Love Undercover

Love

Undercover

by

Domina

Alexandra

Love Undercover © 2020 Domina Alexandra

Triplicity Publishing, LLC

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form without permission.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events of any kind, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Printed in the United States of America

First Edition – 2020

Cover Design: Triplicity Publishing, LLC

Editor: Ashley Hutchison - Triplicity Publishing, LLC

I would like to acknowledge my editor Ashley Hutchison for her dedication to making this book come to life. Remi is her own person and stubborn, but is far more loved because of you.

There's nothing like support. So this is to my lovely partner. Taunja, you make my long editing days feel like a much needed vacation. Thanks for your patience and love.

Also by the Author

A Night Claimed

I Belong with Her

Chapter One

Yo, Remi! my partner, Carmen, shouted, struggling for breath as he sprinted toward me.

I chuckled at the sight of him while tossing my duffel bag over my shoulder. You all right there, buddy?

He slammed his fist against his chest a few times before clearing his throat to speak. Don’t be a smartass, Remi. I just ate a huge breakfast burrito.

Excuses, I teased.

He scowled, but otherwise did not respond to my ribbing. Captain’s asking for you.

I groaned in protest. Our 24-hour shift was finally over and I was ready to go home. It was six in the morning, and the only thing filling my thoughts was a warm, buttery croissant. I stared at our newly remodeled station, wishing I’d been a minute faster in leaving. Squad cars were lined up neatly in the front parking lot of the two-story station, which was painted black and blue, as if the gaggle of uniformed officers entering and exiting the building at all hours didn’t make it clear enough that it was a police station.

Who complained about me now? I shifted my weight to my left leg, reacting to an ever-growing awareness of the heavy duffel bag still slung over my shoulder.

Nothing like that. Carmen patted my free shoulder and gave me a reassuring smile, his ginger hair bright against the grey, Oregonian sky. See you tomorrow.

I tossed the bag into the backseat of my car, then turned on my heel in a huff. I headed back inside the station, opening the glass double doors. Somehow, I never could manage to leave the station immediately after a shift. And even though I knew now I wasn’t trudging toward a disciplinary meeting, I still felt anxious. Perhaps it was only the weighty hollowness in my stomach. God, I need food.

There were a few lieutenants gossiping idly in the bullpen a few feet away from a detective who was absentmindedly thumbing through a stack of papers at his desk while greedily slurping coffee from his mug. Not one of them acknowledged me as I passed by the bullpen, which caused my anxiety to worsen. The door of the captain’s office appeared in my view once I turned the first corner in the station and I swallowed with some difficulty as I approached.

The door was modestly ajar, but the crevice was wide enough that I was able to spy the captain at his desk surrounded by two men and a woman in freshly pressed suits. This was going to be interesting. I knocked tentatively and my breath caught in my throat as the captain’s gaze rose to meet mine.

Officer Remi, he gestured for me to come inside, close the door behind you.

I entered the room warily, the bottom of my feet dragging against the carpet, and claimed a seat in the center that put me face-to-face with the captain. Could this be about my exam application? I perked up at the possibility. Recently, I had taken the exam that would ensure my promotion to detective, but I knew that couldn’t be the purpose for this meeting. This appeared to be something entirely different.

I took a minute to scan the room to get a good look at the others – the man in a gray suit sitting in the chair closest to me was drumming his fingertips against its arm a bit more forcefully than necessary, while the other man was propped up against the full-length window and seemed more concerned with counting the web-like cracks in the corner of the ceiling than my presence. The woman stood and faced the captain and me with unnerving focus. Her posture was perfect and her long, blonde hair was perfectly groomed and swept up into a tight bun. She cleared her throat.

Take a seat, Officer Remi. The captain’s lips pressed together tightly to form a thin line.

I gulped as quietly as was possible, but I was certain my anxiety was palpable to everyone in the room.

Sure thing, I replied nervously. I forced a cough in an attempt to undo the spell of tension and smiled. I know, I know. It’s hard to turn away from this pretty smile, I quipped not so gracefully.

