What's in a Name? (27 page)

She extended it toward him. “Anything
here seems fine. Maybe the cashew chicken?”

“
Excellent choice. One
of my favorites.”

“
Yeah, well the big
red circle around it was kind of a giveaway. That and the Speed
Dial 7 next to their phone number.”

He almost sat down beside her, but it
was as if she’d erected a force field around herself. Her own
boardroom façade. Instead, he went into the kitchen and phoned in
the order.

“
Is Quan on delivery
tonight?”

“
Yes, sir, Mr.
Windsor. I’ll have him there within half an hour.”

He thanked her and picked up the glass
of wine he’d left on the counter. Kelli had moved the blanket and
pillow he had used last night to the center of the couch and it sat
between them like a barrier. Almost grateful for the distance it
created, he sat at the opposite end.

“
I need to review some
papers for work,” he said.

“
No problem. I’m sorry
I made you miss half a day at the office.” She buried her nose in
the wineglass.

He shoved the blanket and pillow to the
floor. “Listen to me, Kelli. You did not make me do anything.
Everything that happened—I wanted it. And I’m sure you did, too.
Look me in the eye and tell me if I’m wrong.”

Her eyes flashed. “Yes, I wanted it.
And it’s been pretty obvious you wanted it. But that doesn’t mean
it was the right thing to do. I had something to prove. To myself.
We had a great time.”

“
Kelli—”

“
It’s over, it’s done.
No regrets, okay?” Her chin was lifted, her gaze steady. “Since you
said Hollingsworth wasn’t behind Scumbag, and he bought your story
that I wasn’t Casey, I should leave. I can get a flight out
tomorrow morning and go back to EnviroCon. I owe Stockbridge.
Big-time.”

His stomach dropped six stories, but he
ignored it and kept his tone neutral. “Is that what you want?”

“
It’s what I have to
do. I owe you a lot, too, Blake. Much bigger time. But I have to
put my life back together. And you have your work. Go back and tell
yourself you’re doing good deeds while you put money in Dwight
Hollingsworth’s pocket.”

Her sarcastic tone surprised him.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“
Not every deal is as
happy-ever-after as Phoenician Garden is it? Or do all your deals
end up with everyone winning? Nobody ever loses?”

“
Sweetheart, you’re
not making sense.”

She waved a file folder in his face.
“Whittaker Candies. Your next project. Have you looked at it?”

“
Some, yes.
Why?”

“
Are these your
notes?” She pointed to some hand-written notations.

“
Yes
again.”

“‘
Reduce workforce by
fifteen percent.’ With—let’s see—eighty-seven employees, that’s
thirteen people out of jobs. People with families—kids to put
through school, elderly parents to provide for. It doesn’t bother
you to put people out of work? You think if you call it fifteen
percent, they’re not real?”

“
Better thirteen
people lose their jobs than all eighty-seven when the company goes
belly-up.”

He pushed away the faceless individuals
who haunted his dreams sometimes. When the good of the many meant
hurting the few. Of the people there was no room for under a
Hollingsworth takeover. He knew they existed, but refused to let
them into his thoughts. Only rarely were they the people he’d meet
at the conference table. When he toured a facility, he never
allowed himself to connect names and faces with the employees.

Kelli went on. “Hollingsworth seems to
get a decent cut. And I imagine your take isn’t too shabby, either.
Supports your glitzy lifestyle where people bring food to your
door. I wonder how many of those thirteen would have jobs if you
did a little more compromising.”

“
I told you what I did
for a living. You didn’t seem to mind when I was saving your cute
little ass.”

“
Maybe I’m thinking
more clearly now that my cute little ass isn’t on the line.” Her
voice quavered and she stormed past him and around the
corner.

This couldn’t be about thirteen people
losing their jobs—maybe losing their jobs, because he’d barely had
a chance to analyze the statistics. He heard the bathroom door slam
and he sank to the couch. This was why he never stuck around. Sex
made women crazy, analyzing everything afterwards. He thought about
going after her and telling her how he felt about her. Right. He
could hear her answer.

