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Authors: Terry Odell

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BOOK: What's in a Name?
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He took over pushing on the walk to the
terminal. “Are you going to tell me what we’re doing? Might make it
easier for me to play along, Ms. Bond.”


Cranford. Mrs.
William Cranford. You’re William. Bill.”

His head didn’t feel full of oatmeal
anymore. It felt more like a frozen Margarita in the blender.
Slowly, everything came together. Kelli had set up some cover for
them during all her internet fiddling. Okay, he’d go along. “What
do I call you?”


Emily.”


You don’t look like
an Emily. I’m going to call you Sweetheart.”

She glowered.


Hey, less chance of
me blowing our cover.” He grinned when he got another
Shake.

By now, they had arrived inside the
terminal. He read the signs and turned the cart toward the one that
said “Departures.”


No. This way.” Kelli
maneuvered their luggage toward baggage claim. “Wait over there.”
She pointed to a row of padded chairs and moved to a Eugene Tourist
Information board. He watched her pick up a handset, nodding as she
spoke, then come back to him. In a while, he’d wake up and he’d be
in the pickup, or in another fleabag motel. He told himself to go
along with the flow.


Almost done,” she
said. “Outside.”

She started walking and he followed.
That’s about all he’d been doing for the last three days, but it
beat thinking. They sat on a bench near a sign that said “Hotel
Shuttles.”


I get it,” he said,
feeling as proud as he had when he’d solved his first quadratic
equation. “When the shuttle gets here, we look like a couple of
weary travelers who just flew in.”


Elementary,” Kelli
said. “There’s our ride.”

She pointed to a black van with “Plaza
Hotel” painted on its side. The door opened and a man who appeared
to be in his late sixties approached them. Dressed in black slacks
and polo with a Plaza logo on the breast, he gave them a friendly
smile.


You two get inside.
Leave the luggage to me. We’ll have you at the hotel in no
time.”

The driver set a small step by the side
door of the van and helped Kelli in. Blake followed. She’d put her
backpack on the seat beside her and he moved it out of the way and
slid closer. If he was dreaming, he might as well enjoy it.


We’re married, aren’t
we?” When she didn’t protest, he looked at her more closely.
Exhausted didn’t come close to describing her. Walking zombie,
maybe.

Half an hour later, they were at the
glass doors of the hotel lobby. The driver opened the side door of
the van. “Don’t worry about your bags. I’ll have them sent to your
room.”

Blake nudged Kelli. She’d fallen asleep
and he took a moment to enjoy the first glimpse of her looking
relaxed and at peace. He nuzzled her neck. “Sweetheart, we’re
here.” She still smelled fresh. How women did that was beyond him.
Her eyes flashed open. Confusion first, then panic. “It’s okay,” he
said. “We’re here.”

She rubbed her eyes. He exited the van
and held his hand out for her. She accepted it and even held it
while they strolled to the registration desk. Her left hand stayed
in her pocket.

The night clerk, a young blonde who
appeared to be a trainee from the way she struggled with the
computer registration, kept up a stream of chatter. Considering the
lobby was empty, it was probably to quell the boredom. “Yes, here
it is. You’re guests of EnviroCon. Welcome. Everything is covered.”
She clicked some more keys, frowned, clicked again, muttered
something and gave them another big smile. “Sorry. Mr. and Mrs.
Cranford. Here you are. Will you need one or two keys?”


Two,” Blake
said.

She put two plastic cards in a folder
and tapped it with her pen. “This is your room number. The
elevators are to your left. There’s a complimentary Continental
breakfast in the Executive Lounge on the twenty-third floor from
six to ten.”

Blake took the folder, gave her a
smile, and guided Kelli to the elevator. She was almost asleep on
her feet. Maybe not almost. Her eyes were open, but she’d flat run
out of gas.

When he opened the door to their room,
he let out a low whistle. He’d stayed at nice hotels on the job,
but never in a Presidential Suite. He looked around, noting a huge
bowl of fruit and a bottle of wine on the counter of a kitchenette.
Across the room was an alcove with desk, printer, and fax machine.
Their boxes were in a living area, suitcases in the bedroom. The
bed was turned down. Singular. King-sized, but still one. Blake
half-carried Kelli to the bed, sat her down and took her shoes off.
He unzipped her sweatshirt and worked it off her shoulders and down
her arms. She was helping, but he’d bet a week’s pay she’d have no
recollection of this in the morning. He settled her down, covered
her and kissed her forehead. “You sleep. I’m on the couch.”

