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Undercover Angel
Undercover Angel
Category:
Crime
Publisher: R.B. Publishing
Type: Fiction
Pages: 248
Copyright: October 29, 2016
Price: $2.99 (eBook)
A female cop goes undercover as a barmaid to solve two murders and a kidnapping. She's soon entangled in a world of gang violence and crime that could claim her as the next victim.
Ten years ago, four women and a man were murdered because of an evil scheme concocted by Oliver Koch, the late principal of Madison High School in Perryville, Ohio. After a decade of relative quietude in this rural town, two women are found murdered in August, 2016, and another one is missing. Meanwhile, police officer Angel Tolbert has recently been hired by her former boss, Captain Humphrey Barrett, to go undercover as a barmaid and investigate the murders and kidnapping, which may once again be tied to a brutal girl gang called the Fiends and some ruthless drug dealers. Angel soon finds herself in brutal game of cat and mouse that could ultimately claim her as the next victim.
Undercover Angel is the stand-alone sequel to Bullies of Madison High, which introduces a beautiful but tough-as-nails character whom the author plans to create a series around. Angel Tolbert is truly someone who every woman wants to be and every man desires.
Excerpt
Angel drove over to the Double Aces strip club in Munroe after leaving the police station. On the way, she phoned her boss Dan and told him she’d be a little late. She explained that she had a family emergency that would detain her for a half hour or so. Dan told her another girl could cover for her, but to come in as soon as she could.
While Perryville was more of a farm town, Munroe was a quaint community of English Tudors, clapboard houses and newer shopping centers. The newer buildings and homes were located to the east. And anyone who drove into town could see where the older section meshed with the new, as cobblestone streets gave way to slick new roads with emulsions of recycled plastics, rubber, carpet fibers and asphalt.
The Double Aces was located on Cherry Avenue in a former dairy warehouse built in the 1880s—just to the west of a modern panorama of restaurants, specialty stores and sleek offices.
Construction workers were digging up a section of cobblestones near the front of the strip club and replacing them with the latest in street technology. And as Angel puttered along the road, which was limited to one lane, a flagman flashed his six-foot high Stop sign before she could meander around the hub of activity.
“Come on,” she said, as she checked the clock in her Camaro. It was 8:05 p.m.
A string of cars coming from the opposite direction streamed down the open lane, as Angel waited for the flagman to change his sign. She tapped her fingers on her steering wheel and looked at the car clock. Five minutes later, the worker flashed the orange and black Slow sign, permitting Angel to circle around the construction site. Just before she stepped on the gas, a jackhammer thundered to life, jolting her from a sleepy stupor.
“Damn,” she said, as she accelerated.
“Slow,” one of the construction workers shouted.
“Oh, shove it,” she said under her breath.
She circled around the mess and made her way into the Double Aces parking lot.
Angel parked near the back of the expansive lot and walked into the arch-like side entrance. Two girls were dancing on the center stage as AC/DC’s Thunderstruck blared from the speakers.
A tall, muscular bouncer asked for her ID amid the clamor, but she could barely hear him. She flipped out her police badge, holding it up in the light for him to see.
“I need to speak to the owner,” she said, as the man studied her badge, perhaps thinking she’d just pulled it out of a box of Lucky Charms.
“Take the aisle along the far wall, then make a right when you get to the back hallway. The owner’s office is the last one on the left.”
“Okay. Thank you.”
Angel weaved through the crowd of horny guys and tables to the far end of the bar. When she reached the owner’s office, she knocked on the door.
“Who is it?” someone growled from the other side. If she didn’t know better, she’d have thought Barrett had taken up
a second job.
Angel didn’t want to shout “Police” in the middle of a strip club, thinking the claim could elicit a round of fire from a semiautomatic handgun or even an Uzi.
“I need to talk to you,” she shouted.
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