Page 68 of Undercover Desires

“You think this is somehow my fault?” I retort, my disgust turning into fury.

“Not what I said,” he replies firmly. “But you need to be more careful. Take this as a lesson. There is something else, though.”

“What?” I snap, my patience wearing thin. I’ve had enough of this conversation and need to get off the call. This man’s a pig.

“We have reason to believe there was foul play involved in his accident. His girlfriend saw him having a heated conversation with a man who has ties to the Riveras’ organization the day before he hit that tree.”

I nearly roll my eyes I’m so frustrated with his shit. Trying to somehow line this awful accident up with the Riveras is just beyond a joke. “What are you trying to say?” I snap.

“Are you sure you’re up for this, Constable Hamilton? Keep up. Either your ex has ties to the Riveras, or someone was asking questions about you,” Detective Reader explains like I’m an idiot. His beady eyes look right through me, like he’s trying to work me out.

This looks bad—really bad. I can see what he’s thinking as well. Either the Riveras have worked out who I am and are after me, or he thinks I’m already working for them. I need to think quickly. Reader seems to believe that the Riveras have ties to drugs. I’ll tell him what he wants to hear without actually revealing anything.

“It would have been Wyatt. He was an addict. I tried so many times to get him help, and he would be good for a while, then relapse right when I thought things were back on track. It’s why I left; I couldn’t help him. I tried so hard to, but I couldn’t staywith a man who would never change. It’s one of the reasons I wanted to work for you. I’ve seen the awful impact drug addiction can have on someone. He used to be such a decent guy, but he changed.” I feel sick to the stomach for saying it, but in reality, it’s the truth, and if he had looked into Wyatt at all, he would find his multiple admissions to rehab to back up my statement. It should be enough to buy me more time with the Riveras.

“That’s what I thought. Another good reason for you to bring them in. What new evidence do you have for me?” Detective Reader asks, his mood shifting to excitement. He’s getting a sick kick out of this investigation.

My heart races as I realize I have nothing substantial to offer. I could tell him about the overdose last night, but I know that had nothing to do with the Rivera brothers. They did everything they could to help her. Not only that, but after what I found out last night, I’m going to remain true to my word. I won’t help Reader. What I want to do now is work out what he’s up to by targeting the brothers. What kickback is he getting for all of this? There has to be something. “Where is all the evidence from Wyatt’s apartment now? The videos?” I ask him instead, desperate to know.

“Don’t you worry your pretty little head about all of that. I’m here to look after you, Constable. They are safely in my custody. No chance of them getting into the wrong hands, then, is there?” Detective Reader offers a smile, but I see right through it.He’sthe wrong hands, and I’m certain of it.

My pulse races, and my breathing feels tight. I’m on the verge of a panic attack, and I need to end this conversation. “Good to know. Unfortunately, I don’t have anything new for you. I’ll keep monitoring conversations and taking photos where I can.” I make an excuse to cut the call short, desperate to escape this increasingly unsettling situation.

“You better have something for me by this next week, Constable Hamilton. I want results on this and fast,” he warns. Detective Reader’s stern words echo in my mind, and I feel the weight of the impending deadline bearing down on me. I’m caught between both sides, and I don’t really know the truth, just what they tell me and my gut feeling.

My gut tells me Brandon wouldn’t lie to me. My heart tells me Kobe wouldn’t really fuck me over. And my head tells me Detective Reader is a dodgy cop who would fuck me over given half the chance. It’s all I have to go off.

“Understood,” I reply, my determination to find a solution growing stronger.

He disconnects the call, and I slam my computer screen closed. Fuck, fuck, fuck.Fuck. I’m screwed. Fucking Wyatt, he’s still screwing me over from beyond the grave. Now the worst person possible has sex tapes of me. I can’t even imagine what the hell would be on those tapes, but I know it can’t be good. And if I do what Kobe wants me to and join forces with them to get rid of Reader, he can destroy me and my career with videos like this. No one will take me seriously.

I suck in breaths, trying to stop the impending panic attack. I haven’t had one of these in months, not since I decided to leave Wyatt. Breathe in for three and out for three. Slowly my thumping heart starts to settle and the tightness in my chest eases.

I hear a car engine start out front and remember Kobe and Brandon are here. I hop up and run into the bathroom and close the door, sliding down to the floor with my back pressed into the door. I bury my head in my hands and burst into tears. I can’t deal with either of them right now. Why the hell was one of their men talking to Wyatt?

“Bella, we fixed it,” Kobe calls through the house. “There’s hardly any fuel in the tank, so Brandon’s going to get you some, but she works.”

I get off the floor and go over to the sink, splashing water on my face. My skin is red and blotchy; it’s obvious I have been crying. I don’t want him to see me like this.

“Where are you?” he calls.

“In the bathroom, I’ll be out in a second,” I call back, trying to give myself a minute to gain some composure. I grab my foundation and squeeze some onto my hand, applying it quickly with a sponge and dotting over the worst of the redness. It’s better than it was. I take a deep breath and open the door to find Kobe sitting at the table, peering at the screen of my laptop. Annoyance courses through me, and I march over to the table, slamming the laptop shut. Why is every fucking asshole spying on me?

“Do you mind?” I snap at him.

He doesn’t seem bothered by my reaction. “Nope,” he replies with a shrug, his gaze fixed on me. There’s a sense of suspicion in his eyes. “We don’t have secrets anymore, Bella,” he tells me like it’s non-negotiable. But what he means is I have to tell him everything.

I cross my arms, feeling protective of myself. I’m so sick of having my life controlled by everyone else. “Don’t we?” I ask, unsure of his intentions. Is he implying that he now owns me and expects me to divulge everything I know, while he retains the freedom to do as he pleases?

“You work for me now, sweetheart, not him,” Kobe asserts, his tone deadly serious. “What happened on your call?”

I decide to challenge him with a question of my own. “How about you tell me something? Why would one of the Rivera associates be seen having a heated conversation with my ex-boyfriend the day before he died?” I tap my foot impatiently, waiting for him to fess up.

Kobe shifts in his seat, and I can tell that my question has struck a chord. He knows something about this. “Okay, I can be honest as well,” he begins. “When I worked out you were a cop, I did some digging around. I found out about your ex and looked him up. There’s something you should know about him,” he says, and I hear the hint of guilt in his tone.

My eyes widen in shock as I blurt out, “Did you kill him?” The thought is mortifying.

“No,” he responds firmly. “That was just an accident. What do you think of me?”

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