to my car to contact my friend and former coworker, Dante, a successful health club owner who also happened to have significant contacts in the criminal underworld due to having been a gang member for ten years.

  If Brady wouldn’t let me be part of the investigation to find Nick’s killer, I’d have to do my own.

  Chapter 2

  As soon as I got hold of Dante, I told him I needed to see him in person. He asked me if I could swing by his gym in Malibu; he had to be there for the next few hours. I drove as quickly as I could to Cuerpos, which was the name of his boutique gym that had gotten so popular Dante already had several celebrity clients.

  Dante and I first became friendly when we worked at Crunch Fitness in West Hollywood years ago, me as a group ex instructor and he as a trainer. Both of us having roots in Colombia, we had quickly connected. I learned that he was on probation and had recently been jumped out of the Latin Devils, one of the biggest, most violent street gangs in L.A. In order to stay out of jail, he had needed to keep his job at Crunch for a year and not associate with anyone from the gang. He made it, but just barely as he spent lots of time helping his buddy Jose get jumped out of the Devils, too. Unlike Dante, who was large and a great fighter, Jose was scrawny and small. He would be squashed during the jump-out unless he learned how to fight and protect himself.

  Dante had spent months teaching Jose fighting techniques and Jose’s jump-out had been successful as well.

  Dante and Jose were as close as ever, which was great since I could really use Jose’s expertise right now. Jose’s primary business while in the gang had been to forge documents. Surely he could help me creating the fake identity I’d need to go after Nick’s killers.

  I didn’t exaggerate when I had stressed my superb instincts while pleading my case to Brady—I did have great instincts. In my first several months as a cop I hadn’t trusted them, but as time went on, I learned to do so. My instincts had often saved my ass not only as I’d gone undercover as a trainer, but especially after I returned to L.A. and was promoted to a level II detective, taking increasingly demanding cases. As of last month, I had become a level III detective.

  My instincts told me the answer to what had happened to Nick was most likely found in New York, not in L.A., and more specifically at Nikkei Sports Club, the mega health club I had worked for to target Cardoza. Both Nick and I had spent lots and lots of time at this club; Cardoza himself had spent years there. So my plan was to head to New York and see if I could be hired as a trainer at this same club once again; then I’d work my way from there, spread my search wider depending upon how things went.

  Of course, it would be much too risky going back there as Annika, the Swedish bombshell I had posed as while training Cardoza. Cardoza and his cohorts might have figured out his Swedish trainer was really an undercover agent or cop and were now looking for her. The reason I was still alive might be as simple as them not realizing this undercover cop was also Nick’s wife, Gabi Longoria. It would be like playing with fire for me to go back as Annika. I was well aware that a few of the health club members had been friendly with Cardoza and his men—probably also members and staff I hadn’t even known about. I couldn’t count on all of them having left the club, which meant it would be a matter of time before the news of Annika’s return reached the wrong ears.

  I also wanted to make it as hard as possible for Brady to discover that I had disobeyed his orders, so creating a new identity was crucial.

  I parked my blue Ford Mustang in the parking lot behind Cuerpos and walked into Dante’s gym. Almost immediately I spotted a blond starlet doing crunches with a buff trainer in a corner and another, more famous male movie star pounding a sandbag that a trainer steadied. A couple of trainers were working with clients using free weights in the middle of the gym floor, while others were on the mats along one side of the air-conditioned studio, performing floor exercises with clients.

  I couldn’t help but smile a little. It made me happy to see how successful Dante had become. Launching Cuerpos had been a huge risk for him. Fortunately, the small business began turning a modest profit some months after opening day and my dear friend started to relax. When word got out how good Dante and his small staff of trainers were via a connected talent agent, Cuerpos had exploded and suddenly everyone wanted to work out there. Dante had been smart and chosen to keep his gym exclusive by not accepting every client and thereby being able to keep his prices higher.

  He was standing behind the small reception desk, typing on his smartphone. Wearing a sleeveless, white T-shirt, his big, muscular arms and shoulders were on full display, revealing several tattoos on smooth olive skin, most of them memories from his days as a gangbanger. He kept blowing at his long, black curls that fell into his eyes as he gazed down at his phone.

