Undercover Elite (Undercover Elite Book 2)

by Suzanne Steele

We’re working to bust up a car theft ring. Normally we wouldn’t be working a case like this, but the underlying issues have piqued my interest. These thieves have very particular tastes. The thing about stealing high dollar vehicles is that, although it seems like it would be easier to sell the parts after going to a chop shop, that isn’t the case. This isn’t the work of some inexperienced kid wanting to go on a joy ride; this is a seasoned, organized outfit. I’m leaning toward the theory that it’s either an established gang or someone involved in a more sophisticated form of organized crime. Since I know all the major players in Louisville, I’m thinking it’s probably a gang. Most people don’t realize some of the larger gangs are surprisingly organized in the way they commit crimes. It’s how they make their living, so they pay attention to details. Too bad for them, so do I.

  “There, right there, did you see that?” I point at the screen, but I know Harley has already noticed the detail that drew my attention.

  “Looks like he knew right where that key was,” Harley answers, picking up on what I’ve seen right away. That’s one of the things I love about working with the Undercover Elite agency; we’re always in synch. We work together well and have years of experience under our belts catching criminals together.

  Each team member has their own field of expertise. We’ve all been in the military and it damn sure comes in handy using that training in our field of work. We worked together informally before deciding to make a go of it as a more formal group, thanks to Cash. He started the organization when we got tired of getting cryptic messages to do jobs. The people we work for are insanely rich and don’t mind breaking the rules to get what they want or need. Having money isn’t always what it’s cracked up to be; there is a target on your back and kidnapping a family member is always an imminent threat. Our clients come to us because they know we don’t mind breaking rules to get the job done.

  “Absolutely, which makes me think the parking attendant is involved.” The ringing of my cell phone is an unwelcome interruption, but when I see who it is, I take the call. “Dr. Fairchild, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

  “Thorn, I need to speak with you, but I would prefer not doing it over the phone,” says the voice from my past.

  “You need me, I’m there. Do you want to discuss this over a cup of coffee? I can meet you at the hospital. I hear their coffee’s come a long way in the last ten years.”

  I hear him chuckle, but it’s obvious something is on his mind. His voice is strained as he replies, “I’ll see you there in an hour. Thank you, Thorn.”

  “Looking forward to seeing you, Doc. It’s been a long time.”

  I eye Harley as I hang up the phone; he’s watching me with curiosity.

  “New client?” he asks.

  “No, an old one,” I reply with a frown. “I’ll fill you in when I know more.” I head out, leaving him to finish up the analysis of the security footage. I have a meeting with an old friend who needs my help. Long ago, I told him all it would take was one phone call. I keep my promises.

  We all learned a long time ago that a simple phone call can lead to new mission under the guise of our Private Investigative Service. It works well because in a sense it’s true; what we do can be construed as investigative work. We just don’t advertise how far off the rails one of our jobs can go. The general public doesn’t understand things like kidnapping, taking out drug lords, or abducting a victim of Stockholm Syndrome to return them home safely to the family who loves them. They think those things only happen on their favorite (and completely unrealistic) crime dramas on television. Most of our clients are people like Dr. Fairchild; he understands on a very personal level not only what we do, but why we do it.

  The guys and I formed this operation when we became frustrated with the endless paper work and bureaucratic red tape that made it damn near impossible to do our job and, ultimately, it put victims in danger. Imagine your daughter being kidnapped at gunpoint to be sold on the deep web; her virginity is being auctioned off. She’s terrified, may have already experienced abuse at the hands of her captors, and she knows that time is running out. Now imagine her parents’ heartache when the international laws that are supposed to protect the public are the very things holding you back from going in and getting her.

  That’s where we come in. We’re not afraid to bypass the bullshit and go get the girl before she disappears, never to be seen again. People hire us when the job is too dangerous or too…unconventional…for law enforcement. We’re willing to cross lines they can’t for fear of losing their jobs or damaging their reputations. Our clients come from all walks of life, lawyers, judges -- even cops who can’t let that one case go, the one that keeps them up at night.

  There’s no one I trust more than my band of brothers in Undercover Elite. I’d take a bullet for any one of my brothers and they’d do the same for me.

  Chapter Two

  Windy

  “Okay, girl, tell me everything.” Melissa and I are cleaning up after the women’s support group meeting. The other volunteers have already left so we have a few minutes alone before we head back to the apartment for the night.

  “Melissa, I hate this because I feel like I’m putting you in the middle of my family drama…”

  “Your dad is the one doing that, not you. Let me guess, it’s the whole downtown Louisville is dangerous, blah, blah, blah. Does your dad have a problem with street people?”

  “You know my dad better than that. He has no problem with me supporting our community -- as long as I’m behind a desk, in his house, just writing a check.”

  “I don’t get it. With all the shit he saw go down back when he worked in the hospital emergency room. I mean, the hospital is more dangerous than the streets sometimes! With all the renovations they’ve done downtown and new businesses moving in, it really isn’t as dangerous anymore.”

