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Authors: Terry Odell

Tags: #fiction, #romance, #romantic suspense, #mystery, #romance adventure

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BOOK: What's in a Name?
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So, where’s your next
job?”


I don’t know. I was
going to be here until spring, but since everything’s pushed up,
I’ll have to see where Jack needs me. What about you?”

Blake raised his eyebrows. “I haven’t
thought about it. I’ll probably stick with Construction Temps a
while longer—they’ve got some big projects in the works—a shopping
center, I think and some condos outside of Vancouver.”


Covering more of the
Earth with concrete.”

He tilted his head. “I happen to prefer
city life. You might like the solitude of the woods, but in the
city, you can be surrounded by people and still be alone.”


We do live in
different worlds, don’t we?” She stood, anxious to escape before
she let any more Casey slip out. “I’m going to call it a night. I
think the wine has caught up with me.”

Blake rose from the couch. “I’ve got a
lot to do tomorrow myself. Thanks for dinner. I’d offer to
reciprocate, but unless you want peanut butter or canned stew … .”
He grinned.

From behind her closed office door, her
fax machine rang, undoubtedly delivering the next batch of
paperwork hoops she had to jump through. Nothing that couldn’t wait
until morning.

 

* * * * *

 

As he lay on his lumpy cot, content
after a day spent working with his hands in the fresh air, Blake
raised his eyes heavenward.

All right, old man. I’m enjoying
myself. I hope you’re satisfied.

No numbers to crunch, no bottom lines
to figure—and better yet, no pale, drawn faces, eyes filled with
defeat, frustration and anger, staring at him across the conference
table. Or haunting his dreams.

Rain thudding on the roof woke him the
next morning. He groped for his watch on the bedside table. Shit.
It was almost ten. Waking with the sun didn’t work if the sun
didn’t come out. Once he’d finally fallen asleep, he slept like a
dead man. Not even the usual sounds of Kelli fixing her breakfast
had penetrated.

He still hadn’t figured out what made
her run hot and cold, but he’d taken advantage of the warm times
and enjoyed the evening.

When she’d stayed on the couch, instead
of moving to the chair, he’d ached to lean over and take off her
glasses. To touch his lips to hers, to see if they were as warm and
soft as they looked. Instead he maintained his distance, keeping
his self-made promise not to press. But his body still responded.
Holy crap, just thinking about it had him stiff.

A gust of wind hurled a sheet of rain
against the window. He debated blowing off work until it stopped,
but lost the internal argument. He had plenty to do inside and his
schedule didn’t have days off built in. He might be a failure at
getting a positive ID on Kelli Carpenter, but he was damn sure
going to have the cabin ready for a white-glove inspection before
he left. He tried to convince himself it was all a matter of
maintaining his handyman cover, but the way Kelli’s eyes lit up
when she talked about the project and the kids—he wanted to keep
that light there.

He rushed to get dressed and hit the
kitchen. A lingering aroma of coffee told him Kelli had already
come and gone. A note propped up by the coffeepot said, “Help
yourself.”

He mouthed a thank you toward her door.
Not bothering with jelly, he scooped some peanut butter onto two
slices of bread and squished them together. He bit off a chunk
while he poured coffee into his thermal mug, heaped in some milk
and sugar and took a swallow. Even after lingering on the warmer,
her coffee beat his usual instant. Blake switched off the pot and
took another swig. Get the caffeine into the bloodstream. He drank
half a cup and refilled the mug. Screwing down the lid, he jogged
the distance to the cabin and dashed inside, brushing the rain from
his shoulders.

He sensed her before he saw her. A
glint of light reflected from her glasses. Kelli sat on the floor
in a far corner, legs crossed, hands in her lap. Maybe he had
gotten to her last night after all. He grinned and took a step
toward her.


Thanks for the
coffee,” he said. “Next pot’s on me.” He removed the lid and took a
long sip, feeling cobwebs drift away. He swallowed the rest of the
sandwich, licking the remnants of peanut butter from his
fingers.


No problem,” Kelli
said. She didn’t move.

He washed the sandwich down with more
coffee before he spoke again. “What brings you to my humble
office?”


