What's in a Name? Read online

  “She is.” He kissed her flat on the lips and got an exaggerated Shake for his trouble.

  He composed himself, put a worried expression on his face, and returned to Gunther. The detective was taking notes, still sitting where Blake had left him, but Blake had a feeling he’d looked around. Nothing to see, though. Kelli had it all in her bag.

  “Sorry, sir.” Blake walked over to the bar. “I could use a drink. Could I get you something? There are soft drinks.”

  “I’m fine.”

  Blake took a mini-bottle of Scotch from the bar and unscrewed the top. He kept his back to Gunther while he poured the drink into a glass, making sure his hands no longer shook.

  “How’s Mrs. Cranford?” Gunther asked.

  “She’ll be all right. The talk of a murderer hit her hard—that it might have been us, if we’d been here, and that this McGregor is responsible for the murder at the other property.” He walked over to the couch and sat down. “I’ve been out of touch for a while on my last project. Emily wouldn’t normally have come along here, but I guess she missed me.” He gave Gunther a knowing smile. “We came out a few days early—tacking some vacation to this trip. Now, she’ll probably want to go straight back to Florida.”

  “No call for that. We’ve got this guy locked up. And he’ll be extradited once they decide which crime takes priority.”

  “Who did he murder? Not someone from EnviroCon or I’m sure I’d have heard.”

  “No, it was a park ranger in Washington State. We’ll have to see if all the knife wounds point to the same weapon.”

  “All?”

  “The ranger, Mr. Stockbridge and our officer.”

  “Jack Stockbridge was stabbed?” Blake didn’t have to feign shock. He caught himself before his hand went to his own healing belly.

  “Not badly, but he never saw who hit him.” He picked up the photo from the coffee table where Blake had dropped it. “Are you sure you’ve never seen this guy? Either in the hotel, or at one of your job sites?”

  Blake took the photo. “No. I think I’d remember him.”

  “He’s cut his hair and shaved the mustache. Does that help?”

  Blake made the pretense of studying the photo again. “No. Sorry.”

  “According to the hotel staff, he was looking for you.”

  “Me?” Blake said. “I do environmental surveys. What could he want with me?”

  “I don’t know, sir. That’s what I’m trying to figure out.” He glanced toward the bedroom door and lowered his voice. “Or maybe he wanted your wife.”

  “Emily? But she’s not connected to EnviroCon, except by being married to me. You said there was an EnviroCon connection.”

  “That’s our best guess now, sir. But if someone was looking for your wife, they might use you to find her.”

  Blake shook his head. “I can’t believe someone is out to do me harm, although there are some land developers who aren’t pleased with my survey results. But Emily? No way.”

  Gunther picked up his notebook and pen again. “Land developers, you say. Can you give me any names?”

  Of course not. He took a slow sip of his Scotch, composing himself. Bill might be a field biologist, but Blake was a crack negotiator, used to keeping his thoughts well away from his face. Now, if he could only merge the two.

  Okay, Gunther isn’t a cop, he’s some CEO sitting across a boardroom table. You’re holding a pair of deuces, but he doesn’t know that. You know the drill. Bluff.

  He ran his fingers through his hair while he dredged up the after-dinner conversation with Kelli from a lifetime ago at Camp Getaway. “No, sorry. I don’t get involved with that end of things—I don’t even know if EnviroCon does. We don’t take land away from developers, we try to get it before they do. So I’d have no way of knowing who might have wanted the properties I survey. I set my traps, take my pictures and fill out my reports. Lots of reports.” He tilted his head toward the desk.

  “I noticed.” Gunther stood and Blake got up to walk him to the door. “Oh, one more question. There was a Kelly Carpenter working at the project where the Ranger was killed. Do you know him?”

  Not going to get me with that one, Blake thought. “Sure, mostly by reputation. But it’s her, not him. Kelli’s a woman. Top-notch researcher, although we’ve never worked together. I’ve seen her at an occasional meeting.” He counted to three. “You don’t think she’s in danger, do you?”

