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Authors: Terry Odell

Tags: #fiction, #romance, #romantic suspense, #mystery, #romance adventure

What's in a Name? (11 page)

BOOK: What's in a Name?
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After a long pause, she looked at him.
“Maybe you shouldn’t be,” she whispered. The pain in her eyes
wrenched something inside him.

He made her a sandwich and she ate it
as they drove in silence. She extended her coffee. “It’s
black.”


No
tranquilizers?”

One corner of her mouth lifted. He took
the cup and let his fingers touch hers a second longer than
necessary. She gave him The Shake. Oh, yes, he definitely liked it.
That was Kelli. Although he kind of liked not having to handle this
new Kelli with kid gloves.

What the hell was he thinking? She’d
held a gun on him. Twice.

He swallowed some of the coffee. It was
gas-station-scorched from sitting on the burner too long, but it
trickled some life through him. “You said something about checking
my cell phone.” He handed the cup back to Kelli.


On the
seat.”

He looked, moved a sweatshirt aside and
found his phone lying alongside his wallet. Only one missed call.
He checked the number. Hollingsworth. He asked Kelli what she
wanted him to do.


If it were me, I’d
ignore it.”

His thoughts moved through his brain
like someone slogging through a mudslide. “The ranger. He didn’t
just happen to see the cabin and take his chances someone might be
there for him to—”

She whipped her head toward him. “Give
the man a gold star. He showed up, knew exactly who I was and knew
enough to tell me Peterson sent him.”


So you think Dwight
Hollingsworth sent him?”


Makes as much sense
as anything else. Two people show up looking for me. Seems like
there’s got to be a connection.”


Hey, I’m not the bad
guy here. I can’t see Dwight sending me to check on you and then
sending someone to … you know—”


Oh, say it, Windsor.
Rape me. Kill me too, most likely. You saw the knife.”


I’ve never known
Hollingsworth to condone the kind of thing.”


Oh, that’s wonderful.
Condone. Any other ten dollar words to make the man look like a
saint? Who else could it be? She glanced at him, then fixed her
eyes on the road. “Would you bet your life that he’s not behind
it?”

He fingered his bandaged torso. For a
fleeting moment, he wondered if there was any truth to what Kelli
was saying. And if maybe he’d been a target, too. For now, she was
right. He’d ignore the phone call.

Kelli rubbed her eyes, and he noticed
again how exhausted she looked. She needed a break. He manipulated
his shoulder, pleased that it felt looser. “I’m feeling a lot
better. Want me to spell you?”


I’m good for a while
longer.” She drained the rest of the coffee.

He gave her another hour.

Wiping his hands across his face, he
groaned in what he hoped was a convincing tone, embarrassed when he
realized it wasn’t all a put-on. “Umm … I hate to slow you down,
but I’m not feeling so hot.” Truth be told, he was starting to ache
again. The truck’s bench seat didn’t recline and Kelli had pulled
it forward to reach the pedals. Now that he’d spoken the words
aloud, the misery he’d been ignoring pushed its way to the front of
his consciousness.

No exasperated head shake this time,
but concern. “Head? Stomach? Should I pull over?”


No, not that. I think
… maybe … been sitting up a long time. I need to lie down for a
while.” He squirmed in his seat, pulled the seat belt away from his
lap.


I guess we’ve gone
far enough. Not much we can do until tomorrow.”

Ten minutes later, she swerved the
truck into a small strip shopping center. “Hang on a little longer?
A couple of things I need to do here.”

He nodded. He waited while she went
into a small internet café, then checked his wallet. She’d left him
twenty dollars. Nothing more. His ID, credit cards, everything else
was gone. He stepped out of the cab and tried to loosen muscles
that had stiffened on the drive. Tomorrow would be even worse, he
knew. Everything always hurt worse the second day. After peeking in
the windows of a camera shop, a bicycle repair shop, and a used
bookstore, he wandered into the internet café where Kelli sat at a
terminal, clicking through sites, stopping every now and then to
key in information. She glanced up when he came in, but from the
way she immediately went back to the computer, he figured they
weren’t supposed to know each other.

