by Terry Odell
He drummed his fingers on the pizza box and looked up at the elevator display. Three of the cars were going up and the fourth was on the nineteenth floor. He kept his back to the desk, but listened to see if the man had made any progress with the clerk.
“I’m sorry, sir. We don’t give out room numbers, but I’ll be happy to ring the room if you’ll give me the guest’s name.”
“That’s my problem,” the man said, his voice a slow drawl. “I forgot to write it down. I know EnviroCon booked the room, and I have to deliver something in person. My job’s on the line, if you get my drift.”
Blake froze. Barely turning, he studied the man at the counter. The moustache was gone, the hair was a buzz-cut, but it was definitely Scumbag. Blake grabbed his phone. He fumbled through his pockets. Crap. Where was the damn paper with all those new cell phone numbers? He scanned the lobby.
Nearby, on a small table, sat a house phone. Keeping his stride casual, Blake ambled over. He set down the pizza, grabbed the receiver and punched the number for their room. From his vantage point, he saw Scumbag walk across the lobby, then lodge himself into an easy chair near the elevator. Scumbag lifted a newspaper in front of his face, but Blake doubted the man was reading.
The phone rang for the fourth time, then kicked into the hotel’s automatic voicemail system. Crap. The phone had to be right beside her. Kelli never left the desk. Maybe she was in the john. He clicked off. Scumbag had put down the paper and was talking to a different desk clerk. Blake thought he recognized her as the blonde on duty when they’d checked in. He gripped the phone and dialed again.
Shit, Kelli. Pick up the effing phone.
* * * * *
Kelli paced the hotel room, heart beating double-time, even with the hospital’s mellow hold music playing through her cell phone. Her pulse had skyrocketed when a police detective answered the phone in Stockbridge’s office, and it hadn’t slowed.
Where was Windsor? She looked at the other two cell phones. Which number had he taken? The room phone rang. She was about to pick up when the music in her ear stopped and a female voice came on the line.
The nurse barely had a chance to say hello before Kelli interrupted. “What happened to Jack Stockbridge? I need to speak to him.”
“I’m sorry, but until he’s assigned a room, he can’t get calls.”
“How is he? Is he hurt? What happened?”
“I’m not at liberty to say. You can call back once he’s in a room.”
“Yes, I heard you the first time. When will that be?”
“I can’t say, ma’am. Maybe an hour. Maybe two.”
She managed a curt thank you and mashed her thumb on the button to disconnect. Jack’s wife might know. She went to the bedroom for her own cell phone and sank onto the bed while she searched for Margaret’s number. The room phone rang again and she leaned over to the nightstand to answer.
As soon as she heard Blake’s voice, she cut him off. “Where the hell have you been? Someone broke into Stockbridge’s office and attacked him. He’s in the hospital. We have to—”
“Stop. Listen. Get out. Now. Take the stairs. Scumbag’s here. I’ll meet you.”
Without thinking, she grabbed her gym bag and hoisted it over her shoulder. She eased the door open, checking to make sure the hallway was clear. Lighted red exit signs led her to the stairwell and she shoved open the heavy door.
Fingertips skimming the handrail, the bag thumping against her back, she allowed a brief curse at being on the twentieth floor and another at being Emily in leather pumps, not Kelli in hiking boots or sneakers. After that, there was nothing but thoughts of down and don’t slip. Her breathing turned ragged. Her thighs ached. After seven flights, she stopped to switch the bag to her other shoulder and gasped for air. Her vision blurred and she wiped her eyes, surprised to find they were wet with tears. She took one shaky breath and resumed her frantic descent.
Three flights later, the sound of footfalls bounding up the stairwell set her heart racing even faster. Dry-mouthed, she zipped open the gym bag and searched for the revolver. Before her fingers found it, a man’s form rounded the landing.
“Easy, Sweetheart. It’s me. Come on.”
