I Dare You: A gripping thriller that will keep you guessing (A Kate Blakemore Crime Thriller Book 1)

by Murray Bailey

  Woodall watched Joe’s eyes. “Is the ID a problem? She can’t know you’ve changed your name.”

  Joe thought about giving a longer answer but instead opted for a simple “No.”

  Woodall’s eyes showed disapproval, although he said, “Fine, I’ll get the paperwork sorted.”

  “And what about surveillance?”

  “We’ll keep that up—for your protection.”

  “I want Ben Hurwitz as my liaison.”

  Woodall relaxed, smiled properly for the first time. “Not a problem. You just uphold your part of the deal: if this kicks off, you’re back to the States.” He reached out a hand. “Look, it’s tough on me too, OK? I know you have lost a brother and I know this has been a big ask for you to put your life on hold, but it means a lot.”

  Joe shook Woodall’s hand. “Thanks.”

  Within a month he was living in Windsor, starting a new life and hoping to forget the past.

  SIXTY-TWO

  Present day

  True to her word, at 7:50, Michelle Ramirez triple-knocked twice on the door.

  “Have you breakfasted?”

  “In my room.” Kate was dressed and ready. She’d slept the sleep of the dead and, although still groggy from the deep sleep, the day was full of promise. She was on her way to Montana—and Joe. She slung her rucksack over her shoulder and they headed for the terminal.

  Michelle said, “I presumed you didn’t have any ID—except for your sister’s.”

  “No. I thought it safer to just have Darcy’s details.”

  “That’s fine. You’re officially UFS—under federal supervision.”

  At the airport she flashed her ID to security at the airport. The man made a quick call on his walkie-talkie before waving them through.

  Ramirez said, “I’m going to have to cuff you and drag you on board. Do you want a bag over your head?”

  Kate stopped mid pace. “Can’t you…”

  Michelle was smirking. “Sorry, honey, I couldn’t resist it.”

  “I don’t like you!” Kate said and they both laughed. When she sat on the plane and relaxed into her barely padded foam seat, Kate realized a tension in her shoulders had eased.

  After the in-flight service, Michelle said, “You look a hell of a lot better today. Yesterday you looked like the little sister of Swamp Thing.”

  “Thanks!”

  Michelle winked. “You’re OK, y’know. You’ve been through a tough few days. Not many women could cope the way you have.”

  Kate sighed. “I guess it’s survival instinct… that and adrenaline.”

  “I did fifteen months in Afghanistan. I know where you’re comin’ from, sister.”

  Ex-army. Kate nodded, piecing it together. That explained the tough-as-nails look the agent had.

  She said, “What was it really like out there? In Afghanistan, I mean.”

  “A beach holiday, honey,” Michelle snorted then bit her lower lip, a faraway look in her eyes. She shook her head as if to dispel bad thoughts. “Seriously though, it changes you. Being tense all the time, not sleeping, not knowing who’s a friend and who’s intending to blow you to bits…”

  “Is that why you got out?”

  “That and a desire to go back to college.”

  “You don’t look old enough to have been in the army and college!”

  Michelle laughed. “Well, that’s not true but thanks anyway. Truth is I studied night classes to finish my degree. It’s needed to join the FBI. Dumb rule if you ask me.”

  “You’ve done well it seems.”

  “I’ve done OK. Now tell me about England. I’ve never been, but I’ve seen pictures of Big Ben and Windsor Castle and Stonehenge.”

  “Now, Stonehenge isn’t my specialty, apart from saying it was a Druid sacred site—something like 2,000 years old, used to tell the date and made of giant blocks from the Welsh mountains. It’s a mystery how they were transported hundreds of miles. I’m much better on the subjects of London and Windsor mainly. The Queen is virtually my next-door neighbour!”

  “Really?”

  “No!” Kate grinned at getting revenge for the agent’s earlier trick. “But I’ve seen her up close. She drives up a road we call The Long Walk. It’s from the castle and through her grounds, The Great Park.”

  Michelle was on the edge of her seat, fascinated.

