What's in a Name? (36 page)

Blake’s grip on her tightened, but he
barely stirred. She wondered how much he’d actually slept. She’d
kept her promise, not even leaving his side to turn off the
computers.

“
Wake up.” She pulled
away and turned on the bedside lamp.

A muffled grunt, followed by a yawn.
“What are you doing?” He rubbed his eyes.

“
I have things to do
and a plane to catch. And I promised to be here when you woke
up.”

“
Then I’m going back
to sleep.”

She’d steeled herself for this moment.
“Blake. Please. It’s tomorrow. Time to get back to reality.” She
averted her eyes.

“
Pumpkin time,
Cinderella?” Despite his obvious attempt to keep things light, she
heard the dull resignation in his tone. So, he’d finally realized
what they had wasn’t something to base a lifetime on. Their worlds
had touched, but they would never interlock.

She crawled out of bed and stripped the
blanket and top sheet off. She was working the bottom sheet out
from under Blake when he threw his hands up in surrender.

“
I’m up. I’m up.” He
climbed into a pair of drawstring flannel pants, bundled the sheets
and started for the door. “I’ll get these into the washing machine.
Why don’t you go play with your computer and I’ll make coffee. And
maybe I can handle toasting a bagel, too.”

“
Thanks.” She found a
discarded t-shirt of Blake’s on the floor and wriggled into it,
savoring his scent as she made her way down the hall to the office.
Clean breaks healed best.

She leafed through the phone book and
found a listing for an airport shuttle service. After arranging a
pickup time, she hung up, fighting the feeling she’d betrayed
Blake. He’d be mad, but she didn’t want to deal with the
awkwardness of that drive, sitting in the confines of the truck’s
cab with him. She could already hear the stumbling attempts at
conversation, then the awkward, painful goodbyes once they got
there.

She saw the green arrow on her email
icon and clicked open her inbox. Bless you, Justin. She downloaded
the attachment and sent it to the printer.

Scrolling through the documents on the
screen while she waited for them to print, she saw bright yellow
highlights. She looked back at his email message.

Here you go, K. I took the liberty of
cross-checking the lists against each other. Figured you thought
they must be connected—if not, no big deal. Only took a few
minutes.

Leave it to Justin to put two and two
together and go one step further than she’d asked. A quick glance
at the time told her she had about an hour left. She grabbed the
pages from the printer, gathered all her files and set off for the
dining room, where she could spread everything out.

* * * * *

Blake came into the kitchen from the
service porch after starting the laundry. He studied the toaster
oven, wondering why his brother couldn’t have a plain, ordinary,
stick-the-bread-in-the-slot-and-press-a-lever toaster instead of
this box with dials, buttons, timers and temperature settings. He
wanted a toasted bagel, for God’s sake, not a gourmet meal. He
adjusted the drawstring on his pants and toyed with the idea of
asking Kelli to help, but there was no way in hell a kitchen
appliance was going to defeat him.

When he heard movement in the dining
room, he turned his attention away from the toaster oven, poured
another mug of coffee—he knew how to handle that one—and stepped to
the doorway. He paused to absorb Kelli’s presence, watching her
arrange file folders on the table and spread sheets of paper
around.

He carried her coffee to the table,
setting it well away from the papers. “Good news?”

She glanced up, barely looking at him.
“I think so. Justin got his teeth into this one. I need to lay it
out so I can see what he found.”

“
You’re
welcome.”

“
What?” She looked up,
puzzled at the irritation in his tone.

“
For the coffee. The
bagels will be a bit longer.”

“
No problem. I can
grab something later.” She stopped and he saw her take a breath.
“I’m sorry.” She picked up the coffee and inhaled, then took a sip.
“Thanks.”

He crossed behind her, longing to close
those final few inches and feel her body against his. “So, what do
you have?”

“
Justin was checking
out donors to the projects similar to Camp Getaway that Thornton
was behind and also to contributors to Hollingsworth’s campaign
fund. He cross-referenced them and—”

“
And Thornton gave
money to Hollingsworth, or Hollingsworth to Thornton,
right?”