Her brain said she could relax, but her body was still pumping adrenaline like a geyser. Blake eased the bag from her shoulder and gave her hands a squeeze. The shadowy stairwell couldn’t disguise the relief she saw spread over his face. Her eyes met his and she allowed herself to be dragged in.
“Wait,” she whispered. Using his arms for support, she pulled off her shoes. “Okay.”
She focused on his back, on the bag bouncing with each step. His breathing was labored. This couldn’t be good for him, but she matched his pace, barely noticing the floor numbers as they passed each landing.
When he stopped midway down a flight, she almost ran into him. “What?” she asked.
“Nearly at the lobby.” He took a few deep breaths. “Car. Green Bonneville. Other side of the hotel. Second or third row, I think. Near a planter.” He fished a set of keys out of his pocket.
A tendril of fear snaked through her insides. “Aren’t you coming?”
“I’ll follow. Meet me around back, by the convention center loading docks.”
“But—”
“He’s looking for two people. He’s not expecting a short-haired redhead. A classy-looking, short-haired redhead.” He smiled, but there was worry in his eyes. “You can do it. You’ve been on top of everything so far.”
Right now, she didn’t think she could take another step. She wanted to stand in the lobby and scream she was Casey Wallace, she’d killed a man and beg the police to take her away. Put an end to all this running. Instead, she squeezed her feet back into the Emily shoes and mustered a smile. “Sure.”
When she took the keys, he didn’t release his hold on them and they walked down the last flight of stairs with his warm hand gripping her icy one. His touch centered her, and some of her despair slid away.
They stopped at the door to the lobby level. Blake said, “I’ll be there.” He leaned down and brushed his lips against her forehead. “Like white on rice.”
She lifted her face to his. His eyes reflected confidence and she stood on tiptoe, taking strength from him. She pressed her lips against his mouth. “For luck.” She fluffed her hair, straightened her blouse, and put what she hoped was an expression of confident nonchalance on her face.
He held the door open for her. “If I’m not out in five minutes, don’t wait.”
She peered around the doorway. The stairwell was across the lobby from the elevators, flanked by two large potted plants. She stepped between them and swept her eyes around the seating areas, afraid to let her gaze linger for more than a second. She could do this. Never mind the sweaty palms or a mouth that couldn’t work up the spit to swallow.
With the warmth of Blake’s lips lingering on hers, she summoned Emily’s confidence, lifted her chin and moved into the lobby. She braved another look around. No Scumbag. With a pretense of indifference, despite the thudding of her heart against her rib cage, she strolled toward the side entrance, past the small business center and a shop window displaying golf and fishing equipment. Using the glass’s reflection, she checked behind her. Still no sign of him. Much as her brain screamed, “Run,” she managed to control her pace for the last yards to the door.
Once outside, she strode into the parking area, using vans and SUVs for cover. Planters marked the center of each row. She followed them until she found the Bonneville.
Her heartbeat had steadied. She started the car and drove around the lot once before pulling up to the convention entrance. No bellmen waited here. Blake stepped out from behind a dumpster. She unlocked the doors and he tossed the gym bag on the backseat. “I think we made it.”
He leaned into the car. “I’ll drive.”
“No. Get in.” She waited long enough for him to close his door and then sped away. She saw him grab his cell phone and make a call, his face t
urned away and his voice low.
“Who did you call?”
“Hotel Security. An anonymous tip that a felon was in the hotel.”
“You think they’ll catch him?”
“I sure as hell hope so.”
She tried to remain confident but after about ten minutes, when they’d reached the outskirts of town, she felt her control falling away like a discarded winter coat. She searched for a place to pull over and spotted a city park. The parking lot was almost empty, and she stopped the Bonneville under a large oak tree.
“I can’t do this anymore.” She lifted her hands from the wheel and stared at them. The trembling flowed downward until her feet tapped uncontrollably on the floor.
She stared out the windshield. Two young children played on a swing set and her world shrank to the hypnotic back-and-forth of the swings. Some of her quaking stopped and she became aware Blake was standing beside the car on her side. He opened the door.
