Men at Work: Through the Roof / Taking His Measure / Watching It Go Up

Marina continued to study the figures and traced a pattern. Her employee skimmed funds only once per month, as if before some bill were due. Hmm…

Though she could examine numbers this way, the tricky part was when her cell phone rang. Logistically, it was impossible to talk to anyone with her face mashed into a padded doughnut. “Manuel, darling, would you look at the LCD display on my phone and see who’s calling? Thank you. You’re a gem.”

“G K Investigations,” reported Manuel.

Marina scrambled up so fast that the sheet covering her body dropped to the floor. Manuel blushed like a tomato—she was naked as a jaybird and on all fours, butt in the air. Mama would be so proud.

Manuel averted his eyes and bent to retrieve the sheet while she sat down hastily and crossed everything she could cross to hide her nudity.

Eyes glazed over, he practically threw the sheet at her, and she said, “Excuse me, but I have to take this.” She smiled apologetically. Who knew? Manuel wasn’t gay.

Still scarlet-faced, he nodded and left the room. Marina pressed the On button of her phone. “Hello?”

“Ms. Reston? This is Gina Keys. I’ve located Mr. Delgado.”

A sob rose in Marina’s throat. Then joy shot through her veins. “He’s okay?”

“He’s just fine.”

Fury chased the joy. “Where is he? I’m going to go wring his neck. I’m going to gouge out his eyes with his engagement ring…” There she went with those cheery fantasies again.

“Ms. Reston, I’m afraid I can’t tell you his location.”

“What? What do you mean? I paid you up front to find him!”

Gina cleared her throat. “Perhaps I should have explained this before. For liability reasons, I can’t directly give you information on his whereabouts. What I can do is personally contact him and inform him that you would like to speak to him.”

“He knows damn well I want to speak to him. I’ve left nine messages on his cell phone! And what is this liability stuff?”

“I can be brought up on criminal charges, Ms. Reston, if I tell you where he is and you, say, show up with a shotgun and blow him away.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t own a shotgun.”

“A letter-opener, arsenic, a crossbow, a high-heeled shoe. I can’t take the chance—you did mention in my presence that you wanted to kill him. Twice, I believe.”

“I was kidding!”

“That’s beside the point.”

“What is he doing? Can you tell me that?”

“I suppose so,” Gina said cautiously. “He’s working construction.”

“What? Why?”

“I don’t know, Ms. Reston. You’ll have to ask him that.”

“Where is he?” Marina moaned. “Please, please tell me. I have to find him.”

“I really can’t give you Ben’s exact location. It’s not ethical for me to do that. But would you like to give me a message for him?”

“Aaarrrgh!” said Marina.

“Sorry, but that’s a bit hard to translate. How about a letter?”

“I’ve had enough of letters, thank you very much.”

“Oh. Right.”

“Just tell him I’ve been worried sick and to please call me. It’s important. Do not pass along the part about killing him.”

“No, of course not.”

Marina sighed. “Okay, Gina. Thank you. Now, exactly what do I owe you for not telling me where he is? Oh, fudge. I don’t care. Just send me a bill.”

IN HER OFFICE at the Reston Foundation, Marina leaned back in her leather chair and rubbed her bare feet on the mink-covered foot-rest under her modern maple desk.

She did not believe in killing animals for their fur, but when your grandmother had already bought the mink in question in the form of a coat, what were you to do? She refused to wear it—not that it was possible here in Miami—and so she’d used it for other things.

One of her great pleasures in life was to sit naked on her mink-upholstered vanity stool while she did her makeup and hair—or obsessed about where to find her fiancé.

Working construction.

Now, there were any number of places that Ben could be doing that…but again, a gut instinct had her dialing Mathew Tremaine’s number. Ben would have wanted to look out for his employees, find them other placement. He’d call Tremaine. And if he was working construction himself, then it was quite possible that he’d ask Mathew to hire him, too.

Just as Tremaine’s assistant answered the phone at his office, she hung up. Better to do this in person and be able to see his face.

An hour later, Marina swept into his office, her assets showcased in a tight, peridot-green silk top and black hot pants that were just shy of indecent. Tendrils of her chestnut hair cascaded from a loose knot on her head, secured by two decorative chopsticks. Gold and peridot chandelier earrings dangled midway to her shoulders and a large peridot tear-drop nestled just at the top of her abundant cleavage.

“Mathew! Darling! How have you been?”

Tremaine had the body of a scarecrow and the face of a bullfrog, topped by sparse graying hair. His odd appearance hid a creative mind and great generosity, but the guy was always a little challenged in the babe department. Marina felt a bit guilty taking advantage of this, but the end justified the means.

His pale gaze darted to her cleavage and stuck there as if superglued. He couldn’t help it, poor man—she’d engineered her outfit with that result in mind. So she didn’t hold it against him. Marina repeated her question, since he seemed not to have registered it the first time.

“Mathew. How are you?”

He gulped as she leaned forward to brush one of Gnarly’s hairs off her knee. Then she sent him a dazzling smile.

“Just fine,” he almost squeaked.

“Wonderful. Listen, I wanted to ask you something about the plans for our house.”

Discomfort crossed his face. “Er—the house?”

She nodded.

“I thought—that is—um. I thought you and Ben weren’t, ah, going to build it after all.”