What's in a Name? (37 page)

“
I gotcha. All the
bigshots trying to get something before the other one does.” He
winked. She wondered if he’d bought it.

She went through the security rituals
and arrived at the gate as the plane was boarding. When she got to
O’Hare, she looked at the departures board with a newfound respect
for Ike’s elbow. Weather had delayed her flight to Spokane. She
approached the counter where an attendant with a smile molded to
her face explained they couldn’t give a departure time. But they’d
be sure to keep everyone updated.

Settled into a seat, she fingered the
card Ike had given her. Super Shuttle Service, Isaac Sinclair,
Prop. She stared at it, trying to figure out why something was
buzzing in the back of her mind. She’d never met the man before
today, that was for sure. No way would anyone forget Ike.

As long as she had to wait, she might
as well look at what Justin had sent. The fraternity list sat on
top of the stack and on a whim, she scanned it for a Sinclair.
Maybe that was why the name seemed familiar. And although it wasn’t
there, the memory slithered back. Trying not to elbow the
overweight woman in the seat beside her, Kelli pulled out page
after page until she found what she was looking for.

“
Double shit on a
stick.”

The woman glared at her and sniffed in
disgust.

Kelli stuffed everything back in her
bag, and with a murmured apology to the woman, bolted for the
exit.

* * * * *

Blake stood on the porch, his hand
gripping the smooth wooden pillar until his fingers ached. Almost
as much as the ache around his heart. Only when the Aerostar
disappeared from sight did he feel the chill of the morning breeze
on his damp skin. He clutched the note Kelli had left in his
hand.

Clean breaks are best. No matter how it
seems at the time, some things aren’t meant to be. Get back to your
life. K.C.

His life. He crumpled the paper in his
hand and threw it into the wind. Transfixed, he watched it flutter
to the porch where the breeze sent it skittering along the boards
until it caught against the leg of one of the Adirondack chairs. He
trudged over and lowered himself into the wooden seat, leaning down
to retrieve the note. Eventually the cold penetrated, sending him
into the house.

He’d pissed off Brian—nothing new
there—and now Kelli was gone. Brian had told him to get back to the
city, spitting out the word like an epithet. Kelli said to get on
with his life. He wandered aimlessly through the house, feeling
nothing. One by one, he picked up the drop cloths, and piece by
piece, he covered the furniture.

Two hours later he was sitting on his
couch in Chicago clicking the television remote. He’d pushed the
old truck to its limit. Probably a good thing his ‘Vette was still
in Washington, or he’d have been busted for speeding at least three
times. He promised the truck a tune-up as soon as he had time.

The family house held too many
memories, but he was finding no peace here, either. No doubt he’d
insulted Lamonte, barely looking at the doorman when he’d tried to
tell Blake all about the mysterious stranger in the laundry room.
He’d rushed straight upstairs, not even picking up his mail.

Ghosts of Kelli floated through his
once comfortable surroundings. He got up and stomped over to the
window. The glare of the midafternoon sun reflecting off
neighboring buildings made his eyes burn. Or so he told
himself.

Fists clenched, he stared at his
briefcase with the Whittaker files. Ignoring it, he changed into
workout clothes and went down to the fitness center on the fifth
floor. There wouldn’t be any ghosts there.

An hour later, sucking air, dripping
sweat, drained to the point of queasiness, Blake unlocked his door.
He’d pushed himself to his limit and beyond, but the upside was he
felt too exhausted to think about anything. He grabbed a bottle of
water from the refrigerator, turned on the stereo and switched the
speakers to the bedroom and bath. With Queen shouting about wanting
it all now, he lingered in a steamy shower until he felt purged of
ghosts and ready to go to work.

He selected his Bernini pinstripe suit
and a charcoal gray silk shirt. Blake the handyman was gone. No
more Bill Cranford, field biologist, either. He adjusted his tie
and checked the mirror. His reflection was definitely corporate
executive. Sitting on the bed, he pulled on socks and stepped into
his shoes. When he turned down the volume on the stereo, he stopped
short.