At the counter, Blake ordered a cup of
coffee, loaded it with cream and sugar, and took it to a small
table. From there he could watch her, even if he couldn’t tell what
she was doing.

He’d finished half his coffee when she
got up and left without acknowledging his presence. When he heard
the truck door open, close, and the engine turn over, he abandoned
his coffee, nonchalantly making his way toward the truck, although
his painful, lumbering gait was anything but casual.

Kelli glared at him when he’d hoisted
himself into the cab. “I thought you needed to lie down.”


I thought maybe
walking around would help. Everything gets tight when I sit.” He
waited. When she didn’t say anything, he pressed. “Are you going to
tell me what that was about?”


Later. Now I’m going
to see if the motel down the road has a room, assuming you still
want to lie down.”

He stared at her face, pale and drawn
and her red-rimmed eyes. “I do.”

Within five minutes, she’d pulled into
another fleabag motel, telling him to stay in the truck. When she
returned, she climbed in and started the engine.


No rooms?” he
asked.


In back. I’ll drive
around.”

Kelli parked in front of unit
twenty-six and got her gym bag and backpack from behind the seat.
He let her go inside, waited two full minutes, then followed. He
saw the two double beds, standard motel issue, saw Kelli glance
from one bed to the other. For a fleeting moment, she was the
frightened, insecure woman he’d met when he’d arrived at Camp
Getaway. He wanted to tell her everything would be fine. Hell, he
wanted to tell himself everything would be fine.

Then she straightened and went back to
the truck, returning with the shopping bags he’d seen behind the
seat. She plopped them on the sagging easy chair in the corner,
then disappeared into the bathroom with her gym bag. He heard the
shower running.


What were you doing
at the internet cafe?” he asked when she came out, wearing sweats
and towel-drying her hair.


I made a plane
reservation to Atlanta and booked a room at the Marriott for three
nights.”


Plane reservations
and hotel rooms? After the lecture on not doing anything that can
be traced?”

She sank to the edge of one of the beds
and lowered her head into her hands. He wasn’t going to get The
Shake this time. He waited, standing above her.

Her words replayed themselves. Plane
reservation and hotel room. Singular. His heart lurched into his
throat and he didn’t know why. Hell, if she wanted to go her own
way, so much the better. He would tell Hollingsworth she wasn’t
Casey Wallace and be done with it. “I see. Well, thanks for
patching me up. I should be fine on my own by tomorrow.”

She looked up at him, totally confused.
“What? I told you, until I figure this out, I’m not letting you out
of my sight.”


So we’re both going
to Atlanta? When?”


Jesus H. Christ,
Windsor, use what brain cells you have left. I made the
reservations, yes. But we’re sure as hell not going where someone
thinks we’re going. This way, if they’re tracing me, they’ll be
looking in Atlanta. We’re going to keep driving.”

She rummaged in one of the bags and
pulled out four cell phones. “Prepaid. Virtually disposable. Almost
impossible to trace.”


Oh.” His face flushed
hot. “Even without a concussion, I think I’m out of my league. Were
you a spy in another life?”

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Eight

 

Another life, Blake had said. How close
he was to the truth. Kelli rubbed the towel over her hair,
momentarily taken aback at its shortness. At the sound of water
running in the tub, she hoped Windsor wouldn’t soak his bandages.
She wasn’t sure she had the strength to change them now.

Her eyes burned, and she had the
bone-weary ache and general nausea that demanded sleep. Now. Eating
something would probably be sensible, but she didn’t have the
energy to chew.

She crawled under the covers and closed
her eyes, but tired as her body was, her brain was running like a
hamster in its exercise wheel. How had some Chicago businessman
connected her to Casey? If he’d been sure, someone would have
dragged her back or had her arrested. No, for now she believed
Windsor. And for now, she’d have to trust him. How did Ned Decker
connect? Had Hollingsworth sent him, too? Her mind couldn’t
untangle all the swirling thoughts.