He turned off the light and found extra
blankets and pillows in the closet. A glance told him the couch in
the living room made into a bed, but he didn’t bother. He put the
“Do Not Disturb” sign on the door and stretched out on the couch.
If this was all a dream, he’d kick himself in the morning for not
sharing the bed.

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Ten

 

Kelli smelled coffee, a familiar spicy
cologne, and sensed a hovering presence. She squinted one eye open.
Bright sun. She winced. Then the hovering presence shifted,
standing between her eye and the glare. Logy with sleep, she closed
the eye anyway. The coffee aroma grew stronger and she felt the
side of the bed sink.


Mornin’, Sweetheart.
I hate to wake you, but the hotel delivered some stuff. I thought
you’d want to see it.”

She rose to as much consciousness as
she could muster. Only after she scooted up against the headboard
did she think to make sure she was decent. The last she remembered,
she and Blake had been in the elevator. She checked the other side
of the bed. Pristine. A perfect gentleman. She accepted the coffee
and took a sip. Her thank you was a grunt. Good coffee. Better than
good. Heavenly coffee. She inhaled and closed her eyes. When she
opened them, Blake was gone and a FedEx packet and carton sat at
the foot of the bed. Jack had come through fast.

She looked at the clock. Shit, it was
after ten. With a long sigh, she carried her coffee into the
bathroom. She needed to get to work, but she wanted a shower first.
A long, hot one.

In the bathroom, she woke up enough to
savor the expanse. A far cry from the dingy stained bathrooms of
their previous accommodations, this one was bigger than her room at
Camp Getaway, filled with rich, textured marble, glistening brass,
a sparkling glass-enclosed shower stall. And a Jacuzzi. Tempted to
soak the morning away, she eyed the cavernous tub with a promise to
visit later and turned on the water in the shower instead. Fatigue
disappeared under the needle-sharp spray.

Wrapped in the hotel’s plush white
terrycloth robe, she carried the FedEx packet out to the living
room of the suite. Blake sat on the couch, barefoot, dressed in
khakis and one of the blue chambray work shirts she’d bought him,
playing with the remote. His eyes had lost their fevered glaze.
When he looked at her, it was as if he’d struck her in the belly.
No. A little lower.

Stop it. She was playing a part, that
was all, one she had been rehearsing on the endless drive last
night. Her reactions were simply the manifestations of convincing
herself she could handle acting like Blake’s wife. Bill’s wife.
She’d rehearsed that in her head, too, for all the good it had
done. He’s Bill. Bill. Bill.

He’d kept the beard, but had trimmed
it. His hair hung nearly to his shoulders, still damp. Had he
showered? She’d seen no evidence in the bathroom. Pulling her gaze
from his, she studied the room more carefully and noticed a small
bathroom off the living room. Good enough.


I ordered from room
service,” he said. “I thought you’d be hungry and I didn’t know if
we’re still hiding or if we’re allowed to be seen in public.” He
gestured to the conference table at the far side of the room. She
glanced at the office workspace, then back at the table with the
room service tray. Hunger won, hands down. She tossed the packet
aside.

Uncovering the plates, she found
pancakes, eggs, sausage, and a huge bowl of fruit. A basket of
muffins sat on the table next to a pitcher of juice. She unrolled
the napkin to get at the silverware and was eating before she hit
the chair.


I didn’t know what
you liked,” Blake said, “so I ordered a little of everything. I
already ate mine—hope you don’t mind that I didn’t
wait.”

She noticed the tray of dirty dishes on
the kitchen counter next to a huge welcome basket, still untouched.
“No. Fine. Good.” Good grief, she was babbling.

Blake sat across the table, poured
himself a glass of juice and snagged a muffin from the basket.
“You’re looking more rested this morning. You feeling all
right?”

