Undercover Justice

Fasten your seat belt...

You’re in for a white-knuckle ride.

Posing as criminal syndicate drivers, heiress Stephanie Shun and mechanic Arash Shamshiri want to take down a human trafficking ring. Each thinks the other is a bona fide member, but neither can resist the sparks igniting as they speed into a nightmare of revenge, danger and desire. And if they can’t trust their hearts, there’s bound to be a crash!

NICO ROSSO was a writer in search of a genre until he was introduced to romance by his wife, Zoë Archer. He’s worked in many forms and was deeply honored to have one of his romantic suspense novels be a finalist for the RWA RITA® Award. When he’s not writing, Nico can be found in his shop, building furniture for the California home he shares with his wife and their cats.

Also by Nico Rosso

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Slam Dance with the Devil

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Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

Undercover Justice

Nico Rosso

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-09382-8

UNDERCOVER JUSTICE

© 2019 Zachary N. DiPego

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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www.millsandboon.co.uk

Version: 2020-03-02

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Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Epilogue

About the Publisher

Chapter One

Stephanie Shun didn’t steal cars. Her father had always told her if there was a car she wanted that someone wasn’t willing to sell, there were people they could hire to steal it for her. But she’d stopped listening to him long ago, around the time she decided that his criminal empire tucked into a corner of Chinatown, San Francisco, wasn’t the legacy she wanted to be buried under.

And yet here she was, crouched next to a car in a dark parking lot, prying the plastic cover off the side-view mirror. To anyone who might catch her, it would look like she was a car thief, and that was exactly what she wanted. This job was the first step to ingratiating herself with a crew of drivers who contracted out to the worst criminals on the West Coast, and it had to look perfect. Nobody could know she was stealing her own car.

Once she had the side-view mirror cover separated out enough to spot a collection of thin wires, she placed a plastic wedge in the gap and pulled a multi-tool from her belt. Even if it was her car, bought and paid for with the profits from her various investments, it was still a crime to threaten the bodywork of the sleek Mercedes. Striving to minimize any exterior damage, she selected one of the wires and stripped the insulation from a section using the knife of the multi-tool.

Footsteps froze her. It was after three o’clock in the morning, and still someone was up on the second floor of the private parking lot to retrieve their car. One of the hazards of committing crimes in a city as populated as San Francisco: there was activity at all hours. She coiled her body by the front wheel, in case anyone was searching below the chassis. The buzzing lights on the concrete ceiling created deep shadows for her to hide in. She knew she was undetected by the security camera, but an individual might spot her, even though she wore all black and carried a black bag.

The quick pace of the footsteps put her mind at ease. A guard would’ve been less direct, but this person had no intention of lingering in the parking lot. They got into their car and closed the door. Stephanie used the sound of the engine starting to mask her retrieving an electronic device from her bag. Headlights turned on three rows over, making her shift her feet so they were in the shadow of the wheel next to her.

But the other car didn’t move. Checking their phone? Waiting for the heater to kick in? The night was cold, but Stephanie shivered with a deeper chill. Her watch read 3:21 a.m. The instruction from the driving crew boss was that she had to have a stolen car on the road by 3:30 a.m., when he would text her the next move. If she botched this job, it would kill her chances to get in with the crew. And if that happened, the ultimate target could slip through her fingers.

This was the one shot to find human traffickers who’d eluded law enforcement for too long. And while Stephanie had access to the law’s resources, she didn’t have to play by their rules. That was the point of re-forming Frontier Justice over a hundred years after her ancestor had first helped create the organization. The vigilante group wasn’t exactly legal then, or now, giving her the space she needed to go after the bad guys.

The other car in the parking lot finally chugged into gear and crept up the aisle. It was a risk, but the clock was ticking, so she resumed her work on stealing the Mercedes before the other car completely descended this level. She attached a small metal clip to the exposed wire in the side-view mirror and plugged that into the electronic device in her hand. The dim screen immediately started scrolling with information taken from the central computer of the coupe. Pushing buttons on the side of the screen narrowed the focus of the data scan until she located the factory-set key codes for the car.