  “That’s not completely true, Melissa. Even though things have gotten better, you still have the street element when the sun goes down. You’re down here by yourself with all the strip joints, prostitution, and drug dealers when all the businesses close for the day. During the day it draws professionals, tourists, and shoppers but we both know what goes on down here at night. When the sun goes down, it’s like another world.”

  “Okay, so are you finally ready to move in with me here so I’m safer, so you can protect me?” she asks dramatically, placing one hand over her heart and the other on her forehead, like a damsel in distress.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” I say, glaring at her with mock anger. I cross my arms in front of my chest before I continue smugly, “Yes, as a matter of fact, I am.”

  “You’re kidding…you’re finally ready to take me up on my offer to move into the center with me?” Melissa is bouncing up and down, she’s so excited at the news.

  “Yes, I am. I have a job interview to go to this afternoon, and if everything goes well, I’ll have a new job and start moving my stuff tomorrow.”

  “Oh, boy, if you think you got into a fight with your dad today, wait until you actually move out.”

  “I’ll deal with my dad; you deal with setting up a room for me here.”

  “I already have a room, right across the hall from mine.”

  I reach over, hugging my friend goodbye, “Thanks, Melissa, I really appreciate this. I’ll call you later and let you know how things go with the interview.”

  “Go get that job, girl, and declare your independence! It’s the only way you’re ever going to get out from under your dad’s thumb.”

  For some reason her statement makes me feel apprehensive. Even though my father is controlling, I have always had the safety net of family. It isn’t just about the money either. As much as I hate the overprotectiveness of my father, there is an element of truth in what he says about Melissa’s outreach being in a dangerous neighborhood—a dangerous neighborhood that is now going to be my neighborhood.

  Chapter Three

  Thorn

  I look at the man seat
ed across the table from me. He is a longtime friend as well as a client I’ve done quite a few jobs for, although it’s been a long time since those days. I can see the dark circles under his eyes and I wonder if the lack of sleep is due to him working long hours, or if he’s worrying about his daughter. Probably both -- and one definitely bothers me more than the other.

  “It’s my daughter, Thorn; she’s being so damn obstinate.”

  “And this is news, Doc? Your daughter was stubborn at fourteen; I can only imagine how hard-headed she is at twenty-four.”

  “You have no idea. You haven’t seen her in ten years, Thorn.”

  “You haven’t had me on a job for ten years.”

  “Well, that’s why I called you. I need you to watch her.”

  “She’s an adult now. You’re not asking me to watch over a child this time around. You want me to spy on your daughter.”

  Dr. Fairchild removes his wallet and slides a current picture of Windy across the hospital cafeteria table in my direction. I pick it up between two fingers, fully expecting to glance at it briefly before tossing it back onto the table and encouraging him to go home. But nothing could have prepared me for the sucker punch to my gut when I look down at the photograph. It’s her…but not her. Ten years is a long time. I had thought of the Fairchilds from time to time over the years and wished them well, but it still comes as a surprise to see the difference a decade has made in my little sidekick. No, the little girl who followed me around with a case of hero-worship is long gone…so is the teenage woman-child who would bake my favorite cookies and gaze up at me with a hard-to-hide schoolgirl crush. Hell no, the woman in this photograph is just that…a woman. A very sexy, very grown-up woman.

  Windy was always a pretty girl in a quiet, unobtrusive way, but now she’s nothing less than a knockout. Her face is more sculpted and those braids are long gone. My memory of the little girl starts to soften around the edges, replaced by a mane of blonde hair that is plenty long enough to wrap around my hand a time or two, to keep her right where I want her. Then there are luminous hazel eyes, a pair of gorgeous lips that I can easily see myself playing with, and luscious curves that are tempting enough to make my fists clench. Damn me. I shift uncomfortably in my seat, my body hardening in a completely primal, predatory response to the feminine image before me. I don’t tolerate any form of distraction during surveillance assignments; looks like this assignment is going to be one big distraction all by itself.

  I’d been prepared to tell the good doctor no, but not now. This photo changes everything. I decide on the spot that I’ll take the case, even if only for a day or two; just long enough to put the doc’s mind at ease – and satisfy my curiosity. Yeah, I’m damned curious about my little Windy who’s not so little anymore. If it turns out that she really is in danger, I’ll be the one to deal with it and neutralize the threat. I barely stifle the low growl that rises in my throat at the thought of protecting her. Nobody’s going to take care of her but me.

  “Can I keep this?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Thank you,” I say as I tuck my new prized possession into my wallet and stash it in my back pocket. “Now, tell me what’s going on that has you so concerned about your daughter’s safety.”

  “She insists on working in a women’s shelter with her best friend downtown.”

  I keep my facial expression neutral as I prepare to accept the fact that this may be a false alarm. I proceed carefully so as not to offend my old friend. “Dr. Fairchild, with all due respect, sir, she’s a grown woman. Personally, I find it admirable that she wants to give back to the community. You’ve obviously raised her right.”

  “I haven’t raised her to ignore her own safety by placing herself in harm’s way. You and I both know it isn’t safe for her to be working there. She’s gotten it into that thick skull of hers that it will help her in her law enforcement studies.”