The woman used her hand to shield a smile. I wasn’t certain if it was because she found my remark genuinely funny or if she smiled simply out of courtesy. Either way, my words had done their work – the air in the office already felt four pounds lighter. My captain tended to keep his office uncluttered with no pictures, save for the one of his family positioned facing him on his desk. There were also a few plaques and medals hung on the wall, highlighting his time in the military and 20-year service as a police officer.

The captain shook his head at me. He was accustomed to my awkward comments, but the rigidity in his demeanor indicated to me that he wasn’t in the mood for my japing. He waved his hand around the room at the others. So, what do you all think?

The guy at the window shrugged. She could pass for an 18-year-old.

Um…what?

Her oafish humor is like that of a teenager. She’s a…hm…what is the term? The sitting man snapped his fingers repeatedly, as if that action would summon the answer he needed. He turned directly to the woman.

I glanced at the woman expectantly.

Her eyes examined me thoroughly, taking stock of my attributes like a used car salesman attempting to determine the value of a new car on the lot. She’s a smartass.

Damn. She had me pegged. I shrugged, feeling my body relax with the shifting tide of the vibe in the office. I’ve been called that a few times.

Her red, pouty lips tremored for the space of a heartbeat. She nearly failed at stifling her laughter.

I reluctantly returned my attention to the captain. Do I have to play charades, or will someone fill me in?

I think she’s perfect, the detective interrupted.

I leaned back into my chair and bit my tongue. I had a bad habit of speaking before thinking, and my patience ran out as often as the gas in my eight-cylinder truck. It was too early for me to be playing guessing games or scolding men who clearly lacked basic manners.

Officer Remi, you are one of my best officers. I know you applied for the detective exam, so I want you to consider what you are about to be offered as a detective position on a trial basis.

Now I was listening.

The woman spoke next, I’m Jessica Barnes, the assistant district attorney. This is my colleague, Terrence Simpson. She pointed to the man sitting in the chair.

The man at the window threw his hand up. Detective Johnson.

There we go. Everyone was finally starting to conversate properly. Hello, everyone.

Well, Officer Remi, it’s a pleasure to meet you. You were a part of the drug bust we had last month. Johnson walked forward and gave me a proper handshake, then returned to his place at the window. I saw you in passing that day and hoped we’d meet again.

I nodded. Our biggest in two years.

Your captain here considers you to be a capable officer. Says you can handle pretty much anything thrown at you.

I waited for the captain to speak for me, but he remained silent. I kept my eyes on the detective and said, I came from the streets. It makes me more cautious and resourceful.

We need more officers like you.

Thanks.

Jessica smoothed a wrinkle in the sleeve of her blazer. Lately, we have been arresting quite a bit of teens for possession. Far more than usual. I have collected a fair amount of evidence that indicates the drugs are funneling through a high school, but not enough to bring charges.

Which high school? I asked, my interest immediately piqued.

Western High in Gresham.

I was familiar with the school. It was about 45 minutes from my station in Beaverton. Everyone here was familiar with it, truth be told. Law enforcement had been called out there more than a dozen times in the last year alone. Needless to say, Western High did not have a stellar reputation. A couple of news reports last year put them permanently on our radar and gossip spread from station to station on a regular basis.

Listen Remi, you know how to get results. The deep bass of my captain’s voice tore through the air. He had my attention once again. Thankfully, this school is outside of our district, so you won’t be recognized. We would normally use a cop within the same district, but truth is, we don’t have anyone qualified for this job and we want a woman. Unfortunately, in the drug business, women are still seen as less threatening. I believe you’re the person for this task.

I furrowed my brows and tucked in my bottom lip. What exactly do you want from me?

We want you to go undercover, Jessica announced.

I was certain my heart had stopped beating from the thrilling jolt of Jessica’s statement. Undercover. The sensation of the word tumbling around in my brain caused spasms of excitement to rocket through my limbs. Going undercover was unexpected, but I was eager to embrace the task. If I performed well over the course of this operation, then becoming a detective wouldn’t be a dream anymore – it would be a reality.