Holy crap. He had to be imagining
things, but he could swear he heard the all-too-familiar sounds of
a keyboard clicking. His neck prickled and his heart thudded
against his chest. He thought he was over that. He rounded the
corner and stood still, not a hundred percent sure he wasn’t
projecting what he wanted to see, Kelli sitting at his desk,
working at her laptop.

“
Kelli?”

She didn’t turn. But then, she rarely
heard him when she was working. He stepped closer until he was sure
she wasn’t an illusion caused by wishful thinking and an overdone
workout. Five paces away, he could smell her. His throat tightened.
Had she come back to him? Fighting the urge to race over and
embrace her, he stood his ground.

He found his voice. “What are you doing
here? And how the hell did you get in?”

This time, she did turn. With a finger
to her lips, she picked up the mouse and clicked something. Without
speaking, she crossed the room and switched the speakers back to
the living space. When she spoke, her voice was low and he had to
step closer to hear her over the music. Was his place really
bugged? Was someone listening? He nodded in understanding.

“
I’m sorry,” she said.
“Lamonte let me in—I told him I’d left something vital in the
apartment. Don’t be mad at him—I laid it on kind of thick.” A
corner of her mouth twitched. “I think he liked the idea of me
surprising you.”

Lamonte’s idea of payback for not
taking a moment to chat? No matter. Kelli was in his apartment and
maybe she’d changed her mind. Maybe Lamonte had done him a favor.
“I thought you were on your way back to EnviroCon.”

She got up from the chair and paced the
room. “I was. But at O’Hare, there was one of those, ‘we don’t know
how long we’ll be delayed’ things and I was looking at Ike’s card
and all of a sudden, something clicked and I needed to work and
couldn’t wait and I can’t exactly do what I need to do from an
internet café and this was the only place I knew and I didn’t think
you’d be back and I called Jack—”

“
Whoa!” He ached to
stop her mid-stride and put his arms around her, but he couldn’t
bear the hurt of a rejection. She’d told him to get back to his
life and that’s what he was doing. “Slow down and take it from the
top.” He bit off the Sweetheart.

She ran her fingers through her hair,
steepled her fingers over her nose and took a deep breath before
speaking. “I had Jack download and email me some of the files I’d
kept from my CompSecure jobs. Remember how we couldn’t find
anything that connected Hollingsworth or Thornton to me?”

He nodded. “You found one?”

“
I think so. I
remembered when I saw Ike’s card. From the shuttle service. Isaac
Sinclair.”

“
You’re not telling me
Ike has anything to do with this?”

“
No, no, of course
not. But his name rang the bell. Ever heard of Berlyno
Manufacturing? Offices in Philadelphia, plants in five
states?”

He thought for a moment. “No. Does
Hollingsworth own it?”

“
No, it doesn’t show
on any of his holdings.” She moved back to the computer and hit a
few keys. “But Dwight Hollingsworth worked there once, and the CEO
was Stephen Sinclair.”

“
You’re losing
me.”

“
I need a little more
time to see if my hunch was right.”

For the first time, it seemed she’d
actually seen him when she looked his way. Her gaze moved up and
down his body and she blinked. “Oh—I guess you’re going to
work.”

He tried without success to keep the
sarcasm from his voice. “It seems someone told me to get on with my
life. I thought I’d give it a shot.” A flicker of pain darkened her
gray eyes to storm clouds, but he refused to acknowledge the
tightness in his chest. “You can stay here as long as you need to.
There’s a spare key in the kitchen—second drawer. Lock up when you
go and leave the key with Lamonte. Or Floyd if it’s his shift—they
both know you’ve stayed here.”

“
Blake … “ Her jaw
clenched and he could see her stop whatever she was going to say.
“Thank you.”

“
No problem. I’ll be
at the office.”

He went back into the bedroom for his
wallet and keys, wishing he could get out of the apartment without
having to walk past her. But when he did, she was already lost in
her computer.

At his office, the buzz of his intercom
provided momentary respite from the spreadsheets strewn over
Blake’s desk. Kelli had opened the door to doubts that his initial
approach to the Whittaker account was the right one. But it was
sure the easier one.

