What's in a Name? (22 page)

“
You can’t get on an
airplane without government-issued ID,” she said. “That, plus our
EnviroCon photo IDs should get us through security.”

“
Right. I knew that.”
With all his travel, of course he did. There was something about
being around Kelli that left his brain two steps behind.

She nudged him toward the door. He saw
her glance around the room until her eyes caught the duffel sitting
at the edge of the couch. “You were going to go no matter what I
said, weren’t you?”

Kelli buckled her seat belt and focused
on the safety video, wondering if the flight attendants would be so
smiling and collected in a genuine emergency. The only last-minute
seats available were in first class, not that she objected. To be
honest, even more than the larger seats and extra legroom, she was
thankful for the oversize stationary console between the seats,
putting a physical barrier between her and Blake.

For the first time since Blake had
dropped the news he was going to confront Hollingsworth, she
allowed herself to relax. When she’d suggested she might be able to
pick up some more information closer to the source, he hadn’t
argued. Besides—maybe the attack on Jack was supposed to lure her
back to Spokane, where someone would be waiting. Better not to take
the bait.

They’d spent the morning packing,
getting everything but her essentials shipped to EnviroCon for
storage. She’d miss the security of her thirty-eight, but if they
were flying, it wasn’t an option. She hadn’t heard from Jack, which
had done nothing to ease her anxiety. Afraid to call for fear the
cops might be monitoring his phones, she tried to reassure herself
he was all right. He’d call if he had news. Until then, she’d have
to wait.

She twisted in her seat and cast a
sidelong glance at Blake. His beard had filled out and with his
long hair, he had an unnerving sexy charm, something not lost on
the flight attendant, judging from the solicitous way she’d made
sure he had everything he needed. Blake seemed oblivious—he was as
tired as she was and had to be planning his upcoming confrontation
with Hollingsworth.

Moments later, they were airborne. She
reached under the seat for the bag containing her computer and
notes, but when she pulled out the envelope, Blake touched her
hand.

“
Take a break,” he
said. “You’ve been going almost nonstop for days.”

Maybe he was right. Sometimes things
came together when you didn’t think about them. Let the mind float.
She put the envelope back.

“
Get some rest,” he
said and reclined his seat and closed his eyes.

She fished the airline’s earphones out
of the seat pocket and found a classical music station on the dial.
Exhausted or not, sleep did not come easily for her on airplanes,
and her mind refused to slow down. She stared out the window into
the late-afternoon sun, watching the plane’s shadow drift over the
clouds below, until she slipped into that nebulous realm on the
outskirts of sleep. Images whirled, people danced in juxtaposition
with little regard to time. She was back at Berkeley, but Jack was
there, too. Blake and Robert faced off in a duel, using ball peen
hammers that shot fire. Karen Abbott floated in wearing a a big red
clown nose, laughing, holding a broken wine bottle.

She struggled against the dream,
telling herself to wake up and it would go away. Yet the images
wouldn’t fade and she could no longer be certain she was dreaming.
Scumbag was there, dangling her over a cliff. She battled, but he
gave a wicked laugh and dropped her. Her stomach flew to her throat
as she fell—down, down, into a circle of flames.

“
Due to turbulence,
the captain has illuminated the seat belt sign and all passengers
should return to their seats. Please make sure your seat belts are
securely fastened,” rang out from the heavens.

Kelli broke out of the dream with an
audible gasp. Heart racing, she fumbled with her seat belt to make
sure it was snug. She located the bottle of water she’d put in the
seat pocket and unscrewed the cap, downing half the contents in one
pull. Blake stirred, repositioned himself in his seat, but didn’t
open his eyes. His face was relaxed and a tiny smile twitched at
the corner of his mouth. Dreaming, no doubt. Something pleasant. No
nightmares.