I got a very
interesting fax this morning. From Jack Stockbridge.” Kelli’s voice
was flat. “Who are you, Mr. Windsor? Is that even your name? And
why are you really here?” She shifted ever so slightly so he saw
the revolver pointed at his midsection.

He took a deep breath and tried to
clear the panic from his brain. Not to mention the peanut butter
from the roof of his mouth. Slowly, carefully, he raised the coffee
to his lips, keeping his eyes fixed on Kelli, making sure she
understood he wasn’t going to try anything. Think. Regroup. Slow
things down. He swallowed the rest of the coffee, then crouched and
lowered the cup to the floor, staying low to present a smaller
target.


I don’t know what
you’re talking about,” he said. “I’m Blake Windsor. I’ve got ID if
you want to see it, but it’s in my room.”


Who do you work for,
Mr. Blake Windsor?” Her voice was a quiet monotone. She sounded
like someone who didn’t care if she shot him. There was no malice,
no fire, only dull resignation.

The room flickered for a moment and his
mouth filled with the dry, metallic taste of fear. “Construction
Temps. Exactly like it says on my references. Jack Stockbridge
checked them.”


Oh, yes he did. And
they were very good. Just like they were supposed to be. Only then
Jack called the company again. He worries about me, all alone in
the woods. I’m like family.”

His heart pounded. He had assumed
Hollingsworth took care of his cover story. What had they found
out? Blood drummed in his ears. Kelli’s face seemed to fade in and
out, like an image that wouldn’t stay focused. “What’s the problem?
Isn’t my work good enough?” His words sounded thick, as if he still
had a mouthful of peanut butter.

Kelli uncrossed her legs. She gripped
the gun in both hands and her arms were extended, braced on one
raised knee. “Oh, your work is excellent. But Jack didn’t use the
number for Construction Temps from your resume. He looked it up
himself. Those people have never heard of Blake Windsor. It appears
nobody named Blake Windsor has ever worked for Construction Temps.
Anywhere. So I ask again Mr. Windsor. Who are you, and what are you
doing here?”


I can explain,” he
said. “But I don’t talk well with a gun pointed at me.” He held his
hands out, palms outward, in submission. “I’m not armed. You’re not
going to shoot me.”

The gun wavered, but Kelli didn’t lower
it. “I don’t know why I bothered waiting around,” she said. “But I
had questions and you’re the only one with the answers.”

He waited, motionless. Kelli wouldn’t
shoot him. She couldn’t. But when he searched her eyes, he found
them as lifeless as her voice. She got to her feet, keeping the gun
trained on him. Closed the distance between them. The scent of her
soap floated above the sawdust. He gathered his legs beneath him,
preparing to spring. His heart hammered against his ribs. The room
spun. This was not the way he expected to die. In a desperate move,
he lunged forward. And everything went black.

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Four

 

Kelli slipped the revolver into her
pocket, wondering if she’d have had the nerve to shoot him if the
drug hadn’t kicked in. She stood over Windsor’s inert form and took
one long, last look at his face, its handsome features relaxed,
water droplets shimmering in his hair. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“I thought I could come back. I guess I should thank you for
reminding me I can’t trust anyone.”

She found a roll of duct tape in a box
in the corner. Good old MacGyver. Duct tape fixed anything. She
knelt at Windsor’s feet and wrapped several layers of the gray tape
around his ankles. His wrists were a little harder to manage, since
he’d fallen with one arm underneath him, but she pulled it out and
secured his wrists together behind his back. “Don’t worry. Someone
will come for you.”

She thought about taping his mouth, but
what for? He could scream all he wanted; nobody would hear. And she
didn’t want to take a chance he’d get sick and choke. She wasn’t
sure how the animal tranquilizer affected humans, especially when
taken orally.

She’d searched the cabin while she
waited for him and found nothing but innocent paperwork. Plans for
the cabin, an inventory of supplies. Maybe she’d have more luck in
his room.

The rain had picked up and she dashed
back to the house, where she dumped the remaining drugged coffee
and washed out the pot. She went into his room and shook the
contents of his duffel onto the cot. Not much—shirts, a few pairs
of socks, some underwear. The second cot held his dirty laundry.
She pawed through it, but it was all clothes. His wallet sat on the
bedside table next to a nearly-full bottle of Scotch. She found his
driver’s license. Blake Windsor, it read. So, maybe he was who he
said he was. But it was an Illinois license, issued two years ago.
A Chicago address. Not Seattle.