She polished off the eggs and half the
pancakes before she spoke again. Blake—Bill—hadn’t said anything
more, but she saw the questions almost bursting from his lips.
“Better,” she said. “Thanks. You look … better, too.”


I feel better.” He
reached across the table, took her hand and leaned forward,
pressing her fingers to his brow. “See? No fever. And the slice is
healing, but I think you should check it out.”

Her pulse jumped and she jerked her
hand away. “Is it red? Hot? Look infected? Oozing?”


No, just
tender.”


You’re a big boy.
Keep using the Neosporin. Keep it bandaged. Try not to stress the
incision.”


Yes, ma’am.” The
smile dropped away. “Seriously,” he continued, “I feel pretty good
and I owe you. A lot.”


I think we’re more
than even. Let me get dressed and we can get organized.”

In the bedroom, she stopped to rumple
the entire bed. Separate bathrooms seemed normal enough, but no
need to give housekeeping anything to wonder about. She was
ninety-nine percent sure nobody could have picked up their trail,
but she wasn’t going to spend the rest of her life in prison on the
one percent chance she’d missed something. And there was still a
nagging twitch inside that said she had.

Time to be Emily Cranford. She opened
the carton and pulled out her new persona. Nice slacks, silk
blouses, clingy sweaters with scooped necklines. No more bulky
turtlenecks. Even makeup and perfume. Stockbridge must have sent
his wife shopping—everything was elegant, yet casual and spoke of
Margaret’s taste. Almost everything. Margaret had gone a tad
overboard on the lingerie. A thong? Who in her right mind would pay
good money for a wedgie? The month’s supply of green-tinted
contacts was more important. What did people do before overnight
delivery?

While she unpacked the clothes, she
immersed herself in becoming Emily. Emily wouldn’t accompany her
husband on many of his jobs for EnviroCon, but when she did, she’d
be a schmoozer while he did the outdoor work. She selected a pair
of black slacks and green ribbed sweater. After applying
foundation, shadow, mascara and a touch of lipstick—Emily would
wear makeup—she felt ready to practice her new role.

Not quite—she went to her suitcase and
found the small jewelry pouch buried in its depths. Sitting on the
edge of the bed, she withdrew her wedding band and engagement ring.
Determined not to think of them as anything other than props, she
slid them onto her finger. Her breath caught when she pulled
Charles’ ring from the tissue she’d wrapped it in all those years
before. Would it fit? Blake’s hands were much larger than Charles’,
but while Charles had small hands, his fingers were thick and
powerful. Blake’s were long and slender, although she doubted they
were any less strong.

She slipped the ring onto her thumb and
walked around the bedroom, holding her head high, shortening her
normal stride as she adjusted to the low-heeled leather pumps.
Would Emily’s hips sway a little? Probably. Would she defer to her
husband? Hell, no. Well, maybe at a cocktail party. Look up at him
and smile. She’d done that enough as Casey, although there was no
deference, only pride, when she’d done so. Maybe a little Casey, a
little Mrs. Swensen, the story lady from the library when she was a
kid. She was kind, but nobody messed around when she was reading.
With a satisfied nod, she went out to the living room.


What did you do with
Hollingsworth’s research?” she asked.

Blake retrieved the envelope and
dropped it alongside the one from Stockbridge. His eyebrows lifted
and his gaze moved up and down her body, but he didn’t say
anything.


There are a few
things in the box for you, too,” she said, trying to ignore the
tingle his obvious appraisal sent through her. “Stockbridge sent
some dress slacks and a few shirts in case you need more than
jeans.”

Blake nodded. “What’s in there?”


More of our cover.”
She upended Stockbridge’s packet and dumped the contents on the
table. A couple of file folders, two letter-sized envelopes and a
fat manila one. She opened the first envelope and gave a nod of
approval. Stockbridge was good and he was fast. A set of car keys
and a note saying a car would be parked at the airport in the slot
where the truck had been.

The reminders of the roles they were
playing settled her. “We’ve got wheels at the airport. I’ve applied
for temporary driver’s licenses—poor Bill and Emily managed to lose
theirs—but it’ll take another day to get them.” She opened the
second envelope.

BOOK: What's in a Name?
13.26Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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