She picked up the in-flight magazine
and tried to lose herself in the best places to ski in France while
she cursed those who could drop into a peaceful sleep, seemingly at
will. Charles had hated flying. He was always good for distracting
conversation. First class had the additional perk of meal service,
but after two bites, she poked at her chicken and moved the rice
and vegetables around the plate. Blake grunted and shook his head
when the flight attendant came by, but Kelli doubted he had
awakened.

When the captain announced their final
descent, Blake’s eyes popped open and she watched him become aware
of his surroundings. He worked his mouth back and forth and she
offered him what was left in her water bottle.

He took a drink, stretched his legs and
torso as much as the seat permitted and rubbed his eyes. He looked
at his watch. Shook his head. “Guess I was out, huh?”

“
Like the proverbial
light.”

“
You?”

“
Fine.”

He raised his eyebrows, then gave her a
scrutinizing look. She couldn’t lie to those eyes. “Okay, so I
don’t sleep much on planes. I rested. Some.” And thought and
thought and tried not to think anymore.

“
Sometimes it seems I
get half my sleep on planes.” He reached over, laced his fingers
through hers. “I’m glad you’re here. Did you eat? I’m
starved.”

“
Not my fault you
wouldn’t wake up.”

“
There are some decent
all-night spots. We can grab a bite on the way to my
place.”

His place. That was something else
she’d tried not to think about. Staying with him in his condo
shouldn’t be any different from sharing hotel rooms, but somehow,
it seemed more … intimate, somehow. Ridiculous. Hell, for the money
he paid, he had to have plenty of room. Maybe an entire guest
suite. Probably more privacy than she’d had in days. She pulled her
fingers from his and stared out the window, watching the city
lights grow brighter.

Even at ten-thirty, O’Hare was filled
with people. She followed Blake’s confident stride until they were
ensconced in a taxi. The cab made its way out of the airport,
passing cranes, scaffolding, and heavy machinery.

“
Do you think there’s
a law requiring airports to be under construction at all times?”
she asked.

Blake chortled. “Come to think of it, I
can’t recall being in one that wasn’t. Maybe you’re right.”

She watched the lights fly by for a
while and then Blake was shaking her awake.

“
Guess not sleeping in
airplanes doesn’t carry over to taxis,” he said. “Let’s get you
into bed.”

She tried to shrug off her grogginess,
but her thought processes were dragging at least two feet behind
her. “Did we stop to eat?”

“
I didn’t have the
heart to wake you. I’ll find something in the freezer.”

“
Sorry.”

“
Don’t be.”

Blake paid the driver, hoisted his
duffel and her gym bag over his shoulder. He wrapped his arm around
her waist and guided her to the glass door of a towering high-rise.
A uniformed doorman held the door open and greeted him by name. She
wasn’t too tired to notice the look of surprise, quickly covered,
on the man’s face when Blake escorted her through the doorway.

“
Guess he doesn’t
approve of me,” she said once they were in the elevator. “I’m sure
I don’t look like the women he’s used to seeing with
you.”

Blake let the bags slip onto the floor
of the empty car. He pressed a button, then turned toward her and
cradled her face in his hands. “Sweetheart, he’s never seen me
bring a woman here.”

Still pondering Blake’s statement, she
followed him to a door at the far end of the carpeted corridor. He
worked through a ring of keys, selected one, and unlocked the
door.

“
Here we are. Make
yourself at home.” He pushed the door open and stepped aside so she
could enter first.

She tried to remember that Blake was,
in fact, a corporate executive. Still, the vast expanse of chrome,
glass and leather made her stop. A cross between a loft and a
studio apartment. Masculine, yes, but there was no personality
here. Sterile.

Sleek gray tiles with a couple of area
rugs on the floor. Living space to her left. There was a
glass-enclosed fireplace which she surmised, from the lack of any
wood stacked nearby, was gas. In front of it forming a U was a
black leather couch and two matching chairs. A glass coffee table
sat in the center of the U, bare except for a colored glass bowl.
Not even a magazine. Framed abstract prints on the walls.

