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  Allowing himself to be attracted to her was unprofessional. Worrying about whether she was attracted to him was idiotic. She was heading off into Mexico sometime in the next four days. Unless Lex proposed to head off into Mexico with her, it didn't matter whether she found him attractive or not. And he wasn't planning to go with her. Of course not.

  Or had he been harboring that idea in the back of his mind? His reaction to her performance with Dante might be a clue that he had thought about it on some level. Maybe he'd imagined some dramatic scene where she wished him a tearful good-bye, and he would tenderly let her know that he'd considered all the angles and was coming with her. In his fantasy, she would be ecstatic about that.

  The reality might be something else entirely.

  "Sir."

  "Hmm?" Lex turned toward the bartender.

  "Your nuts."

  "Isn't that the truth."

  "Excuse me?"

  "Nothing. Thanks so much." Picking up the bowl, Lex started back toward the table. That's when he noticed a stocky, dark-haired man sitting alone in a far corner of the bar. He had a beer in front of him and he was smoking a cigarette.

  He looked enough like someone who could be Mafia that he made Lex uneasy. Had he been there before? Lex couldn't remember seeing him, and he'd taken a quick inventory of the customers when they'd arrived.

  He set the nuts on the table. "Be right back." A can-do PI would walk right over there and find out what the guy had to say for himself.

  "Are you upset?" Dante called after him. "Because I didn't mean to horn in on your territory."

  "I'm not upset, and I don't have a territory. I just need to talk to someone." What he'd say when he got to the man's table, he had no idea. With luck something would come to him.

  The man glanced up as Lex approached. He wore wire-rimmed glasses and looked Italian. His dark slacks and white shirt were nondescript enough to be considered nerdy, but there was nothing distinctive about him or his clothes.

  "Is my cigarette bothering you?" the guy said in a soft voice. "I was hoping if I sat over here in the corner, it wouldn't be a problem."

  "God, no, it's not bothering me," Lex said. "It smells terrific, in fact. My girlfriend made me give them up a month ago, and I'm going crazy. She wouldn't let me bring any on the cruise."

  The man smiled. "So you'd like to bum a cancer stick?"

  "Yeah. And if we could sit and have a little conversation while I smoke it, that would be great. I told my girlfriend that I thought I recognized you from high school, but I can say that after we talked, I figured out you weren't who I thought." He tried to get a look at the man's nametag, but it hung down below the level of the table.

  "She's the blonde in the red?"

  "That's her." Lex decided he might as well enjoy saying that while he could, even if it wouldn't ever be true.

  Taking a pack of cigarettes out of his shirt pocket, the man shook one out in Lex's direction. "She won't believe that lame story about a high school buddy, you know."

  "Maybe not, but I'll chance it." He took the cigarette and picked up the lighter lying on the table. His smoking experience consisted of about a month's worth back in college. The cigarette felt like a lollypop stick in his mouth, and he had to flick the wheel on the lighter several times before he got a flame.

  "I hate to be responsible for a lover's spat."

  "No problem. I'm Lex Manchester, by the way." Talking made the cigarette wiggle, so he had to stop until he got it lit.

  "Yeah, I read your nametag."

  So far, the guy had more information about Lex than Lex had about him. Then he took a drag on the cigarette and started to choke.

  "You okay?"

  "Yeah." His eyes began to water. Bumming a cigarette might not have been the best move. He used the first excuse he could think of. "I'm sort of…asthmatic." He took the cigarette out of his mouth before he mangled it with his coughing.

  "If you're asthmatic, you shouldn't smoke," the guy said.

  "I know, I know. But I crave it." As if to prove his point, he took another drag on the cigarette. The smoke affected him just as much, but this time he was determined not to launch into another coughing fit. He swallowed rapidly, trying to stave off the coughing, but the strain must have shown on his face.

  "You don't look good," the guy said. "Have a drink of my beer." He pushed it toward Lex.

  Lex took a gulp of the beer, which helped, but he still had to do quite a bit of coughing. Some PI he was turning out to be. One little cigarette and he was hacking up a lung.

  "Your girlfriend's a good singer."