I took a deep breath in an effort to downplay my enthusiasm and appear more like an indifferent professional. Well, I’m capable, but I am not qualified to teach a bunch of teenagers. However, if you guys need me, I’ll give you 100%.

Officer Remi, we aren’t asking you to go undercover as a teacher. The kids would have a hard time trusting you that way. Taking note of my confused expression, Detective Johnson continued, You would go undercover as a high school senior. Though you are 28, you could pass for a teenager, especially if you rid yourself of your clean-cut appearance.

More spasms. I couldn’t contain my eagerness anymore. When do I start?

Monday morning, Jessica replied, a surprised expression plastered across her face.

I struggled to listen through the haze of my excitement while they elaborated on the details of the operation, and after 30 minutes, the room fell silent as all of them stared at me in anticipation of my answer, as if their explanations would somehow make me change my mind.

I’m going undercover. Little to no backup. Drugs. Dealing with emotional teens. Having homework again. Pretend parents. Annoying teachers.

I grinned toothily. I’m in.

*

For the next several hours, the five of us discussed my role in detail. My name would be Remi Schroeder. Jessica argued it would be easier to keep my first name since there was already so much information that I would be expected to absorb in two days’ time. I felt relieved. It meant there was less of a chance I would make an error.

It was still a bit strange. I was suddenly 18 again and I would be placed in foster program that housed older teens. It was the government’s way of helping teens who were aging out make a smoother transition into the adult world. Safe housing. My new identity was a transfer from another school district living with a single parent and two other kids. Jessica divulged to me that the family would be ignorant of my undercover status. As a child born to parents who were serious drug addicts, I was expected to display a defensive and closed-off demeanor to be believable and to attract the sort of students that I needed to appeal to in order to gather evidence. I was permitted to smoke pot and do some other mild criminal activities to maintain my cover.

In the last hour of the meeting I was left alone with Jessica and I was utterly exhausted. When Jessica finally rose from her seat, I noticed that the button at the top of her cream-colored blouse was missing. I couldn’t stop my gaze from roaming the landscape of her chest, following the soft curves of her breasts and delighting in the feeling the sight of them sparked in my core.

Officer Remi.

I was caught. I knew it. I glanced up at her face, smiling sheepishly and hoping she wouldn’t say anything.

I would like you to meet me at this address in two days. From there, I’ll take you to where you’ll be living and introduce you to your foster mom. She handed me a small piece of paper.

And who will she think you are? I asked.

Your social worker, of course. She grabbed her coat from the back of the chair. You’ll need a makeover first. You need a rough, youthful vibe. And you’ll need to learn all the latest slang.

I chuckled and scratched my head. Right. I wouldn’t want my cover blown by all of my ‘old lady’ vernacular.

It seems I was correct in calling you a smartass. Jessica rolled her eyes and shoved her arms into her coat.

That can’t be the only thing that you’ve learned about me. The pitch of my voice was slightly higher than normal. I was flirting. At least, I was trying to flirt.

I stood and moved closer to her, leaning into the table. To anyone who walked into the office, it would look like two women having a casual conversation. I crossed my arms over my chest, tilting my head to one side. I knew there was a connection between us and hoped she would meet me halfway.

Jessica pursed her lips, her left brow raised in curiosity. Well, I’ve learned from your colleagues you’re good at getting what you want. I’m just wondering…what is it you want right now? Her tone was suggestive.

You’re a smart woman. I’m sure you can figure it out.

After a few excruciatingly long seconds, Jessica made a move, but it was toward the door. I’ll be at Jake’s Steakhouse at five.

I nodded and watched her as she as she left the room. It’s going to be a fun night.

*

I met Jessica at the address provided two days later. It was a vacant warehouse.

Officer Remi. As she approached, I took note of how the pantsuit she was wearing hugged her figure. I bit my lip.

