Finally, around 6:00 p.m., she cruised down Ocean Drive, taking in rushes of pungent ocean air through the lowered car window, listening to the radio—a soulful rock tune by Death Cab for Cutie, a band name that seemed to fit her effing life to a T right now—when her cell phone rang. Damn ringtone. I’m really going to change it after this call.
“G K Investigations,” she answered.
“Gina, Bowen. Got your fax. Good time to talk?”
Earlier, she’d faxed him copies of the bills of lading, as well as the building specs. “Sure, now’s a good time.”
“I’m going to conference in my attorney, so hold on….”
She nodded in time to the music as an Ed Steinberg came on the line. In a pompous, no-nonsense, three-hundred-fifty-bucks-an-hour tone, he outlined Bowen’s case against Hawk, the charges, Gina’s investigative role, blah, blah, blah. She’d listened to this same tune a thousand times at the D.A.’s office, all the legal bluster and bullshit on the bumpy road to justice being served.
After the attorney conferenced off, Bowen said, “Good work, Gina. With the evidence nailed, I can now join my wife when she travels to Venezuela next month.”
That explained the one-way ticket she’d seen on the computer the other night, although, no way she’d mention she’d pried into Bowen’s comings and goings.
“Even though you solved the crimes,” he continued, “I don’t like that you went against my wishes and trespassed onto the construction site last night.”
Yeah, well, she didn’t like being admonished over bullshit trivia, but for the hefty retainer Bowen had paid her, she’d listen. Besides, she’d learned long ago that big shots always had to have the last word.
“You’re right,” she said, trying to sound contrite. “But as I mentioned to Mr. Steinberg, I got some great photos.”
There was such a long pause, she almost thought Bowen hadn’t heard her. “You, uh, said the manufacturing imprint on some piping was different from what was recorded in the building specs on file with the city.”
“Yep. Just slap the photos up against the data in the building specs I faxed you, and the difference is plain as day.”
“Hawk, and whoever he was working with, somehow got access to ordering and signing for cheaper-quality supplies, pocketing the difference between the cost of the products ordered and the shoddier products delivered. They probably would have gotten by with it much longer if those accidents hadn’t happened.”
“I’m still surprised he took those photos last night,” she said with a shake of her head. Didn’t make sense, but she’d been in this business long enough to know the guilty sometimes got the cockeyed notion that the more they offered, the more innocent they appeared. If they’d stick with less is more, they’d be better off.
Bowen laughed harshly. “Yeah, guys like that always think they’re smarter than everybody else. Then they stumble over their own stupid mistakes. Police are probably handcuffing Hawk as we speak.”
It hurt to hear that. Not that it wasn’t just. It was. Next time she was tempted to cross the line, to mix business with pleasure, she needed to remember what had happened with Hawk. That would stop her cold.
“Hey,” Bowen suddenly exclaimed, “I want to see that piping for myself!”
“It’s on the eighteenth floor.”
“Yeah, that’s what you said. I’m booked back to back with meetings over the next few days, but tonight would work. You busy?”
Exactly what she wanted after a day of ugly truths—a return visit to where she and Hawk had first made love. But she’d be a fool to not play nice with a well-paying client.
“I’d be happy to show you,” she lied.
They agreed on a time and place, then she hung up and dialed Teresa’s cell.
“Girl, you calling me again from some construction site where you’re doing it with some stud?”
“Hello, to you, too, and, no, I’m not. Tell Pilar her man is true blue. Tell her that blonde is a lesbian coworker, nothing to worry about there.”
“How you know that?”
“Interviewed a few employees at the supermarket, checked the blonde’s girlfriend’s Web site. It’s all aboveboard, I promise you.”
“You’ve been a busy girl today, Gina!”
“You don’t know the half of it.”
“Teresa’s all ears.”
“I’ll drop by Nata’s tomorrow and we’ll talk. Tonight, got another hot date at the construction site—”
“Aye, you like watching it go up, girl!”
