Nerds Like It Hot (Nerds, #6)
Author: Vicki Lewis Thompson

One

“GILLIAN, DARLING, ITS CORA. FOUR OUT OF FIVE women surveyed say that nerds are amazing in bed. You simply must go on this cruise with me. Kiss, kiss."

Gillian erased Cora’s voice mail from her cell and picked up her makeup kit. She’d stayed at the studio later than usual to tidy up the makeup room, knowing tomorrow she’d be working on Theo Patterson, who was terminally fastidious. He was also a royal PITA.

Matter of fact, she could hear raised voices coming from his dressing room right this minute, which wasn’t surprising. He treated people with all the finesse of a belt sander. Now that he’d landed the Tony Curtis role in the Some Like It Hot remake, he’d be worse. Unfortunately, he’d requested her because she’d done a decent job on him for his last film.

Looping the strap for her makeup case over her shoulder and grabbing her purse, she headed down the hall. The argument taking place in Theo’s dressing room was partly obscured by the construction noise and laughter of the tech crew hard at work on tomorrow’s set. Gillian had an early call in the morning, which meant she needed to stop by Cora’s on her way home, bid her friend bon voyage, and convince her that she’d have to go cruising alone.

Times were tough, and if Gillian tried to get the time off, she would be fired. Cora should understand that. She used to be in the business. But ever since she’d heard about this nerd-themed cruise sailing out of Long Beach, she’d been all hot for them to go together. She’d even booked a double in hopes Gillian would wangle four days of vacation time.

But no matter how dateless Gillian felt at the moment, she wasn’t desperate enough to accompany an eighty-two-year-old woman on a cruise full of nerdlings of all ages. Cora thought Gillian would find her soul mate, which was more than a little insulting. Just because a girl wore glasses and kept her checkbook balanced didn’t mean she was a nerd or that she wanted to date one.

Besides, an August cruise guaranteed that passengers would be running around in bathing suits. Gillian wanted to lose at least ten pounds before anyone, even a clueless nerd, saw her semi-naked. Ten pounds weren’t going to disappear in less than twenty-four hours, which was when the nerd boat sailed.

As Gillian approached Theo’s dressing room, the angry voices became more distinct.

"You have the talent of a salamander!" shouted whoever was in there arguing with Theo. "I was supposed to get that role!"

Neil Rucker? Everyone said he’d left for Barbados in a total snit after losing out to Theo for the role of Joe. Apparently Neil and his snit had returned.

"My dear boy, I have more talent in my left nut than you have in your entire scrawny body."

Gillian knew she shouldn’t eavesdrop, but this was too juicy to pass up. Besides, she had a professional interest in the fight. If it got physical, she’d be responsible for covering up the damage on Theo’s pretty face in the morning. Maybe she should hang around behind the wardrobe rack in the hall and see what developed.

"Be careful, Theo." Neil lowered his voice. "Remember who you’re talking to."

"Hey. Mafia boy, if you’re trying to threaten me with your gangsta connections, save your gin-soaked breath. I refuse to be intimidated."

Gillian had to give Theo credit. Or maybe his ego was making him stupid. Mysterious accidents still happened in L. A., and Neil’s stepfather, Phil Adamo, was a constant shadowy presence in town.

"I don’t need my stinkin’ stepfather, if that’s what you mean. Watch out, a**hole. I have a stiletto and I know how to use it."

"Put down my Jimmy Choo this instant. And get yourself a better scriptwriter. That’s the worst line I’ve ever heard in my life."

"May it be the last line you ever hear!"

"I’m so scared."

Okay, that was enough. Gillian moved from her hiding place. Time to intervene before somebody got hurt. But as she started toward the door, she heard a sharp crack, a groan, and the sound of something heavy falling to the floor. Like … Theo?

The dressing room door opened. Gillian had a split second to decide whether to confront Neil about whatever had happened in there or slip back behind the rack of clothes. She thought about Neil’s stepfather and slipped behind the rack. Once Neil had left, she’d go help Theo.

Neil hurried down the hall carrying a purple pump with a five-inch metal heel. Gillian recognized it as part of Theo’s audition outfit. Theo loved those shoes. He would never have let Neil walk out with one of them unless he was in no position to argue, which meant he’d been hit in the head or in the balls.

