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Authors: Terry Odell

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

What's in a Name? (8 page)

BOOK: What's in a Name?
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Blake’s moan brought a mixture of fear
and relief. He wasn’t dead.

She stood, left the room, and had
gotten as far as the front porch before she turned around. If she
had stabbed him, she couldn’t let him bleed to death. She wouldn’t
have another death on her hands. Shaking, but determined, she
returned to him and crouched beside the body.

Stop thinking that. Not body.
Windsor.

When she tried to turn him over, her
hand came away sticky with blood. She saw Robert, heard him laugh,
remembered his blood. No, Robert hadn’t done this. Had she? Had
Windsor tried to hurt her? Had she managed to protect herself? At
what cost?

She struggled to get him onto his back.
Her Maglite was on the floor beside him. She shone the beam over
Windsor. Beads of sweat glistened on his forehead. He’d faded
beyond pale and his breathing was rapid and shallow.

She worked the bloody turtleneck out of
his jeans. With a washcloth, she dabbed away the blood and assessed
the damage. Not as serious as she feared. Knife wound, she figured,
running along his rib cage, ending near his waistline. Not too
deep. More slice than stab, except at the end where most of the
blood was coming from. His ribs had most likely deflected the blade
preventing serious internal damage. He’d be okay. She had to
believe that.

A flash of a fight between Windsor and
someone else surfaced through the clouds in her brain. A park
ranger. He’d cut Windsor, she hadn’t. But why had Windsor been
fighting with a park ranger? Peterson? Should she turn Windsor over
to the rangers? No, something felt wrong there. She took a deep
breath. The memories would come back in good time. She turned to
her patient.


Come on, Windsor.
Stay with me. You’re not going to die on me. If you deserve it,
I’ll see you rot in prison, but I’m not going to let you die,
understand?” She shook his shoulders, rubbed his cheek. He groaned
and his eyelids flickered.


Tired.
Cold.”


Wake up, Windsor.
Please. Help me out here and then you can sleep. I promise.” Kelli
got her arms under his shoulders and pulled. “That’s right. Sit
up.”

Windsor gave her a glassy-eyed stare
but struggled to a sitting position.


That’s it. Can you
make it to the bed? Lean on me.”

Windsor sat on the edge of her bed,
head between his knees.


Relax.” Pass out
again, she wanted to say. Unconscious is better. She handed him a
towel. “Press this against your belly. I’ll get some
bandages.”

He groaned, but obeyed. “Maybe you
should have shot me. I’d feel a whole lot better.”


Where does it
hurt?”


Everywhere. Head.
Shoulder. Ribs.” Each word was a whispered effort.

She backed into the bathroom and
dampened a towel.


Um …
Kelli?”


Yes?” She peeked out
at Windsor. One hand clutched his belly, the other rubbed his
forehead. He swallowed several times.

He raised his head but didn’t turn.
“I’m sorry … I think … God … I’m going to be—”

She grabbed the wastebasket and set it
between his feet. His hair hung in his face as he leaned forward,
violently ill, his body racked with spasms. He gasped with each
one. Compassion overtook her and she knelt behind him, holding his
hair back with one hand, pressing against his forehead with the
other until he’d emptied his stomach. When his spasms stopped, she
brought him a glass of water.


Rinse first. Don’t
drink yet.”

His hands were covered in fresh blood.
Apparently oblivious to it, he followed her instructions then sank
back onto the bed. She pressed the towel to his belly. Put his
hands on top of it.


Apply pressure,
Windsor. I’ll be right back.” She dumped the contents of the
wastebasket into the toilet and flushed. When she returned he was
out cold, the bloody towel on the floor. She turned on the bedside
lamp and studied him.

Unconscious or not, he seemed to be in
pain. She removed his work boots. His socks were soaked. She pulled
them off, too. Shit, he was totally drenched. She had to get him
patched up. She reached for his belt and hesitated.

For God’s sake, she’d been married. Had
a son. The male body was nothing new to her. She unbuckled his belt
and pulled off his jeans. Briefs, not boxers. Low rise, navy blue.
Those she left alone. There was no way she could work his
turtleneck over his head without his help. She retrieved the
house’s first-aid kit and using its scissors, cut the shirt and
wrestled it off his body.

