What's in a Name? (34 page)

“
What?
Why?”

“
I don’t know. They
got me out of bed and I’m going with them as soon as I’m dressed.
Something about a lead on the guy who assaulted me.”

She heard a knocking sound and a
muffled voice telling Jack to hurry it up. Phone to her ear, she
slid out of the booth and strode toward the door. “Call me when you
know more. I’m on my way.” She disconnected before Jack could
reply.

Before she reached the café’s glass
door, Blake had caught up and pushed it open. “Where are we
going?”

Without breaking stride, she said,
“You’re going back to Chicago. Or staying here. I’m going to
EnviroCon.” Blake grabbed the arm of her parka, but she slipped out
of his grasp. “I told you I might have to go back, and things have
escalated. It’s time to for me to stop running and confront this
mess. And for you to get on with your life.”

“
I’m in this,
too.”

“
Maybe so, but I see
no reason for you to get involved until the cops ask you
to.”

By now, they were in the pickup and
driving toward the house. Blake’s jaw muscles were working, his
hands were clenched on the wheel, but he wasn’t talking. She tried
not to look at him, but even in anger, his features compelled her
attention. His gaze would slide over to her, then break, his lips
pressed together so tightly they almost disappeared. Then he’d look
like he was going to say something, but inhale audibly instead.

What could she say? Words whirled
through her head. It’s been fun? An adventure? Something we’ll
remember, but it isn’t meant to be? Two people thrown together,
fighting for survival? It wasn’t love.

She knew it was. But it was a love
they’d both have to get past. She felt the ache building around her
heart. Blake was sitting less than two feet from her and she was
already lonely.

She turned her face toward the window,
opening it a crack to admit the cool, crisp air. They’d left the
more populated residential section behind, and she concentrated on
the passing landscape with its fields and patches of trees, their
leaves painted with shades of red and gold. Smoke billowed from the
occasional chimney. Fall had definitely arrived.

A short while later, the truck wheeled
down the driveway toward the garage behind the house. She saw
Blake’s hand reach up toward the sun visor to press the remote, and
then a quick flash of light.

She was flat on her belly with Blake
pressed on top of her. Leaves and sticks dug into her abdomen and
dirt filled her nose. Once she managed to turn her head and
breathe, she tried to squirm free. “Get off of me.”

“
Don’t move.” Blake’s
mouth was beside her ear.

And then she was surrounded by heat, by
smoke and by explosions that left her ears ringing. The weight
lifted from her back and she rolled over. Eyes closed, still
tearing from the smoke, she heard Blake coughing. She pushed
herself to a sitting position, knees up, with her head resting on
them.

“
Are you okay?” she
asked.

“
Yeah,” he said
between coughs. “Fine. The garage is toast, though.”

A handkerchief appeared in her hand and
she daubed at her eyes. Through the blur, she saw the worry in
Blake’s eyes. “I’m all right.” When the look of concern didn’t
disappear, she stood up. She wobbled for a moment and he supported
her with an arm around her waist.

She removed his arm and squeezed his
hand. “A little shaky is all. I’m fine, honest. What happened?”

“
I’m not sure.
Something caught fire and there are a lot of flammables in the
garage, but—” The look in his eyes wasn’t concern
anymore.

“
But you’re not sure
it was an accident, right?”

“
Dad was always a
stickler for safety and Brian knows the rules. I might buy an
accident except—”

“
Except we seem to be
having a little too much—excitement—lately?” She chewed on her lip,
trying to decide what to do. Her first instincts said to get the
hell out of there, but even while she thought about packing up
everything, she could hear the sirens in the distance.

Blake pulled her farther from the
garage, away from the house, toward the street.

She tugged Blake toward the service
porch door. “Wait. I want my laptop.”

“
Slow down,
Sweetheart. I don’t think you should go inside.”

Despite the heat from the fire, she
shivered when the meaning behind his words registered. “You think
the garage was a bomb? That there’s one in the house, too?”