  "I'll tell her you said so." Lex took a deep breath and studied the glowing end of the cigarette, the way he'd seen Bogie do in a movie.

  "The other guy, not so much."

  "He was just keeping her company up there. So, uh, what brings you on this cruise?"

  "This and that."

  Lex nodded and took a short puff on the cigarette. This time he only coughed twice. "This tastes great. I appreciate it, Mr...." His implied question hung between them.

  "Looks like your girlfriend is going back for more."

  Lex glanced over his shoulder to see Gillian standing on the karaoke stage, alone this time. "So she is. So, are you from California? Or did you fly in for the cruise?"

  "I'm from Vegas. You should turn around and watch this. I think she's going to sing 'Diamonds Are a Girl's Best Friend.' I love that number."

  Lex scooted around in his chair and bumped the end of his cigarette against his jacket lapel. If he hadn't brushed the ash away he would have set himself on fire. Smoking required more practice than he remembered. He made a note not to use it as a conversational gambit unless he was prepared to improve his routine.

  "Man, she looks exactly like Marilyn. Does she know that?"

  "I think that's what she's going for." Lex took another nonchalant puff on his cigarette and coughed into his closed fist. He hoped that looked a little more macho. "She could do impressions."

  "Mm." Lex didn't know how Marilyn impressions would go over in South America. They might love it, for all he knew.

  Then Gillian began to sing. She was tentative at first, but as the song progressed, she gained confidence. Before Lex knew what hit him, he was drawn into the moment, hanging on every phrase, his gaze glued to her as she smoothed her hands up her thighs and wiggled in a very Marilyn-like way. She was so hot, and he was …getting a boner. Wonderful. Just what he needed.

  As the song drew to its dramatic climax, he felt a sharp pain in his index finger and looked down to discover that the cigarette had burned down to that point. With a yelp he dropped it to the carpet, which wasn't what you'd call a brilliant solution. The carpet began to smolder, and he started stomping on the spot.

  Fortunately the other people in the room, including Mr. No-name from Vegas, were clapping and stomping in tribute to Gillian's song, so Lex's stomping on the smoking carpet could be disguised if he clapped at the same time. He proceeded to do that, but all in all, he wasn't very pleased with how the episode had gone.

  Standing, he held out his hand in one last attempt to get something concrete for his efforts. "Thank you for the smoke, Mr...."

  "Michelangelo. Hector Michelangelo." The guy shook Lex's hand. "Tell your girlfriend she should try impersonations in Vegas. I think she'd make good money there."

  Lex wasn't cheered at hearing the Italian name. It could mean nothing, or it could be the information that clinched who this was. Maybe Hector hadn't figured out who Gillian was, though. "Her name is Norma Jean," he said, in case that would help anything at all.

  Hector laughed. "Sure it is."

  "No, really."

  "If she wants to be Norma Jean, then let her be Norma Jean. Nothing wrong with that."

  "Thanks for the cigarette. See you around the ship." "I'm sure you will."

  Lex left the table with a crummy taste in his mouth and no real knowledge as to whether he'd talked to an assassin or not. If Hector
was the Mafia thug who was supposed to get rid of Gillian, did he know that Norma Jean was the person he was looking for? One thing Lex was absolutely sure about—Hector was no nerd.

  GILLIAN CAME BACK TO THE TABLE FLYING HIGH Inspite of the tiny crowd, she'd spiked the applause meter to a six, so she got a prize, which turned out to be a bottle of champagne. She'd chosen the moment when Lex had made his strange journey over to the corner of the room to climb back up on the karaoke stage. She had no idea if he'd caught her act or not, but he was back by the time she returned to the table.

  To her immense gratification, Dante, Cora, and even Lex were on their feet applauding as she found her seat. Lex held her chair for her, and she smiled at him. "Woo-hoo! That was fun!" She hugged her champagne bottle to her chest. "I've never won anything before."

  "Congratulations," Cora said. "You were magnificent. Marilyn herself couldn't have done a better job."

  "That's for sure," Dante said. "You must have been channeling her, because you had all the moves."

  "Very nice," Lex said.

  "Thanks." She wrinkled her nose. "Who around here smells like an ashtray?"

