Undercover in High Heels Read Online Free

panic-stricken singles, Dana had found me in the parking lot watching uniformed officers drape crime-scene tape around the remnants of the VW. I was grateful for the hand to hold, since it was clear from the whole evil-eye thing that Ramirez and I wouldn’t be holding hands anytime soon. But the sight of so many men in uniform was almost too much for Miss Sexual Sobriety.
    I turned my head to the left.
    “No, ” Dana said, pointing to the right. “I said three o’clock.”
    “Why didn’t you just say, ‘right, ’ then?” I mumbled, eyeing the object of Dana’s ogling. A tall, slim guy with a big nose and dark hair, dressed in uniform blues, slouched near the rear entrance, questioning the Olsen twin.
    “He is delish!” Dana made the kind of yummy sound in her throat that I usually reserved for the tiramisu at Gianni’s.
    “I thought you were off men?”
    “Uh-huh. Oh!” she gasped. “Maddie, eleven o’clock. Blond, blue eyes, and biceps to die for!” She was practically licking her chops.
    “Dana, how long has it been since you’ve had sex?”
    She sighed, watching Mr. Biceps sweep shards of glass into an evidence baggie. “Way too long.” She tilted her head as he leaned over the VW, showing off glutes that, I’ll admit, had even me staring. “Since Monday. Four whole days.”
    Oh, brother.
    “If I make it a week, I get a chip.”
    “You do realize I’ve had hangnails that have lasted longer than a week?”
    Dana ignored me. “Uh-oh. Bad news at four o’clock.”
    I turned my head to the left.
    “No.” Dana grabbed my chin and tilted my head right. “ Four o’clock.”
    Uh-oh was right. Ramirez was picking his way over the broken glass, evidence cones, and shot-out car parts, headed right toward us. And by the rigid set of his shoulders, this was not going to be a friendly sort of chat.
    “Um, maybe I’ll just…um…” Dana trailed off, wisely giving Bad Cop a wide berth as she joined the rest of the looky-loos behind the yellow crime-scene tape.
    Ramirez barely acknowledged her as she passed, his eyes boring in on me, his arms crossed over his chest. He stopped in front of me, shaking his head, his unreadable Bad Cop face reminding me of the one my Irish Catholic grandmother had used when she’d interrogated my five-year-old self about which “creative” little girl had drawn all over her kitchen walls with a Crayola.
    He didn’t say anything, just gave me that hard stare. I bit my lip, vowing not to be the one who spoke first. Okay, so I’d kind of mucked up his evening, but he’d started it by going out with Crazy Chick in the first place.
    I crossed my own arms over my own chest, narrowed my eyes at him, and prepared to wait him out.
    We stood like that for a full five seconds.
    One guess who cracked first.
    “Okay, so here’s the thing: I had this thong, and it was totally cute, and it was going to waste just sitting at home watching TV, and I wouldn’t have minded so much, but you were canceling our ‘or something, ’ and, unlike Dana, I haven’t gotten any ‘or something’ in over a week—that’s long enough to get a chip at SA, you know! And then ‘something’ came up and you didn’t want me meeting your friends, even though I’m so not smothery, and then you were at a hookup club. I mean, you could have told me she was carrying a gun and I so wouldn’t have come. Or at least I would have waited outside. So, I’m sorry you got shot at.”
    Ramirez just shook his head at me, and I wasn’tsure if he thought I was pathetic or was just trying to keep from laughing at me.
    “Maddie, you seriously thought I was here on a date?”
    “Um, well, yeah. I mean, with that message you left and the hookup bar, what was I supposed to think?”
    Ramirez rolled his eyes at me. “Isabel was an informant, Maddie. She’s the girlfriend of a major drug distributor and she was meeting me to give me details about the next shipment coming into his organization. Information