She filled a bowl with warm water,
soaped a washcloth and went to work cleaning him. Searching the
kit, she found an assortment of butterfly strips, some larger gauze
pads and tape, a few foil packets of alcohol swabs and a bottle of
hand sanitizer. Using a gauze pad, she wiped his chest with the
hand sanitizer. She sealed the edges of the cut with butterfly
strips, covered it with a thick pad of gauze and taped it down.
Nasty bruises had already surfaced around his shoulder. She
wondered if she should check his back, but he was too heavy. There
was no blood on the back of his turtleneck so she let it go.

His breathing had steadied. Since he’d
collapsed on top of the bedcovers, she draped a fresh sheet and
blanket over him. She pulled a chair from her office, placed it
near the door and watched his chest rise and fall.

 

* * * * *

 

Blake opened his eyes. Good Lord,
everything hurt. Slowly, he got his bearings. Camp Getaway, but not
his lumpy mattress. He turned his head and immediately regretted it
when a blinding pain shot through his head. He gasped, which shot
fire through his rib cage. “Holy crap,” he muttered.


You’re awake,” Kelli
said.

Moving only his eyes, he noticed her
watching, but from well out of reach. As if he could move enough to
do anything. She held the gun in her lap. The knife was gone. “How
long—?”


Half an hour.” She
stood, but didn’t move closer. “How do you feel? Can you travel? I
need to get out of here.”

At the anxiety in her tone, he bit off
the obvious, “Are you kidding?” in favor of a more neutral, “Give
me a minute.” An inch at a time, he worked his way up to a sitting
position, fighting the dizziness at every increment. Sweat trickled
down his spine.


What happened to
Scumbag?” he asked.

She cocked her head. “Who?”


The guy attacking
you.”

Her face paled and she sank into the
chair. She looked around, her gaze stopping on the uniform trousers
in the corner and he saw her remembering. “Oh, God. It wasn’t you.
It was Decker.”


Decker?”


Park
ranger.”

So Scumbag had a name. “I don’t think
he was a real ranger.”


He’s gone. I guess.”
An expression of panic crossed her face. “Did you—”


I tied him up and
locked him in my bathroom after you knocked him out.”


I did?”


With your flashlight.
Do you remember?”

She shook her head. “Not really. I was
afraid I’d stabbed you.”


No, I think you saved
both our skins. You have any idea who he is? Did you call the
cops?”

She shook her head. “Phone lines are
still down.” When she lifted the revolver, his mouth got dry. But
quick as a rabbit, she was out of the room. He swung his legs over
the side of the bed and rose to a standing position, grabbing the
headboard for support. He seemed to be moving in slow motion. Naked
except for his briefs and bandage, he spied his wet jeans beside
the bed. He stared at them, knowing his head would explode if he
bent down to pick them up.

Before he gathered the courage to try,
Kelli was back, with dry clothes. “Here.” She tossed them on the
bed. “I’m going to start loading the truck. You want me to pack
your stuff, or can you handle it?”

Right now, he wasn’t sure he’d be able
to handle getting his socks on. “If you don’t mind. And a couple of
aspirin would be great.” She turned toward the door.


Wait,” he called
after her. “My truck. It’s gone. But Decker must have something
nearby.”


I moved your truck.
It’s behind the cabin in the trees.” She took two steps toward him,
eying him warily. “Are you sure you’re okay? If you pass out, I
can’t carry you.”


I’ll make
it.”


It’ll take me a while
to get everything loaded. You should rest.”


Can I help? We need
to get out of here. Scumbag—Decker—will raise a ruckus.”


It’s not likely
anyone would be close enough to hear him, but I took care of
it.”

What had she done? He’d have heard a
gunshot. She must have seen his puzzled expression.


I gave him some
orange juice.” She smiled for the first time since last night. “My
special recipe.”


If it’s anything like
your coffee, he’s going to have one hell of a headache when he
wakes up. Not to mention an upset stomach.”

