Nerds Like It Hot (Nerds, #6)(2)
Author: Vicki Lewis Thompson

"Might as well. The assignment’s totally FUBAR."

"Sorry, man."

"Ah, well. What’s a couple grand, anyway?" They both knew what it was—the difference between paying the office rent or losing the lease. Theoretically they could operate without an office, but in Lex’s opinion, doing business in a Starbucks wasn’t the best way to inspire client confidence. Tipping off a cheating wife that she was being watched wasn’t the best professional move in the world, either.

He should never have let Dante sweet-talk him into opening their own PI firm. He should have continued working for Aetna, even if investigating insurance fraud had become more boring than watching the home shopping channel. At least he’d had a steady paycheck.

Dante had always been his nemesis, and this latest thing was so typical, Dante treating him to the Hallelujah chorus in the middle of a stakeout. What a ridiculous situation. Ridiculous, embarrassing, and … more fun than he’d had in years. In spite of himself, Lex began to grin. The missus and the pool boy must have thought the Day of Judgment was upon them.

He glanced over at Dante, who was in earnest conversation with Cora. Good old Cora. She must have been something in her heyday, but at the time she’d moved into the Pasadena neighborhood where he and Dante had grown up, she’d retired from the movies and had seemed content to live on her savings.

Lex and Dante had taken turns mowing her lawn in exchange for stories of Marilyn Monroe, Jean Harlow, and Betty Grable. These days they both kept in touch for old times’ sake. Instead of the Pepperidge Farm cookies she’d given them as kids, she now mixed them killer martinis.

Dante snapped his cell phone closed. "She has a job for us."

"A job?" Lex couldn’t imagine. "Doing what? Did her lawn guy quit?" "Very funny."

"Maybe not. At this rate we should probably switch to landscape work."

"Look. I’m sorry about the cell phone thing, okay? Do you want to hear about Cora’s job or not?"

Lex sighed. "Hit me."

"A friend of hers, Gillian McCormick, needs someone to watch out for her."

"Gillian McCormick. I’ve heard Cora mention her. Are we talking bodyguards?"

"Something like that."

"Do we do that?" Lex wasn’t clear on what a bodyguard assignment entailed, and he liked to be clear about his responsibilities.

"We do now. I told her we could be there in about an hour, give or take, depending on freeway traffic. We can meet Gillian and work out the details."

"Yeah, but—"

"Look, it’s not like we have a ton of clients, okay? So Cora wants us to do this, and I said we would. She’s paying well. And we could use the income."

Lex controlled the urge to point out that they wouldn’t need to be taking jobs they weren’t quite qualified for if Dante hadn’t screwed up their latest assignment. "I suppose we can protect one lone woman, with two of us keeping an eye out. Who’s after her?"

"The Mafia."

Lex almost ran a red light. In the nick of time he slammed on the brakes. "What?" Visions of severed horses’ heads danced in his brain.

"Gillian was a witness to a murder. The Mob will probably want to eliminate her to protect its own."

Lex stared at him. "Do you hear yourself? Murder. Eliminating people. That’s hardly in the same league with taking candid shots of a wayward spouse, now, is it?"

"Are you chicken?"

"Hell, yes! This is way bigger than we are." "Speak for yourself."

"I’m speaking for both of us, Dante. You’re a very recent graduate of a crash course in private investigation procedures, which you barely passed, I might add, and I’m fresh from the exciting world of insurance fraud. We don’t do gangsters. I love Cora as much as you do, but she needs to hire somebody else. Somebody who has a freaking idea what the hell they’re doing."

"She wants us." Dante glanced at the intersection. "Green light. Go."

Lex checked traffic and pulled through the intersection. "You need to call her back and tell her we’re not qualified."

"Not going to. We can do this. And we get a cruise out of the deal. When was the last time you went on a cruise?"

"Never. I’ve never been on a cruise." The idea made him shudder. "They make you play games like bingo and shuffleboard. I would hate a cruise."

"Too bad. You’re going. Cora’s arranging it. Gillian will be on the cruise, and when we get to Mexico, she’ll jump ship and head off to South America, where she’ll hide out until the coast is clear. Once she leaves the ship, our job will be over and we can party all the way home. In the meantime, we’re supposed to keep her safe."