“Very funny. It’s a business date. But at least wrapping up Pilar’s case makes for a happy ending to one hell of a work day.”
Or so Gina hoped.
AT 8:00 P.M. that night, Bowen and Gina rode the elevator up to the eighteenth floor. As the metal cage creaked and groaned, she tried not to think how she and Hawk had made love in this very spot just twenty-four hours ago.
Made love. Dammit. Somewhere along the way, like some kind of starry-eyed teenager, she’d given her heart to the guy. She’d never, ever get into a mess like this again.
After the elevator lurched to a stop, Bowen unlatched the door and stepped out. “Which way?” he asked, standing on the plywood platform outside the elevator.
Wind whistled eerily through the steel frames and girders, like ghosts who didn’t like being disturbed.
Gina pointed. “Over there, about sixty or so feet.”
“Over there, huh?” said Bowen, turning slightly.
“Yes, next to that—”
Bowen turned, holding a gun pointed at her. “Let’s you and I take a walk to that spot,” he said coldly.
She swallowed, hard. “What are you doing?”
“What do you think?” He waved the gun, motioning for her to move.
“But…” She felt suddenly dizzy, as though the world had tilted at a surreal angle. “Why did you contact the attorney, who contacted the police, if you…” Are the real criminal.
His chuckle raised the hairs on the back of her neck. “Only a guilty man wouldn’t have contacted the authorities. By my being a good citizen, reporting the dirty deeds to the guys on white horses, I look innocent.” He waved the gun again. “Go.”
As she shakily walked, a dozen shouldas crowded her thoughts—shoulda done a background on Bowen, shoulda run a criminal check, shoulda interviewed his wife. Too late, too late.
“Gotta admit, I was impressed you caught on so quickly to my ordering shoddier products than were on the building specs and pocketing the difference. I was mainly using you to focus attention on the thefts.”
To also focus attention, and blame, on Hawk. Just as he had been set up, so had she. Hiring a P.I. made Bowen look like a sincere, concerned boss needing help resolving a problem. She was perfect for the job. If Gina Keys with the dirty history discovered the truth about Bowen, he’d use her past to discredit her. Otherwise, he had a paid professional investigating planted clues on Hawk. A real win-win setup for Bowen.
And now she’d die for it.
Blinking back emotion, she regretted things she hadn’t done today—called her mother, spent a few extra minutes laughing with Teresa, apologized to Hawk after accusing him of lying. God, what’d she give to change the things she’d said in that motel room this morning.
But there was one thing she had to know, even if the answer was only hers to take to the grave. “Why set up Hawk, Bowen? He’s a good man.”
“The best kind to use. Keep walking.”
She stepped past Bowen onto a section of plywood flooring that ended after a few feet. At that point, her only choice was to navigate a two-foot-wide steel beam. Hawk hadn’t wanted her walking up here last night because of the danger. Even when she’d insisted, he’d protected her against her own bullheadedness. She’d been right to give her heart to him. He was a good man. The best.
Cold dread filled her as she gingerly stepped onto the beam. While trying not to look at the dizzying, empty space on either side, she focu
sed on her fanny pack. Its zipper was partially open.
“Faster.”
“I’m trying.” She surreptitiously slipped two trembling fingers inside the opening. “Pointing the finger at Hawk was brilliant.” She’d once read that the way to buy time with a criminal was to appeal to his ego. “He’s big, menacing-looking, from a different culture. Someone who didn’t know him could easily believe he was capable of—” Her foot slipped and she gasped.
“Gee, honey, I thought we’d save your big fall a little farther down, but if you want to die here, fine with me.”
Pausing to catch her breath, she looked out at the expanse of blue, streaked with red and orange from the setting sun. She thought about Hawk walking that sky, so effortlessly, like a bird in flight. It brought her a small peace that she’d die in his world.