Light filtered under her eyelids when
the bathroom door opened. Darkness returned and she heard Blake’s
quiet footfalls enter the bedroom, sensed his presence at the foot
of his bed. She half-opened her eyes. Light from curtains that
didn’t quite close let her see his form bend over his duffel. In
the shadows, his bruises disappeared and she watched the muscles of
his back ripple when he picked a pair of briefs out of the bag. He
let the towel fall from his hips. Nice ass, was her last thought
before she drifted off.

Later—she didn’t know how much
later—she awoke to the sounds of frenzied breathing. Hers. Robert
hovered above her, gripping her shoulders. “No!” She thrashed with
her arms and legs, saw the glint from his eyes and struck out. A
strong hand held her wrist.


Shh. Kelli. It’s a
nightmare. It’s Blake. Come on, Kelli. Wake up.”

Oh, God. Heart pounding, drenched in
sweat, she looked up into Robert’s face and watched him morph into
Blake Windsor. He held her with one hand, the other clutched his
midsection. She found her voice. “Okay. I’m okay. Go back to
bed.”


Give me a minute.” He
turned on the bedside lamp and she threw her arm over her
eyes.

She heard his breathing even out,
realized what she’d done. “I hit you? I’m so sorry— I thought you
were— I didn’t mean it—are you all right?”

He pulled his hand away from his
middle. “No big deal. Caught me off guard. You pack quite a
wallop.” He smiled, but his eyes glistened with unshed tears of
pain.


I’m
sorry.”


You already said
that. It’s not enough.”


What are you talking
about?” She dragged her fingers through her hair, surprised again
at the new feeling. Then the memories fell into place and she
shuddered.


Your nightmare. You
need to talk about it.” Blake’s voice was quiet, almost
soothing.


I …
can’t.”

He turned off the lamp and the parking
lot lights filtered through the curtain gaps, leaving the room in
shadows. “I think you should. Talking helps.”


No. Please, go back
to bed. We both need to sleep.” Even in the patchy light, she saw
his eyebrows lift. But he shrugged and turned away, leaning toward
his own bed.


Blake?” As if her
hand belonged to someone else, she felt it reach out, her fingers
brushing his. So warm, so strong. She felt hot tears drip from her
eyes and nothing stopped them. He turned around, sat on the edge of
her bed and stroked her hair.


It’s okay. It’s
okay.”

Those words seemed to be the permission
she’d needed. The sobs burst forth—wet, sloppy and hiccupy. He
pulled her against him. She buried her face in his chest and
listened to soothing tones of his voice. His hand moved up and down
her back. The hairs on his chest tickled her nose. He smelled like
the motel soap. For the first time in far too long, she felt
safe.


Scoot over,” he
said.

She started to protest, but obeyed and
adjusted the covers over herself. Blake pulled the covers from his
bed. He sat against the headboard, legs outstretched next to her
and covered himself with his own bedclothes. A perfect gentleman.
She gave him a half-smile.


That’s better.” He
put his arm around her shoulder. “I like your smile. Are you warm
enough?”

She nodded, leaning into the crook of
his shoulder. She felt heat radiating from him, felt him wince and
she jerked away. “I’m sorry. That’s your bad shoulder, isn’t it?
And you’re hot. Fever?”

He pulled her back against him. “If you
apologize once more, I’m going to have to get ugly. I’m fine. Now,
that iodine, or whatever you poured into my belly—that hurt. This
was a twinge.”

She almost laughed and rested her head
against him again. Things seemed to settle inside.


Who’s Robert?” he
asked.

 

* * * * *

 

Blake felt Kelli stiffen at his
question. He gripped her just enough to keep her close to him. She
was right—his head throbbed, his wound burned and his fever was
back. But there was nothing he could do about any of that, and she
needed help.

Her chin lifted and she looked him in
the eyes. “Robert? Who’s Robert?”


That’s what I asked
you. You were calling his name. Screaming, more like it.” He rubbed
his thumb down her cheek, wiping away the tears. “Did he abuse you?
Are you hiding from him?”


Hiding? Good Lord,
no. Robert is dead.” She paused, twisting the blanket in her
fingers and lowering her head. “I killed him.” Her voice was barely
audible. “I guess someone figured it out.”

BOOK: What's in a Name?
9.47Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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