In the early hours, they drove back to the town square and, after a stroll, found a café where they watched the sun rise over the river.
Kate thought falling in love was for others—if it existed at all—but spending the last few hours with Joe was making her reconsider. Her flight home was booked for the afternoon and, just when she wondered about catching some shut-eye before she’d get ready, Joe asked if she could rollerblade.
“Not since I was a kid.”
She laughed nervously and found herself agreeing when he said, “Then I dare you.”
With the sun warming a broad azure sky, they hired skates and joined crowds of young people on the streets. Although Kate’s balance was better than she’d feared, she accepted Joe’s offered hand. She lost sense of how many miles they’d travelled and, when they reached Prague Zoo, they put their skates in a locker and went in. Kate had been to London Zoo in Regent’s Park but had never imagined a zoo as large as Prague’s.
“It’s over 100 acres with 4,800 animals,” Joe said and then grinned. “I’m not the font of all knowledge—I just read it at the gate.”
They spent a couple of hours jumping on and off the tram to travel around and see the enclosures. Joe’s favourite was the Indonesian Jungle with its exotic animal cries and the humidity of a steam room. For Kate, the giraffe enclosure with its cute baby on long wobbly legs was the best, although Joe likened it to her on skates. A silverback gorilla reminded Kate of Andrew, a close friend and masseuse at the Royal Berkshire club.
Checking the time on her phone, she said, “I’d better get going, if I’m to catch my plane.” When she saw what he was thinking, she quickly added, “And don’t dare me to miss it. I have work to get to on Monday.”
Joe accompanied her back to her hotel to get her things and then saw her off at the airport. She hoped for a farewell kiss and was not disappointed. He seemed to read her mind, leaned in and lightly brushed her lips with his. Then, instead of pulling back, he kissed her more strongly and, as she responded, he pulled her close.
“Where did you learn to kiss like that?” she asked with a Cheshire cat grin once it ended.
“It’s the Italian in me.” He hesitated, holding her gaze. “I’d like to see you again. How about next weekend? I’ll come to you.”
Of course, she accepted and could think of nothing else until he turned up at her apartment the following Friday. They toured Windsor Castle, visited her favourite cafés and took a boat out on the river. She discovered then that they not only shared friends and an interest in exercise but they had both lost someone close in the past few years. Her father had died and he’d lost his twin brother. And that was another connection, because Kate’s sister had twins.
A week later she returned to Prague and began a romance that alternated between countries each weekend. In between, he sent her silly poems and messages of love every day and, when they were together, the world became both exciting and interesting and her laughter came easily.
Then after three months he said, “I’ve been offered a job at O2 in the UK.”
“You’ll live near me?”
He grinned. “Not only that, but I dare you to let me live with you.”
Six months she had known him. Six amazing months.
And now this.
“Kate.” Joe had come back into the lounge and stood in the corner. “Where’s my bag?” His tone was calm and flat.
She looked at him.
“You’ve been crying.” Now there was concern in his voice.
She said, “What’s going on?” Tolkien squirmed in her grasp and managed to escape.
Joe said nothing, took a step towards her.
“Stop!”
He froze and held out his arms like he wanted to hug her.
Kate sat up and glared. Her chest was tight as she forced the words out. “How dare you use me! How dare you lie to me! And how dare you have a bloody gun in my house!”
“I can explain.”
There was a long silence and Kate blinked tears from her eyes.
Eventually she said, “I’m waiting.”
“It’s difficult.”
“Difficult to explain why you told me you were American when you have a British passport? I bet it is. And difficult to explain why there’s a picture of you in the passport but it’s not Joe Rossini. No, it’s Joe Ranieri.” She shook her head, wiped the tears from her cheeks and stood. She pointed to the stairs. “Get out!”
Joe didn’t move. “I’m kind of in protection—witness protection.”
“What?”
He sighed, pointed to a chair and sat in it. “You know I said I was in the army? I was. Something happened and… and I had to leave. You see, I know things…”
She waited, held her breath.
He shook his head, sadness in his eyes. “I’m not allowed to talk about it. I shouldn’t even tell you this much.”
“But… so what? You didn’t just quit, you said protection.”
“I had to get out and take an identity. For all intents and purposes I’m now Joe Rossini. The job with Oskar Mobile was a cover, part of my new life.”
Kate sat down and held her head for a moment. “Are you telling me our relationship has been part of your cover, Joe?”
He moved over to the sofa, knelt and cupped her chin gently. “No! I love you, Kate. I’m telling you this precisely because I love you.” He kissed her. After hesitating, she accepted and returned the affection.
When she pulled away, she said, “Why the British passport in the name of Ranieri?”
“That was in case I needed it. I should have changed my ID but you already knew me as Rossini. I shouldn’t have gotten involved with anyone but I fell for you. I want to be with you but at the same time don’t want you involved.”
“And you can’t tell me anything else?”
“Not yet. Not until I can.”
“And how do I deal with it—knowing, but not really knowing?”
That’s when he said, “Trust me. Please just trust me.”
And within a month he was gone.
