LITMIR.BIZ

      CHAPTER THREE

      “WHAT IN BLAZES do you think you’re doing now?” a deep voice bellowed.

      Kat went rigid at a sound that had plagued her all week. Her perch at the top of a twelve-foot ladder was precarious enough without her nuisance of a boss shaking the metal frame. “Don’t come up,” she warned. “I only have one bolt connected so far. Do you want this backboard to fall?”

      “To hell with the backboard! I don’t want you to fall. I’ll ask once more—what are you doing? I pay maintenance men to handle chores like this.”

      Kat ignored him, drilled a second hole and inserted a long screw that would help hold the board steady.

      “Well?” he demanded.

      “They’re backlogged,” she said patiently. “By the time I submitted a request in triplicate and it went through the process, I’d have my teams practicing already.”

      “If you don’t kill yourself first. Get down here.” His tone did not invite refusal.

      The drill squealed again. Leaning away from the ladder, Kat shoved a Molly screw through the last hole, then wrenched it tight.

      “Now!” Slater roared. “I want to see your feet on this floor.”

      Kat rolled her eyes. “Brother,” she muttered under her breath, although she did move down a couple of steps. “Shouldn’t you be bugging a team of combustion engineers or something, instead of me?” she asked, carefully drilling two holes in succession along the bottom edge, effectively blocking out his retort.

      “What’s that?” she called as she set the last two screws. “You say they’ve solved the fuel-injection problem on the Special? Wonderful!”

      “I said get your carcass down here ASAP or I’m coming after you.” He placed one foot on the lowest rung.

      Kat gave the board a final shake and determined it was solid. She glanced down, then deliberately dropped the small drill, guiding the cord through her hands until it dangled about six inches from the floor. “Oops,” she said as Slater dodged off the ladder. “Sorr-ee,” she called, tongue in cheek. She knew exactly how far it came to striking him. Not even close.

      “Give me that thing, and be careful.” He snatched the drill at the same time, bending to unplug the cord. “You’re dangerous, Ms. O’Halloran.”

      Kat pocketed the last screws and started down.

      Slater began wrapping the cord around the handle, never taking his eyes from the faded denim stretched tight across her nicely rounded derriere. He held his breath, fearing the fabric might split from the rhythmic sway of her descent. As she drew closer he observed a small hole under her right back pocket. At eye level, it offered him a tantalizing glimpse of red. Silk, he thought. A shiver ricocheted through Slater’s body and slammed into his abdomen with the force of jet propulsion. It didn’t help his overloaded circuits that she took the last two steps in a single leap and landed, grinning at him over her shoulder through impish eyes.

      Slater grappled with his self-control. “Did you know you have a hole in those jeans?”

      “Hey, don’t break the drill cord, Kowalski.” She ripped the drill out of his hands and loosened the cord, missing the way his jaw tightened.

      “The boards look great, don’t they?” She tilted her head back and surveyed her handiwork. “You play basketball?”

      Having forced himself to concentrate on the short, feathery haircut, which he had the worst urge to touch, Slater was slower to track her gaze to the boards. “Which brings up another point,” he said. “I don’t recall having authorized the purchase of any equipment.”

      Kat laughed, a pleasant ripple echoing from the rafters in the big empty warehouse. “You didn’t. They were donated.”

      “Donated? By whom?”

      Bending, Kat returned the drill to its case. “Actually, if you must know, I midnight-requisitioned one from my folks’ courtyard. No one uses it since my brothers moved out. Spud Mallory came by while I was dismantling it and said I could have the one attached to his garage. His boys are grown, too.”

      “Are we talking Spud Mallory as in the cigar-smoking gambler who fleeces my father weekly in those ridiculous poker games?”

      “My Pop and Spud played poker for years,” she said angrily, “and never bet a dime until Louie came on the scene and upped the ante.”

      Slater loosely bracketed his hips with his hands. “I told you not to call my father Louie. And how did you come by the preposterous notion that it was his idea to play for money? Especially as he’s so incredibly inept that he always loses.”

      “A lot you know.” Kat matched his stance. “Spud told me Louie always wins.”

      Slater digested this tidbit. Stepping back, he massaged his neck and worried his upper lip with his bottom teeth. “I’m getting my information from our housekeeper. Helen’s like family. Why would she lie?”

      “Why would Spud? He’s known me since I was in diapers.”

      “Maybe he’s protecting your dad. How did the subject come up?”

      Kat stared at him for several seconds before she turned and gave her attention to collapsing the ladder. It wouldn’t do to let him know her family was worried.

      He stepped up to help. “There’s a possibility I’m right, isn’t there? You’re not sure of your facts, are you? Furthermore, I don’t think you’re any happier about the situation than I am.”

      Kat’s fingers curled around the cool metal of the ladder. “You’ve got that right. My pop didn’t do any wacky things before he met yours. I intend to find out exactly what’s going on.” She grabbed the drill case, shouldered the ladder and started for the door.

      “How do you plan to get at the truth?” Hurrying to catch up, Slater relieved her of both items. Outside,

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