Mr Right Next Door

His pretty blonde was delivered to the address Harry had given him, the one listed on her driver’s license.

It turned out to be an old monstrosity of a house that, from her address—2B—he’d guess had been cut up into apartments. Either that or the blonde was clearly not living on a beginning teacher’s salary.

Nick parked half a block down the road and watched the brother carry in her bags and then leave. Harry, he knew, would be working on getting a tap on Ms. Kim Cassidy’s home phone. With luck, they could zero in on some of her cell phone calls, too. Nick would have backup from a team of agents as soon as they could be put into place, but for the moment, the blonde was all his.

He frowned, thinking about virtually living out of a car this small and what that would do to his screwy knee, thinking of nosy small-town neighbors and being pestered by small-town cops.

Already, he thought a little old lady from the house across the street was staring at him through her front window.

Did these people have nothing else to do other than monitor traffic on the street?

“Harry,” he said into the mike in his headset, “I think the old woman across the street’s made me. I’m going to have to move.”

His knee said so clearly. Move, move, move.

“You’re in luck. The house next door to the blonde has just been converted into a bed-and-breakfast. I called to try and book a room but they said they’re not officially opening until next week. I bet if you’re sweet, you can show up at the door and talk them into giving you a room now anyway.”

Nick offered up a quick thanks to the universe on behalf of his knee, hoping he hadn’t entirely lost his power of sweet-talking. It had never been his strong point and he wasn’t feeling even remotely syrupy at the moment. Hell, he never did.

“Tell them you’re an early riser and that you’d like a room that gets morning sunshine,” Harry said.

“Do I look like a guy who gives a crap about morning sunshine?”

Harry just laughed. “That’ll put you on the side of the house facing our pretty blonde’s apartment. Get a room on the second floor and you might be able to look in her windows.”

No way Nick wanted to look in her windows. He was starting to sweat just thinking about it. And he wondered how long Harry’d known about the B&B but left him sitting in the cramped car. He fought the urge to bang his head against the steering wheel in a general expression of dismay about most everything in his life at the moment, most of all this assignment and the woman upstairs with the innocent eyes and the body that just wouldn’t quit.

The one who made him feel about a hundred and sixty years old.

He started his toy of a car and tried to prepare himself for what might pass for sweet talk to the owners of the new B&B.

Nick finger-combed his dark brown hair, which had grown too long for him and was desperately in need of a trim, then ran a hand along his jaw. A shave was definitely in order. Clean clothes, a shower, a real bed…these were the things of his dreams.

If he could just knock out the blonde and ensure that she’d be unconscious for a few hours, he could take a nap, but he really didn’t want to try to sneak up behind her and do the Vulcan neck-pinch thing and get caught. Plus, it would definitely put her on the defensive when she woke up and he didn’t want that. He wanted her to relax and tell him everything—or at least tell someone in such a way that Nick could eavesdrop on the conversation.

Which meant no Vulcan neck pinch.

No nap anywhere in his near future.

He was grumpy as an old bear.

He grimaced as he started his toy car and peeled off down the street and into the driveway of the B&B.

“Harry, you there?” he said into his headpiece.

“Yeah. Try not to scare the nice people with the nice, soft bed and the hot shower, Nickie.”

“Why would I scare them?”

“’Cause you’re a scary guy,” Harry quipped.

Nick got out of the car, scanning the area even more carefully than before. “Are you looking at me right now, Harry?”

“Why? You see me?”

“No, I haven’t spotted you.”

“Then I’m not looking at you, Nick.”

Shaking his head and swearing, Nick gabbed his carry-on, popped the trunk and pulled out his suitcase, trying not to grimace at the way it pulled tight something deep inside his sore shoulder. Dammit.

“So before, you were just guessing about the expression I might have on my face?” Nick asked.

“Nah, just knowing your sweet disposition and thinking about how much we need this room next door to the pretty blonde, that’s all. Trying to look out for you, give you some helpful hints to make the job easier.”

“Gee, thanks,” Nick grumbled, making his way to the front door.

It was made of leaded glass and highly polished oak. A discreet aged-brass plate to the left of the door said, Baker B&B, Main & Vine, Magnolia Falls, Ga.

Okay, he was going to make nice with the Bakers of Baker B&B if it killed him; beg for a shower then spy on their nice neighbor next door.

He put on what he hoped was a mild-mannered but tired-to-the-verge-of-exhausted, plain-old-businessman smile, trying to look nonthreatening and ordinary, definitely not grumpy. Like he’d be no trouble at all as a guest of a not-quite-open B&B.

A woman in sweats, a T-shirt and holding a dust mop answered the door.

Cleaning lady or Mrs. Baker?

He had to decide quick.

He’d insult her if she was Mrs. Baker and he thought she was the cleaning lady and he couldn’t insult her and get a room.

“Ma’am,” Harry said. “Just say ma’am. It’s what all good Southern boys do.”

So Harry was watching. The rat.

Still, Harry wouldn’t steer him wrong when it came to spying. Nick went with it.

“Ma’am,” he said, respectfully tipping his head to her. “Am I too early to get a room?”

“Oh, my.” She frowned, then started trying to dust herself, succeeding only in creating a cloud of dust between them. “We’re really not open yet. Not until next week.”

“That’s what I heard in town, but I was hoping I could change your mind. I love old houses. So much charm and character.” He managed not to choke on the words. He even, he thought, sounded remotely sincere. “And yours looks so inviting.”

“Thank you,” she said warily. “It’s just that we have so much to get done before we actually open…”

“Oh, I won’t get in your way. Not in the least. I’m very self-sufficient. And I don’t even eat breakfast—”

“You don’t?”