What's in a Name? Read online

  Be cool. Why the sudden turnaround in the Ice Princess? He wanted to give her the third degree. She might have the same motives. He made sure his cover story was fresh in his mind.

  Rubbing his jaw, he stepped back into the cell-like bathroom. He needed a shave. While he lathered his face, he laid out his plan to garner her trust and impress her with his restraint. This would be an evening of civility, filled with proper small talk of the project, with only the slightest venture into her past.

  He finished dressing and strode down the hall to the kitchen. Whatever she was cooking had his empty stomach begging. He stopped short when he spotted Kelli leaning on the kitchen counter, pale and shaky. She looked his way and although she covered well, the pain in her eyes was unmistakable. He felt another twinge in his chest.

  “Are you all right?” he asked. He took a step forward, arm outstretched, but dropped it when Kelli backed away.

  Kelli sniffed and dabbed at her eyes with the towel she’d tucked into her jeans. “Fine. Onions.” She kept the towel to her face. “Wine’s on the table. Help yourself.”

  She was reacting to more than onions. Whatever had inspired her to invite him to dinner hadn’t eliminated her need for distance. He poured, then picked up a glass and extended it toward her, careful to leave room for her to take it without touching his fingers.

  She released the towel and took the wine. Her hands were steady. “Salad’s in the fridge. Dressing’s in the jar.”

  He crossed behind her, not making contact, but close enough so he smelled her over the cooking aromas. Fresh and soapy. He took the bowl of salad from the refrigerator, tossed it with the dressing and placed it on the table. “I think I was volunteered to set the table too.”

  He gathered plates and silverware, arranging them on the table. When he finished, he raised his wineglass. “To Camp Getaway.”

  Kelli returned the toast and sipped her wine. Once they were seated, he took a bite of chicken. Sweet and tangy at the same time. He swallowed, wiped his mouth on his napkin and sighed. “This is delicious. You think I could make it? What’s in it?” He took another bite without waiting for an answer.

  “It’s nothing exotic—mostly orange juice, honey and some Dijon mustard.”

  Thank God she was talking. Plain, everyday conversation. “I know those. You think regular mustard would work?”

  She shrugged. “You could try.”

  Before long, the food was gone and they lingered over their wine. Blake stood and carried his dishes to the sink. “I’ll wash,” he said. “But please. Stay where you are and keep me company.”

  He filled the sink with soapy water and worked his way through the pile of dinner dishes. Kelli sat with her elbows on the table, chin resting in her hands. She wasn’t actually watching him, he thought. More like staring right through him, a dreamy expression on her face. Maybe it was the wine, but she appeared relaxed.

  He fought the desire to lean over and kiss her. He knew better than to mix business with pleasure, especially with someone as skittish as Kelli. They’d talk, and he might find out what she was hiding. Because she was definitely hiding something, whether or not it was her identity. “I saw you working by the lake yesterday,” he said.

  Her eyes focused again. “I was working on a campfire circle. You know—marshmallows, songs, ghost stories.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “You really think inner city kids’ll be singing Kumbaya?”

  She laughed.

  “That’s better.”

  “What?” Her eyebrows lifted.

  “I think tonight’s the first time I’ve heard you laugh.”

  He saw her stiffen and went back to concentrating on the dishes. He finished the last pan and reached for a towel.

  “Let them drain,” Kelli said. “I’ll put them away later.”

  “You’re only saying that because you want to find them again.” He wiped his hands. He went to the table and picked up his almost-empty wineglass. “Join me in the parlor, ma’am?” He tilted his head toward the couch. “Would you like a fire?”

  He didn’t wait for her response. He set his wineglass on the coffee table and moved to the fireplace. Kelli brought what was left of her wine and tucked herself into a corner of the couch. She met his gaze and there wasn’t any fear in her eyes. His face grew warm and it wasn’t from the beginnings of a fire. Heat spread a little lower, too.

  Stop. Tonight was for talking. He sat on the couch, on the end farthest from Kelli, laid one arm along its back and crossed an ankle over his knee. “So. Tell me more. Who is Kelli Carpenter and what is she doing here in the middle of nowhere?”

  She paused for a minute, looking into the fire. “This is an important project.” She swallowed the last of her wine. “Hard to believe a drive-by hardly fazes the kids who’ll come here, but they’ll freak at an owl.”

  Not so hard to believe, considering the way all those night noises had robbed him of a decent night’s sleep. But at least she was talking. Tempted to simply ask if she was Casey Wallace, he reminded himself to take it slow. No obvious references, Dwight had said. Besides, he liked the way her eyes lit up when she talked about her work.

  “Found any interesting creatures in your traps?”