That’s your dick talking, Windsor. Of
course you love me. We just fucked our brains out and you liked it
and you want more and you’ll say what you think I need to hear to
get it.

Well, she probably would say it more
politely, but he’d know what she meant. He swallowed the glass of
wine without tasting it. The doorbell buzzed. Quan had made good
time with their dinner. His appetite had fled. He dragged himself
to the door. Opening it without a thought, he stood face to face
with a pumped-up African-American. Hardly the slight Asian Quan.
The man smiled, revealing a gold-rimmed front tooth with a star
imbedded in it. He wore black denims, a black polo and held a
cardboard box with two brown paper bags inside.

“
Your dinner, Mr.
Windsor. One Kung Pao, one cashew chicken.” The man took two steps
into the apartment.

“
Where’s Quan?” Blake
glanced at his watch. Floyd would be on duty in the lobby and he
rarely paid attention to deliveries.

The man gave a half-smile and scanned
the apartment. “Last minute mix-up—he was on another run, so they
sent me.”

If he’d learned anything lately, it was
that trust wasn’t something to be doled out in vast quantities.

“
Wait there a second.”
Without turning, he called out, much louder than he needed to.
“Emily! My wallet’s in the bottom drawer of the night table,
darling. Can you bring it out, please? Dinner’s
waiting.”

* * * * *

Kelli stopped folding her clothes.
Blake could get his own damn wallet, which, as he damn well knew,
was in the damn pocket of his damn trousers—the ones she’d pulled
down his damn legs a few hours ago.

Grumbling to herself, she took two
steps toward his slacks and realization hit her like a bucket of
ice. He knew where his wallet was. And he’d called her Emily. Emily
darling. She hurried around the bed and opened the drawer. A Smith
and Wesson. Something was wrong out there. She checked it, found it
loaded.

“
Coming!” she
called.

Holding the gun in both hands, she
walked slowly around the wall. Blake sat on the arm of the couch,
watching a large African-American man just inside the door. The man
held what looked like a delivery of their dinner. Yeah and Scumbag
had looked like a park ranger.

“
Keep your hands on
the box,” she said to the man.

“
Hey, lady,” the man
said. “It’s only dinner. You owe me eighteen-forty-seven, but I’m
happy to hand it over. If you can’t pay for it, no problem. Honest.
I’ll make it up to the restaurant.”

“
Check him out,” she
said to Blake without taking her eyes off the man. For someone with
a gun pointed at him, Delivery Man didn’t look particularly
nervous.

She watched Blake step forward and pat
him down. “No wallet. Why am I not surprised?” He slid his hands
under the man’s open jacket and reached behind him.

“
Well, lookie here.”
Blake displayed an automatic, pointed it at Delivery
Man.

“
Hey, it’s for
self-defense,” the man proclaimed. “You know, it’s dangerous out
there.”

“
Hell, it’s dangerous
in here,” Blake said. “And what’s this I feel under your shirt?”
Blake’s hands lifted the man’s polo shirt, revealing a length of
rope wrapped around his waist. “You’re not going to tell me you
carry this in case your belt breaks, are you?”

Blake removed the rope. “I’ve got him
now, Sweetheart. I think there’s some duct tape in the broom
closet—beside the fridge. I’m not all that good with knots.”

“
Glad you watch
MacGyver, too.” She hurried to find the tape. Now that Blake had
things under control, her hands shook and her knees threatened to
give way.

She found the tape and brought it back
to Blake. “What are we going to do with him?” She started taping
the man’s wrists behind his back. “We can’t exactly call the
cops.”

“
Not from here. I’ll
bet my phone is bugged and they intercepted the call to the
restaurant. Or maybe someone bugged the whole effing apartment.” He
looked at the man. “I don’t suppose there’s really food in
here?”

“
You wouldn’t eat it,
if there was, would you?” she asked.

“
Definitely
not.”