“
I have no clue. If
I’ve learned anything this past week, it’s you can’t be too
careful, and nothing is what it seems. But tell me. Before we meet
anyone, who the hell are you going to be?”

Blake stood by the road and watched the
fire engines drive away. There was an emptiness inside him despite
the full breakfast. Kelli was inside the house making travel plans
and packing up anything and everything that might betray her
identity. The Fire Marshal had deemed the fire an accident caused
by spontaneous combustion of some of Stacey’s paint rags. No bomb,
no arson and nothing in the house. Fred Bozeman had shown up—an
exploding garage must be big-time around here to get the police
chief out on a Sunday.

Blake had asked him to keep things
quiet—no information one way or the other if anyone had been hurt
in the explosion. If, like Kelli suspected, it hadn’t been an
accident, he saw no reason to make it easy for someone to know if
he’d succeeded. Given that the local paper was a weekly, he thought
they’d be safe enough.

Had it been an accident? Stacey should
know better, but it wasn’t that big a stretch for her to have left
the rags in a closed container. The fumes bothered her, the
pregnancy could be weighing on her mind, Torrie could have been a
distraction—any number of logical, reasonable explanations. The
fact that there hadn’t been a single rag in Stacey’s studio lent
credence to the theory she’d taken the container to the garage and
left it where she shouldn’t have. And he hadn’t noticed. He’d
checked the truck and hadn’t given a thought to the rest of the
space. No matter how caught up in thoughts of Kelli, he should have
given the garage a thorough once-over, not assumed everything was
fine.

He turned and took in the smoldering
garage. In silent apology, he raised his eyes to the clear, blue
sky. Sorry, Dad. I messed up. Again.

You can’t uncut a board, son. When
things don’t go right, you put them behind you and move on to the
next.

Move on. To what? The kitchen door
banged shut, and he jerked around to see Kelli walking toward him,
her steps hesitant, as if she sensed she was intruding. Seeing her
filled him with a hopelessly tangled combination of longing and
loss.

Five feet from him, she halted. Wearing
jeans and one of his sweatshirts, she wasn’t dressed for travel. He
looked more closely. Her eyes were their natural gray. Afraid to
get his hopes up that she’d changed her mind, he waited for her to
speak. When she didn’t, he took a tentative step forward.

“
They’re gone,” he
said, tilting his head down the road. “You okay?”

She nodded. “I can’t get a flight out
of Champaign until tomorrow morning. Guess you’re stuck with me for
one more night.”

One more night. He reached for her hand
and she stepped back.

Why the hell didn’t his old man have
any words of wisdom for situations like this one? Like, grab her in
your arms and kiss her until she can’t bear to leave. Or tell her
you love her and can’t live without her. Or just get down on your
knees and beg. None of that came out. Instead, he heard himself
say, “I should get busy.” Brilliant.

She held his gaze for a moment and he,
Blake Windsor, the quintessential people-reader, had no clue what
was going on in her mind. One corner of her mouth twitched and she
pivoted and wandered toward the house. He followed, three paces
behind, watching the way her butt moved in her jeans. Wondering if
he’d ever forget the way her butt moved in her jeans.

And tomorrow, he’d drive her to the
airport and she’d get on the plane and he’d come back here and he
and Brian—

Crap, he’d have to call Brian. He
trudged into the house, trying to decide how to break the news.

He sat at the kitchen table, staring at
the phone.
Sorry, Bri, but your wife burned down the garage. But
that’s okay, because we caught it before it spread to the
house.
Yeah, right. No way would he lay any guilt on Stacey.
The arson investigator had sworn spontaneous combustion didn’t work
like a bomb—no way to rig anything to go off at a specific time. It
was an accident.

Tethered to the telephone cord, he
paced a small semicircle in the kitchen. “No, Brian. I’m not filing
an insurance claim. The garage needed to be redone anyway and I’m
not giving them an excuse to raise the premiums.”