She adjusted a mode switch on the side of the handmade device, pressed another button to broadcast the captured code and the doors to the Mercedes unlocked. Of course, she could’ve done all that with the key fob that sat in her Pacific Heights condo, but that wouldn’t make this theft look legit to the driving crew.

After detaching the clip from the wire and replacing the side-view mirror cover to a near-perfect standard, she eased open the passenger-side door and pushed her bag into the footwell. She climbed over the seat and slid behind the steering wheel. A press of the button on the dash brought the Mercedes purring to life.

She was going to miss driving this car. Undoubtedly, once she delivered it to the driving crew they’d replace the VIN and sell it on the black market. All the registration paperwork was tied to a shell company she owned that could never be traced back to her, thus maintaining her reputation for the criminals.

The sleek two-door coupe slithered from its parking spot and down the aisle. She checked her watch; still on time. Barely. As she eased the car down the circular ramp, she wondered if maybe she should’ve stolen her Audi that was parked one floor away. Or the Subaru tuned for street racing in her condo garage. But as much as she loved the handling of the coupe, she was ready to move on from this Mercedes. One of the last passengers she’d had was a first date that had fizzled as soon as the tech entrepreneur’s eyes had lit up while asking her about her father. It wasn’t the first time a man was more interested in dating Eddie Shun’s daughter rather than seeing her as simply Stephanie Shun.

All for the best, she sighed to herself. She’d gotten her thrills collecting the pieces to Frontier Justice and shooting at armed guards on a multimillion-dollar estate near San Jose during their very first mission. The first mission of this century, at least.

And there was no way that date would’ve acted as lookout while she’d stolen her own car.

She drove to the front gate of the parking lot, which lifted automatically, and slipped through, casually using her hand to obscure her face for the security cameras. Any guard there would’ve recognized her, but the whole gambit had to be airtight. If the information Frontier Justice had collected from police and FBI communications, as well as underworld rumors, was correct, the driving crew was tied to human trafficking run by the Seventh Syndicate, and those bastards didn’t miss a detail.

One block away from the parking garage, the phone she’d bought and set up for this mission buzzed with a text from the head of the driving crew, Ronald Olesk. She’d never actually met Olesk, but had made contact through a friend of a friend of a friend. The message was simple. A time and address.

“Son of a...” Tension rang in tight coils up her spine. She had ten minutes to get there. At this time of night, it shouldn’t be a problem. The real trouble was the address. It was a warehouse owned by her father.

* * *

THE LAST TIME Arash Shamshiri had robbed someone, he thought he was going to die. Maybe not that night, but he’d known that if he’d continued with that life he would’ve wound up with a bullet in him. Yet here he was, letting his muscle memory take over as he picked the lock to an office on the second floor of a warehouse catwalk.

He’d already cased the patterns of the guards from an upper window. Dim lights high in the warehouse turned everything into a mosaic of black and green. He’d creaked the window open during a gust of wind that had made the whole building groan. Climbing across girders and down steel supports had been the easy part. Now he was on the same level as three of the guards, scraping his old lock picks against the tumblers and knowing any second there would be shouting followed by shooting.

Luckily he hadn’t completely lost his touch and the lock gave way. The guards were at the farthest point of their rounds. He opened the door just wide enough to slide inside the office. Breathing slow in an attempt to keep his heart from pounding out of his chest, he crouched among the desks and file cabinets. Somewhere in this mess was the single piece of paper he’d been tasked to find.

It was a test. He’d known that when the instructions arrived in a text from Ronald Olesk. But it was a test he couldn’t fail. Arash knew how these gangs worked: prove yourself and you were in the door. Keep proving yourself and you gained their trust.

Once those murderers thought he was one of their own, he could strike.

But before he could think about revenge, he had to find the schedule for Eddie Shun’s produce trucks. The most up-to-date one would be on the top of any stack. From the way the broccoli and brussels sprouts were smelling on the warehouse floor, it was time to move them out. The drivers would probably arrive in just a couple of hours.

