Nerd Gone Wild (3 page)

“Here are the facilities.” Betsy walked over to a door and opened it. “There’s only one bathroom for every two rooms, so you share with the person on the other side. That would be Ally.”

He blinked in surprise. The arrangement suited him perfectly, but he’d bet Ally would have a few things to say about it. “Are you sure that will be okay with her?”

“She knew when she made the reservation that all the rooms share a bath with another room. Here at the lodge, that’s what folks have to do. This is the Loose Moose, not the Hyatt Regency.”

“I understand that, but if we’re the only two people here, it seems like she could have her own bathroom.” And he could picture her demanding it the minute she realized he was on the other side of her bathroom door. Might as well settle it now and avoid a scene.

“She could, but that would mean me cleaning two bathrooms and turning up the heat for two bathrooms. Heat is expensive, and cleaning is my job in the winter. I don’t bring in a cleaning woman, on account of business being slow. I would appreciate it if you two would be willing to share.”

“I’m more than willing to share. It’s just—”

“Mitchell, for pity’s sake. Do you realize that you’re trying to change what is going to be to your advantage?”

From a surveillance standpoint, she was absolutely right, but he decided to play dumb. “How’s that?”

She blew out a breath. “I see you might need some coaching if you intend to get anywhere with Ally. Maybe that’s why she’s so put out with you. You may be a smart man when it comes to office matters, but when it comes to women, I’m afraid you’re not up to snuff.”

“Could be. You’d better draw me a picture.”

She nodded. “Only too happy to help. Even if I’m not getting any, that doesn’t mean I begrudge others their fun. See, sharing a bathroom will be cozy, almost like you’re in the same suite.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “Think of the opportunities. Her in there naked. Or you in there naked.”

“I… ah… see what you mean.” And he didn’t want to go down that road, ever.

The day he’d met Ally ten months ago she’d just climbed out of the swimming pool at the Jarrett mansion in Bel Air. He’d noted immediately that she was gorgeous.

What wasn’t to like about silky black hair slicked back from a cameo face lit with intelligent green eyes? And that wasn’t taking into consideration a figure that was an outstanding endorsement for Speedo. But he’d killed his tug of sexual interest then, and he would continue to kill it.

Lusting after Ally violated the spirit of the assignment he’d been given by Ally’s grandmother. Because of the respect he had for Madeline Jarrett, he wouldn’t let her down, even though she’d never know.

When Madeline was dying of cancer, she’d hired him to pose as her personal assistant. Four months ago she’d passed on, leaving a will that officially commissioned him to handle the estate. Unofficially he was to safeguard Ally. Orphaned at a young age, Ally had become the focus of her grandmother’s life and the ultimate recipient of the Jarrett fortune, making her a very wealthy young woman in need of protection.

Enter Mitch, who covered his PI and bodyguard status by disguising himself as a nerd. He wished the pretense hadn’t been so easy to maintain. In no time the routine had come back to him. Once again he felt like the skinny eighth-grader he used to be, the one with bad eyes, good report cards, and a fondness for detail. In high school he’d bulked up, bought contacts, and let his grades slip. Goodbye, geek, hello, cool dude.

Now he’d reversed the process, and it had been discouragingly simple to do. Apparently you could take the boy out of Nerdville, but you couldn’t take Nerdville out of the boy. After all his efforts to turn himself into James Bond, he’d slipped into the role of Bill Gates in no time. Fortunately, Ally wasn’t attracted to nerds.

“So all you have to do,” Betsy said, “is let Ally know that she’ll be helping me out by saving the cost of heating and the work of cleaning. She’s a nice person. She won’t want to make extra work or waste resources.”

“Okay, I’ll try that.” He even thought it might work. Ally
was
a nice person. She’d put her own life on hold for some time because her sick grandmother had craved having her near.

Mitch wasn’t surprised that Ally wanted to escape now that the need for hanging around the mansion was gone. He just wished she hadn’t decided to escape up here. It could be a coincidence that Kurt Jarrett lived in Alaska, but Mitch didn’t think so. He guessed that Ally had been in contact with her stepuncle, who had to be stewing because he’d been cut out of the will.

“Then I’ll go on downstairs,” Betsy said. “Holler if you need anything.” She patted his arm on her way out the door.

Mitch waited until he heard her footsteps on the stairs before he closed and locked his bedroom door. After throwing his ugly orange parka on the bed, he went into the bathroom and tried the door into Ally’s room. It was open.

The security in this place sucked. No one should be required to share a bathroom with a stranger, and apparently that happened at the Loose Moose on a regular basis. The wrong kind of bathroom-mate could steal you blind.

But for him, this setup was ideal. He could bug at will. Her bedroom was similar to his, only with a slightly different type of wooden dresser against the wall, an iron bedstead with more curvy scrollwork, and another color and pattern for the comforter. Without warning, he had a sudden, potent image of Ally naked on that bed, fingers wrapped around those curved iron pieces while he…
Wow, where had that come from?

Wherever it had come from, he was sending it right back, plus the erection that had come along for the ride. His job was to protect Ally from gold diggers, not turn into one. It would look like the fox guarding the henhouse, and if she didn’t immediately see it, someone would inevitably point it out to her.

Mitch looked in the closet and noticed two decent-sized suitcases on the floor. She had a couple of lightweight jackets hanging in the closet, along with several long-sleeved cotton shirts. The dresser was stuffed with sweaters in various colors of the rainbow, sweats, and jeans.

And underwear. He didn’t spend much time looking at the underwear. Dangerous territory, considering that little flash of sexual urgency that had taken him by surprise. Maybe Betsy had created a monster with her suggestive comments.