He’d said he moved around a lot. Maybe
he didn’t get around to changing licenses every time he took a new
job.

Why was she making excuses for him? She
looked some more. About three hundred dollars, mostly twenties.
Probably hit an ATM before he arrived. A folded sheet of paper. She
lifted it from the wallet and smoothed it out. Stockbridge’s
company logo and directions to the site.

Slow down. Think. She took his wallet
to her office and copied his driver’s license and social security
card. She needed to be somewhere with internet access. Give her a
day and she’d know everything there was to know about Blake
Windsor.

She’d found Stockbridge’s fax early
this morning. As soon as she’d read it, she left a message on his
machine that she was leaving. Her part of the project was almost
complete. There were probably half a dozen people EnviroCon could
send to finish the job.

She hadn’t decided what to do about
Windsor when she left the message, but Jack would take care of the
project. Right now, all she wanted to do was leave. Disappear.
Again. This time, she’d take everything with her. It might not be a
lot, but she was
not
going to start from scratch. Nor was
she coming back to get it.

After replacing Windsor’s wallet, she
got busy packing. Her laptop sat on the desk, reminding her she
needed to back up the project data and leave the files for her
replacement. An hour later, she stood in the middle of her office
and contemplated the stack of possessions stacked in the middle of
the room. Half a dozen cartons and a couple of suitcases. Didn’t
say much for her life, did it? Maybe not, but it was her life and
she was going to get on with it.

In the bathroom, her fingers trembled
as she worked her hair into a single braid. Her breathing was too
fast, her pulse drummed. She leaned against the sink.

Deep breath. Slow down. She’d be out of
here soon enough, call Jack and they’d figure this out. Heck, he’d
probably have Windsor identified before she got as far as Henry’s
store.

She added her toiletries to the
essentials she kept in her gym bag. Outside, the wind howled. The
lights flickered, went out, came back on. She set her Maglite on
the desk just in case. Even though it was after noon, the storm had
transformed everything to a black and white television show.

She considered grabbing a carton of
yogurt, but the thought of eating turned her stomach. She picked up
the phone to let Stockbridge know she was on her way. Dead. The
lights flickered again. Definitely time to leave. She added her
revolver to her gym bag, picked up a carton of books and headed for
the Jeep parked beside the house. She froze. All four tires were
slashed. The park’s troublemakers? But why would they come here for
the first time, and in a storm? No, it had to be Windsor’s
handiwork. No wonder he was late this morning. What else had he
done?

Shit. She’d moved Windsor’s EnviroCon
pickup to a clearing behind the cabin and she’d already disabled
it. Double shit. She went back into her office to retrieve the coil
wire she’d removed. The lights had gone off again and she shone the
flashlight into the desk drawer. While she rummaged through the
jumble of paper clips, rubber bands, markers, and other desk
detritus, she though she heard something—someone?—pounding on the
porch. Windsor? No way. Even if he got loose, he would damn sure
not be knocking. Must be the storm.


There you are,” she
muttered to the elusive coil wire. Stuffing it in her pocket, she
headed for the door, yanked it open and stared at a park ranger,
hunched over in a wet uniform. Doug Peterson? Good. He’d help her
fix the truck and carry her gear. She raised her eyes and felt the
smile melt from her face when she met the eyes of an unfamiliar
ranger. Her heart thumped.


Kelli Carpenter?” the
ranger asked, shouting above the wind.

She nodded, unable to find her
voice.


Ranger Ned Decker,
ma’am. Doug Peterson sent me. Are you all right?”

At that moment the lights came back on.
Taking it as a sign she needed to relax, her nerves quieted a
little. She’d met most of the rangers, and even the ones in law
enforcement were protecting the parklands, not digging through old
Mexican police files. Enough paranoia. These were the good guys.
She put Decker in his early forties, curly brown hair that teased
his collar, a thick brush of a mustache and permanent crinkles
etched around his eyes.

BOOK: What's in a Name?
13.21Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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