Gillian crept quietly around the rack of clothes and into Theo’s dressing room, all the while trying desperately to recall her first-aid course from high school. She vaguely remembered you were supposed to cover an unconscious person. So if Theo happened to be unconscious, she’d cover him with something, and once she was sure Neil had left the building, she’d sound the alarm.

Neil was more than a little bit scary, and she didn’t want some member of the tech crew to act like a hero and try to detain him. The cops could take care of it. Then again, maybe Theo wouldn’t even want to call the cops and risk the bad publicity.

But when she stepped inside the dressing room and found Theo lying there with his eyes rolled back in his head and his chest not moving at all, she realized he wouldn’t have anything to say about bad publicity ever again.

She lost track of time as she stood there staring at: Theo. dead in his purple dressing gown. He’d been nak*d under it, which left her with a problem as to where to rest her gaze. She didn’t want to look at his eyes, which were totally creepy, but the bloody spot on his temple where the heel of the shoe had landed wasn’t much better.

That left the rest of him, and the robe had twisted when he fell, revealing far more of Theo Patterson than she’d ever wanted to see. Well, she had been slightly curious about whether the rumors were true, that his bad behavior was compensation for a tiny dick. Score one for the gossip mill.

Gradually the shock of seeing Theo dead gave way to an icky sense of horror. Neil Rucker had killed Theo Patterson with the metal heel of a purple Jimmy Choo, and she was the only person who could testify to that fact. She was as brave as the next person, which meant not very.

Because she’d seen all versions of The Godfather, she knew that a witness to a murder committed by the stepson of a known Mob boss was a marked woman. Gillian had never aspired to that. Her name prominently displayed in the film credits was one thing. Being famous among gangsters was something else again.

None of her first aid would do Theo any good, so why hang around? Let someone else find Theo, someone who would have no idea who had done this thing. Later she could make an anonymous phone call, maybe use a voice scrambler. She didn’t know where a person bought a voice scrambler, but that was a minor detail. First she had to vamoose.

Backing slowly out of the dressing room, she turned and ran smack into somebody. She steadied her glasses and looked up, afraid that Neil had returned. One glance at the swarthy complexion of the heavyset man told her that this wasn’t Neil. But it might be somebody from Neil’s underworld.

"Uh, excuse me, I’m late," she said. Lame, but all she could think of. She was lucky anything came out when she felt as if she’d swallowed a large cocktail olive whole.

The man looked at her closely. "Are you okay? You look upset."

"I’m terrific! Just very late! Bye!" She hurried off, her makeup case banging against her side as she race-walked to the exit.

"Wait!" the man called after her. "I want to ask you something!"

"No time!" She didn’t stop until she was out the door and tucked into her Saturn with the locks depressed. The adrenaline rush made her shake so bad she couldn’t find her keys, and once she did, she couldn’t seem to get the key in the ignition.

She’d finally started the motor when the swarthy guy burst out of the back door of the studio. Gillian put the car in reverse and peeled out. Damn it, somebody had witnessed her being a witness. She’d sat through enough movies to know the solution to that problem. She had to disappear.

"YOU HAVE TO DO MORE THAN DISAPPEAR." CORA paced the living room of her bungalow, martini glass in hand. "You have to transform yourself in the process." She turned to Gillian with a dramatic sweep of her red caftan. Age might have added a few extra pounds, but it hadn’t altered Cora’s regal bearing. She could pass for a woman twenty years younger. "You realize that you must go on this cruise tomorrow, darling."

"What can the cruise do for me?" Gillian had asked Cora to serve her a martini in an eight-ounce tumbler. No point in messing with classy stemware at a time like this. Her Saturn was parked inside Cora’s two-car garage, so unless she’d been followed, she was temporarily safe.

"The cruise is a vehicle to get you out of the country," Cora said. "From there you can go anywhere."

"Like South America." Between the gin and the idea of fleeing to South America, she was getting light-headed. She thought of her mother living back in Trenton. She’d have to visit her in disguise. She’d have to send her coded messages through Cora until the coast was clear, which might take years.

Cora studied her with a critical eye. "You need to cut your hair shorter, go blond."

"Oh, Cora, I don’t know. Blond looks good on you. but I don’t think that I—"

"Nonsense. You’ll look fabulous. With a different wardrobe and contacts instead of glasses, you’ll make a perfect Marilyn."

"Monroe?"

