What's in a Name?

by Terry Odell

  “You do this—thing—with your head. You shake it, roll your eyes. It’s cute, but it’s very Kelli. Not that anyone would notice, but it was probably Casey, too.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Thanks. I’ll be more careful.”

  “I’ll miss it.” He ran his finger along her jaw. “Go to bed. Get some sleep.”

  She got to the bedroom door before she turned around. “Blake?” He barely heard her.

  “Hmm?”

  “The couch … You don’t need to … I don’t think I want to be alone.”

  His heart did a stutter step. “Are you sure?”

  She nodded. “We’re married, remember?” She gave him a crooked smile. “And I was married long enough to know two people can share a bed and not do anything but sleep.”

  He pushed back his disappointment. “Sleep it is, then. Give me a couple of minutes.” He headed to his bathroom. While he brushed his teeth, he stared at the condoms in his kit. He picked one up. After all, Kelli knew all about them. She may have said all she wanted was sleep, but something more might give both of them release from the mess they were in.

  He rinsed his mouth and tiptoed into the bedroom. Kelli was curled into a tight ball at the edge of one side. If it were possible to take up any less room in a bed, he couldn’t imagine it. She’d left the lamp on his side on. He pulled back the covers and slid the condom into the nightstand drawer. No need to appear too obvious. He turned off the lamp and got into bed.

  Kelli tossed and turned, making tiny whimpering noises. He worked his way across the king-sized bed and touched her shoulder. “It’s okay. You’re dreaming.”

  “Hold me?” Her voice quavered. “He was going to kill me. I can’t make the pictures go away.”

  He drew her against him. “I know, I know. It’s all right. I’m here.”

  “Like white on rice?”

  “You got it.” He nuzzled her hair, inhaling her scent. He told himself to take it easy. She’d been reliving two sexual traumas. She needed to feel safe with him. He planted gentle kisses on the back of her neck and caressed her back with lazy strokes.

  His fingers moved along her shoulder, down the back of her arm. She sighed and snuggled closer, pressing her body against his. He followed the contour of her body to the curve at her waist. Her shirt had crept up and he ventured over her hip, down the side of her thigh, still keeping his touch light. Her breathing steadied and he let her relax, enjoying the feel of her skin, smooth and warm beneath his hand.

  He was about to move his hands to her front when he felt her go dead weight. He didn’t know whether to be glad she was able to relax so completely in his presence, or crushed she was immune to his seductive prowess. He decided to go with the former, staring at the ceiling, waiting for things to settle so he could sleep.

  Dawn was thinning the shadows in the room when Blake discovered the erotic dream he was having wasn’t completely a dream. Kelli’s arm was draped across his chest and her leg was nestled between his thighs. His brain lectured him about her vulnerability, but it wasn’t his brain responding. When he tried to move away, she grabbed him tighter. Soft, warm, still smelling like soap and shampoo. Her hands wandered down his chest. He sucked in his belly. Her hair, feather light, brushed his neck. She nestled tighter against him.

  Relax and enjoy the moment? No, idiot. Use the brain above your neck. She’s dreaming. Probably of her late husband. Wake her. Sure. In a minute. Wouldn’t want to startle her.

  Her fingers, moving lower, grazed the edge of the bandage on his midsection. Paused. Jerked away. Her leg disappeared from between his. Her eyes opened.

  “Shit.” She flopped over onto her back.

  “Not the word a guy likes to hear under the circumstances.”

  “God, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. I must have been dreaming.”

  Didn’t mean it. Of course not. He turned onto his back, realizing too late that her eyes were fixed on the tenting of the sheet at his groin.

  Her eyes met his, then looked away. “Well, I guess you’re not gay.”

  He sat bolt upright. “What made you think—? Hey, lots of straights watch Queer Eye. It’s funny.”

  Kelli buried her face in her hands. “I think I’d like to wait until my brain catches up to my mouth.”

  God, she was cute when she was embarrassed. Which did nothing for his reaction. He found the blanket and covered himself further. “No way. Tell me what you were thinking. You’re my wife, after all. No secrets.”