“
Who knows how long
there’s been a bug in here. Someone could have done it easily
enough while you were gone.”

Blake shoved the man onto the couch and
she started to tape his ankles.

Blake kept the coffee table between him
and the man. “Why are you here?”

“
To rob you. What
else?”

“
In that case, I
suggest you have your gun more accessible before you knock on the
door,” Kelli said.

“
And why don’t I
believe you?” Blake didn’t lower the gun. “Who sent
you?”

“
Nobody.”

“
Try
again.”

“
John Smith,” Delivery
Man said.

“
He’s being awfully
cooperative, don’t you think?” she asked. Her hands had stopped
trembling so badly now that the man was secure.

“
Oh, yeah. A picture
of cooperation.” Blake’s voice was controlled fury. His eyes were
slits. “Look, buster. I’m abso-fucking-lutely fed up with people
coming after me. Or were you after her?” Blake stepped toward
Delivery Man and placed the gun barrel against his
forehead.

“
Hey, take it easy. I
don’t know the guy. He says his name is John Smith and he transfers
money into my bank account when I do a job.”

“
And, as I asked
before, exactly what is the job you’re doing?”

“
Come in here, rough
you two up a little, tie you up, make it look like a robbery. Call
when I was done.”

“
You got the number?”
Blake asked. “My finger gets tense when I get mad. I’d hate to have
your brains all over my wall. I might lose my cleaning
deposit.”

The man recited the number and she
wrote it on a slip of paper. She thought for a moment and wrote it
on a second slip and shoved it in the man’s pocket. “We need to put
him somewhere, then call the cops. They’ll find this number on him.
I doubt he’s going to tell them he was in this apartment.” She
glared at the man. “Are you?”

“
No. No. I ain’t
saying nothing.”

The doorbell rang.

“
Crap,” Blake said.
“That’s probably Quan with our real dinner.”

“
I’ll get your
wallet.” She rushed back to the bedroom and found Blake’s trousers,
his wallet still in the pocket. Back in the living room, she stood
guard over Delivery Man while Blake managed to pay Quan without
opening the door far enough for him to see inside. Blake put the
food on the kitchen counter, leaned his arms against it and lowered
his head. When he looked up, he seemed in control.

“
Okay,” he said.
“Let’s figure this one out. We can’t have him connected to us. We
can’t let anyone know he’s succeeded or failed. I figure we have
maybe an hour, tops, before someone tries to check up on
him.”

“
What about the
doorman?” she asked. “Will he help?”

“
I don’t think he’d be
able to lie for us. I don’t want him to. What about if we schlep
this creep to the laundry room? Or the fitness center? Somewhere
any tenant could find him and call the cops.”

“
For a quick plan,
that sounds like it might work. But it would be better if he could
be caught robbing someone else’s apartment.”

“
I can’t get a handle
on that one.” Blake straightened up and looked at Delivery Man.
“You know anyone named McGregor?”

The man shook his head, but not before
Kelli saw a flicker of recognition. She looked at Blake. He’d seen
it, too. “So much for the three-attacks-in-three-cities-is-too-much
theory,” she said to him.

Blake stormed over and grabbed Delivery
Man’s shirt. “Oh, so you and Scumbag are acquainted. How do you
know him?”

“
I didn’t say I
did.”

Blake spoke between clenched jaws. “You
didn’t have to. I repeat. How do you know him?”

“
Served some time
together.”

“
Does McGregor know
John Smith, too?” Blake asked.

“
Hell, how would I
know? Haven’t seen the fucker since he got out. And that’s the
truth.”

Blake went on. “I’m tired of this. I’m
going to take him to the laundry room on ten. Get me a knife so I
can cut his ankles loose. I’m sure he’s going to walk nicely.”

“
Give me a minute to
put my slacks on. I’m going with you,” she said. “I can make sure
there’s nobody in there.”

Blake flashed her a smile. “So, we’re
together again?”

She managed to return the smile. “Like
white on rice.”