Page 1 of Undercover Desires

CHAPTER 1

ARABELLA

I’ve never let fearstand in the way of what I want. I seize life by the horns and ride that stubborn beast until it throws me off. And when it does, I glare right back at it, dust myself off, and mount up again, ready for another go.

I am in a standoff with the most repugnant man I’ve encountered since my recent move to Palm Springs three days ago. His eyes bore into mine, nostrils flaring as he assesses me. I arch an eyebrow, baffled by his behavior. This has to be one of the oddest job interviews I’ve ever experienced.

It shouldn’t even be an interview at all. My training officer transferred me to this department after I successfully completed my probation at the LA Police Department. The job is already mine, but Detective Reader insists on this one-on-one interview before they complete the paperwork. I have to bite my tongue to resist giving him a piece of my mind. I can’t stand the judgmental way he’s scrutinizing me. He’s clearly an old-school cop, a my-way-or-the-highway type.

“You won’t do,” he grumbles, his irritation palpable.

“Excuse me?” I snap, unable to hold back my annoyance. He may be the one calling the shots here, but I’ve fought tooth and nail to secure this position. I’m not about to walk away just because he believes I don’t meet his standards, whatever those might be.

“A 5’6” leggy blonde is not having the last position on my team,” he remarks condescendingly. “You can go back to LA. They can find you something more suitable, although I don’t know what they’ll do with you there. You’d be better off as a...” He trails off, his glare intensifying. “Anything but this.”

I shove my chair back, the sound of it scraping on the cheap linoleum floor barely registering in my ears. I’m outraged, and I spring to my feet, ready for a fight. “Are you kidding me right now? You sexist old prick. I have just as much balls as any of the other men out there. Just because I wasn’t born with them doesn’t mean I didn’t grow a pair and intend to damn well use them.” My face burns with heat, and I’ve never felt so insulted so quickly after meeting someone in my life. I’ve been through the academy, field training, and probation, accumulating all the experience required for this position.

“See, even the accent? I can’t take you seriously. It’s like you’re playing a character in a movie. No one out there will respect you.” He gestures disdainfully to the office cubicles. “You can’t be a part of our team.” He sneers, attempting to dismiss me.

“Even the accent is a problem for you? You can’t take me seriously because I sound different?” I gesture toward the office cubicles. “That’s incredibly close-minded. Hit the jackpot with this station, didn’t I?” I cross my arms over my chest, take a deep breath, and stare him down. Does this sort of tactic usually work for him, hurling insults at a recruit until they retreat with their tail between their legs? Not with this little blonde chick. “I’ve got news for you. I have no plans to leave, so you should find me a spot on your team, or I will go over your head.”

“Sit down, Constable,” he bellows, his voice echoing off the walls. “No one talks to me in my office with such disrespect.”

I abruptly drop back down into my seat, realizing that I’ve already pushed my luck. But he started it by being such an insufferable jerk. The truth is, no matter how important this job is to me, I’ve never been one to hold my tongue when someone is out of line; I have to call them out. And he was out of line.

“Stay here,” he orders, pointing at me as though I’m a misbehaving child in need of control. He stands and storms out of the room, his heavy footsteps causing the water in a glass on his desk to ripple, much like the approach of a Jurassic Park dinosaur.

Where else would I go? It’s not like I have a desk or a partner here yet. My training officer gave me the heads-up that Detective Reader could be a little abrupt. The two of them worked together a few years back, but he said once you get used to him, he’s easy enough to work with. I’m not so sure I believe him anymore.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath, attempting to rein in the rage bubbling up inside of me. Deep, calming breaths, just as my therapist Cindy taught me all those years ago. “Don’t screw this up, Arabella,” I remind myself. “This is your dream job. You’ve worked your ass off at the academy, graduating with top grades, to get this far. Don’t ruin it all now by pissing off your superior. A few years taking orders, rack up some hours, and then you can aim for the promotion you want.”

When I approached my superior at the LAPD about this promotion, I thought he would tell me I wasn’t ready yet. But he was supportive and on board from the moment I mentioned it. I was over the moon. As it was, I was running out of ideas for how to maintain my current living conditions, and this job in Palm Springs was my solution.

Outside the office, I hear things being slammed around and an enraged voice shouting profanity. Detective Reader. It soundslike he’s having one hell of a bad day. Through the venetian blinds of the office window, I spot him on the phone, wearing a hole in the ratty carpet as he paces back and forth. I wouldn’t want to be the person on the receiving end of that call; they’re catching an earful. He hangs up the phone and runs a meaty hand over his sweaty forehead. He’s perspiring profusely. Sure, it’s heading out of summer, and the desert can get scorching this time of year, but it’s not that hot today, and this building is air-conditioned. The man needs to lose his suit jacket to cope.

He marches back into his office, slamming his mobile phone onto the desk. His face is redder than the desert sand, and I can practically see the steam coming from his ears. The stench of sweat lingers in the air from where he passed me. I glance over my shoulder, briefly contemplating if I should call for medical assistance. He looks like he might have a heart attack at any second. The humming cubicles behind me continue as though this kind of display from him is normal. No one even glimpses our way.

“Look, I think we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot,” I finally speak up, doing my best to bite back my anger and frustration. “I graduated top of my class, and I know I might not look the part you were expecting, but I can do this job. Contact my boss in Los Angeles for a reference if you’re not sure.” I don’t want to be shipped off somewhere else. I may have only been in Palm Springs for a few days, but I’m already quite fond of this place. I have grand plans for Nanna’s house, and it’s geographically far enough away from my old life that I should be able to move on without being constantly hassled. This is the change I need, and I can already feel it.

He slumps into his leather office chair, which creaks under his weight. His beady eyes scrutinize me, scanning me from head to toe. I bristle, wondering if he’s going to make another offensive comment.

But then, to my surprise, he taps his fingers along the table, as if he’s had an idea. A wry smile forms on his lips. “Right. I have a job for you,” he says, sounding more confident, even pleased with himself.

I relax a little. He has a place for me, and with time, I’m determined to prove just how capable I am.

“It’s not technically narcotics, but it’s related—an undercover assignment. You’ll be working alone and reporting back to me directly,” he explains.

Working alone? He’s gone from not wanting me here to trusting me to work without a partner. “Okay. What are the details?”

He motions toward the door, and I stand up to close it before taking my seat again. “Have you heard of the Rivera brothers?” he inquires.

“No, sorry,” I respond. “I only moved to town three days ago. Are they a band of some sort?”

“Funny,” he remarks with a forced smile. But I wasn’t trying to be funny, I have no clue who he’s talking about. “They’re the motherfuckers who think they run this town.” He goes on, his dislike for them obvious. “They own half of Palm Springs and treat it like their own personal playground, doing whatever the hell they like. Drug trafficking, cybercrime, money laundering, corruption, prostitution, protection rackets, illegal gambling, loan sharking. You name it and I’m sure they are involved in it one way or another. And it’s time to bring their organization crashing down.”

My eyes narrow. “Organization?” Is he talking about an underground syndicate, a mafia-type organization? This feels way above my pay grade.

“Are you game? I need assurance of unwavering dedication for this job. We’re dealing with Palm Springs’ most notorious trio here.”

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