In any case, Ally had enough clothes to last her a while, especially if Porcupine had a Laundromat. She hadn’t brought a single skirt, or anything to dress up in, for that matter. That figured. She was here to tramp around in the snowy woods and take pictures of whatever showed up.

Returning to the bathroom, Mitch found her toothbrush and toothpaste on the counter beside the sink, along with a hairbrush, some lotion, and a tube of lipstick. Unless she’d taken all her makeup with her in her backpack, which didn’t seem likely, she hadn’t brought anything on this trip except lipstick.

That fit with his image of Ally. She was the type to travel light, unwilling to let anything, or anyone, slow her down. That was why she resented him so much. She saw him as an anchor. And he was more of an anchor than she guessed.

The bathroom had no tub, only a shower stall. He pulled back the plastic curtain decorated with moose and canoes. Her shampoo and conditioner sat on a ledge in there, along with a razor. He would have taken her for a girl who got herself waxed. Then again, waxing might not be an option in Porcupine. Maybe she’d thought ahead.

When a picture of Ally in the shower shaving her legs wandered into his misbehaving brain, he got rid of it faster than he had the naked-on-the-bed scene. If he kept disciplining his mind this way, soon he’d think of her in a strictly platonic way. Or at least, that was the idea.

He needed to get over to the Top Hat bar, though. From the way she’d skedaddled out of the lodge, she’d been eager to tip back a few, and he didn’t want to deal with her when she was sloshed—sloshed because she was ticked off about his arrival, to be more precise about it.

Moving faster now, he returned to his room and unzipped his suitcase. For now, he’d install one listening device under her bed. That way he’d be alerted to her movements. He was back in her room attaching the bug to the leg of the bed under a decorative skirt when a paralyzing thought came to him. What if she liked to masturbate?

Oh, hell, she probably didn’t do that, and he had a one-track mind to even be thinking such a thing. Or if she did do that normally, she’d be too tired from all her adventures in the snow and trying to take pictures of wild animals to think about sex. But she had Betsy for a landlady, and Betsy lived and breathed the subject.

All righty then, if she masturbated, so be it. He’d deal with that when it happened. Surveillance meant sometimes hearing things that made you uncomfortable, even things that made you feel horny. On the PI side of his business, he’d come across plenty of sexual situations—a man with more than one woman, a woman with more than one guy, men with men, women with women, and even men and/or women with animals.

He was tough. He could handle a simple masturbation scene if the need should arise. Bad choice of words. If the need came up. That was no better. Shit. He’d just do it. No problem. Part of the job.

One bug was enough for now. He had a nifty little gizmo to plant in her backpack when he got the chance, a personal sort of LoJack that would allow him to trace her anywhere she went. He’d tried to plant it before she’d left for Alaska, but he hadn’t been able to without taking a big risk that she’d suspect him of being up to something.

Her grandmother had been worried about fortune hunters in general, but she’d been specifically worried about Kurt Jarrett. With Madeline dead, Ally was the only person standing between Kurt and the Jarrett fortune. If anything happened to Ally, Kurt, the only remaining relative, would get it all. That meant Mitch had to be very alert and very cautious. Extremely cautious.

At last he was ready to head to the bar. Putting on the orange parka, the orange knit hat with the pom-pom, and the earmuffs was a humiliating experience. He’d searched the discount stores until he’d found this hideous ensemble and whenever he had it on he tried to avoid seeing any reflection of himself anywhere.

Leaving on the lamp sitting on top of the dresser, he left the room, locked up and pocketed the key. He wasn’t surprised upon descending the stairs to find Betsy ensconced behind the registration counter once again.

“Just take a minute to see the parlor,” she said.

“I really should get over there and find out what Ally’s up to.”

“It’ll only take a minute. Maybe it’ll inspire you.”

Mitch took off his earmuffs and unzipped his jacket. “If we make it quick.”

Ten minutes later, Mitch emerged from the parlor biting the inside of his mouth to keep from laughing. Entertainment in Alaska must be severely limited if Betsy had snared seven men with that over-the-top setting.

“Unbelievable, isn’t it?” Betsy said, following Mm out.

“Mm.” Mitch nodded energetically, not trusting himself to speak.

“Good luck with Ally. I’ll probably be over there in a little while, myself. Most everyone in Porcupine usually ends up at the Top Hat before the night is through.”

Mitch cleared his throat. “Then I’ll see you later, Betsy.” Bracing himself, he opened the door. The wind cut right through him and it felt as if icicles were piercing his eyeballs. The temperature had dropped at least another twenty degrees since he was out here last.

With great effort he closed the door behind him, located the Top Hat by the jaunty neon sign, and started toward it. He hated cold weather, hated snow, hated sleet, ice, cold wind—all that winter nonsense. That’s why he’d moved from Chicago to L.A. eight years ago.

Then he’d struggled to build his investigative and personal protection business in sunny Southern California because he simply could not tolerate the idea of going back to cold weather. Now look at him. Freezing his ass off in Alaska, for God’s sake.

The job wasn’t supposed to be like this. When Madeline had hired him, he’d pictured keeping an eye on Ally in Southern California. Where it was warm. He hadn’t known about this Kurt Jarrett/Alaska angle.

Grumbling to himself, Mitch took off his glasses because they were crusted with ice. The clear-lens glasses were only for show, anyway, part of his nerd disguise. He wore contacts. He couldn’t afford to go with prescription glasses because if they happened to come off in a tight situation he’d be nearly blind.

The door to the Top Hat opened out, and he had to give it a mighty pull to conquer the wind wanting to keep it closed. When he jumped inside, the door slammed behind him with a loud whack.

Nobody noticed. Everyone was too busy clapping and cheering for the woman dancing on top of the bar. The woman was Ally.