He pressed the button to see why the
department secretary was interrupting him when he’d asked to be
left alone. No interruptions. Hollingsworth wasn’t in the building,
so he had settled down to work. He’d spent the last few hours deep
in concentration. That is, when he wasn’t thinking about Kelli back
at his apartment.

“
I’m sorry, Mr.
Windsor. Mr. Hollingsworth is on two.”

He picked up the phone, scrambling
through the papers on his desk to find his outline of his draft
proposal. “Yes, sir?”

Dwight’s voice was clipped. “I want you
to talk to Vance Griffith. Hear him out. Then make your own
decision. He’ll meet you at Madeleine’s at five.” There was a click
and the line went dead.

He stared at the receiver for a moment
before hanging up. What the hell. Drinks, even with Vance, trumped
spreadsheets hands down. He’d pretend to listen, say, “No, thanks,”
and be done with it. He glanced at his watch to find that time had
gotten away from him and it was almost five. Gathering his papers
into some semblance of order, he stacked them neatly on his desk
and gazed out the window. Below, people huddled in coats, heads
ducked as they scurried down the sidewalk. Wind whipped flags and
awnings on nearby buildings. It was early for a cold snap, but not
unheard of. He shrugged into the topcoat he left hanging in his
office and headed for the elevator.

* * * * *

Kelli hadn’t allowed Blake to see the
tears in her eyes when he’d walked through the room, keys jingling
in his hands. She’d been in a cab from the airport before she’d
realized what she was doing, but there wasn’t anyplace else that
would give her the kind of computer access she needed. She wouldn’t
risk using Blake’s, in case someone had remote access, but she
could borrow his internet connection for her laptop and use his for
off-line work. With luck, she’d be finished and out of here before
he got back. She told herself he’d be working late to make up for
the missed morning hours.

He hadn’t touched her. Hadn’t even come
close enough. Thank goodness, because she wasn’t sure she’d have
been able to resist collapsing into his arms. Even from where he’d
stood, she could smell his scent. His executive scent—the one that
had enveloped them the first time they’d made love.

Clean break. She’d blown that one. Time
to see if her hunch played out so she could start figuring out how
to get past it and go home. Wherever that was. Through watery eyes,
she stared at the spreadsheet on the screen.

Two hours later, she picked up her cell
phone and punched in Blake’s cell number. An answering ring came
from the bedroom. Following the sound, she cursed when she saw his
cell on the floor by his bed.

Moments later, she stood in the
elevator, jabbing at the button for the ground floor, willing the
car to move faster.

At the door, a gust of wind smelling of
car exhaust blew through her slacks. The cab she’d asked Lamonte to
call waited at the curb. Uttering a brisk thanks over her shoulder,
she yanked open the cab’s door and slid into the seat.
“Hollingsworth Industries, please.” She rubbed her hands together.
While she’d worked, oblivious to the outside world, a cold wind had
blown through, and she regretted not bringing a jacket. She tapped
her foot while the cab worked its way through the downtown Chicago
streets.

“
Sixteen
twenty-seven,” the cabbie said when it pulled up to a
skyscraper.

She handed him a twenty and dashed into
the wind for the lobby. Glancing at the directory, she saw
Hollingsworth Industries occupied six floors. Shit, where was
Blake’s office? She scanned the listings. Only departments, not
individuals. No listing for Cutthroat Takeovers. She got into the
elevator, punched the button for Reception.

When the doors swooshed open on
fifty-five, she stepped out into an expanse of marble flooring,
chairs and sofas upholstered in a tiny geometric print in shades of
black and grays and a large, curved desk with a woman sitting
behind it, talking into a telephone headset and working a plastic
cover over her computer monitor. She peered up at Kelli’s approach
and gave a friendly, inquisitive smile.

Plump, with a well-padded bosom, the
gray-haired woman looked more like someone’s grandmother than a
receptionist for a multimillionaire’s company. Blue eyes twinkled
behind thick lenses. She raised a finger in a “just a minute”
gesture and finished her call.

“
What can I help you
with?” the woman asked. Even her voice sounded grandmotherly. Like
she’d be offering milk and cookies next.