Page 12 of Fear of Flames
Fletch turned, silencing her with a finger to his lips.
Without another word, she followed, step by step, placing her feet in the footprints created by his boots. His strides were much longer than was comfortable.
She gazed up, seeing his wide shoulders braced against the blizzard. He could be leading her anywhere—to safety or her death.
That was the problem with Michelle’s chosen profession: she had a vivid imagination. Sometimes that was helpful, other times, it was a handicap. For example, if she chose to let her mind wander, she may run back into the fishing hut and wait for her fate.
Fletch led them to another fishing hut. Through the falling snow, Michelle saw why he’d brought her here—a snowmobile. She wanted to ask who it belonged to and if they could borrow it, but the memory of his intense stare told her to keep her questions to herself, at least for now.
After clearing the snow, Fletch motioned for Michelle to get on the seat. When she hesitated, he moved his hands faster, indicating for her to hurry. He swung his long leg over the seat in front of her. At the first turn of the key, the engine gave a weary groan. “Hold on,” Fletch whispered before turning the key again, bringing the engine to life with a reverberating roar.
As they sped away, a voice screamed from the distance. The air around them quivered with the bang from a gun.
Her heart thumped against her breastbone. “Did someone shoot at us?”
Fletch shrugged his shoulders, Michelle’s cheek feeling the movement of his sweatshirt. Great, she thought. Now she could add accessory to theft to her list of suspected crimes.
With her arms around Fletch’s solid waist, Michelle laid her face against his back. The snowmobile sailed over the ice, plowing through the freshly fallen snow. When she opened her eyes, they were met with the same ferocious snow and wind painfully stinging her exposed legs. With her eyes closed, she could escape this craziness in Fletch’s manly scent, the warmth of his coat, and the roar of the engine vibrating beneath them.
Her fingers and toes tingled as she balled her hands into fists within the sleeves of his coat. They both bounced as the snowmobile left the ice. One look at the maze of tall trees was enough for Michelle to know that she didn’t want to watch. Their bodies swayed as he wove in and out around trees. When she was certain she would lose all feeling in her extremities, Fletch slowed the engine.
Up ahead through the falling snow was a house, not big and not small. Judging by the lack of tracks, it was either uninhabited, or the inhabitants were squirreled away for the duration of this storm.
Slowing the snowmobile, Fletch turned, craning his neck toward Michelle. Despite the windshield, his face was covered in miniature icicles.
“Oh,” Michelle reached out her hand to his cheek. “We need to get you someplace warm.” Even with the coolness of her skin, her palm was warm against his chill.
Fletch reached for her hand. “Stay here. I’ll see if anyone is inside.”
“Where are we?”
“A hunting cabin. It belongs to a rich dude who vacations up here to gather more heads for his walls.”
The thought of heads as trophies made her squirm.
Fletch eased himself from the seat. “Move forward. If you hear things go south?—”
“South?”
“Gunshots…you know, south.”
Michelle shook her head.
“Listen, if things sound bad, I want you to take off as fast as you can. Don’t worry about me.”
Michelle’s eyes widened. “I can’t do that.”
“You can. You’re innocent in this mess. I’m not.” He reached for her hands and placed them on the handlebars, giving her quick instructions on acceleration, braking, and steering. “Tell me you have it.”
She looked up at him. “I do. But don’t make me do this. I don’t know who to trust.”
“No one.” He jutted his chin toward the west. “That direction.”
“I can’t…”
Without another word, Fletch removed the revolver from his waistband and moved slowly toward the front door. The door didn’t budge as he turned the handle. To Michelle’s dismay, Fletch pulled something akin to a Swiss Army knife from his pocket and crouched down. After pushing different tools into the keyhole, the door opened.
She held her breath, waiting for the sound of gunshots.
