See You (A Rylie Wolf FBI Suspense Thriller—Book Three)

CHAPTER ONE Bobette Langdon smiled as she left the gas station in Billings, headed for Bozeman. A sign up above said WINEGLASS – 120 miles. Wineglass. I sure could do with a glass of red right now. She’d been traveling all day, on the way from her trailer outside of Sioux City, Iowa, to visit with her twin. It’d been eight months since Bambi had moved out to Bozeman, to work at the Double Q, one of those high-end ranch-s***h-spa places for city people who wanted to feel like they were “roughing it” while getting their hot stone massages and bikini waxes in. They’d had a friend, back in Iowa, who’d been killing it with tips, so Bambi had decided to make the trip. Bambi had always been the brave one, jumping without looking. Bobette smiled at the thought of Bambi out there, doing hair for those rich clients. She’d called, just three days ago, and gushed about how one client had given her a hundred-dollar tip, for a simple blow-out. A hundred dollars! Bobette barely made that in a week, these days. The recession had hit their small town hard and now, B&B Hair Designs, the place they’d started together a decade ago, was on its last legs. Bills were piling up. So lately, Bobette had been thinking of following in her older sister’s—well, older by two minutes— footsteps. But she was always the more cautious one. Could she just pick up and leave Iowa, where all her family and friends lived? This, she told herself, was an exploratory trip, just to see. Before this, she’d never been out of the state much at all. As she drove, she turned some country crooner’s song up loud and grooved to the sound of the music. It felt good to be out here, on the open road, with all those possibilities waiting ahead of her. But Bambi better have that glass of wine waiting for me when I get to the Double Q. Her eyes started to cross, the yellow line in the center of the road fading in and out, blurring and then doubling. Blinking, it became clearer, only to grow fuzzy again, a moment later. She yawned and glanced at her GPS. She still had two more hours to drive. Bobette turned on the cold air, pointing the vents at her face. Reaching for the door, she powered down the window and let the cold air slap her cheeks. That didn’t do much, either. I’m not going to make it. She sighed and picked up her phone, dialing her sister, so that she could talk to her and keep her awake. Bambi, of course, didn’t answer. She’d started dating a bartender at the ranch, a real cowboy, hotter than those guys in that television show. Now, she was a hard woman to get in touch with. “I did tell her I was coming in tonight,” she mumbled against the ring of the phone, then pressed her lips together. Sometimes she felt like Bambi was moving on, forgetting about her. Bobette let the phone ring through to voicemail and said, “Hey, sis, I’m on my way, remember? But I’m still about two hours out and I’m exhausted. I’m going to find a place to spend the night and then I’ll be there first thing tomorrow. Better to be safe than sorry!” She ended the call, wishing she could taste the tart grapes of the wine she so desperately wanted on her tongue. Instead, there was the bitter taste of that chili she’d had in the diner. Too salty, and it made her burp, but she’d needed something to line her stomach. She should’ve left on this fifteen-hour drive earlier, but she’d gotten a late start. The hangover was to blame. She’d gone to the local watering hole after a dismal day at the salon and spent all her tips. Tomorrow. Bambi and I will share a bottle tomorrow. The next exit was for a place called Laurel Springs. There was a sign advertising a Super Mo-Tel Montana there, right off the plaza, part of a giant travel center, but Bobette wrinkled her nose. As she slowed to the exit lane, she grimaced. The Super Mo-Tel was not all that super. In fact, it was downright gross. It looked like it was in the middle of crumbling away—half of it already had, and was nothing more than a concrete slab, blocked off by a chain-link fence. Lovely. On my first adventure outside of Iowa, I don’t want to stay in some crappy old motel where there are fleas and cockroaches and blood all over the sheets. She’d actually dreamed about it. Bambi had told her that this ranch was totally luxurious, with all kinds of amenities that she could use for free. She’d be able to get a massage, get her nails done, all kinds of things, and it’d be on the house. Stopping at an old roadside place that smelled like mothballs and cigarettes? Not exactly what she was looking for, but as she pulled off the road and saw nothing but darkness beyond the bright lights of the travel plaza, she didn’t think there’d be much of a choice. There wasn’t even a McDonald’s, and she’d seen one of those at every exit for the past four-hundred miles. Laurel Springs was definitely not a thriving American town. Then she saw the sign. Laurel Springs Cozy Cottage Rentals! AAA Approved! Five Star Rating! 2 miles! with an arrow pointing to the left, under the interstate and into the darkness. That sounded more like it. When she got to the end of the ramp, she stopped. The travel plaza was to the right, and there were only a few cars parked there. The only person she saw was a trucker in a sleeveless vest and baseball cap, pumping gas. It looked worse than she’d even anticipated. Like a real hole, even in the darkness. The sign was flickering, and she could see the bright-orange, seventies décor in the lobby. But it was close, and she was tired as hell. You know what? It’ll be cheap, and easy. I’ll just rest my head a few hours and be on my way, and the Super Mo-Tel will be a distant memory. She navigated into the parking lot and idled there, working up the courage to go in. Of course, there were no other cars in the lot, making her feel like the only one brave or foolish enough