"Absolutely, darling. I’ve thought so for ages. You’ve been hiding your light under a bushel."

"And I want to keep on hiding it! The Mob wants to wipe me out!"

"All the more reason to take your look in the opposite direction, turn yourself into a blond bombshell. We’ll start with your hair."

Gillian stared at Cora. Cora’s hair, currently honey-colored and cut in a short bob, always looked salon perfect. "You know how to do that?"

"My dear, I’ve been doing my own for years. Now go into my bathroom and change into the robe hanging on the back of the door."

Gillian took another gulp of her drink. "Couldn’t I just buy a wig?"

"No. Wigs come off. And besides, you aren’t leaving this house until you look like somebody else entirely. We’re about to make Gillian McCormick vanish into thin air."

AFTER CORA FINISHED GILLIAN’S DYE JOB, SHE LEFT her in the bathroom to shower and shampoo. Now was the perfect time to make a critical phone call. She walked into the bedroom she’d converted into an office and reached for the receiver of her retro forties-style phone. Pulling off her clip earring, she tucked her hair behind her ear.

A disguise would help Gillian, and the cruise was handy as a getaway plan, but Gillian could use more than that. She needed a couple of bodyguards on the cruise. Fortunately Cora knew exactly who to call, two friends who would drop everything if she needed them.

When she connected with Lex Manchester’s voice mail, she hung up and tried Dante Fiorello’s number. Then she crossed her fingers and prayed that Dante would pick up. This was no time to play phone tag. She wanted to hire both men before Gillian had a chance to object.

Gillian probably hadn’t thought of the monetary ramifications of this flight out of the country, but Cora had. She’d dip into her retirement savings to hire the two-man PI team and pull out another chunk for Gillian to survive on until she’d established herself in a foreign country. In order to convince Gillian to take the cash, Cora was prepared to lie about the vastness of her savings.

Ever since she’d met Gillian on the set of a fund-raising TV special, Cora had felt an affinity with the girl. There were a million reasons why they’d clicked, including Gillian’s inherent kindness. Marilyn had been kind like that, and Gillian’s uncanny resemblance to her made the connection even stronger.

Gillian was too young to re-create the friendship Cora had shared with Marilyn, but she was exactly the right age to substitute for the granddaughter Cora had never had. Cora had always suspected foul play in Marilyn’s death. She hadn’t been able to save her friend all those years ago, but she would, by God, save Gillian now.

CROUCHED BESIDE HIS PARTNER IN THE BUSHES next to a ranch-style house in Ventura, Lex felt the vibration of his cell phone and ignored it. Instead he concentrated on the three-inch gap in the curtains that gave him a restricted view of the master bedroom. Lucky for him the gap was directly opposite the bed where his client’s nak*d wife lay moaning beneath the sweaty body of the pool boy.

"Fake moans." Dante said under his breath. "Too evenly spaced."

Lex shot him a warning glance. They’d managed to creep up to the open bedroom window undetected, which was a miracle considering Dante had tripped on the brick edging surrounding the flower bed. Lex had counted on a closed window and a working air conditioner, but apparently he had neither, so he and Dante had to be quiet.

Dante wasn’t a quiet kind of guy, nor a coordinated kind of guy. That was a dangerous combo when trying to skulk under an open window. Fortunately, the two people on the bed were making plenty of their own noise, but that didn’t mean Lex condoned unnecessary conversation.

Dante was all about unnecessary conversation. Consequently, in his school days he’d practically lived in the principal’s office. Most times Lex had been dragged in there with him, as an accomplice. Some things never changed.

Lex checked his digital camera to make sure the flash was off before raising it above the window ledge. As he rested his finger on the shutter button, the Hallelujah chorus erupted from the vicinity of Dante’s belt.

Lex’s four-letter response was drowned out by the yelping of the couple on the bed and the sound of feet thumping to the floor. Lex took off, followed closely by Dante and his musical cell phone, the cell phone he’d forgotten to torn off before leaving the car. Lex was ready to kill him.

They vaulted the low patio wall and ran to the Toyota parked at the corner. Lex jumped into the driver’s seat and started the car, not really caring whether Dante was coming or not. But his partner managed to hop in and slam the door before Lex stomped on the gas pedal and peeled out,

Dante unclipped his now-silent phone from his belt and leaned against the seat with a sigh. "Cora. Might as well call her back."