  Kate continued: “I’ve seen her a few times, but this one time her Land Rover came right up behind me and made me jump out of the way. Actually, the Queen was in the passenger seat wearing a head scarf. Prince Philip was in the rear. They both looked grumpy, like they’d had a row. Because I’d been in the way, they both looked at me, the Queen said something and Philip laughed. At least it looked like she had said something about me. You know he’s famous for shooting things he shouldn’t? Well, I imagined she said something like: ‘Philip, next time you’re out shooting, clear this road of the bloody peasants, would you?’”

  Michelle spluttered into her coffee. Then, once composed, she said, “You Brits crack me up. Surely the Queen wouldn’t say bloody!” She tried to impersonate a British accent for the last word and failed terribly.

  They both laughed and, on a roll, Kate continued to describe places in Jolly Ol’ England and meaningless, but very British, anecdotes that Michelle found thoroughly amusing.

  The four-hour flight was over before they knew it. In Denver they had a two-hour layover and Michelle was most concerned at finding somewhere reasonable to eat. They continued to talk and then headed for the gate for flight F1189 to Billings, Montana.

  “You know it’s Hicksville, right?”

  “What, Billings?”

  “Just about the whole of Montana. Country folk, I guess you’d say, but people use it to mean they’re unsophisticated. Truth is I’ve never been there. Y’know it’s a state the size of two UKs, I think, with a population of about a million. Of course, there are more horses than people!” Again she laughed. “I figure there are a lot more people in the UK?”

  “There’s often mention of about 64 million. But not that many horses.”

  The Billings plane was much smaller than the previous one, with three narrow seats either side of the aisle where two standard ones would normally fit. There were only thirty or so passengers so they spaced themselves out, everyone leaving the tiny middle seat vacant.

  As they taxied along the runway, Kate got her first sense of what the flight would be like. The seats seemed to have a light aluminium frame, bolted to the floor. The padding under a colourful and deceptive material was the thickness of gnat’s wing. With each bounce the seats rattled and vibrated and Kate felt every jolt. Once in the air, the seats continued to vibrate and move violently whenever the plane passed through turbulence. The closer they got, the more turbulence they encountered. A one hour forty-two minute flight felt longer than the first leg to Denver.

  “Just in case we’re about to die from… rattle death,” Michelle said with a grin, “it’s probably about time you started calling me Chelle.”

  Billings International Airport made Kate think of a bus terminal, only one with fewer people. They went down a flight of stairs straight into an arrivals hall along with baggage collection. Kate had her rucksack and Michelle pulled along a small carry case. As they passed the conveyors with bags on, it occurred to Kate that anyone could pick up the luggage.

  Michelle must have read her thought because she said, “I guess that’s one attraction of Hicksville—they ain’t got much crime out here.”

  They walked through the terminal doors and to a strip of cars, herringbone parked and four deep. Michelle said, “Makes you wonder where the folks are.”

  Kate chortled, “Not here, that’s for sure. Leave your car and get outta town.”

  “Now you’re doing the terrible accent.” Michelle held up her phone and stepped to one side to make a quick call. Then she waved Kate over to an information desk and collected an envelope before heading for the car park. Outside, she took a key f
ob out of the envelope and pressed a remote. “There’s our ride,” she said, pointing.

  The ride turned out to be a compact Japanese car—a Honda Civic. Michelle opened the tiny boot, dropped in her bag and said, “Uncle Sam’s generosity strikes again, honey.”

  Kate followed suit, putting the rucksack in the rear and closed the lid. Within minutes they were pulling out of the airport and heading down the steep road to Billings.

  Michelle found an acceptable radio station and said, “Next stop Red Lodge.”

  SIXTY-THREE

  Out of Billings, Michelle picked up the I-90 and headed west. She turned the heating up as they picked up highway 212, going south-west. They watched the outside temperature drop on the dashboard display. Ahead, Michelle pointed to the mountains pressing up towards the grey mantle of cloud. “Beartooth Mountains,” she said. “Great skiing country, and beyond is Yellowstone National Park.”