"On a cruise? There will be a gazillion people to worry about!"

"Did I mention Cora’s paying really well?"

"How well?" Lex really didn’t want to go back to Aetna on his hands and knees.

"We’ll be able to cover our rent for six months. And I know how you hate doing business out of Starbucks."

"Okay, so maybe this isn’t such a disaster." The prospect of financial stability eased Lex’s panic. "The Mob might not even figure out Gillian’s taking the cruise. I mean, there must be a shitload of Mexican cruises leaving from Long Beach these days."

"And we’ll finally be on one! All expenses paid! Babes in bikinis, umbrella drinks, limbo contests, more babes in bikin—"

"We’re supposed to be working, remember?" Lex sighed. "No drinking, and no babes. Especially no babes."

"What detective shows have you been watching? Magnum always had a babe."

"Is that why you wanted to be a private eye?" When Dante didn’t answer, Lex groaned. "I should have known."

"I don’t see a thing wrong with my motivations. And you need to watch more detective shows."

"I need to call Aetna and get my job back. I’ve gone into partnership with a nut job who thinks he’s Magnum."

"You can’t quit now. You promised Cora."

"No, you promised Cora. But you’re right. We have to do this thing for her. After that. I’m calling Aetna."

Dante smiled. "No you won’t."

"Watch me."

Two

NEIL HAD A BAD FEELING HE’D BEEN FOLLOWED TO the movie studio. When he’d come out the back door he’d spotted the black sedan parked next to his Porsche. His stepfather’s goons always drove black sedans. It had killed him to leave the Porsche, but he’d had no choice.

Breaking into a ran, he’d hopped the first bus that had appeared. He’d been forced to transfer three times, but eventually he’d made it to Nancy’s apartment and let himself in. A quick peek through the blinds had revealed a deserted street with no telltale black sedans cruising by. Excellent.

So far nobody, not even his stepfather’s henchmen, had made the connection between Neil and Nancy Roth. Nancy’s existence was his little secret, and he’d worked hard to keep it that way. She was a total turn-on, the most exciting thing in his life, and he wasn’t about to lose her.

He glanced down at the purple stiletto he’d carried all the way here. Great shoe. Too bad he hadn’t snagged the other one so Nancy could wear them. Probably too risky, but he would have loved the irony of that. Instead he had to destroy the shoe, which seemed like more of a crime than offing Theo.

Might as well get it over with. He had places to go and people to see. The night was young. Taking the shoe into the kitchen, he flipped on a light and pulled a medium-sized knife from the block sitting on the counter. Then he started hacking.

Ten minutes later, he’d nicked his thumb twice and all he had to show for it was a two-inch square of purple suede grinding away in the garbage disposal. This could take all night, and he still wasn’t sure what to do with the metal heel once he’d destroyed the rest of the shoe.

Neil looked at the stiletto with a mixture of frustration and respect. "Damn you, Jimmy Choo! You make one hell of a pump!" Maybe he should try incinerating it, but he had no lighter fluid.

There was a bottle of rum in the liquor cabinet, though. That should work. Soaking the shoe thoroughly as it lay in the sink, he found some matches, struck one and held it over the shoe. The resulting flame was spectacular, so spectacular that he leaped back from the sink.

Was that smell from the shoe burning? Or was he … on fire? Shit! A spark singed his scalp as he ran to the bathroom, threw on a light, and looked in the mirror. His hair was burning!

Spinning toward the shower stall, he turned on the spray and stock his head under at the same time the cell phone clipped to his belt played the tune he dreaded more than any other sound in the world. His stepfather was on the line.

He could let it go, of course. But ignoring a call from Phil Adamo could have serious consequences, both personal and financial. Mopping his hair with a towel, he put the phone to his ear.

Phil wasn’t the kind to waste his breath on pleasantries. "You were seen."

"Seen where?" His heart pounded as he tried to think of how he’d get out of this one.

"You know damned well where." Phil’s voice was icy with rage. "I should tell your mother, but I won’t, because it would kill her. Now listen, and listen good. I’m ordering you to leave the country. There’s no way I can smooth this over. You’ve gone too far."

Sweat trickled from his armpits down his ribs. "So, one of your guys saw me. What’s the big deal?"

"Not one of my guys. One of the studio’s makeup artists."