“You’re all right,” he said. “Come with me.”
She allowed him to ease her from the car, to put his arm around her waist and guide her to a picnic table under a sprawling oak tree. He sat down and she leaned into his chest. “Sorry,” she said. “I lost it for a minute.”
“I can’t believe you’re as together as you are. Look.” He held out his arms and his hands twitched. “You’re not the only one.”
“I can’t think anymore. My brain’s going a mile a minute, but it’s just spinning. Nothing’s connecting.”
Blake rested his forearms on his thighs, his hands clasped between his knees.
She lowered herself to the bench. They sat, hip to hip, legs touching and her shivering stopped, steadied by his presence. “Jack is in the hospital,” she said. “I should call.”
Without looking, she sensed his nod of approval. Scrolling through her list of called numbers, she found the hospital’s entry and dialed. Blake’s arm was around her shoulder, and she could smell his scent intermingled with the woodsy aroma of the park while she waited for Jack to answer.
“I’m fine, Kiddo.” Jack’s voice put some of her fears to rest. “The doctor insists I hang around for a bit, but I’m out of here tomorrow.”
“What happened?”
“I don’t know much. My secretary was on a break, I was working on my computer, so my back was to the door. You know, you really do see stars when someone hits you on the head. I always thought it was only a cartoon image. Anyway, it was lights out, and when I came to, the office was a mess and he was gone.”
“He found us,” she said softly, “but I think we’re safe. Blake called the authorities.”
“You any closer to solving your problem?”
She heard the hesitation between his words and envisioned the pain. Because of her. Knots formed in her stomach. Blake must have felt her tighten, because his hand kneaded her shoulder. She couldn’t meet his eyes. She focused on a jay perched in the tree above them. “If they’ve got him in custody, I might have time to figure out who sent him and why.”
“Call anytime. Keep me posted.”
“How’s Stockbridge?” Blake asked after she disconnected.
“Says he’s fine, but they’re keeping him overnight.” Nothing she could do kept her anger in check. “They don’t keep you overnight for a bump on the head. Something more happened, but he wouldn’t say. He’s on meds—I could hear it in his voice.”
“He doesn’t want to worry you, I’m sure.”
“Yeah, well that was a major failure, because now I’m more worried not knowing.” Unable to contain the emotional overload, she got up and started walking. Her speed increased until she was running blindly down a path behind the picnic area.
Chapter Fourteen
Blake waited a moment, then jogged after Kelli, giving her time to work off some of her pent-up frenzy. The sun-dappled path twisted through a stand of oak and pines, and he hoped the natural environment would comfort her. His own breathing was rough, far more than the pace warranted. He had some pent-up emotions of his own to work off.
When she slowed to a walk, he fell in step beside her. Neither spoke. Occasional birdsong rang over the crunching of leaves and fallen twigs beneath their feet, but otherwise their breathing, slowing with their pace, made the only sound. At a wide spot in the path, Kelli stopped and leaned against a pine tree, her arms crossed over her chest.
He jammed his fists into his windbreaker’s pockets. Their eyes met, averted, caught again. Hers moved down his body, then up, then locked on his. The tension between them wasn’t fear anymore, and he knew she knew it. Her hands dropped to her sides.
“Umm … “ was all he could get past his throat.
“You got that right,” she said. Her voice had a raw huskiness to it and then her hands were behind his neck. She drew him toward her, pulling on his head until he bent enough for their lips to meet. Her kiss was hot, needy, to the point of desperation. Tongues probed, tasted, sought comfort. In a swift move, he reversed their positions. With the tree behind him for support, he pulled Kelli’s legs up and around his hips.
Her hands fisted in his hair, her breasts pressed against his chest, her legs gripped him as if she needed to be inside his skin. He pulled her closer, his hands cupping her bottom. She slid her hands inside his windbreaker, embracing him with a heat that shot to his toes. In the gaps between kisses, she moaned. Or did he? When her body writhed against his erection, she nearly sent him over the edge.