  With a deep sigh, she turned on one side, propped up on her elbow. “When Stockbridge told me you were coming, he said you were a perfect gentleman. And then I saw you and you were gorgeous, so I assumed … because of what happened with Robert … It was easier to deal with a man so close if I didn’t think he’d … you know.”

  “I understand.”

  “I guess when you were hurt, maternal instinct kicked in and then … I don’t know. You rescued me, somewhere we became a team and I felt comfortable—or something.”

  “Or something.” He leaned a fraction closer. She didn’t back away, but she didn’t move in, either. He waited. She stared at him and he saw the half-awake dreaminess fade as she came more fully awake. He swallowed his frustration when her features turned to all business.

  She pulled back the covers. “It’s six-thirty. I don’t know about you, but I’m not going to get back to sleep.” She climbed out of bed and headed for the bathroom. At the doorway, she looked over her shoulder. “Want to go downstairs and try to have breakfast like two ordinary people?”

  Chapter Twelve

  Kelli felt anything but ordinary during breakfast. Half asleep or not, she had come on to Blake. Now, they sat across the table from each other in the hotel coffee shop. Whenever he looked up from his eggs, she knew his eyes could see right into her thoughts and he’d know she’d been dreaming—of him. Then they both got busy eating for a while, until one looked up and it started all over again.

  She spread an English muffin with strawberry jam and knew her face must be the same color.

  “It was a normal, human reaction,” Blake said to his plate. “Nothing either of us needs to be ashamed of.”

  “Right. Didn’t mean anything. We were asleep.” The trouble was, although the embarrassment was fading, there was another feeling building, one low in her belly. A tingling she hadn’t felt in a long time. One she wasn’t sure she wanted to be feeling.

  Stop. He’d saved her life and she was grateful. Like falling in love with your doctor. Shit, what was she thinking? This was not falling in love. Falling in love was not an option. This was two people thrust together with a problem to solve. Just because one of them was drop-dead gorgeous didn’t make a difference. And, speaking of problems, it was time to get back to work. She waved to the waiter for the check.

  “All right,” Kelli said when they were back in the room. She’d spread her files and notes along the conference table. “We need to start from scratch. Look at everything. See what fits where. I can’t get over the feeling I’m missing something important. That I’ve made a huge leap based on a false assumption.”

  “So, what do we have?” Blake sat at the opposite end of the table, picking up papers, glancing at them and putting them back down.

  “Hollingsworth sent you to see if I was Casey Wallace. But he didn’t tell you why?”

  “No. And even his assistant didn’t know where I was, which is unheard of. She’s never out of the loop.”

  She chewed on her pen. “So, we can assume this is personal. Only trouble with that hypothesis is I don’t know Dwight Hollingsworth. But he seems to think he knows Casey.”

  She started making a chart, putting Casey in the center. “Then there’s Thornton. He’s the money behind the project. According to Stockbridge, Thornton pushed up the schedule and had you hired. But your cover story came from Hollingsworth, right?”

  “Yes. Dwight’s in Chicago and I was working in Seattle at the time, convenient enough to Spokane
and EnviroCon. I figured he either had a thing for Casey Wallace, or she had something he wanted.”

  “Wait.” She went to the desk, picked up her cell phone and punched in Jack’s number.

  “Hey, Kiddo,” Stockbridge said. “Are you all right? I saw the news. I was going to come down—discuss the project, you know.”

  “I think it’s better if you don’t. Not that I think someone’s watching you, but if they are, they might follow and recognize us.”

  “You let me know what I can do.”

  “You said Thornton called and recommended Windsor—gave you the references. Did you speak to him personally?”

  After a moment, Stockbridge spoke. “No, now that you mention it, the call came from his assistant.”

  “Thanks. I think. Do you know the assistant’s name?”

  “Sorry. My secretary took care of it. I checked Windsor’s references myself, but no, I never spoke directly to Thornton.”

  “Thanks. I’ll keep you posted.” She ended the call and wandered to the window, trying to sort through the new information.

  Blake gave her a questioning look when she came to the table again. “Good? Bad? Helpful?”