Ms. Barnes. We shook hands cordially. After our fun time the night we met, we both agreed to uphold a strictly professional relationship.

You ready to meet your mom?

I scoffed. As long as I don’t have to call her that.

A smile threatened to erupt at the corners of her mouth. She pursed her lips to suppress it. You have to remember that you are now an 18-year-old. You are no longer Officer Remi. Play your role.

I can do that.

Remi? A blue-haired woman sauntered over to us. I took her for somewhere in her mid-30s, but the multiple piercings on her face made me unsure. She smiled at me and offered her hand. I’m your stylist.

Jessica gestured for me to follow the woman and then made her exit without farewell or ceremony. I blew air out between my lips emphatically. Play the role. The warehouse was familiar to me. It was a safe space for law enforcement to gather before a bust. We were in one big open space with only a few windows. The floors were concrete, and the walls were red brick. It smelled surprisingly fresh, though the place looked as if it had mold forming in every corner. There were two desks in the center with a large mirror and an incredible amount of beauty products – most of which I didn’t recognize.

My long hair was cut and dyed a stunning raven, left at shoulder-length with waves. The stylist added a few layers of burgundy at the front, insisting that it would improve my image with the other teenagers. My septum was pierced shortly after my hair was finished, and I was then shoved into skinny jeans and a white tank top. A pair of ratty converses completed the look.

Done, the stylist said, backing away to let me stand.

I nodded my thanks and then left the warehouse swiftly, ready to begin my work.

Remi Schroeder. The deep bass of the captain’s voice nearly caused me to jump, but I managed to keep my composure as he neared. He extended his hand for me to shake.

Captain. I took his hand. He looked me over, nodding as he did so, seemingly impressed by the new look. I know. Huge makeover.

Yes, it is.

We should go, Jessica said. Her eyes scanned over me a second longer. Try not to have a bunch of high school students drooling over you.

I chuckle and pursed my lips. Is this your way of telling me, I still look as hot as yesterday?

Jessica ignored my question, rolling her eyes and walked off. I followed behind, laughing and knowing her answer.

*

Jessica parked her car in front of a beige house that sat in stark contrast to the others on both sides of the street. In each direction I spotted a few vacant houses with broken windows and graffiti sprayed across the rotting boards of their exteriors. There were several more houses and apartments further down the street. Five or six blocks, by my estimate. A few teens were sitting on the curb across from my new home, talking and watching the smaller children riding their bikes in the eerily quiet street.

A woman stepped out onto the porch. She was dark-skinned with a touch of silver in her black hair that betrayed her age. There were two kids standing behind her – a boy who looked to be about 10, slender like his mother, and a daughter who I guessed was about 16 or 17. As she emerged from behind her mother, her long braids whipped behind her. The boy remained close to his mother but kept his eyes on me.

The report on this family Jessica had given me was thorough, and I had spent much of the past two days memorizing it. The foster mom was a single parent whose husband passed away several years ago, leaving her to care for their children alone.

Ready? Jessica asked.

I sighed. No going back now.

I exited the car, remembering that I needed to appear both somewhat nervous and yet detached. A nearly impossible combination. Honestly, I was nervous, so at least I wouldn’t have to fake that emotion. It wasn’t only because it was my first operation, but also because I had been living independently for many years, and the reason for that was not what anyone would expect.

It took me a long time to make myself into the woman I was now, a protector of my community. I was practically an adult before I finished elementary school. I moved out of my parents’ house when I was 16 and never returned. I couldn’t handle living in a house where my presence was only tolerated when I was needed to bring home drugs. Every few years my parents called to ask for money, so playing the role of a callous kid would not be altogether difficult.

Mrs. Bryant. Jessica greeted the woman with a smile and waved for me to approach. This is Remi Schroeder.

Mrs. Bryant held her hand out to me. I’m Tonya Bryant. This is my daughter, Myra. She pulled her daughter to her side. The boy tried to hide behind Mrs. Bryant, but she moved to allow