She shrugged. “Guess so. Is that how it
affected you?”


You don’t know the
half of it.” He laughed, although it was little more than a wheeze,
followed by a stabbing pain in his rib cage and another cacophony
in his head.

Her smile faded. “Let’s get something
straight. I don’t know who you are or why you’re here. When I saw
Decker tied up in your bathroom, I remembered enough to know I owe
you. This morning, all I wanted was to get away from you. The truth
is, I still do, but I need some answers and until I get them I’m on
you like white on rice.”

He watched her face grow more and more
confident, a look he hadn’t seen before. He nodded. “I’ll get
dressed.” He reached for his jeans. Something in his lower back
tightened and he froze, waiting for the spasm to pass. He spoke
through clenched teeth. “Back. Spasm. Aspirin?”

By the time she got back, he’d put his
clothes on and walked the length of the bed a few times, trying to
loosen stiffened muscles. She held a bottle of water and a pill
bottle.


Ibuprofen. Aspirin’s
not good if you’re bleeding.”


Anything.” He
swallowed three pills and gulped the water down.

He sat on the bed and closed his eyes,
hoping the medicine would take effect before it upset his stomach.
“How’s the packing coming? I could help, I think.”


You can help by
getting yourself to the living room. Make sure you can walk.” She
went through the bathroom into her office. He saw her pass,
carrying a carton and dragging a suitcase.

He stood. The room tunneled around him,
fading to gray at the edges. Pure masculine pride carried him to
the couch. As he sank onto it, he was aware Kelli had been
watching. He gave her a weak grin. “I’m okay.” She moved toward the
kitchen. He leaned back and closed his eyes.


Windsor.” He blinked
awake. Kelli stood two feet from his chair, with another glass of
water and a vial of pills. “Phones are still dead. I need you to
trust me when I say I don’t want to involve the Park Service with
Decker until we’re far enough away. If you think you need medical
attention, I’ll risk it and drop you off at the ranger station. But
I won’t stick around.”

He didn’t need any complications
either. Once he felt well enough, he was on the first plane to
Chicago. “I’ll be all right.”

She held out the pill vial. “I’ve got a
muscle relaxant.”


There is a God.” He
squinted at the vial, but the words swam.


I don’t know the
dosage for someone your size. One wipes me out.”


Give me two. Out
would be nice. Was this what you put in the coffee?”


No, that was an
animal tranquilizer. I have it for bears in case one gets frisky.”
She tapped out two tablets and he downed them even before she
handed him the water.

 

* * * * *

 

Kelli lingered a moment, watching the
tightened muscles in his face. Listened to his labored breathing.
Afraid of shock, she got a blanket and covered him. She still had
no clue who he was, or why he was here. She asked herself why the
hell she was taking him with her, but didn’t want to consider the
answer yet. She’d do the same thing for an injured dog. Besides,
what was the saying? Keep your friends close and your enemies
closer.

A few trips back and forth from her
office and she had everything piled under the eaves of the front
porch. Windsor barely stirred while she worked. The furrows in his
brow had smoothed and his breathing was deeper.

In his room, she stuffed his dirty
laundry into a plastic trash bag then put everything into his
duffel. And almost laughed. A compulsive organizer, Charles had
called her. Look at her—getting ready to run and she was sorting
laundry.

She hesitated before going into the
bathroom. Gun at the ready, she pushed open the door, but Decker
was out. She’d put a hefty dose of the tranquilizer into the orange
juice and her revolver had convinced him he was thirsty. He should
sleep for hours.

With Windsor’s toiletries packed into
his Dopp Kit, she had the last of his belongings. Shit. What about
his tools? Too bad. Jack could deal with them. She slung his duffel
over her shoulder and set it on the porch.

What about Decker’s clothes? She went
into her room where his muddy trousers lay in a heap in the corner.
When she picked them up, what she’d thought was mud looked more
like blood. Probably Windsor’s. It might be better if the cops
didn’t find them right away. She’d stash them in Windsor’s lockbox,
along with the knife.

BOOK: What's in a Name?
7.11Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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