Girl Undercover 4 & 5: Ariel & Financial Devil Page 9

  “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 week
s. 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?”

  Emma cried harder when I asked that last question, buried her face in her hands. Her trembling got worse, so I embraced her, hoping it would calm her some. She hugged me back and I let her cry against my shoulder; she clearly needed it.

  “You can tell me what’s going on, Emma. Whatever it is that’s troubling you so. I won’t tell anyone, I promise.”

  “Okay…” Her voice was weak. “Okay, I’ll tell you…”

  The door to the restroom opened and someone entered. I could feel Emma go rigid in my arms, then she let go of me. A tall, dark-haired woman was inside the restroom, but I couldn’t see who it was in the bathroom mirror before me. I turned around.

  Janine Eastwood smiled at me as our eyes met.

  “Hello, Jamie.” Her gaze went to Emma, who had paled and stopped crying, looking terrified instead. Janine glanced at me again. A vein in the senator’s smooth forehead had become visible. “Is everything okay here?”

  I looked at Emma, who swiveled around and dashed into an empty stall. Shutting the door close, she locked it. Wow, did she get embarrassed, I thought, feeling bad for Emma. I returned my attention to my new client, throwing open my hands and shrugging.

  “She’s just having really bad PMS,” I said discreetly, thinking that Emma might not want me to talk about the pregnancy with the senator. “You know how that can be, right?”

  Janine stared at me with penetrating eyes and nodded slowly. “Yes, I do know how that can be.”

  The air was so full of tension as she kept staring at me that I felt compelled to say something; clearly, she wasn’t about to cut the awkward moment short. “Well, anyway, I should get going. I’m late for my floor shift. See you tomorrow at three p.m.?”

  “Yes, I will see you then.”

  “Great.” I gave her a quick nod, slipped by her and left the restroom.

  Whew, that was weird, I thought as I strode toward the stairs. Had I not known better, I could have sworn the senator had been about to jump me she’d looked so furious. But the woman didn’t have a reason to be mad at me, so I knew it was just fantasies going haywire in my brain. It wasn’t unusual to get paranoid fantasies like that when you went undercover. It had happened to me on a few occasions the first time I was UC and months of stress had gone by.

  Hoping that Emma would be okay on her own, I hurried up the stairs to the fourth floor where I would punch in at the end of the trainers’ lounge. When I saw her next and we were alone, I’d ask how she was; if I didn’t see her at all, I’d call to check on her. She really seemed to need to get a few things off her chest. I would lend an ear if she had no one else to talk to.

  Fortunately, Rolf wasn’t in yet, so he didn’t notice that I clocked in more than twenty minutes late. I had nothing to worry about. I highly doubted he or anyone else actually went through everyone’s timesheets to make sure we arrived on time.

  As the hours went by and I walked the floors of the club, talking to members, picking up dirty towels and re-racking weights, I thought of what to do about Ron, what my next step would be. How I would find out who his new clients were. One way would be to hack into Ron’s email correspondence to see with whom he corresponded on a regular basis. That would be the most efficient way as, surely, Ron used email to interact with his clients. Doing so would be time-consuming though, which was why I didn’t want to ask George to do it for me. He’d already helped me so much. George himself claimed it was okay—he wanted to see Nick’s killers caught almost as much as I did—so I should never hesitate to ask for his help. But I couldn’t keep taking advantage of his niceness; if at any point someone caught him hacking for me, he’d at best be out of a job, at worst prosecuted for computer crimes. It was unlikely that anyone would ever find out, but the possibility was still there. It was best to keep my requests to a minimum.

  I could always shadow Ron the way I had done earlier today. I knew where he lived and worked, so I could easily just wait for him outside his house when he left for work in the morning or hang around his office and shadow him from there. Surely he’d meet up with his clients in some capacity at some point. The problem with that approach was that it was even more time-consuming and I couldn’t afford to spend several hours away from work every day, especially not during weekdays when Ron was most likely to meet up with clients. The only way to make that approach work was if I quit my job at Nikkei. I wanted to believe investigating Ron would lead to why Nick had been killed, even suspected strongly that it would. But after learning that Janine hadn’t been involved in Ariel’s murder after all, I couldn’t trust my gut. It seemed I had lost my touch for whatever reason.

  So before I’d give up my job, I needed more proof that Ron would provide the answer I so desperately craved. The answer that would allow me to avenge my husband at last. An image of Nick’s brutalized body flashed through my mind and I felt how the temperature in my body shot up, my pulse suddenly storming in my ears. The day I was face-to-face with the bastards who had assaulted and tortured him, they would pay, all of them. I would make them wish they were dead already every second of the time they were in my hands…

  I forced myself to snap back to the here and now before I got too carried away. I couldn’t afford to let anger overtake my thoughts or I would never find out the truth. A cool, calm mind was what I needed.

  As I went to clock out for my shift, I had arrived at a solution—I would engage Ian in my investigation of Ron, even though doing so would no doubt annoy me to no end. However, the fact of the matter was that the man was a masterful hacker with tons of time on his hands. From what I had gathered, all he did in his life was working to stop Adler and the government faction from supposedly taking over the world with their super humans. When I spoke to him during our session this afternoon, I would tell him that I thought Ron might be involved in the conspiracy and therefore Ian needed to find out what he was up to. Someone was making Ron lots and lots of money, and I was convinced that something about it was dirty—either the client or the money d
erived from the business a client conducted. Possibly both. If he asked me exactly how that related to Adler and their cohorts, I’d just say that my secret source had suggested this. And I would never out my source, no matter how much Ian wanted to know who it was.

  Combined with the fact that it looked like Ron was the text stalker, it should be enough to pique Ian’s curiosity.

  Chapter 2

  I bumped into Emma as I was making my way up to the fourth floor after having eaten lunch in the cafeteria a few hours later. She looked a lot better than she had this morning, walking straight and almost smiling. Still, I stopped before her to make sure she was really okay.

  “Hey,” I began, “sorry I took off like that earlier. I was late for my shift. How are you doing?”

  She brushed her hand aside like I was totally exaggerating what had happened. “Oh, no worries! I’m fine, just fine.” She lowered her voice somewhat. “I owe you an apology for losing it like that this morning. I’m so sorry about that. My hormones are just going crazy and sometimes I have a hard time controlling them. Thanks for taking me to the bathroom when I started crying.” She buried her face in her hands for a moment, then, “That was so, so embarrassing!”

  I contemplated her. She sounded a bit manic. “It was nothing to be embarrassed about. Could have happened to anyone. I’m glad you’re feeling better now. So you don’t need to talk then? I’m available if you do.”

  Her eyes widened as if with dismay. “No, no, definitely not! I’m not even sure why I said that in the first place. It must’ve been the hormones talking. Anyway, thanks again for putting up with my hysteric behavior.” She nodded toward the bottom of the stairs. “Gotta go. I haven’t eaten since this morning and I’m starving. See you later, Jamie!” She waved and took off.