  The snow started to fall, a light sprinkling at first but by the time they reached the town of Red Lodge, flakes the size of coins blotted the vision. The digital clock in the car showed a little after 4pm, but the combination of clouds and curtain of snowfall meant that Michelle needed to turn on the headlights. She also switched on the wipers but the reflected light became more of a problem than snow on the windscreen.

  “So whereabouts in Red Lodge are we headed?” Michelle asked as they drove along Broadway aiming for the centre of town.

  Kate had finally got her phone working. The mobile phone operators seemed to be different in Montana. Unused to scanning for an operator, it took her a while to figure out that she would never get a signal if she stuck with the one programmed in. Now she studied the Google map and watched Michelle’s satnav to determine their location. She said, “There’s a right turn coming up. Goes off at a shallow angle. North Oakes Avenue.”

  Michelle slowed, spotted the turn and took the road that ran almost parallel with the main drag through the town. Main Street had a real frontier town feel to it, like something out of the late 1800s—hardware stores, clothing stores, inns and restaurants. This side road had larger lots and sheds giving the impression of a minor commercial strip. Kate was reminded of those western sets where from the street the properties looked real but from behind they were just façades with scaffolding. One side real, the other side not.

  The road continued, changing its name to South Hauser Avenue. Properties became poorer and scruffier and then Kate said, “Stop, this is it.” She looked hard, left and right, surprised at the area. Was Joe really here?

  On one side of the road was a long uninviting post office that looked more like a depot. Opposite was a restaurant that had probably once been a row of connected residential properties. Then there was a parking lot with industrial units behind. A sign said Do Not Enter, so she supposed there was an entrance somewhere behind the buildings. In the parking lot were cars that could have been dumped for all Kate knew. Their condition was not good: rusty and damaged. The next property on the other side of the lot was a low rise, probably prefabricated.

  They sat in the car looking up and down the street.

  “What are you thinking?” Michelle asked.

  Kate shook her head. “I don’t know. Looks rather run-down I suppose, particularly on the left.”

  Michelle said, “I was expecting a hotel or lodge. I thought this was going to be straightforward.” She turned and looked at Kate. “But didn’t you say there was more to the clue?”

  “Yes, a number: 1641. I found a link for Red Lodge Real Estate—a house for sale on 1641 Foothill Road.”

  “Should we try there?”

  “I don’t think so. The location we need is around here.” She opened the car door, immediately caught snowflakes in her eyes and blinked them away. “Let’s ask in the restaurant.”

  Michelle hung back to make a call as Kate went through the door, part sheltered by a small green-and-red-striped awning. The interior was no more tasteful but at least it was warm. A couple of early diners looked at her, smiled and said, “Howdy.”

  There was a rich aroma of baking and cooked meat. Kate could see someone in a kitchen at the rear and decided to wait. Michelle came in and picked up a menu.

  “Where do you pack it all?” Kate asked. “Anyway, it’s too early to eat.”

  Michelle looked like she was about to mention the two-hour time difference, when a middle-aged waiter wearing a baseball cap appeared. Kate figured him to be the owner—too small, too little custom to afford staff. He grinned broadly and also said, “Howdy.” Then he spread his arms. “Take a seat, ladies, and tell me what I can get you.”

  Without preamble, Kate said, “I’m sorry, we’re not here to eat. I just have a question, if you don’t mind. Does the number 1641 mean anything to you?”

  The waiter scratched his forehead under a baseball cap as though thinking hard, but there was something vacant in his eyes. He repeated the number slowly a few times. Eventually he shrugged and turned to one of the customers. “Lou, you know what 1641 means?”

  “Nope,” Lou said without the pretence at thought. But then he said something that made a lot of sense: “You should go ask over the road. Folks at the postal office may know.”

  It was a good idea. Kate and Michelle thanked them and headed out into what was fast becoming a blizzard. They found a public entrance on the right and went in, again grateful for the respite from the snow. Inside, they were welcomed by a large reception area and a long counter. Royal blue was the predominant colour, followed closely by dove grey. Blue floor, blue counter, blue units behind and grey walls. The walls were covered with posters and notices. Perhaps less welcome than functional then.