to attempt to spend the night there. “Gross,” she muttered aloud. “I’m getting bedbugs in my luggage just looking at that place.” But as she sat there, thinking, she realized she had to pee. From there, she could just see a slightly open door to a bathroom. Okay. In, and out. And then I’ll be on my way. She rushed inside, sure she’d have to deal with some psycho office manager, but when the bell overhead rang, no one came running. She looked around, sniffing air heavy with the stench of old cigarettes, then rushed to the bathroom. It was gross—and of course, no toilet paper. But she did her business quickly and rushed out, flushing as she went. “You need a room?” a voice croaked behind her as she went to the door. “No, no thanks.” “I have number six. It’s our nicest one!” She didn’t even turn. She rushed outside heaving a breath when she was finally back in her car. She pulled out. Toward the left, she saw nothing but darkness beyond the interstate. But the Cozy Cottages were there. Well, I came here for an adventure. So she headed for them. The street went on for miles, and she didn’t see another car, coming or going. Her headlights cut into the night, the mountains off in the distance, but she saw no structures or signs of human life at all. After about a mile or so, she was sure she’d gone the wrong way. As she was about to turn around, she saw a small gas station, with a single pump, lit by a single light. There was a sign near it, barely illuminated by the light: LAUREL SPRINGS COZY COTTAGES – CLOSED FOR SEASON. She groaned. “Thanks for telling me that,” she said aloud, turning back to the interstate. When she reached the travel plaza, she yawned. She was so exhausted that she’d sleep anywhere, including that disgustingly run-down Super Mo-Tel Montana. But then she saw that the travel plaza sold liquor. Specifically wine. Through the windows, she could see the bottles, lining the wall in the back of the store. Bobette pulled in there. She was the only person in the convenience store when she went inside and grabbed a bottle of red. I hate drinking alone. But I’ll do it, in a pinch. She took the bottle to the cashier, to a man with long sideburns and a completely bald head. He was wearing a sweat-stained t-shirt and a nameplate that said, RANDY. “Hey, Randy,” she said with a smile. “I’m passing through. You know of any other places to stay than that Super dive?” He punched something into the register and smirked at her. “You looking to party?” “Nah, unfortunately. Just looking to sleep,” she said as she handed him the cash and he handed her the bag. “I was supposed to be in Bozeman tonight but can’t make it that far. My car has a full tank but I’m running low.” “Ah, gotcha. Well, that place over there might not be anything spectacular, but it’s the closest.” “Spectacular? Are you kidding me?” He chuckled. “All right, it’s a dump. But if you’re feeling tired . . .” “Yeah. No offense, but it looks like a roach motel. Anything better?” He shook his head slowly, thinking. “The cottage place closed down a couple years ago.” “So I noticed. Sign’s still up, though.” He held up a finger. “There’s a pretty nice hotel, next exit up the interstate, if you’re heading west. The Montana Pines. My sister works there.” “Oh, really?” She made a mental note of that. “Thanks. Have a good one.” “Ask for Shirley! She’s my sister!” he called as she stepped outside. As she went out to her car, she checked her phone for a message from Bambi. Nothing. And they were supposed to go horseback riding in the morning. Oh, well. Probably with that hot new cowboy of hers. Once Bobette got to Montana Pines and got cozy with a nice glass of wine, she’d check to see what movies were on. She’d have a nice nap and make it to Bozeman bright and early. That thought in her head, she looked around as she fumbled to get her keys out of her jeans. This place sure was desolate. Her little corner of Iowa wasn’t exactly a booming metropolis, but here, the darkness seemed to stretch on forever. It felt like she was on the edge of the world. She set the bottle of wine in the passenger seat, next to her overnight bag, and started her car. Taking her time to set her GPS, she got ready to head back on the ramp to I-86 West. The highway passed right through her backyard, practically. People called it the highway thru hell. Ever since it’d been built, there were always stories about the road. From gruesome to downright spooky. But she never got into that. As she set her GPS, an ad came up for The Montana Pines Chalet. It was pretty, at least, from the ad, and they had a free continental breakfast. She smiled. Now that sounds nice, she thought. Not one of those cheesy old roach motels. She reached for the key in the ignition. Without warning, something slipped around her throat, and suddenly, she was gagging. In shock, she raised both hands to her throat, which spun the steering wheel, hard, to the right. Her hands flailed, waving, almost independent of her body. Tears were squeezed from her eyes, and through her haze of vision she concentrated on the convenience store. Where was Randy? Surely, he could see this, and would come out to help? But there was display of snack cakes, snow shovels, and propane tanks in the way. She couldn’t see the register at all. The horn. She reached for it, but suddenly, whoever was behind her pulled her, violently, back against the headrest. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t believe . . . someone was in the car with her, in the back seat, choking her. Who? Why? The questions built up in her mind; her windpipe was being crushed. The pressure was like a thousand explosions in her lungs. She couldn’t even gasp, much less speak, as terror seized her. This is it. I’m going to die. The last thought that occurred to her was that it would’ve been far safer had she driven all the way to Bozeman that night.