  “Apparently she left the site and we haven’t found another body. The Park Service and Washington police are looking into it.”

  “Well, I’m certainly glad you have your man in custody. And I hope your officer has a speedy recovery.”

  “I’ll pass it on.” He extended a hand.

  “Any time.” Blake shook his hand and closed the door behind him. He waited several long minutes to make sure the guy didn’t pull a Columbo and come back with one more question.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Kelli waited on the bed until she heard the door close. From what she’d been able to hear, Blake had done well. She’d get to her laptop, make a few tweaks to EnviroCon’s personnel files and they should be safe enough.

  She looked up and saw Blake leaning against the doorjamb, a smug look on his face.

  “He’s gone and I don’t think he’ll be back. I was a perfect Bill Cranford.”

  “Jury’s still out on that one. It would have been better if I could have seen Gunther’s reactions.”

  “Sweetheart, I make my living reading people. He was satisfied.”

  “For now.” She sat cross-legged on the bed. “Fill me in on everything. Did he take your fingerprints?”

  “No, why would he do that? He said he matched the ones on the door to Scumbag.”

  “If he thinks there’s a connection to EnviroCon, he might dig. I don’t know how thorough he is. What did you touch?”

  He raised an eyebrow and his sobered expression said he’d seen she was serious. “The picture of Scumbag. I poured a drink, but he never picked up the glass.”

  “Okay, I think I managed to smudge the prints on the photo.”

  He grimaced.

  “What? Tell me,” she demanded.

  “He gave it back. Wanted me to take another look. I didn’t think about prints. I’m sure I left lots of them.”

  She should have warned him. Too late. “Have you ever been arrested?”

  “What?”

  “Answer the question. Picked up for questioning? Involved in a police investigation?”

  “I thought you searched my sordid past.”

  “I skimmed the surface—enough to know you weren’t a handyman and a little bit more. It’s much faster if you tell me.”

  “Hate to disappoint, but no, I’ve never been arrested.” He sat down on the bed and squinted at her. “I was fingerprinted when I went to work for Hollingsworth. You think he’s going to find out I’m not Bill?”

  “If that’s all, then your prints shouldn’t be on file with AFIS.”

  “And that would be?”

  “Automated Fingerprint Identification System. Where the cops send prints to see if they match up with anything picked up on a crime scene. Routine employment prints aren’t part of the system.”

  “You think Gunther would be checking my prints?”

  “I have no clue. But I feel a lot better knowing if he does, he’s not going to get any hits on Blake Windsor.” She stared over his head. “We’re going to have to hope he’s not investigating you as Bill, and that Bill’s prints aren’t on file. It’s one thing for him to check prints against knowns, but if he digs out Bill’s prints and compares them to yours, he’s not going to get a match.”

  “Are Bill’s prints at EnviroCon?”

  “Shouldn’t be. They didn’t print me. But if they are, the cops would need a warrant to get them.”

  “Well, before you get all engrossed in your laptop again, let’s get moved into the new room. I’ll call for the bellman.”

  “In a
minute. I need to make sure he doesn’t get any conflicting information if he checks with EnviroCon. With Stockbridge out of the office, I don’t know if anyone will cover for us.”

  “No, Kelli. Now. We both know once you start clicking that damn keyboard, you’re not going to stop.”

  His eyes were narrow slits of dark chocolate.

  “Fine.” She sprang off the bed and started opening drawers, stuffing her things into her suitcase and gym bag, then went into the bathroom to pack her personal things. Without caring how childish it was, she slammed the door behind her. So, he’d held his own with the cop. What the hell did he know about making sure nobody found them?

  Twenty minutes later, two floors up and in another wing of the hotel, they unpacked essentials into their new suite. She itched to get at the computer, but she made a point of arranging her toiletries just so and folding her clothes neatly before putting them in the drawers. She finished and went to the living area and found Blake standing at the bar. Hands on her hips, she blinked at him in feigned contrition. “Is it all right with you if I work on the computer a while? I’d like to establish Bill’s cover a little more firmly.”