Digging for restraint, he leaned away and gently lowered Kelli to the ground. Pressed his finger to her lips, swollen with their kisses. Waited for his breathing to slow.
When it did, he cradled her face so she had to look at him. “This isn’t real, Kelli. I can’t take advantage. I can’t deal with hurting you, and no matter what you think now, you’ll regret this later. I can’t … “ He choked out the last words, kissed her forehead and turned away. “I’ll wait for you in the car.”
He kept his eyes fixed on the ground in front of him as he retraced his steps along the path, wishing he could will the pain of his arousal away. No, that he understood. That he could deal with. The ache in his chest was far more debilitating. Would he have stopped if they’d not been on a public pathway in broad daylight? What if they’d been in their hotel room?
He knew the answer. He was no stranger to mindless sex. He could stay detached. He always stayed detached. No relationships. None of that awkward “morning after” nonsense—women never came to his apartment and he never stayed at theirs. Up and gone before daylight. Always.
The playground was deserted when he reached the car. He leaned against the hood, trying to find the words for when Kelli returned. When he slept with her, it wasn’t going to be mindless, and he was going to wake up beside her the next morning. He caught himself. Holy crap. He’d said when, not if. It couldn’t happen. The woman had enough baggage to fill the cargo hold of a C-130 transport plane and he didn’t think he was the one to deal with it.
Then Kelli appeared at the edge of the woods, and all he could think of was the complete and utter panic he’d felt when he saw Scumbag in the lobby. How it had carried him up flight after flight of stairs until he saw Kelli. And the relief he’d felt when she was all right. More than relief. He knew he’d be there as long as she’d let him.
Before she reached the car, he slid into the driver’s seat, fumbled with key, fiddled with the mirrors. She climbed in and adjusted her seat belt.
“Well, that was … interesting.” Her cheeks were flushed and she poked her fingers through her hair, fluffing it into place.
“No kidding.” He backed out of the parking slot. His stomach rumbled and he remembered the pizza he’d left on the hotel table. Well, someone might enjoy it.
Meanwhile, he scanned the roadside for a place to eat. On the opposite corner, a small brick-and-wood building proclaimed itself to be a genuine Irish pub. He hung a quick left, found a small parking lot behind the restaurant, and parked. Kelli hadn’t looked at him yet.
The air hung heavy between them, but there was no retracting what had happened and nowhere to go but forward. He crossed around the car and opened her door. Her green eyes flashed up at him, then back to her lap. With an extended hand, he said, “Emily. Let’s have lunch.”
He watched, amazed and impressed, as Emily’s skin slipped over Kelli. There was nothing specific he could pinpoint. One minute she was a frightened Kelli. Then her entire demeanor changed and she was the confident Emily. Emily gave him a quick smile and accepted his hand.
Inside the pub, a vacant podium stood behind a sign asking guests to wait to be seated. A bar ran the length of the room, fronted by stools topped with black leather. True to form, television sets hung on the walls. A basketball game played on one, soccer on another and a local news broadcast on the third. There was a scattering of tables in the center of the space and booths flanked the walls. When the bartender nodded them in and told them to sit anywhere, Blake found a booth with a clear view of the news. Bill Cranford might sit at the bar if he were alone, but Emily was definitely a booth person.
“You want a drink?” Blake asked. “They have Guinness on tap. Or does Emily drink Chardonnay?” In this setting, with her red hair and green eyes, he wouldn’t have been surprised to hear her answer in an Irish brogue.
“To be honest,” she said in plain old American, “I’ve never had a Guinness. I’d love to try one.” Her smile was genuine this time and he floated six inches above his seat.
A waitress came by and put two menus and a bowl of something pinkish-gray and creamy on the table.
“O’Flannery’s special seafood spread,” she said and placed a basket of crackers beside it. “Enjoy.”