“
Both,
actually.”

“
But why would
Thornton donate money to Hollingsworth’s campaign? He’s running for
governor of Illinois. Isn’t Thornton’s operation based out of
Denver?”

She leafed through a few sheets of
paper, selected one and pointed. “Here. When Justin gets going, he
can be determined.”

“
Sounds like someone
else I know,” Blake mumbled.

Ignoring the comment, she went on.
“Thornton is based in Denver, yes. But,” she tapped her finger on
the page, “he maintains a residence in Illinois.”

He sat down, trying to piece it
together. “Okay, so you’ve connected Thornton and Dwight. What does
that give us?”

Apparently the use of “us” hadn’t
registered. Or if it had, it hadn’t bothered her.

“
I’m not sure,
exactly. But for one thing, it shows Hollingsworth knew about Camp
Getaway, which makes it possible he’d seen my picture in the
brochure and hooked it up to the one he saw at Dr. Einsel’s office.
He must have connived something with Thornton—got him to recommend
you to Stockbridge.”

Kelli continued to leaf through
printouts and Blake went back to battle the toaster oven. He found
a dial that said, “light,” “medium,” and “dark,” and gave a
triumphant grunt. “Gotcha now.” He put the bagels into the oven and
searched for something that said, “on.”

“
Justin, I could kiss
you,” he heard Kelli say.

Biting back the urge to offer himself
in Justin’s place, he stepped into the dining room. “What?”

“
Apparently Justin
decided to do some deeper searches.” She handed him five sheets of
paper.

He scanned the pages. It was a list of
names. A fraternity roster spanning ten years. Both Dwight’s and
Thornton’s names were on it. “Okay, they’ve known each other a long
time.” He let his eyes peruse the rest of the list. “You see
this?”

Kelli stepped beside him, her scent and
body heat almost overwhelming his internal promise to accept the
terms she’d laid down yesterday. He swallowed and pointed to a
name. “James V. Griffith. You think he’s related to campaign
manager Vance?”

“
Could be.” She took
the paper from him. “Or maybe the V is for Vance and he uses his
middle name. This list doesn’t have the years listed. Just names.
Are they that far apart in age?”

“
I’ve never thought
about how old Dwight is.” He could see the wheels turning in
Kelli’s brain. “You’re going to check that, aren’t you?”

“
Getting their years
of graduation shouldn’t be hard.”

Something dinged in the kitchen and he
went to check on the bagels. He pulled them out of the small oven.
“Ouch.” He dropped the hot rolls onto the counter and blew on his
fingers. He grabbed two paper towels. No point in dirtying dishes
if they had to leave soon. He looked for a knife and sensed Kelli
standing behind him.

“
You know, most people
slice them before they toast them.”

Without turning, he said, “I guess I
have other things on my mind.”

“
Hang on. I’ll be
right back.”

Kelli rushed from the room and he tore
a chunk off his bagel and spread some butter on it. When Kelli came
back, her eyes held a look of fiery determination.

“
This can’t be a
coincidence.” She held a business card and was looking at the list
again. “Paul Little, Edward Franklin, and Oliver Moser. Also
members of the same fraternity.”

“
Who are they?” he
said around another mouthful of bagel.

“
Partners in Vance
Griffith’s law firm. They all go way back.”

“
And this
means?”

She paused. “I’m not sure yet, but it’s
got to mean something. Too much of a coincidence not to.”

He handed Kelli the second bagel and
she took it, holding it in her hand and staring at it like it, too,
might hold some answers. He washed down his bite of bagel with some
coffee. “Is it so farfetched to think a group of fraternity
brothers would stick together? Except for Dwight, they seem to have
gone into the legal profession. Not unusual for them to keep in
touch.”

Kelli shifted her gaze from the bagel
to the papers. “You might be right.”

He heard a car coming down the drive.
“Get dressed,” he said to Kelli. “We’ve got company.”