  Blake poured a whisky. “Suit yourself.”

  She logged onto EnviroCon’s database and worked through the files. “I think Kelli’s going to be on an assignment in—” She swiveled to face Blake. “Where? Got any ideas?”

  “Antarctica. Nobody’d look for her there.” His voice oozed sarcasm. “I think I’ve reached my limit. When I think I’ve finally done something right, you find something I’ve screwed up—like those fingerprints. I want to know what’s going on. I’m tired of pretending to be someone else, running, hiding, playing games with cops, worried one minute, scared shitless the next. I used to think it was a rush when I got some schnook to sign a contract for Hollingsworth. I’ve pumped more adrenaline this week than I have in the last ten years of my life. Hell, maybe twenty.”

  He gulped down what was left in his glass. “I’ll be in the Executive Lounge.”

  Confused, she watched him storm from the room. Blake had assured her Gunther accepted their story. Scumbag was in custody. Things were starting to turn around. Why had he stomped off like that? An hour ago, he’d been compassionate and concerned for her welfare. Tucked her into bed and faced Gunther alone, strong enough to keep an unfamiliar cover story intact. A few computer tweaks on her part and they should be in the clear and she could get back to trying to find out how her cover had been blown.

  She shrugged. Maybe getting plastered was his way of coping with the letdown of the adrenaline leaving his system.

  She’d worry about that later. First, she needed to send Kelli somewhere. Antarctica was a little bit over the top, but she gave Kelli Carpenter an assignment in the remote wetlands of Louisiana. She was pleased to see Stockbridge had Bill well established as a potential consultant for the Oregon jobs. Thankfully, there was no conflicting sign of his real Caribbean vacation—she was sure Stockbridge would fix it with payroll later.

  Stockbridge. Although she hadn’t heard what Gunther said, Blake’s response had carried well into the bedroom. Scumbag had used a knife on him, too. She needed to put that all out of her mind. She couldn’t undo it and Scumbag was in jail.

  Unable to relax, she eyed the door and contemplated joining Blake. No. They’d been in close quarters too long. Maybe he was turning into the Blake Windsor she’d never really met. First he’d played a handyman role at Camp Getaway, then he’d been injured and dependent. Maybe now she was seeing the man’s real personality. A corporate negotiator used to getting his own way. Demanding his own way. Once she figured out who was after her, they could resume their own lives.

  She called the hospital. Jack was stable, but they wouldn’t ring his room after visiting hours. For distraction, she turned to her laptop and started shooting Snoods. Two hours later, when Blake hadn’t returned, she climbed into bed. Tomorrow, her head would be clear and she’d see if she could find more to connect Scumbag to Robert, Thornton, or Hollingsworth.

  Awakened by the door opening, Kelli glanced at the clock. One-thirty. She waited, but Blake didn’t join her. After sounds of shuffling and water running, the crack of light under the door disappeared.

  Memories of the kiss in the park welled up and she tamped them down. Blake had walked away then, too. She pounded her pillow into a more comfortable shape and closed her eyes. The image of his face when he’d found her on the stairwell refused to leave, as if imprinted on the inside of her eyelids.

  * * * * *

  Blake knocked on the bedroom door the next morning. Despite what Kelli must have thought, he’d done a lot of thinking and very little drinking. He’d left her because what he wanted didn’t seem to match what she wanted, and there was no way he could have spent the night in her company. He hated the need she created in him. When she didn’t answer, he knocked louder. No way she’d left the room without his knowing. He’d dozed more than slept.

  “Kelli?” He put his ear to the door. Silence.

  Then, finally, a mumbled, “Goway.”

  “We need to talk.” He waited out another long silence.

  “I need to shower.” Hoarse with sleep, her voice lacked any emotion. “There better be coffee out there when I’m done.”

  He took the stairs to the Executive Lounge, poured two cups of coffee to go and filled a plate with fresh fruit from the buffet table.

  “I can get you a tray,” the attendant said. “You can leave it outside your door.”