FOUR
Twelve months later
Shadowed and deserted, the outpatients department echoed with the last of the staff closing up for the evening. As the reception light went out, raindrops sparkled on the glass doors of the hospital like orange jewels in the dark. With her phone pressed to her ear, Kate wondered if the rain had stopped long enough to risk the short walk home.
“Kate?” Darcy prompted in her ear, and Kate realized she’d missed the end of her sister’s monologue.
“Sorry, I’m just tired and was wondering whether the rain had stopped.” It was a weak excuse and Darcy would know. Kate stepped out into the orange-lit car park, keeping the excuse going: “I’ve been on my feet all afternoon seeing patients. Most have bad backs. And now my back—”
“You work too hard. I’ve told you before, two jobs is one too many.”
“I have two half-jobs. It’s the modern way.”
“You and I both know the hospital isn’t half a job. Working at the club is extra. You’re over-compensating.” Darcy didn’t say more, but Kate knew it was a bit of a dig.
Kate sensed her throat flush with annoyance. It was OK for Darcy, stay-at-home mother of two, husband with a good job in the City. Two years Kate’s junior and as controlling as when they’d been kids.
Kate was about to say something she may have regretted but Darcy switched back to the reason she’d called.
“So, you’ll give Terry a chance?”
Terry. Mum’s first man-friend since Dad had died. It had been four years. Was that long enough to wait?
“She’s entitled to some happiness. Just because you…” Darcy bit off the end of her sentence and then said, “I’m sorry.”
Kate had stopped walking. How long had she been standing on the kerb beside the road? Cars came around the bend on the one-way system, lights briefly in her eyes, tyres hissing on the wet surface. There was no one else o
n the street except for someone about thirty yards behind, coming out of the hospital car park.
At a break in the traffic, Kate began to cross. “Darcy, look, I’ll call you tomorrow.” She ended the call, dropped the phone into her handbag and pulled her collar up against the chill damp air.
She always took the back way to her house because of the church, with its cherry trees a cloud of pink in the spring. Although it was the wrong time of year, and dark, she could still imagine its prettiness.
Footsteps behind made her glance back. A man in a hoodie hurried six paces or so behind, head down. She turned and he seemed to be right beside her. Her pulse crazy, she stopped, hand on the pepper spray in her bag. But he was there and then gone. Kate breathed and cursed herself for being so paranoid. He was just some guy rushing to get home after work. She shook her head, glad no one knew about this irrational fear.
She took the alleyway between the houses. There were no street lights here. The garage space beyond provided enough orange glow to see the path and the four steps at the end.
Kate sensed someone before she heard him. A sixth sense prickled in her neck and pulled on her jaw. Then footsteps were right behind her—someone running.
She leapt the steps into the garage area. A hand grabbed her shoulder. She twisted and spun, snatched the pepper spray and swung it towards the man. It was the same guy in the hoodie.
“Hey!” he shouted, letting go of her jacket and stumbling a pace beyond her. He stepped back, looking from her to the spray and back. He raised his hands, shook his head and said, “I was just running home—Sorry!” The words came out as staccato breaths.
She didn’t believe him and there was something about his eyes, the way he looked at her.
“You grabbed me,” she said.
“I tripped up the steps. I was going to fall. Sorry.” He studied her for moment, his eyes narrow, as though thinking, and then he ran off.
Kate watched him round the corner of the car park before she could move again. When she reached her front door she looked up and down the road in case the man in the hoodie was still around. Seeing no one, she took out her key and a trembling hand finally got the door open.
Kate sat on the stairs with her head in her hands until the shaking stopped. The timer clicked on the upstairs’ lights and, when she got up, Tolkien was sitting on the top step watching her with his intelligent blue eyes. She rubbed his head as she passed and stood by the mirror at the top of the stairs. With an ashen face and eyes wide and black, she thought she looked a decade older than her twenty-six years.
She continued to look at the shadow of herself as she phoned Darcy.
“You all right, sis?” Darcy asked, after Kate told her what had happened.
“I’ll be OK.” As Kate smeared the tears with the palm of her hand, she could hear her sister’s twins in the background. One of them was calling, but Darcy wasn’t giving up.
“Kate, you should—”
“OK, what if I tell the police? And what if they find him? What if he tells them I had pepper spray?”
“I don’t see—”
“Joe gave it to me. It’s the real stuff—the illegal stuff.”
Darcy was quiet for a moment and Kate knew what was coming next. It had been almost a year since Joe had disappeared. Yes, he had fake identities, but he was no criminal. The Joe she knew was kind and loving and generous. Of course he had a past, but he’d confessed his secret and she believed him. Everyone else said she was crazy and told her to move on, and Darcy was the most critical.
“You know what may or may not have happened tonight has nothing to do with Joe, right?” Before Kate could respond, she heard a crash like broken pottery on the other end. Darcy said, “One second,” shouted at the children and then smoothly resumed the conversation with Kate. “This is just a coincidence, sis. Tell me you know that.”
Kate didn’t say anything. On one level it didn’t, but the awareness—the self-preservation—that was all about what Joe had told her.