  “To be honest with you, it probably will,” I say, intrigued by this new information.

  “Well, I might be able to handle her volunteering downtown during the day, but she plans on moving into the building and living there! That is unacceptable. I won’t stand for it,” he barks, angrily crossing his arms over this chest. “And that’s another thing…she’s studying to be a criminal profiler, wants to work at Our Lady interviewing the most twisted criminals she can find. Humor me on this, Thorn; I’m asking you as a friend, not as a private investigator.”

  I assure him that I’ll look into it and report back to him with my findings. I spend a few minutes sitting in my car, staring at the photo and coming to terms with the time that has passed since I have last seen my girl. Well, well. Turns out my Windy was serious about fighting crime after all. I’m impressed.

  Then I send an email to the guys, letting them know that I’m checking out a potential new case and will need at least a couple of days off the grid to focus on it.

  Chapter Four

  Windy

  Nothing about the nondescript, red brick building hints at the fact that some of the world’s worst serial killers are being housed here. It isn’t common knowledge that they are housed here in a separate, secure wing, away from the general patient population. Some are here because a judge has deemed that they are not guilty of their crimes by reason of insanity, or that they are unfit to stand trial. The most dangerous of these deviants surely belong in prison, but are here solely because they agreed to serve as case studies to benefit their fellow man – and to avoid serving a life sentence behind bars. In a sense, they have donated themselves to science way before the average citizen would have the opportunity to do so. Where else can I go to work with killers face to face in a protected environment?

  I know my choice of study and, eventually, career, is unconventional. But I don’t want to learn about the criminal mind in the pages of a text book; I want to experience it firsthand. I don’t need to read a horror novel or go to a scary movie to have my heart race with fear; I’m fully convinced man is more evil than any monster we can dream up in our morbid imaginations. Maybe I picked up on more of the angst running rampant in my childhood than I thought.

  I believe that both nature and nurture play a part in the making of a criminal. A combination of both can prove lethal. Perhaps if I can get into the minds of the most deeply troubled residents here at Our Lady of Tranquility, I can prevent some of the real life horrors in our society.

  Before I can change my mind, I take a deep breath and step out of my car, slamming the door a little harder than necessary. I take a couple of steps before I remember to lock the car. I’ll need to be more conscious of personal safety if I end up working here, so I might as well start now. I push the ‘lock’ button on my key fob and listen for the telltale chirp of the lock engaging before I walk away, taking firm steps toward my future.

  The interior is like any other hospital, complete with the standard Reception/Information Desk immediately to my right as I enter. I make my way over to the desk and eye the woman typing furiously on her computer as she balances the phone receiver between her shoulder and ear. It’s evident she’s been doing her job of multi-tasking for years by the way she is handling the juggling act so well. She looks up and greets me with a cool professionalism -- and continues to type without interruption. I start to speak but stop, mesmerized by how her fingers fly across the keyboard while she looks impatiently up at me. Clearly, I’m keeping her from about a million things she’d rather be doing.

  “What can I do for you?”

  “I’m here about the job as a research assistant.”

  “Human Resources is down the hall on the left.”

  She doesn’t bother to look up – or stop typing - when I tell her thanks and turn to make my way down the hall. At first glance, everything here seems calmly serene, but I know there is more here than meets the eye and that’s what I crave. Unlike most who find solace in things being drama free, I’m here to delve into the minds of those society has deemed outcasts – and rightfully s
o, their crimes so heinous as to turn the stomach of the most seasoned profiler.

  “Miss Fairchild,” I turn and look in the direction of the smooth voice calling out to me, and see a middle-aged man in a suit seated behind a desk. He motions for me to enter his office, so I do.

  “Please, take a seat,” he gestures toward the black leather chair across from his desk. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

  I look down at his nameplate, curious to see who this man is. I’m shocked but not altogether surprised to see he is the executive director of the hospital. This isn’t the standard interview process at all. I can already see my father’s influence all over this meeting and he isn’t even aware that my interview was scheduled to take place today.

  “Mr. Brinkley,” I address him as I sit and brush the imaginary lint from the black suit skirt I’m wearing. “I’m going to take a leap here and assume you know my father.” I don’t give him a chance to answer before I continue. “I’m certain it isn’t protocol for the executive director to interview potential research assistants. I did not get here on my father’s merit, but on my own. I’d like to keep it that way.”

  He shocks me when he locks his fingers behind his head and leans back in his chair, answering me with more of a challenge than a reply. “Why are you here, Miss Fairchild?”

  His gaze is steady, almost imposing and I take a moment to study the man eyeing me. He looks more like he just walked off the cover of GQ magazine than a creepy mental ward director. His dark hair is dark, almost black but with a hint of gray at the temples. His blue eyes watch me intently, almost like he’s sizing me up, looking for any weakness I may exhibit so he can pounce on it. He thinks I’m not tough enough for this job; I can see it in his eyes. He’s only solidifying my determination to get this job.

  “I’m certain I’m not the only person familiar with your father, the man is a revered medical professional in this community and beyond. And you still haven’t answered my question, Miss Fairchild.”