Kelli glanced down, only then realizing
she was still wearing Blake’s t-shirt and nothing else. Her ride
couldn’t be this early, could it? Not likely. From Blake’s
reaction, he knew who was here and he wasn’t happy about it. She
watched him thrust open the door to the service porch, clearly on
an intercept mission.

She waited until the porch door
slammed, then tiptoed to the window. Blake and Brian were engaged
in a heated discussion of some sort, arms gesticulating, Brian
marching toward the garage with Blake scurrying behind him,
barefoot, hip-hopping on the crushed rock driveway. She sighed.
Whatever it was, they’d work it out.

After a quick shower, she dressed and
finished packing. She crammed her papers and laptop into her gym
bag. The carryon Blake had given her made a clattering sound on the
hallway floor. She lingered a moment at the dining room, hoping
Blake had come to peace with his father’s memory. Dropping her
quick note of apology on the table, she heard a car peel down the
driveway—maybe Blake and Brian still had a way to go before they
worked things out. The kitchen door slammed and she hustled out the
front door to wait by the road for her ride.

A few moments later, an old Ford
Aerostar with Super Shuttle on the side slowed down and she waved
it to a stop. The driver clambered out, opened the sliding
passenger door and reached for her suitcase.

“
Mornin’, ma’am. I’m
Isaac, but folks call me Ike. Let me get that. You get yourself
comfortable.” He wheezed when he spoke and looked like he might
have founded the shuttle service with a horse and buggy. Rail-thin,
with rheumy blue eyes behind black-rimmed eyeglasses, his white
button-down shirt had a frayed collar. A chauffeur’s cap balanced a
little too far back on his head and she wondered if it would fall
off if he moved too quickly.

“
No problem. I’ve got
it.” She slung her computer bag onto the seat and lifted her
carryon, afraid Ike might collapse under the weight of the small
case. She heard her name being shouted from the house. She flashed
a smile. “I’m kind of in a hurry. Can we get going,
please?”

He tapped his fingers to the visor of
his cap, slammed her door and got behind the wheel. “You betcha.
Nobody’s ever missed a plane with Ike.” He gunned the engine and
she was thrust against the seat as he drove off.

She braved a look back and saw Blake,
wet from a shower and wearing nothing but a towel around his hips,
her note in his hand, rushing out the front door onto the porch.
For a moment, it looked like he was going to race down the
driveway, but he grabbed one of the wooden porch columns and
halted. She turned away before she could see the expression on his
face.

Ike hunched over the steering wheel as
they barreled down the highway to the airport in Champaign. “Guess
you know the Windsors, then.”

“
Not really.”
Only
well enough for one of them to run out of the house almost
naked.

“
Too bad about the
garage. Reckon they’ll get it fixed, though. That Brian’s not
around much anymore, but he’s good with his hands.”

So’s his brother. Stop. Think about
work.

Ike went on, ignoring her silence.
“Made good with his daddy’s business. Don’t see the other one much.
Moved to the big city.”

Great. Did Ike think she was there with
Brian? Nothing like a little mistaken identity to set the gossip
mill grinding. “Actually, Blake is staying at the house for a
while. I was … working on a project with him.”

She saw his head tilt up, probably
checking her out in the mirror. She unzipped her computer tote and
pulled out a file folder, leafing through pages, trying to look
engrossed in something terribly important while the words swam on
the page. Ike had the courtesy to stop making conversation and the
rest of the drive passed in relative silence.

“
Here you go, ma’am,”
Ike said when he stopped the Aerostar at the Champaign terminal
curb. “Have a safe flight. According to my elbow, it might
storm.”

She looked at the clear blue sky and
raised an eyebrow. “Hope not. I’ve got tight connections.”

He handed her a card. “If you’re back
this way, you call Ike. Give me a day’s notice and I’ll meet your
flight.”

She took the card and gave him a
generous tip. “The project Blake and I were working on is kind of
hush-hush. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t say anything about my
being here. Could ruin the deal, you know.”