  “Nothing endangered. The most exotic species were a red tree vole and Preble’s shrew.”

  “Are those things I’d want to avoid?”

  “I doubt you’d even notice—they’re tiny. Harmless.”

  He shifted, stretched his legs and turned so he was facing her. “What made you choose this line of work?”

  “I went to Yosemite one summer and fell in love with the great outdoors. Never looked back.”

  Everything she said matched the reports he’d read. “School?”

  “UCLA.” She leaned forward to put her glass on the table next to his. “What about you? Why the temp agency?”

  “You mean, why not have a steady job like a normal person?”

  She flushed. “I didn’t mean it like that. You seem to know what you’re doing and you could probably—”

  “Make big bucks in a huge construction company. Not my style.” Not a lie. Although he was enjoying the work this week, he didn’t want to go back to a life of washing sawdust out of every bodily orifice. “I make enough to meet my needs.” That wasn’t a lie, either. It merely avoided the fact that his real job had nothing to do with construction. And the fact that his needs had grown and it took more to meet them. He saw her hesitate before speaking, as if carrying on a conversation was something stiff and rusty from disuse.

  “You been with the agency a long time?” she asked at last.

  Oh, so now who was grilling whom? He paused to finish his wine. “Depends on what you mean. Construction Temps has offices all over the country. That’s the beauty of temp work. A few jobs for one company and you can go try another one somewhere else. I work for a while, take time for myself, then get back on their active list. No strings.”

  He caught her eye wandering toward his left hand. “No responsibilities for anyone but me,” he added. That much was true.

  “I understand.” Her words were almost a whisper. Some of the pain he’d seen earlier had crept back. She stood and carried both glasses to the kitchen.

  He watched her wash them, rinse them and meticulously set them on the counter, as though performing the mundane task would bring her peace. And he wondered how bringing her peace had become important to him.

  * * * * *

  Kelli dried her hands and went back to her seat by the fire, determined to finish this evening as one normal adult talking with another. And as they talked, she wasn’t thinking of Windsor as a threat. When he’d bent over to start the fire—well, he had some delightful looking assets. What was she thinking? She felt herself blush. Had to be the wine—they’d finished the bottle.

  Blake leaned back, crossing his hands behind his head. His eyes grabbed hers again and she fought to break his gaze. He wasn’t looking at her the way he had when he’d first
shown up—not exactly. Besides, he couldn’t be interested in her that way. It was like he was analyzing her. She studied the flames flickering in the fireplace.

  As if he was unaware how uncomfortable he could make her, he went right on. “You must travel a lot for this job. Anyplace interesting?”

  Interesting? Like the trip to Mexico where Robert had lured her with promises of romance? And had ended up dead? She kept her voice steady. “They’re all interesting. Different habitats, different flora and fauna.”

  “Are you sure we haven’t met? You look familiar.”

  She fought to control her rising anxiety. A logical question for normal small talk. His expression was curious, but bland. Chill. She shook her head. Forced a smile. “I hear that all the time. I guess I have one of those faces. I’m sure we haven’t met. I’d remember you.” She barely breathed, watching his face.

  He shrugged, and she exhaled.

  He stretched his legs in front of him. “So, where else have you been? Maybe our paths have crossed.”

  “I doubt it. My work leans toward keeping developers and the people you work for out. EnviroCon is connected with nature groups—the ones who buy land expressly so people can’t build on it. Leave a few acres of the planet the way Mother Nature created them.”

  “Ouch.” Blake gave her an easy smile. “Hey, even a city boy like me knows fresh air is good for you. I may prefer the city, but it doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate the great outdoors—from a respectable distance, of course.”

  “Don’t tell me you’ve never gone camping? Your dad never took you fishing? What did you do as a kid?”

  His face clouded. “My old man didn’t have time for those kinds of things. He worked. Moved us around—wherever the jobs were.”

  “It must have been hard on your mom.”

  His gaze grew distant. “She died when I was three—I never knew her.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Dad did the best he could.”

  Did she see bitterness there? Regret? A touch of anger? “Single parenting is tough. My dad died when I was little. Mom remarried, though.” When she realized she’d just divulged her own childhood, not Kelli’s, she bit her lip. Nothing in Blake’s demeanor said he’d noticed. She buried Casey’s memories a little deeper and brought Kelli back.

  He stared into the fire for a moment, then gave her a smile, but there was a tinge of pain behind it. “Enough dwelling on old memories. Tell me. Where does Kelli Carpenter live when she’s not in the field?”

  She kept her expression neutral. Normal small talk. Don’t panic. “It depends. I find a motel near the site, or if there’s a stretch between assignments, EnviroCon has temporary employee housing.”

  “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 fl
ickered 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.