Above her, metal creaked. She looked up in time to see a dark cloud suddenly descend from above.
Hawk.
He landed with a crash on the girder behind her. Bowen screamed. The blast of a gunshot echoed off steel.
She dropped to her knees, clutching the cold metal with her shaking hands. She looked over her shoulder at the writhing shadows behind her. Smacking, punching sounds. Another gun shot, the flash searing the darkness. Another crash as a large form fell onto a lower beam.
A shadow loomed larger as it approached her.
“Hawk?” she whispered.
“He’s dead, honey. Now it’s your turn.”
Gina lunged toward Bowen’s shadow, firing the stun gun.
A WEEK LATER, Gina and Hawk lay naked in bed, the bedspread covered with sections of newspaper, a plate of fresh brazo gitano, a bowl filled with orange peels.
“Read that first sentence to me again, Hawk.” Gina took another sip of her coffee. “Starting with the heading.”
After plumping the pillow behind his head, he picked up the newspaper section and began reading.
“‘Gina Keys, a story of redemption, by Ian Shaver, Miami Tribune staff writer. This is the story of a former lead investigator in the D.A.’s office who got the shaft when she should have gotten a star.’”
Gina smiled. “Think I’ll have that framed. Along with the article about how I zapped the hell out of Bowen.”
Hawk set down the paper. “I should never have said I didn’t trust you.”
“Yeah, well, at least you wished me peace on my way out the door.” With a soft laugh, she leaned over and kissed the bandage on his bicep. “When Bowen’s bullet grazed you,” she said, looking up at Hawk’s sleepy, handsome face, “I think I wanted revenge as much as I wanted to save myself. That wild lunge was the act of a risky woman in love. That I hit his gun hand was sheer coincidence.”
Hawk chuckled. “No such thing—”
“As coincidence, I know. Which I’ll admit with the second zap. I had a good idea exactly where to stick Hot Shot to bring Bowen crying to his knees until the police got there.”
When Hawk winced, Gina changed the subject. “Let’s talk about something fun and exciting.” She retrieved the stack of sample photos from Samantha Delaney off the nightstand and began flipping through them.
“Oh, baby, this one of you with nothing on but a pair of work boots and a hard hat over your—” she wriggled her eyebrows at Hawk “—is my vote for Mr. August.” She paused. “I have an idea.”
She hopped out of bed, fished around in her fanny pack, brought back the digital camera. “I want to take my own photos of Mr. August.”
“You did that already, the very first day we met.”
“Well, I want to do it again, so humor me.” She held up the camera and looked at him through the viewfinder. “Let’s see some muscle, baby.”
Hawk rolled over and propped himself up on his elbow. “I don’t want to be your Mr. August, Gina.”
She lowered the camera, surprised at his suddenly serious tone. “Sorry,” she murmured, setting the camera on the bedspread.
“No.” He picked up the camera and handed it back to her. “I mean, I don’t want to be only your Mr. August. I’d like to be your Mr. September, Mr. October, Mr. November, too.”
“I hope you’d like to roll that over to Mr. January as well because we’ve forked over some big bucks for our ski trip to Whistler Mountain.”
He smiled, his dimples making wide grooves in his cheeks. “Definitely. Then after that, Mr. February, Mr. March…” His voice trailed off.
“This is starting to sound like a long-term calendar.”
He gave her a soulful look. “Only if you want it that way.”
She focused the camera on him again. “Give me your best pose, Mr. April.”
After all, a P.I. always documented her case.
ISBN: 978-1-4268-0259-1
MEN AT WORK
Copyright © 2007 by Harlequin Enterprises Ltd.
The publisher acknowledges the copyright holders of the individual works as follows:
THROUGH THE ROOF
Copyright © 2007 by Karen Moser.
TAKING HIS MEASURE
Copyright © 2007 by Cynthia Myers.
WATCHING IT GO UP
Copyright © 2007 by Colleen Collins.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Men at Work Page 22