Page 11 of Fear of Flames
“I didn’t exactly have time to interrogate him.”
The man on the other end of the call sighed. “You looked around his house, right?”
“Yes, sir.” That wasn’t a complete fabrication. Ralph surveyed the garage and first floor. He’d been about to go upstairs when Tom started the fire. Ralph sure as hell wasn’t going to get caught in the inferno. The rest was a bit hazy.
“Well, fuck. That might mean our loose end is still out there. Keep your eyes and ears open. Our experts were certain they had the hacker’s IP geolocation tracked to the property owned by Dennis Holdcraft.”
“The house went up like a tinderbox. If he had that kind of setup, it’s gone now. Not much left but smoldering ashes.” Ralph debated coming clean about Shelly Holdcraft before he recalled Skiles’s thoughts about the fishing huts.
No, first Ralph would set up a search. If he found her, there was nothing to worry about. No sense adding more pressure.
After the call disconnected, Ralph didn’t concentrate on the possibility of having killed the wrong man. It didn’t matter. If he had shot the wrong person, it wouldn’t bring Denny back. Instead, Ralph was focused on locating Denny’s girl. He picked up the phone, the old landline on his desk, and pushed the button for his deputy assistant.
She answered right away. “Yes, Sheriff.”
“Britney, come in here.”
Deputy Britney McBride opened the office door. “What can I get for you?”
Ralph scanned his deputy from her yellow hair to her shiny shoes. She was in her twenties and still wet behind the ears. Britney made a mean pot of coffee, though, and he liked the way she filled out her uniform. He liked the way she looked when she wore civilian clothes even more; they showed off skin that was currently covered. Ralph also knew that in today’s world, it was wrong of him to think about an employee the way he was, especially a subordinate.
Old habits die hard.
He might be over sixty, but a man still had desires.
“Call everyone in whether they’re on or off duty. We need to set up a search and rescue. Stat.”
Chapter
Five
“Who’s after us?” Michelle asked, as the now-familiar serum of fear flowed through her veins.
Without replying, Fletch untied his boots and removed a wool sock from each foot. “Here, put these over your feet.”
Michelle didn’t argue as the anxiety she’d allowed to lessen in the confines of the small fishing hut returned with a vengeance. Watching this man return his feet to his boots, out of the corner of her eye, she was struck by the efficiency of his movements. Nothing was wasteful. He was a man on a mission.
“A soldier?” she asked as she snapped the front of his coat around her.
“Stop trying to figure me out. Now isn’t the time to make up stories.”
Making up stories was what Michelle did. Her life hadn’t started out that way, but after an undergrad degree in pre-law led her to courtrooms in central Indiana, Michelle found herself making up stories about the people in the trials. One night she sat down and began to write, bringing to life her pseudonym, D. Valentine. Four bestselling novels later, she didn’t finish the law degree and no longer needed the courtroom. Her legal thrillers paid the bills. The settlement she and her father received from the gas company after her mother’s death was also helpful.
One million each.
The money was enough for Dad to retire and disappear into the wilderness of Massachusetts and for Michelle to live on advances, royalties, and interest. Her editor was after her for her next big hit. While she’d planned to write it, she didn’t plan to live it.
Michelle’s eyes widened as Fletch pulled a revolver from the back waistband of his jeans.
How had she not noticed that before?
Fletch turned off the hot plate and lantern. The flames flickered until the only light came from the edges of the door. With Fletch’s socks on her feet, his coat hanging to mid-thigh, and the hood over her head, she followed close behind him as he slowly opened the barrier to the outdoors. Gusts of wind, carrying large snowflakes, swirled in cyclones around them and stuck to her unprotected shins.
“Stay close,” Fletch commanded.
Unlike when they’d arrived and the sun was rising, it was now nearly midday. Nevertheless, the falling snow limited visibility to nearly zero. If there were people looking for them, they could be fifty yards away and never be seen.
The freezing air nipped at Michelle’s cheeks as the wool socks did little to protect her legs and feet from cold. “How far?—?”