  I put my hands against the top of the high reception desk and peered up at him. When he didn’t notice me and just kept typing, I said, “Oye, hombre!” Hey, man in Spanish.

  He removed his gaze from his screen. “Gabi. Hey.”

  With a face that had turned dark, he put down the phone and came around the counter. He took me in his arms and held me tight.

  “I’m so, so sorry, Gabriella,” he mumbled into my hair. “I couldn’t fuckin’ believe it when I heard. I went over to your house and found out from Brady that you were at your parents, so I went there to see how you were doin’.”

  “Yeah, I know. My mom told me you’d come by. Thank you.”

  He kissed me on the cheek and l
et go of me. “That was the least I could do.” Holding on to my shoulders, he took me in with concerned eyes that were as black as his locks. “How are you, chica? You gonna make it?”

  The soft tone of Dante’s voice and the way he was contemplating me, with so much compassion and fury, made my throat hurt and tears burn the insides of my eyelids. It surprised me and infuriated me at the same time. I didn’t have time to be upset. I couldn’t allow myself to get upset. I needed to focus, find Nick’s killers. I inhaled quietly and the sorrow retreated.

  “I’m okay,” I replied firmly. “And I’ll be even better after you and Jose help me with what I need.”

  Instantly catching on to my state of mind, Dante swung an arm around my shoulders. “Let’s go outside and talk.”

  We walked out and sat on a green-painted wooden bench next to the boutique gym’s entrance. Dante turned to me. “Dime.” Tell me. “Anything you need, you know I’ll take care of it. I’d be happy to kill los hijos de puta who did this to Nick. You just give me the word and I’ll make sure they’ll be begging for mercy.”

  I smiled and squeezed his knee. “I know. Gracias.” Then I leaned closer and said in a low voice, “I’m not allowed to be on the team investigating Nick’s murder, so I’ve decided to do my own. I’ll leave for New York as soon as Nick’s buried to try to get a job at Nikkei as a trainer. It looks like Cardoza or someone tied to him is behind his death, having figured out he was an undercover cop and still alive. I think being at Nikkei will help me find out how this happened. But I realize I can’t discount the fact that Cardoza also has figured out his Swedish trainer was involved in his takedown, which is why I need to come up with a new identity. Brady will think that I’m going for a nice, very long paid vacation somewhere faraway and I’d like him to keep thinking that. That’s another reason why I need to become someone else.”

  Dante stroked his strong chin and nodded slowly. “You want me to tell Jose to get you a fake driver’s license and social security card?”

  I smiled. “You read my mind. And if it can be a driver’s license from somewhere in the Midwest, it would be even better.”

  “Sure. He can do any state. Do you want me to come with you to look for these guys?”

  “Thanks, but I’ll be fine on my own. I’m a cop, remember? All I need is my gun and a clear mind. And a new identity.”

  Dante chuckled. “Yeah, okay. I’ll assist you from here then, like last time. Are you planning on changing the way you look, too?”

  “Yeah, it’s safer. If someone tied to Cardoza killed Nick, they might get suspicious if they spot a woman who looks exactly like his wife working as a trainer at Nikkei so soon after his death. Who knows if someone from the cartel hangs around the club still? Besides, looking like Gabi would make it easier for others who know me to stumble upon me. While I think Brady will focus the investigation here, I’m sure he’ll send guys to New York to see what’s up. I need to cover all my bases.”

  “Yeah, you should change your looks as much as possible. Have you decided how to look?”

  “Yeah. Since I can’t go platinum again, I’ll color my hair red but leave it wavy the way it is now and a few inches shorter. I kept it really long and pin-straight as Annika. And I’ll get green contacts and wear glasses. I’ll also add a beauty mark somewhere on my face. That, combined with the fact that I’m now speaking with an American accent should be enough for my old coworkers not to recognize me. Hopefully not all of them are there still. You know what a high turnover there is at gyms. Either way, I’ll keep a low profile.”

  “Uh-huh. Though not at Cuerpos. So far, all of my trainers are still with me.”

  I patted his knee again. “That’s because you’re such an awesome boss.”