He checked a clock on the wall. Damn, it had taken longer to get into the office than he anticipated. The text from Olesk had been very specific. Arash was to get to the location on foot. His ride away from the warehouse would be arriving at 3:40 a.m. and departing before 3:41 a.m. He had four minutes to find the piece of paper and get to the street.

Panicking wouldn’t get this job done. He focused on the space. He’d been a truck driver before, making predawn deliveries while working his way through trade school. Manifests and schedules were always flying through these offices. The large desk at the center was the hub. He crept there and craned his head up to look over the surface.

The first thing he saw was one of the guards walking past the safety-glass windows that made up one side of the offices. Arash froze and his pulse thundered in his ears. He knew if he ducked out of the way too quickly the movement would tip the guard off. The man’s silhouette continued past the windows, then around another stretch of the catwalks.

Arash eased out a breath and refocused on the desk. Askew on one corner was a clipboard. Its grease-stained edges showed that it had traveled from the warehouse floor and back up to these offices. Keeping his eyes on the front windows, he stretched his arm out and snatched the clipboard back.

The content on the page was illegibly dark. He had a very powerful flashlight in his jacket pocket, but that would surely alert every guard in the place that he was picking through their business. He got as low as he could and crept toward the front windows to let the warehouse light bring the text into focus. The date at the top was today and the shipping times were all laid out in a grid with truck numbers and cargo.

Arash released the page from the clipboard and folded it into his jacket. He replaced the clipboard on the desk, then returned to the front door of the offices. The clock on the wall told him he had two minutes to meet his ride out of there. Not enough time to sneak his way back up to the roof. Hell, there wasn’t enough time to walk out the front door.

He stood up and opened the door to the office. He had to run, right past the guards.

* * *

STEPHANIE HADN’T WORN any rings, in case they’d caught the light and given her away while stealing her car, but now she wished she’d brought at least one so she could release a fraction of the tension by twisting it around her finger.

Her mother had always hated the habit. She’d wanted Stephanie to pick one set of jewelry and wear only that to demark her presence in the world. Changing it out every week had kept her grounded, though. A variety of rings felt differently on her fingers, making her focus on her hands. She hadn’t been ready to define herself as a teenager straining against a family and lifestyle she hadn’t chosen, and still wasn’t.

3:40 a.m. If her pickup wasn’t here in the next minute, she had to leave. Whoever they were, why the hell hadn’t they been early? Every second that ticked by with her parked in the shadows near her father’s warehouse was another opportunity for doom. If he found her there, her cover would be blown. And she had to operate with the confidence that Olesk and his crew had no idea who she was.

A side door on the warehouse slammed open. She jumped, startled, then quickly gathered her composure and put the car in gear. She’d stolen the ride, and now her job was getaway driver. A single figure sprinted onto the sidewalk, then toward her as she approached. Shadows enveloped him; she couldn’t pick out any of his features. He reached the car and threw open the passenger door.

Just then, two more men emerged from the warehouse door. One of them limped. Both held pistols. Her pickup leaped into the car and slammed the door closed. “Get us out of here.” He didn’t yell, but his urgency was unmistakable.

Not that she needed encouragement. The two armed guards were enough. She hit the gas and zipped past them before they could bring their guns up. The car handled the next corner perfectly and they were quickly away from the warehouse.

Her passenger was twisted around in his seat to watch the rear. When he turned to the front, she could finally steal a look at his face. Intense dark eyes peered forward. Black hair was pulled back into a short ponytail, accentuating his chiseled cheekbones and pronounced nose. He had a trim goatee. His mouth was set in a grim line. She guessed he was Middle Eastern, and honestly would’ve been happy to spend more time examining this handsome thirtysomething-year-old man’s distinctive features, but the street curved ahead again. And he was a member of a criminal driving crew she was intent on taking down.

He turned again to scan beside and behind them, bringing his shoulder and broad chest close to her in the small coupe. His body was covered in black clothes, but the cords of his neck and the energy that radiated from him showed how strong he was.

“Damn it...” he growled.

“Did you get what you went there for?” She couldn’t allow this job to go sideways and ruin her chance with Olesk.