  “Can I help you, ladies?” A voice said from beyond the blue counter. A head popped up. The man beneath was dressed in blue, although it was dark compared to the counter.

  “We’re looking for something with the number 1641,” Michelle said. “Does 1641 mean anything to you, sir?”

  “Can’t say that it does,” the postal worker said.

  “What about mail boxes. Have you got one numbered 1641?”

  “Nope, the mail boxes go up to three digits.” He thought a moment and studied them with suspicion. “Can I ask what it’s about?”

  Michelle pulled her badge. “It’s a federal matter,” she said in such a serious voice that the man seemed startled.

  “Oh, I… er… I could ask out back, see if anyone—”

  “Please do that, Bob,” Michelle said, reading his name tag. He disappeared.

  Kate began to read the notices. She spotted a message board and read through the messages for anything that might be relevant. Michelle started doing the same from the opposite end.

  Bob returned. “Nope. No one can help you there.”

  It took Kate ten minutes to work her way round to join Michelle. A lady with a young girl came in and shook the snow from her coat and hair, then brushed the girl before heading for the counter. “Hey, Bob. Howya doin’ tonight?”

  “It’s a cold one,” Bob said. “Not looking forward to the drive home.”

  The child distracted the lady for a moment and then she looked up. “Any mail in box LB-one-one-eight for me, Bob?”

  Bob disappeared and came back with a handful of mail.

  Kate stood with her mouth open for a second before the words came out. “Bob?” she said. “So you have letters before the digits on the mail boxes.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  LB—lowercase would look like a one and a six. Could it be? “There wouldn’t be a mail box number LB-four-one would there?”

  “Yes there would.”

  Kate couldn’t believe it. Excitement coursed through her body. “Is there any mail in it?”

  Bob eyed her sceptically. “You have ID?” He hit some keys on the keyboard and looked at the computer. “Hm… I doubt it.”

  Kate was sure he’d checked who the box was registered to. His reaction implied a man’s name. It’ll be Joe. It just has to be.
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br />   Michelle had her badge out again but Bob seemed to have predicted this and was already shaking his head. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but you know the law.”

  Kate was still excited. “It’s OK. It’s OK. Joe must want me to leave a message.” There was paper and a pen on the counter. She picked up the pen and started writing:

  Joe, I’m here. I followed your clues to find you. An FBI agent is helping me—

  She stopped, unsure what to write next. Michelle looked over her shoulder. Kate said, “Where are we going to stay. Shall I give him an address?”

  Michelle shook her head. “Ah, I haven’t sorted that out yet. There’s loads of places in town. Just put your cell number down and get him to ring.”

  Kate nodded and finished the note with:God, I can’t wait to see you—Kate

  She folded the note and handed it to Bob. “Box LB-four-one, please Bob.”

  Bob grinned and waved as they left. “Hope he calls you!”

  Hardly aware of the snow, now starting to settle, Kate dashed back to the Honda. “I can’t believe it,” she said, laughing.

  Michelle looked at her. “It wasn’t confirmed. We don’t know it was definitely his mail box.”

  “Oh it was. Did you see the look on Bob’s face? He read my note. He saw Joe’s name. He knew that box belonged to someone called Joe. I’m certain of it!”

  “That’s great,” Michelle said, her tone a bit flat. Kate thought she could have been a bit more excited for her, but maybe she was starting to think about the consequences. Maybe she was wondering what would happen when Joe finally appeared.

  After the two women had left, Bob picked up the phone and followed the instructions. He had given up the idea of earning an easy $100, but it had finally happened. Someone had left a message for box LB41. He dialled the number on his screen. A man answered.

  “Yes?”

  “Is that Joe Conte?”

  “Yes.” Dull voice—no interest, but also no uncertainty.

  “This is the post office on South Hauser, sir. Bob Turner, the assistant manager. You requested a call when a message arrived. Two ladies have just been in and written a note for you.”