“
I’ll take care of it.
I can put in some nights and weekends. You go back to your big city
job.” Brian’s voice took on the tone he had always hated—the one
that said Brian was the big brother and he knew what to do, and
besides, he could do it right, unlike little Blake.

Blake spoke through clenched teeth.
“No. And that’s final. Save your nights and weekends for your
family. They need you. I’ve got some things to wrap up in Chicago,
but I’m going to handle this.”

“
You could hire it
out, you know.”

“
Some of it, yeah. But
I’ll still have to supervise. Do it yourself and you’ll know it’s
done right.”

A pause. “Amazing. You sound like Dad.
I never knew you listened.”

Blake snorted. “Like we could avoid
it?” His jaw relaxed. “If you’d feel better, I can leave the pickup
at your place until I get back. There’s nothing left in the garage
to steal.”

“
What about
Emily?”

“
Emily?” He stumbled
for a minute. “Right. She has to go back to work tomorrow.” His
mind whirled through the logistics. “We’ll leave the truck at your
place and take a cab from there to the airport.”

Plans were forming and they started
with a knock-down, drag-em-out confrontation with Hollingsworth. He
wondered if there would be a seat on the commuter flight. If not,
he’d take the bus.

He realized he’d missed half of what
Brian was saying. “And besides, Stacey and Torrie would love time
with you. I’ll be clear in a couple of weeks and we’ll all come
over. Have an old-fashioned garage raising. I’ll get a crew and
their families. Make it a party. Stacey’s a great cook—when she’s
not throwing up.”

“
All the more reason
to leave things to me, Bri. She doesn’t need to be around the
noise, mess and smells when she’s not feeling well, much less be
cooking for everyone.”

“
We’ll discuss it
later,” Brian said and the conversation was over. They said their
goodbyes and he lowered the receiver with a soft click and a vague
sense of pride. Not that long ago, he’d have slammed it down—maybe
thrown it against the wall. Or he’d simply have said, “Have it your
way, then.” Such progress.

A while later, Blake sprawled on the
couch, trying to ignore the sounds of Kelli’s incessant keyboard
clattering from down the hall. He’d tried not to picture her
packing everything that would say she’d actually been here—in this
house, in his life—before she disappeared. It hadn’t worked. He
heard every footstep, every drawer opening. Every sound brought an
image. He saw her folding her clothes, everything smooth and
symmetrical before she packed them in the suitcase—the one he’d
insisted she keep. She’d have something of his, at least.

He sank his head into his hands. Until
two weeks ago, the biggest challenge in his life was to remove the
human factor from the job he did. Sure, his conscience twinged from
time to time and there were the occasional sleepless nights, but as
he always told himself, if he didn’t do the job someone else would
and he took pride in doing the best job possible.

Best job for whom? Himself?
Hollingsworth? The companies Hollingsworth took over? But no matter
how tough a takeover was, nobody pointed a gun at him, nobody
stabbed him with a knife, nobody tried to rape someone he cared
about.

Now the Washington cops would find his
blood and prints on a murder weapon and the Whittaker account
wasn’t going away. Afraid to follow that train of thought, he
segued back to Kelli, who
was
going away.

He dug his fingertips into his temples.
Maybe Kelli was right, and he should forget her and get on with his
life. Back to the casual relationships that came without the
strings that wrapped around your heart and tightened until you
couldn’t breathe. If she could walk away this easily, what could
she have felt? Gratitude, for one. Lust—the need to proclaim you’re
alive after a trauma. Neither lent itself to the “until death do us
part” scenario.

A ball of ice hit his stomach when he
realized Kelli had already lived that one. No wonder she’d backed
away.

He’d given her his best, but sometimes
a deal wouldn’t close the way you wanted it to. When that happened,
you swallowed your pride, stood up, shook hands and walked away
from the table.

He rose and twisted the kinks out of
his back. A workout might help.

An hour later, he was drenched in sweat
and the aches in his muscles couldn’t overpower the ones that
grabbed his chest. He came into the house, heading for the shower,
shedding his shirt as he dragged down the hall.