"How do they know that?"

"Enrique bumped into her coming out of Theo’s dressing room after you left and she was carrying her makeup case. A couple of phone calls, and we had an ID. So I’m telling you, and I’m not going to tell you again, leave the country. Enrique and Hector are taking care of the body, so the cops won’t have evidence right away, but we don’t know what the witness will do."

"Who is she?"

"No dice. You get nothing on this." "Can’t you take care of her?"

Phil’s voice was calm but deadly. "I haven’t decided yet. It would seem like the expedient thing, yet I keep telling myself that she doesn’t deserve to die because you are a vindictive little creep. So there’s no firm decision on that yet. I want you out of the country, Neil."

"What about Mom?"

"I’ll tell her you landed a role in an Italian film and you had to leave immediately. She’ll be fine. Give it a year and then get in touch with me. I’ll let you know if it’s safe."

Neil gulped. A year was like forever. No way was he staying out of the country for an entire year. He had a life. He had friends. He had Nancy. And he liked L.A. just fine. No reason to give that up because some makeup artist happened to see him conk Theo over the head. "Okay," he said. "I’ll hop a plane for Rio tonight."

"I mean it, Neil."

"Yeah, sure. I’ll throw a few things in a suitcase and head out."

"See that you do." The phone went dead.

Neil controlled the urge to throw it. Instead he walked back to the kitchen and surveyed the smoldering mess in the sink. God, it smelled worse than his hair, but it wasn’t recognizable anymore. Wrinkling his nose, he pulled the trashcan from under the sink and scooped the remains of the shoe into it. Then he tied the plastic ends of the garbage bag together. Garbage pickup was in the morning. He’d drop the bag in a Dumpster before he went to bed.

Returning to the bathroom, he switched on the makeup mirror and opened a drawer. Several of Nancy’s friends at the club worked for the studio. A few drinks, a few laughs, and Nancy would have the information about which makeup artist might have been working late tonight.

Neil took his time shaving, although he’d never had much of a beard. Then he trimmed off the singed ends of his blond hair. Not a great job, but the wig would cover up the damage. Later tonight he’d give himself a buzz cut. After cleansing his face, he began putting on his favorite color of foundation.

Fifteen minutes later, a woman dressed in a slinky black dress that complemented her auburn hair strolled out of the apartment and climbed into a cab. Nancy Roth was ready to party.

MAYBE IT WAS MARTINIS ON AN EMPTY STOMACH, OR maybe it was because she wasn’t wearing her glasses, but Gillian thought she looked a teensy bit like Marilyn Monroe, after all. Sitting in front of Cora’s dressing-table mirror with a bath towel around her shoulders, she admired the platinum curls and the makeup Cora had expertly applied. Her image was a little fuzzy, as if the cinematographer had chosen a soft lens approach.

After years of putting makeup on other people, Gillian had enjoyed having Cora do the honors. But the longer she sat there, the heavier the makeup felt on her skin. Thank God she wasn’t an actor who had to wear this stuff all the time.

"Darling, you’re gorgeous. I knew you would be." Cora picked up her martini glass and took a sip as she surveyed her handiwork. "You could win a look-alike contest, hands down. Even that little mole of yours is in the right place."

"I have to admit, I look halfway decent." She took a drink from her tumbler. "But that could be the gin talking."

"Nonsense. You’re fabulous. By the way, do you own a pair of contacts?"

"They’re at home. I don’t really like wearing them."

"Well, we can decide that later, I suppose. But I love your hair this way. You should have gone blond years ago."

Gillian shook her head. "Too much work. My hair grows fast. I’ll have dark roots in no time. You know me. I’m all about low maintenance."

"Where’s the fun in that?" Cora drained her glass and put it down on the glass-topped dressing table with a precise click. "It’s like painting every wall in your house white."

"I like white walls." Gillian glanced around at the pink walls of Cora’s bedroom and realized that might have sounded rude. "Not that other colors aren’t nice. But with colors you have to bother with a different kind of touch-up paint for each room. With white, you’re set for the whole house."

Cora waved a hand heavy with rings. "You’re young. You don’t have to worry about the ghastly effect of white walls on your skin tones. But I still can’t see how you can live with all white. Don’t you crave more excitement than that?"