  Blake thanked him and added a bagel and a couple of muffins. When he got back, Kelli was still in the bedroom. He set the food on the conference table, took his coffee and a muffin to the couch and turned on the television, trying to find a local news broadcast. Surely the arrest of a wanted felon would warrant some coverage.

  When Kelli wandered out, wearing the hotel robe and towel drying her hair, she made a beeline for the coffee. She looked as if she’d slept less than he had, yet she still sent a catch to his chest. He busied himself with his muffin, the coffee, and the remote. After she worked at the coffee, some of the tension seemed to leave her shoulders. She nibbled on a strawberry and paced the room.

  When he judged she’d drunk at least half her coffee, he took a deep breath and spoke. “I have to get back to Chicago.”

  She froze mid-step. Did a slow pivot. He could feel her gaze, like two green lasers shooting through him. “Like hell you do.”

  “I have a job. My time at Camp Getaway was up yesterday and Hollingsworth is expecting me back.” At least he hoped so.

  “So, tell him you’re delayed.” Her chin was lifted, her jaw clenched. She set the coffee down and jammed her hands into the pockets of the robe and resumed pacing.

  He stepped in front of her. “Will you listen? Let me finish and then we can decide?” He hoped the we would calm her.

  “Talk.”

  “I thought this through most of the night. Hollingsworth sent me on a simple expedition—find out if Kelli Carpenter and Casey Wallace are the same person. But he did it very hush-hush. You said the information he gave me was rank amateur, so he probably did it himself. I don’t think he wanted anyone to know he was looking. Hollingsworth doesn’t do much himself anymore—he makes decisions, but lets his underlings carry out the work.”

  “One of those underlings being you,” she muttered.

  He ignored the implication and nodded. “First, I thought I’d call him and say you weren’t Casey and that would be that. But Scumbag kind of complicated things. If Hollingsworth, for whatever reason, is behind Scumbag there’s a good chance Hollingsworth thinks he succeeded in getting rid of you.” He stopped and said what they’d both been wondering. “And me. After all, I haven’t checked in.”

  Kelli stopped pacing and sat in a chair across from him. “I’m still not clear here.” She took another strawberry, drank some more coffee. “Let’s go over it again. Hollingsworth sends you, says you’re just supposed to look. Then why wou
ld he send someone to do me bodily harm?”

  “I thought about that. What if, after I left, he got whatever evidence he needed from somewhere else and decided to finish the job?”

  “While you were still there? Why not wait for you to get back with your report, then send someone? If he knew about the project, he’d know I’d be there for a while longer. Doesn’t it make more sense that someone else sent Scumbag?”

  “I’d like to think that.”

  “But you don’t?”

  “How can I? The creep attacked me, too. Hard as it is to believe, much as I don’t want to believe it, there’s the possibility Hollingsworth decided I shouldn’t come back.”

  “That makes no sense.” She looked pensive for a moment. “Besides, didn’t you say Hollingsworth didn’t do stuff like hire hit men?”

  “I did. But even though I hate to admit it, I could be wrong. I work for him, but I don’t deal with him on a personal level very much anymore. I didn’t even see him face-to-face for this job—I was in Seattle and he emailed me the information.”

  “You didn’t ask why he wanted me?”

  “Not my place.” She glared at him. “Don’t look at me like that. He gave me a simple job. To be honest, I figured you were probably a long-lost love child and he either wanted to pay you off to keep things quiet, or do a big reunion thing. That one would make a great publicity move with his gubernatorial bid.”

  Kelli squeezed the bridge of her nose. “Tell me why you can’t call him and say he’s got the wrong person.”

  “If he thinks I’m dead, if he had anything to do with Scumbag, I want to march into his office and read it on his face.” He got up and crouched in front of Kelli. Relieved when she didn’t back off, he grasped her hand. “I read people for a living.” Everyone but her. “I can read him—but not over the phone. Plus, if there’s anything hinky going on, I don’t want him sending anyone else.”

  “There are holes in there somewhere.”