Darcy said, “Run yourself a nice hot bath. Have a soak and I’ll be over in forty minutes.”
“No, you’ve got the girls and it’s got to be their bedtime.” Kate knew that Darcy’s husband Tim wouldn’t be home yet, so coming over would mean bringing the twins. “I’ll be fine. I’ll take your advice on a soak in the bath though.”
Darcy put up a fight, but Kate repeated, “I’ll be fine. Seriously, I’ll be fine.”
“OK, just promise me you’ll call if you need me. I’ll come over anytime. If Tim’s not here, I’ll get a neighbour to mind the girls.”
“I love you, sis,” Kate said and felt the tears return.
“Love you too, sis. And promise me you’ll stop thinking about Joe.”
Tolkien was looking expectant as Kate ended the call. She bent, ruffled his brown fur and he mewed something, probably about wanting food. Tolkien loved to talk, and on most evenings Kate would have accommodated but, after feeding him and running a bath, she put a chill-out album on the iPod, closed her eyes and let the past come back to life.
FIVE
The phone disturbed Kate’s daydreams.
“Hi Mumsie.”
“Are you all right, Pip dear?”
Pip had been Kate’s father’s pet name for her and her mother used it occasionally. Somehow, when she did, it helped. “I’m fine, Mumsie. I’m fine.”
“Well, your sister just called and told me all about it. You really should call the police.” Her mother continued for a while, but the subject never really changed.
When Kate could get a word in, she said, “Really, I’m fine. And the police won’t take it seriously because he didn’t actually attack me.”
“But he probably would have.”
“We don’t know that for certain.”
“Well at least get one of those personal alarms.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“That’s good, dear. Now do you have plans for a week on Sunday? Will you come over for lunch?”
Kate knew that Terry would be there. “Mumsie, I don’t think—”
“Please, it would mean a lot—to both of us.”
“I’ll think about it.” she said, but knew she’d make other plans.
“Like you’ll think about calling the police?”
Kate knew she’d find it difficult to deal with the police. There was no point. They wouldn’t do anything, just like they’d done nothing about Joe’s disappearance.
That night, she found herself reliving the day it all happened. She recalled the cold crispness of the November air and the crunch of the leaves underfoot as they strolled on The Long Walk in Windsor’s Great Park.
Joe had taken the day off so that they could spend time together and enjoy The Changing of the Guard. On the walk they hadn’t spoken much, and Joe pulled at his right eyebrow, something he did when deep in thought. It’d been over two weeks since they had taken a kayak up to Henley. He’d told her stories of being in the army—and that he had a secret he couldn’t share. He’d wanted to say more, she could tell, but each time managed to stop himself.
Perhaps that was why he was quiet now. Eventually he seemed to shake off the melancholy and said, “What a great day!” He placed an arm around her shoulders. “I love this country. Beautiful girl, beautiful colours. And look at those stags. They’re awesome—I can just picture their heads on a trophy wall.”
He winked and laughed as he ducked her playful swipe. Her Joe was back.
“It’s not normally this pretty in the autumn,” she said. “We’ve been lucky this year. It’s usually wet and windy.”
“Reminds me of Virginia in the fall.” He ran a hand through her hair and then pulled her close into a long kiss. When they broke apart, she pointed out the green birds flying between the trees. “Look, parakeets! About ten years back, some pet birds escaped from West London,” she explained. “They’ve made their home here. They seem to be thriving.”
He raised his eyebrows and sm
iled. “Out of place—but happy. I know how they feel.”
“You OK, Joe?”
A flash of concern, then a smile. “Sorry, hon. It’s just work. You know how it is. Someone high up at O2 has been riding my ass. I’m fine. And I love you.”
She held him tighter as they walked and continued towards the castle. As they approached, she pointed to the flag on the tower—the Queen’s crest, her colours.
“The Queen’s at home,” she said. “You can always tell when the Queen’s here. When she’s not, they fly the Union Jack.”
“That’s crazy,” Joe said. “So a terrorist would know when she’s in the castle, know when to attack? And look here,” he continued, grabbing her elbow and leading her to the right of the fence. “This side gate. Only a rusty padlock to stop a terrorist? What a joke.”
She was impressed with the observation, but said, “There’s never been any trouble.” Then she thought about it and added, “Unless you count the idiot who climbed over the fence a few years ago dressed as Osama bin Laden.”
“And I read that some lunatic climbed over a wall at Buckingham Palace and managed to get into the Queen’s bedroom.”
“That was ages ago,” she said dismissively, but he was having none of it.
“You Brits are amazing. You think you’re safe because there hasn’t been a problem in the past. It’s only a bloomin’ lunatic, so that’s awlright… mate!” he said in an attempt at Cockney.
She laughed. “That’s a terrible impression!”
“Cor blimey, governor, it’s proper brilliant,” he said, mocking the excessive use of the words proper and brilliant by the British, although he didn’t understand its use as sarcasm.
“No, stop!” Laughing, she doubled up in pain. “You’re making my sides hurt.”
I Dare You: A gripping thriller that will keep you guessing (A Kate Blakemore Crime Thriller Book 1) Page 2