  "That would be me," Lex said. "I decided to check out the guy over there in the corner."

  "He must have blown a ton of smoke in your direction." Gilllian waved a hand between her seat and Lex's. Then she glanced over at the man Lex was talking about, and her elation over her performance disappeared. "Mafia."

  "Now, now," Cora said. "We don't know that."

  "No, we sure don't," Dante said. "You folks are profiling again. Stocky and Italian does not automatically make him Mafia."

  "No, but he could be," Lex said. "He's from Vegas, and his name is Hector Michelangelo. I asked him what brought him on the cruise, and he was evasive."

  "I would expect everyone on this cruise to be evasive if you asked them that question," Cora said. "Suppose you came on this cruise to find the love of your life. Would you admit that?"

  Gillian decided not to look at the Italian guy in the corner anymore. Looking at him gave her the creeps. "Does he know who I am?"

  "I told him you were Norma Jean. I don't think he bought it."

  "Maybe not," Cora said. "But she doesn't look like Gillian McCormick anymore, either. We'll keep an eye on him, though. I'm glad you made the contact, Lex. Good work. But you stink."

  "I don't mind." Gillian recognized that Lex had questioned the man on her behalf, and she was grateful. "He picked up his stinkiness in the line of duty."

  "Thanks." Lex seemed pleased by her tolerant attitude.

  "You're welcome." As she polished off her martini, she thought of Cora's assessment, that Lex had been jealous when she'd performed a duet with Dante. "Do you want to try a duet with me?"

  He hesitated. As he opened his mouth to respond, the intercom came to life and announced the second dinner seating. "Guess I'll have to take a rain check." He looked relieved.

  As they walked down to the dining room, she fell into step beside him. "Would you have done it? If the dinner announcement hadn't come in the nick of time to save you, I mean."

  "I'd like to think I would have."

  She smiled, happy with that response. Singing a karaoke duet was stepping way out of Lex's comfort zone, but he'd seriously considered doing it, for her. That was better than a bottle of champagne, any day.

  When they walked into the dining room, she had to laugh. The nerd theme had been carried out in the centerpieces. Yes, there were flowers, but interspersed with roses and carnations were a small calculator, a slide rule, a pair of black-framed glasses, a pocket protector, a clipboard, and a GPS.

  "Keep an eye out for Dr. Benjamin Lawrence," Cora said. "I missed him at the cocktail party, and I guess he's not into karaoke, but I'm counting on the fact he'll choose second seating for dinner."

  "I have no idea what the guy looks like." Dante held Cora's chair for her. "I didn't see the brochure."

  "No problem." Cora took her seat at the table for eight. "He has jet-black hair and a face that brings Sir Laurence Olivier to mind. You won't be able to miss him."

  "How old?" Gillian asked. The age of the person Cora had pointed out in the brochure had been hard to pinpoint.

  "He's retired, and so I'm assuming he's at least in his late sixties. And let me tell you, I have no problem dating a younger man. But if any of you mention my real age, I'll stab you with a salad fork."

  "You don't look eighty-two," Gillian said. 'So why should we advertise it?"

  "Hush!" Cora glanced around. "Let's not mention that particular number again on this cruise, shall we?"

  "Okay." Gillian handed her bottle of champagne to the waiter who appeared to take drink orders. "Four glasses," she said.

  "Two glasses." Lex helped her into her chair.

  She glanced up at him. "You don't want even a little sip of my prize champagne?"

  His expression softened. "Sure. I don't know what I was thinking."

  "You were thinking that you can't drink while you're on duty, and that's admirable, but a couple of sips of champagne shouldn't impair your judgment."

  "No." He smiled as he took his seat beside her and unfolded his napkin. "Compared to that dress you're wearing, a couple of sips of champagne are chump change."

  "Why, thank you." She'd never captured a man's attention so dramatically, and it was a heady feeling. It wasn't Gillian creating this effect, of course, but Norma Jean, the Marilyn look-alike. Gillian didn't kid herself that Lex would be falling all over himself if she'd met him two days ago, before the transformation.