  “Well, since Stockbridge never spoke to Thornton, it weakens Thornton’s connection to Hollingsworth. It’s possible Hollingsworth was pretending to be working for Thornton.” She wrote “Thornton” on her chart with a big question mark next to it.

  “Who’s next?”

  “Scumbag, I suppose. He was going to kill us, right?”

  Blake’s eyes grabbed her again, but she kept her gaze on his when he answered. “I think so.”

  “Why? Hollingsworth didn’t send you to kill me, did he?”

  “Of course not. Dwight told me to see if I could connect you to Casey. Period.”

  “Which you didn’t—at least as far as Hollingsworth knows, right?”

  “Right.”

  “So you think Hollingsworth got tired of waiting for you to answer and sent McGregor—Scumbag—to eliminate the problem, right or wrong? Or maybe he got his answer from another source? And then sent Scumbag?”

  Blake rubbed his eyes and massaged his temples. “You’re asking the wrong person. I’m no detective. I only read three Sherlock Holmes stories.”

  “Well, do you think Scumbag was going to go after you, too?”

  “Sweetheart, I’m clueless. I know I’ve pissed off some people, but I was always representing Hollingsworth. I don’t think anyone would be coming after me personally.”

  She wrote Blake’s name on the chart, but in smaller letters and off in a corner. “Okay. Robert’s turn. All I can think of is someone tied Casey to Robert and Kelli to Casey.” She looked at Blake, who was pacing now. “Does that make sense to you?”

  “You mean Hollingsworth has been trying to avenge Robert’s death?”

  “If not him, who? He’s the one who put Casey and Kelli together.”

  “I need coffee.”

  “Stop changing the subject. Where’s the file from Hollingsworth?”

  “To your right.”

  Her hand touched the envelope, then stopped. “Blast it, I’m still not thinking straight.” She looked at Blake. “Scumbag’s knife and clothes. I left them the lockbox. Did you move them?”

  “No—I figured they were safe there. At the time, I wasn’t thinking straight myself, but it seemed smarter not to be carrying evidence.”

  Kelli grabbed the cell phone and punched Stockbridge’s number. “Where’s the truck?” she asked as soon as he answered.

  “Some people say hello first, you know.”

  “Sorry. Hello.”

  Stockbridge chuckled. “Had someone pick it up. It’s where it belongs, here, in the fleet. Left you a car in its place.”

  “Did you open the lockbox?”

  “No. Windsor still has the key. What’s the problem?”

  “The park ranger who was killed—I think the murder weapon is in there.”

  Blake grabbed the phone from Kelli. “Mr. Stockbridge? Blake Windsor. About that knife—”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Blake hung up the phone and looked at Kelli. “I know you said you trusted Stockbridge with your life. I think I just put a little of mine into his hands. My prints will be on that knife, too.”

  “Jack went along with it? He’s not going to turn the stuff over to the cops?”

  “He said as far as he was concerned, this conversation never took place and he has no reason to open the lockbox until someone else needs it.”

  Kelli looked at him, and her green eyes still caught him by surprise.

  “But the knife could help convict Scumbag,” she said. Her voice hadn’t changed, but he wouldn’t be surprised to wake up one morning and hear a new accent. “Without the weapon, and after all that rain, there’s not going to be much forensic evidence to tie him to Peterson’s murder. You could put that creep back in prison.”

  “I’m not ready to trust the legal system. For now, the cops will have to be looking for a knife they’re not going to find. Let’s deal with one complication at a time.”

  “Did they say Peterson’s body had been … mutilated? Scumbag’s signature?”

  Blake considered the new reports. “I don’t think so, but they might be withholding that piece of information.”

  Kelli turned back to the computer. She worked with a single-minded efficiency, yet from the way her fingers pounded the keys and clenched into fists while she waited for the computer to do something, there was frustration and pain underneath. He didn’t know which bothered him more—the ache in his chest or the pull in his loins. What was it about her that made him want her? Need her? This wasn’t lust. What he felt was new.