The drapes were closed, but she
imagined a view of the city lights below—they’d come up to the
sixteenth floor. She took a few tentative steps into the apartment.
Blake had dropped the bags next to the couch and gone straight into
the open kitchen on the right. Steel appliances, a tall bar-height
counter with chrome and leather stools. No dishes by the sink,
nothing on the counter.

A six-foot-high L-shaped glass block
wall divided the overall space, affording privacy to what she
assumed were bed and bathroom areas.

“
Not much here,” he
said from behind the freezer door. I’ve been on the road a
lot.”

She watched him rip open a carton and
stick a pizza in the microwave, then come back to join her.
“Bathroom and bedroom are around the corner.” She nodded and headed
in that direction.

An elevated platform held a king-sized
bed covered in black satin, a lacquered armoire and chest of
drawers. A louvered door led to what she assumed was the bathroom.
And that was it. No fancy guest quarters. No separate guestroom.
Sensing his presence behind her, she turned.

“
You want some pizza?”
he asked. “I’ve got some beer, too. Not a lot else, but there are
some bagels in the freezer for tomorrow.” He looked at his watch.
“Well, for breakfast, since it’s already tomorrow.”

“
I don’t think I’m
hungry anymore,” she said.

“
Fine. If you didn’t
sleep on the plane, you must be exhausted—the ride from the airport
wasn’t long enough for a decent nap. Why don’t you crash? I’ll take
the couch.”

“
No, that’s all right.
I’m smaller—I’ll be fine out there.”

“
Don’t be silly. I
slept on the plane and I’m going to have some pizza and a beer
while I plan my strategy for tomorrow. I’ll be up early—I want
Hollingsworth to find me at the office when he arrives. You can
sleep in.”

“
I want to see
him—hear his voice. I could pretend to be—I don’t know—a delivery
person? A temp from another department? Maybe I’ll recognize him.
And if I do, I’ll … I’ll—”

“
Sweetheart, no.” His
hands crossed his chest, his full lips thinned to almost
nothing.

For an instant, his eyes darkened and
she felt what it would be like to sit across a boardroom when he
was closing a deal. He’d made a simple statement, but there was no
disputing it. Furious with him, she stood there, head bowed, too
tired to argue. About anything. Bed, couch, confrontations with men
who might have hired someone to kill her.

Let him go. She should never have come
to Chicago in the first place. Should have been strong enough to
leave him, go somewhere new.

She raised her gaze. He hadn’t moved.
He just stood there, being so—there.

Her breathing accelerated, and she told
herself she was exhausted, confused, and angry at his stubbornness,
knowing perfectly well it wasn’t anger she was feeling. Except
maybe at herself for getting into this situation. She started to
push past him, to get her bag. He stood his ground and she stopped,
feeling his heat feed hers.

“
There’s something
here. We both know it.” Blake’s voice came from deep in his throat.
He pulled her into his chest and ran his fingers down her
back.

“
But what’s the
something?” She rested her cheek against his chest, listening to
the thudding of his heart. “We’ve been relying on each other for
survival. That’s not normal.”

“
I want to wake up
beside you, Kelli. I want to know you’re there next to me. If you
have a nightmare, I want to be there for you. But not until you’re
ready. Give me a couple of minutes and I’ll take the
couch.”

“
Blake, I—”

“
Get some
sleep.”

Well before eight the next morning,
Blake sat in his office, trying to busy himself going through
accumulated emails while he awaited Hollingsworth’s arrival.
Earlier, Blake had taken the stairs up two flights to
Hollingsworth’s office, but as always, it was locked. Mrs. Madison
would have placed a neatly printed schedule for the day on his desk
before she’d left yesterday. He’d looked at her desk, but true to
form, she’d cleared it of all but a bud vase with a single
rose.

At eight-thirty, she’d arrive and
replace the rose with a fresh one, hang her suit jacket on a padded
hanger from the coat tree in the corner of her office, and turn on
her computer. While it booted, she’d make a short trip to the break
room down the hall for coffee and then she’d be back at her desk,
ready for the day by eight-forty-five.