Detective Tigress: When Undercover Work Gets Too Personal

Detective Leonard had spent years chasing criminals, but lately, his most dangerous interrogations were taking place at home.

“Leonard, for the love of God! This is the fifth time this year you've signed up for that special undercover program, and the fifth time they've put you in a body like that!”

Leonard smiled innocently.

“Come on, sweetheart. You know they pay very well for this project. The new police guidelines and the union agreement mean they can't keep sending women into these kinds of dangerous undercover operations. So the program offers a pretty substantial bonus for volunteers.”

His wife let out an exasperated sigh.

“I know it pays well. The first time, you told me the money would be enough for us to retire comfortably. But you keep going back! Either you're planning to retire five times over, or you're actually starting to enjoy these so-called secret operations!”

Leonard pretended to adjust an imaginary earring while stealing a glance at the closet mirror. He tried to hide the little smile creeping across his perfectly shaped lips, painted a striking shade of red.

The tiger-print dress was short, tight, and held firmly to his new curves. It challenged everything he thought he knew about gravity during his forty years as a stocky, bearded homicide detective.

“Darling, you're taking this completely out of context,” he protested.

His voice was now soft but confident, an absurd contrast to the gruff, permanently irritated tone everyone at the precinct knew so well.

He tried to fold his arms across his chest, only to discover that his new biological assets made the gesture surprisingly awkward.

“Organized crime has changed. The billionaire mob bosses don't fall for cheap undercover tricks anymore. If we're going to catch that bastard at the casino tonight, the internal affairs laboratory has to make sure its consciousness-transfer program delivers results. I happen to be the perfect distraction!”

“The perfect distraction?” his wife exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air before sitting on the bed.

She stared at her husband, who looked more like an international fashion model than a veteran police officer.

“Leonard, on your first mission, you were a six-foot blonde bombshell. On the second, you were a mysterious redhead in leather. And now you come home looking like the queen of the jungle, ready to lead a Carnival parade! And you still expect me to believe this is all about doing your duty?”

Leonard took a step forward. His gold stiletto heel clicked against the wooden floor, and his newly pronounced hips swayed in a way he couldn't quite control.

He steadied himself against the doorframe and took a deep breath.

“I swear it's strictly professional, sweetheart. Tonight's hazard bonus will pay for the kitchen renovation and our new car.”

He winked, making use of the hypnotic gaze that came with his new face.

“Besides, look on the bright side. How many wives can claim they're married to the most sought-after woman in the entire police department for a weekend?”

His wife inhaled slowly, struggling to maintain a straight face. There was something utterly ridiculous about seeing such a spectacular woman wearing the exact same grumpy, intensely focused expression as her hard-boiled husband.

“All right, Detective Tigress,” she said sarcastically, folding her arms and blocking his way to the door. “But before you go off to save the city, we have two little matters to settle. Two rather interesting matters, as it happens.”

Leonard swallowed.

Even inside a body that radiated confidence and glamour, the instincts of a long-married husband warned him that he was walking straight into a minefield.

“Matters, sweetheart? What matters?” he asked, trying to maintain the smooth voice of his disguise. Unfortunately, the nervousness creeping into his words gave him away.

His wife picked up his phone from the dresser and waved it in the air. Her smile was so cold that the hair on the back of Leonard's neck stood on end.

“First, what's this message from your patrol partner, that chubby sergeant of yours? He's inviting you to celebrate the end of the operation at his apartment. Apparently, he's even bought an expensive bottle of champagne for the two of you to celebrate the successful case.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“Since when does police work involve drinking French champagne at a fellow officer's apartment, Leonard?”

“Sweetheart, that country bumpkin has absolutely no idea it's me!” Leonard stammered, adjusting the neckline of his tiger-print dress, which suddenly seemed much tighter around his chest.

“He thinks I'm a new agent transferred from the capital! He's just trying to be... friendly!”

“Friendly. Of course.”

She narrowed her eyes and took a calculated step toward him.

“Which brings me to the second matter. I was sorting out our bills this morning, and our credit card statement included a rather hefty charge from a luxury boutique downtown.”

Leonard went very still.

“The description mentions a black lace lingerie set. One I definitely haven't found in my wardrobe. And your old men's closet contains nothing but those faded cotton briefs you refuse to throw away.”

She held up the phone.

“So tell me, Detective. Where is that lingerie, and who's supposed to wear it before your operation begins?”

Leonard stared at the ceiling, sweating beneath his flawless Seoul-inspired makeup.

His ultra-realistic disguise might fool the mob, but apparently no software update in the world could save him from an interrogation conducted by his own wife.

“But look on the bright side...” he ventured, offering a strained smile as he cautiously stepped backward in his stilettos. “If Internal Affairs arrests me for misuse of the department's resources, at least the lingerie will match the dress.”

His wife pointed toward the door, caught in indignation.

“Go on! Get to that mission before I confiscate the card and make you work in sweatpants for the rest of your life!”

She paused, giving him one final, dangerously sweet smile.

“But tomorrow morning, you and I are going to have a very serious conversation about your new definition of a work uniform.”

Leonard straightened his shoulders, adjusted his imaginary earring one last time, and headed for the door.

The mob boss at the casino had no idea what was coming.

Neither, apparently, did Detective Leonard.