Free What's in a Name? by Terry Odell Page A

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.
    On the couch, Windsor’s legs stretched
out in front of him and his head lolled back. Looked like the
muscle relaxant had kicked in. In sleep, he seemed harmless
enough.
    Satisfied he wasn’t going anywhere, she
grabbed her flashlight and jogged to his truck. The deluge had
lessened to a fine mist. Once she replaced the truck’s coil wire,
she drove toward the main road. Decker wouldn’t have hiked in.
Maybe his truck would give some indication of who he was. She found
the Park Service truck about twenty yards down the road in a
shallow pull-out. Pulling the sleeve of her parka over her hand,
she yanked the door open and shone the light in the cab.
    Cardboard coffee cups, fast food bags,
and gum wrappers cluttered the seat. She popped open the glove box
and found a San Francisco Giants baseball cap crammed on top of
maps. Doug Peterson was a Giants fan. Her pulse jumped. Decker was
no ranger, she was sure of that. But the Park Service personnel
shared the limited number of vehicles. All this meant was that
Peterson probably had used this truck. Didn’t it? No time for those
thoughts now. Once she was the hell out of here she’d call the
authorities. Let them figure it out.
    She climbed back into Windsor’s pickup
and leaned over the steering wheel. Was she doing the right thing?
It didn’t matter. She couldn’t leave Windsor behind. He’d saved her
life.
     
    * * * * *
     
    “ Let’s go, Windsor.
You’ve had an hour’s nap. That’s plenty.”
    Blake blinked at Kelli’s voice and sat
up. He took a moment to take inventory. Groggy, a little dizzy, but
with luck, he’d get into the truck on his own steam. Aware of Kelli
watching from the porch, he hoisted himself up, gripping the back
of the couch as he shuffled around it. The pill had dulled the pain
enough for him to get out the door without seeing stars. At the
edge of the porch, he paused, telling himself it was because he
didn’t want to fall down the steps. Not because he wanted to feel
Kelli’s arms around him.
    Kelli’s hand was at his elbow. Strong,
but it might as well have been a wooden arm rail for all the
compassion it exuded. He used it for balance more than support and
made it to the truck without passing out.
    She climbed into the driver’s seat and
peered at him. “You tell me if you’re going to get sick. I’ll pull
over.”
    “ Thanks.” Kelli hadn’t
closed her door yet and the dome light illuminated the cab. He
looked at her more closely. “What happened to your
eyes?”
    “ Nothing.” She