  He had to get out before he either trashed the room or tried to take her on that shiny conference table. The thought of taking advantage of her disgusted him. He wasn’t in the habit of forcing himself on women. He wasn’t in the habit of wanting women like Kelli, and that thought confused him. “Enough. I can’t stay here any longer. I’m going to the airport to bring back whatever car Stockbridge left for us.”

  The clicking stopped, but she didn’t turn around. He knew she was considering all the options. Would he come back? Did she care? She was busy trying to save her own skin. How much was she doing to save his, or was she only making sure he wasn’t creating a new threat? He saw her shoulders rise, then fall. Heard a deep breath exhaled.

  “Keys and parking location are in the envelope on the table. I’ve got the confirmation email saying you—Bill Cranford—reported your license lost and a temporary is on the way. Hang on.” She picked up the mouse, clicked some more and the printer on the desk hummed. “Memorize the address.”

  He pocketed the envelope and grabbed the page that came out of the printer. “This says I’m five-ten and have brown hair.”

  “Then don’t get stopped. If you do, don’t stand up. Keep your cap on. Otherwise, I guess you dyed your hair since the license was issued, right?”

  “Yeah. Right.” He made a mental note to follow every traffic rule on the drive. Kelli might be able to slip in and out of identities like she changed her underwear, but his repertoire was limited to handyman or corporate negotiator. He grabbed his windbreaker, checked to make sure the watch cap was still in the pocket and left her, still immersed in her work.

  He clenched his fists in his pockets while he rode the elevator to the lobby and asked the bellman to call a cab. On the drive, the pain in his stomach wasn’t due to a knife wound. Watching Kelli transfixed by her computer monitor, visiting websites, checking databases he was damn sure you couldn’t Google, made him feel utterly helpless. And he sure as hell wanted to help her.

  At the airport, he paid the cabbie and walked into the terminal, not that the cabbie, or anyone else would notice—or care—where he went. But, to maintain his cover, he mingled with the crowd. Airport protocol was something familiar. Here, he could walk the walk. After a minute or two, with a purposeful stride, he exited
the terminal and made his way to the parking place Stockbridge had written down. Where the truck had been sat a dark green Bonneville. He swallowed his disappointment. Nice grandfather car. Blend in. But good God, he missed his ‘Vette.

  He pointed the Bonneville out of the airport and toward the hotel. He kept an eye on the rearview mirror, not sure how to tell if he was being followed. Almost all the cars leaving the airport hit the interstate. Half would go one way, half the other, but there were always packs of cars on the highway. Positions would shift, but it wasn’t unusual to have the same car behind you for miles. His heart rate picked up a little when the car behind him exited when he did, but shit, this was the downtown exit. A glance in the mirror told him five cars had exited. He turned left two blocks before the hotel. Nobody followed. Caution, yes, but enough of this paranoia. Kelli was in charge of that department.

  He drove around the block and into the rear entrance to the hotel parking lot. As soon as he locked the car and looked toward the hotel entrance, the tension returned. Kelli was undoubtedly still in the room clicking away, probably had barely noticed his absence. Could he spend the rest of the afternoon sitting there, watching her work, without going crazy? He turned around. Across the parking lot was a mall. Maybe if he had a book to read or a movie to watch, he’d feel less like a useless appendage. He strode across the asphalt and wandered into the shopping center.

  Not far from the entrance, the aroma of pizza sucker-punched him. He strolled into the small restaurant and slid into a booth at the back. When the waitress handed him a menu, he barely glanced at it. No doubt Kelli would have forgotten about eating. All of a sudden, useless or not, he wanted nothing more than to be sitting on the couch while she worked, even if she didn’t know he was there. He ordered a large-with-everything, to go.

  When his pizza was ready, he picked up the box, restraining himself from eating a slice before he got back to the room. At the hotel, waiting for the elevator, he glanced toward the registration desk where a man in a business suit was leaning on the counter, talking to one of the clerks. Her face showed something between amusement and contempt, and Blake couldn’t help trying to eavesdrop. Good lord, had the guy actually said, “What’s a good-looking gal like you doing working here?” He cringed in embarrassment for the entire male population. If the man said, “What’s your sign?” Blake swore he’d go over and slug the idiot.