“Of course I did,” he shot back. “Why do you think I was running away?”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“Three cars with their headlights off following us are the problem.” He pointed to a street parallel to theirs. Two sport-tuned compact cars and a high-end sedan prowled into an intersection, then veered directly toward Stephanie and her passenger.

She sneered, “Awesome,” and stood on the accelerator. Her passenger tugged his seat belt on and braced himself against the door frame. They zipped through the flat streets of the Dogpatch neighborhood, but she couldn’t shake the pursuers. “What’s your name?” she asked through a clenched jaw.

“Arash.” He continued to turn, tracking the other cars.

“Okay, Arash, in the side pocket of my bag at your feet is a transponder.” If this man was skilled enough to steal something from Eddie Shun, then he should be able to figure it out. Though he wasn’t so masterful that he got out of the warehouse undetected.

He pulled the bag into his lap and dived into the side. “Got it.” Holding the device up, he said, impressed, “These things are expensive.”

“Who says I bought it?” In fact, she had, from a third-party contact she had in the black market.

“Slick.” His gaze scanned her for a moment and she thought she detected a quick heat of attraction. It inspired an unexpected bloom of warmth across her chest. The two of them raced over the San Francisco streets and for the first time in a long time, she felt a little reckless. She shut it down immediately and focused on the road. Arash cooled, as well. He turned to the device in his hands. “You used this to get the Mercedes?” His thick fingers traced up the lead wire with the metal clip. “Picked up the key code from the CAN bus in the main computer.”

“Can you operate it?” There was no time to walk him through. The other cars were gaining, and she was going to run out of streets and wind up in the bay within a few blocks.

“Get me close.” He clicked over the device, and her quick glance told her he was setting it up to give the oncoming sedan a false key code. Like he’d read her mind.

“Ready?” She eased off the gas enough to allow the oncoming cars to close the gap.

“One second.” He continued to adjust the transponder.

Her composure threatened to crack. The cars were too close. Sweat chilled her arms. If any of those guards saw her, they’d know who she was. And if she screwed up this job, her chance to infiltrate Olesk’s crew would be ruined. “Time’s up.”

“I’m good.” Arash held up the device and looked out the back window. “Closer. We have to be within—”

“Three feet,” she finished for him. “I know.”

“Then put us in the sweet spot,” he clipped. One of the sports cars broke off from the formation to flank her. The other held tight to the closing sedan. She slowed, her heart racing, until the sedan nearly brushed her back bumper.

“Not yet!” she called out. Before Arash could question her, she yanked the steering wheel to the right and commanded, “Now!”

Arash hit the button as the sedan was swerving to adjust to her sudden move. The riding lights flashed on the sedan, then the car went dead. The sports car that had been next to it couldn’t get out of the way in time and jammed into the side of the sedan. Both the cars ground to a stop. Arash barked a harsh laugh of victory. “I have to get one of these.”

“Don’t steal mine.” She shared a glance with him, again shocked by the heat in the brief look. Was she turned on? No. Not by a criminal.

“Broadcasted key codes won’t work on the tuner.” He jammed the transceiver back into her bag. “Totally different security system.” One car remained on their trail. Her action with the sedan had slowed her down enough for it to keep a steady pace now. And it was gaining.

She sped through the streets, hugging corners and scanning ahead for anything she could use to stop the other car. Arash reached into his jacket and pulled out a dark metal object. Ice spiked through her nerves. “We don’t need a gun,” she growled. Whoever was chasing them was an employee of her father. While his businesses weren’t 100 percent legal, they also didn’t involve the kinds of crimes that hurt people. Like human trafficking.

To prove what she said, she navigated quickly into an alley and gained ground on the last car. Arash answered, “I’m not packing on this run.” He displayed the object in his hand, a heavy-duty flashlight. “But I can still punch back.” The passenger window glided down, blasting cold, briny air into the car. He leaned out the window and extended the flashlight back. Suddenly the alley behind her was filled with bright white strobing light.

The next street arrived and she steered hard to the left. The driver behind must’ve been dazzled by the strobe, because the sports car turned early and jammed its nose into the side of a building. Metal and plastic crunched. The last car was out of the race.