  Dante broke into a pleased grin. “Ha! True, they do love me … Which they should since I pay them better than anyone else.”

  “Absolutely. Do you think Jose can have it done before I leave?”

  “Yeah, it’ll only take him a couple of hours. All he needs is the name and birthdate you’ll use, as well as an address. And a couple of passport photos for the driver’s license.”

  It dawned on me then that I couldn’t change my hair before Nick’s funeral. His real funeral this time, I thought and suddenly it was hard to breathe again. I took a deep breath to regain control of myself.

  “I’ll need to have the photos taken after the funeral,” I said. “Tons of people from the LAPD will be there, so I must look like myself still.”

  “No problem. Just give Jose what you can before. As long as you don’t leave straight after the funeral, he’ll have it for you.”

  “I’ll book a plane for a couple of days later.”

  ***

  I arrived in New York City about a week after speaking with Dante outside his gym. Jose had been as effective as promised and I was now twenty-eight-year-old Jamie Richards from a small town in New Mexico instead of twenty-seven-year-old Gabi Longoria from L.A. I liked my new medium red, shorter do—instead of ending mid-back, my wavy locks now ended a couple of inches below my shoulders. Together with the beauty mark near my mouth a la Cindy Crawford, my emerald green eyes and square glasses, I was confident not even my fitness manager would realize I was really Swedish Annika who used to work at Nikkei less than two years ago. Joanne, my manager, was a smart cookie who didn’t suffer fools easily.

  Just to get a feel for the current state of Nikkei Sports Club, I went in to the club and asked to see one of the membership advisors for a guest pass.

  I was relieved to discover that the petite, black woman who came out of the club’s business office to help me with my supposed membership was a complete stranger. At least I wouldn’t have to worry my new identity would be uncovered before I’d even applied for a job at the club.

  I had briefly considered doing my investigation as a club member—being on paid leave, it wasn’t like I desperately needed to work—but I’d soon discarded that idea. As a trainer, no one would find it weird if I was at the club all day long, but they would if I was a member. Nikkei was the kind of place where both the staff and the members gossiped like crazy, so it wouldn’t take long before everyone knew about the weird redhead with the glasses who was always at the club, sniffing around. I didn’t need that kind of attention.

  I had my guest pass in minutes and went inside the six-story health club to explore. On my way to the women’s locker room, I ran into an old client of mine, a thirty-something woman named Melissa. She looked exactly the way she had when I used to train her, tall and curvy with her glossy, brown hair in a high ponytail.

  As we were about to pass each other, our eyes met. I caught myself right before my lips could spread into a big smile of recognition and I could blurt out “Hi, Melissa!” She used to be not only my favorite client, but a friend of mine, too. It was really great to see her and I hoped she was doing as well as she looked. A little jealous, I wondered who she trained with these days. If she had a trainer still.

  One thing was for sure—she wouldn’t be training with me again. Even if I felt like I looked extremely different from Swedish Annika with my new red hair and glasses, it was stupid to push my luck. I should stay as far away as possible from people who used to know Annika to minimize the chance of people potentially putting two and two together.

  I changed into workout gear. Wanting to stay incognito, I threw an oversized, gray sweater over my small blue top and hip-hugging, black leggings and bunched up my red tresses into a messy knot on top of my head. Then I began roaming the several floors of the huge club, taking the stairs.

  I visited the third floor where the functional training area was, surprised to spot only two trainers there who I used to know. It being six p.m., primetime for Nikkei during the week, the spacious workout area was filled with members working out with trainers and some on their own. Out of the seven trainers there, five were strangers and all of them looked like they had walked straight out of the pages of a glossy fitness magazine. Not that it
was unusual for trainers to be very attractive—at Crunch where I used to work before becoming a cop, all trainers were gorgeous, but this was New York. The first thing I observed as I’d come to work here the first time was how different it was from the West Coast. About half of the sixty trainers on staff at Nikkei were chubby and not very attractive, a quarter were okay-looking, and only the final quarter were hot like these new trainers. I’d quickly learned that, in New York, brains had ruled over beauty. Knowledgeable, experienced but fairly unattractive trainers generally did better than hot, less experienced ones.