  "Well, how is everyone on this fine evening?" boomed a hearty male voice. "Ready for some stargazing after dinner?"

  Gillian looked up to discover that standing right beside Cora's chair was the professor in the brochure ... sort of. His tweed jacket with suede elbow patches and his black turtleneck sweater made him look the part of a scholar. His hair was still jet black, but there was considerably less of it. With luck Cora would find his comb-over endearing.

  Assuming Cora had no problem with the hair or with the wrinkles that had been airbrushed out of the brochure picture, Gillian could only see one other relationship challenge—a vertical one. Cora was at least five seven. Dr. Lawrence might be five feet even if you counted the comb-over.

  To Cora's credit, she didn't register even an eye flicker of surprise to find that her hunk was vertically challenged. "I can hardly wait for the stargazing," she said. "Are we lucky enough to be sharing your table for this cruise?"

  "Actually, I'll be the lucky one if you'll all allow me to join you. I was assigned to a different table, but as you might have noticed, the second seating isn't completely filled, so adjustments can be made. I was bewitched by seeing this lovely lady in her gold dress and I asked to be moved. That is, if you're willing to have me."

  Cora seemed to drop ten years in an instant. "Of course we're willing to have you! Sit down right here next to me, you charming man. Tell us all about what we're going to see tonight."

  The professor laughed as he took his seat. "Stars," he said. "You're going to see lots and lots of stars." He glanced around the table. "My name is Benjamin Lawrence. You've all heard of Big Ben. People call me Little Ben."

  "All those brains and a sense of humor, too." Cora was all smiles.

  Gillian had never seen Cora so excited. Obviously she'd been pining for male companionship, and she wasn't going to let a lack of hair and height keep her from enjoying what was offered. Gillian was sentimental enough to want to find out if tonight led to something permanent, but of course she wouldn't have that luxury.

  Still, she could enjoy this moment with Cora. "I think we need another champagne glass," she said.

  "Or maybe another whole bottle," said a red-haired woman in green sequins who came up behind Dante. "This definitely looks like the fun table. I saw the professor make the move, so I decided to follow in his footsteps. Would you mind terribly if I joined you, as well?"

  Cora waved her hand expan
sively. "Why not? The more, the merrier."

  Eleven

  NEIL HOPED HE HADN'T COME ON THIS DORKY CRUISE for no good reason. If the mousy little makeup artist was sitting back in L.A. thinking about whether or not to call the cops, or worse yet had actually called the cops, then he was in deep shit. In any case, she didn't appear to be with Cora.

  Maybe she was seasick and holed up in their shared cabin. That possibility made him feel a little better. He'd hate to think he'd surrounded himself with nerds and crammed himself into a tiny room with Bernice June Thig-pen for nothing. And speaking of BJ, here she came. Couldn't make it on her own, apparently.

  She approached the table hesitantly, but she kept looking at the Italian guy with the big brown eyes and the horrendous haircut. Get that boy to a decent salon and buy him some designer clothes and he'd be stylin'. He had a smidgen of good taste, because he'd already given Nancy the once-over. Neil could take him on, but if BJ wanted him, that was okay, too.

  BJ stood beside the table clutching her nametag, which still read Bernice Thigpen, unfortunately. "Nance? I saw you change tables. Is that allowed?"

  The blonde in the red dress spoke up. "It seems to be fine. Would you like to sit here?"

  BJ nodded. "If it's okay. Nance and I are roommates, but somehow we didn't get assigned to the same table."

  "Then by all means." The tall guy sitting next to the blonde stood and held a chair for BJ.

  From the way BJ kept glancing over at the Italian, she would rather have had him hold her chair, but logistics were against it. Neil was pleased with the chivalry displayed, though. The miniprof had held Nancy's chair for her. Neil had tried vamping him a little bit, just for the practice, but the old guy seemed mesmerized by Cora.

  Neil could understand it. She looked damned good for her age. He calculated she had to be at least late seventies, if not early eighties. His grandfather had known her back in her prime when she'd been good friends with Marilyn. Now those were the days. The blonde must be trying to relive it all. Maybe she was an impersonator, although what a Marilyn impersonator was doing on this cruise was beyond him.