What's in a Name? (17 page)

“
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—”

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.

He drummed his fingers on the pizza box
and looked up at the elevator display. Three of the cars were going
up and the fourth was on the nineteenth floor. He kept his back to
the desk, but listened to see if the man had made any progress with
the clerk.

“
I’m sorry, sir. We
don’t give out room numbers, but I’ll be happy to ring the room if
you’ll give me the guest’s name.”

“
That’s my problem,”
the man said, his voice a slow drawl. “I forgot to write it down. I
know EnviroCon booked the room, and I have to deliver something in
person. My job’s on the line, if you get my drift.”

Blake froze. Barely turning, he studied
the man at the counter. The moustache was gone, the hair was a
buzz-cut, but it was definitely Scumbag. Blake grabbed his phone.
He fumbled through his pockets. Crap. Where was the damn paper with
all those new cell phone numbers? He scanned the lobby.

Nearby, on a small table, sat a house
phone. Keeping his stride casual, Blake ambled over. He set down
the pizza, grabbed the receiver and punched the number for their
room. From his vantage point, he saw Scumbag walk across the lobby,
then lodge himself into an easy chair near the elevator. Scumbag
lifted a newspaper in front of his face, but Blake doubted the man
was reading.

The phone rang for the fourth time,
then kicked into the hotel’s automatic voicemail system. Crap. The
phone had to be right beside her. Kelli never left the desk. Maybe
she was in the john. He clicked off. Scumbag had put down the paper
and was talking to a different desk clerk. Blake thought he
recognized her as the blonde on duty when they’d checked in. He
gripped the phone and dialed again.

Shit, Kelli. Pick up the effing
phone.

* * * * *

Kelli paced the hotel room, heart
beating double-time, even with the hospital’s mellow hold music
playing through her cell phone. Her pulse had skyrocketed when a
police detective answered the phone in Stockbridge’s office, and it
hadn’t slowed.

Where was Windsor? She looked at the
other two cell phones. Which number had he taken? The room phone
rang. She was about to pick up when the music in her ear stopped
and a female voice came on the line.

The nurse barely had a chance to say
hello before Kelli interrupted. “What happened to Jack Stockbridge?
I need to speak to him.”

“
I’m sorry, but until
he’s assigned a room, he can’t get calls.”

“
How is he? Is he
hurt? What happened?”

“
I’m not at liberty to
say. You can call back once he’s in a room.”

“
Yes, I heard you the
first time. When will that be?”

“
I can’t say, ma’am.
Maybe an hour. Maybe two.”

She managed a curt thank you and mashed
her thumb on the button to disconnect. Jack’s wife might know. She
went to the bedroom for her own cell phone and sank onto the bed
while she searched for Margaret’s number. The room phone rang again
and she leaned over to the nightstand to answer.

As soon as she heard Blake’s voice, she
cut him off. “Where the hell have you been? Someone broke into
Stockbridge’s office and attacked him. He’s in the hospital. We
have to—”

“
Stop. Listen. Get
out. Now. Take the stairs. Scumbag’s here. I’ll meet
you.”

Without thinking, she grabbed her gym
bag and hoisted it over her shoulder. She eased the door open,
checking to make sure the hallway was clear. Lighted red exit signs
led her to the stairwell and she shoved open the heavy door.

Fingertips skimming the handrail, the
bag thumping against her back, she allowed a brief curse at being
on the twentieth floor and another at being Emily in leather pumps,
not Kelli in hiking boots or sneakers. After that, there was
nothing but thoughts of
down
and
don’t slip
. Her
breathing turned ragged. Her thighs ached. After seven flights, she
stopped to switch the bag to her other shoulder and gasped for air.
Her vision blurred and she wiped her eyes, surprised to find they
were wet with tears. She took one shaky breath and resumed her
frantic descent.

Three flights later, the sound of
footfalls bounding up the stairwell set her heart racing even
faster. Dry-mouthed, she zipped open the gym bag and searched for
the revolver. Before her fingers found it, a man’s form rounded the
landing.

“
Easy, Sweetheart.
It’s me. Come on.”

Her brain said she could relax, but her
body was still pumping adrenaline like a geyser. Blake eased the
bag from her shoulder and gave her hands a squeeze. The shadowy
stairwell couldn’t disguise the relief she saw spread over his
face. Her eyes met his and she allowed herself to be dragged
in.

“
Wait,” she whispered.
Using his arms for support, she pulled off her shoes.
“Okay.”

She focused on his back, on the bag
bouncing with each step. His breathing was labored. This couldn’t
be good for him, but she matched his pace, barely noticing the
floor numbers as they passed each landing.

When he stopped midway down a flight,
she almost ran into him. “What?” she asked.

“
Nearly at the lobby.”
He took a few deep breaths. “Car. Green Bonneville. Other side of
the hotel. Second or third row, I think. Near a planter.” He fished
a set of keys out of his pocket.

A tendril of fear snaked through her
insides. “Aren’t you coming?”

“
I’ll follow. Meet me
around back, by the convention center loading docks.”