Page 23 of Fear of Flames
Fletch had no intention of traveling to the agency’s complex in nowhere Montana tonight or even tomorrow. “Been driving for eleven hours straight. I’m getting some shut-eye, or the agency will be down another agent. Peterson can stew for a while.”
“Listen, Arrow,” Colt said, his voice lower. “My assignment has me in her area for a few more days. I’ll keep an eye on Denny’s girl.”
The muscles tightened in Fletch’s neck and shoulders. Denny’s girl was a woman who had a name. Fletch had no intention of leaving Shelly’s life in the hands of anyone else, even if that was what the powers that be wanted. “Appreciate that,” he replied. “Thanks for getting her the paper trail. I owe you.”
“You would have done it for me.”
Fletch would have done it. No questions. That’s what they did.
“I’ll contact Peterson. Once she makes it through the next couple days, she will be able to carry on with her life.”
“Kind of nice when things work out.”
Fletch shrugged. “Not so great for Denny.”
“You’re right, man. Stay where you are for him.”
Fletch disconnected the call.
There were more lights on in Michelle’s home now than a few minutes ago. Illumination glowed from behind plantation blinds. The ranch style house sat on less than half an acre. Yet, the neighborhood was one of the upscale ones in the area.
On his phone, Fletch pulled up the app to her cameras. These weren’t the cameras she told him about, but the ones Fletch installed inside her house as a favor for her father.
Denny wanted to keep an eye on his daughter. Of course, he didn’t know that Fletch also had the ability to watch. Fletch hit the history on the camera in the kitchen. The recording was activated by movement and sound. What he was seeing occurred minutes ago.
Shelly came on the screen upon entering the house and going directly to the kitchen counter. Lying on the granite surface was a crumpled Greyhound ticket. Fletch couldn’t read the paper from the camera, yet he knew it had the appropriate dates. Colt sent him pictures. The American Airline paper ticket had her name, a first-class seat from Boston to Indianapolis, arriving the night before Denny was killed.
Fletch leaned back against the vinyl seat and exhaled.
Every i was dotted and every t crossed.
Fletch figured he should find a place to sleep for at least a few hours. A nagging pull in his gut told him to stay put. Maybe he didn’t want to leave Shelly, not yet. Every fiber of his being told him that ignorance would be Shelly’s savior, not him.
Fletch would only bring danger.
From where Fletch had parked, he could see one of her bedroom windows on the side of the house near the back. That room was now lit. He switched to her bedroom camera on his phone. Watching her in her private bedroom and bathroom was undoubtedly crossing an ethical line. The agency didn’t answer to a higher entity or even congressional oversight. In other words, they weren’t big on ethics. Results were what mattered. Statistically, if someone wanted to harm Shelly, entering her home at night and encountering her in her bedroom was the most probable situation.
That was why he placed the camera there.
Fletch’s breathing deepened as Shelly disrobed. Less than twenty-four hours ago, he’d had her in his arms. His lips and fingers roamed over her soft curves. He recalled the sounds she made as she came, the sweet tang of her essence, and the undeniable pleasure of being inside her.
The tendons in his neck pulled tight as she washed him away, the first step in doing as he asked—forget him.
After her shower, Shelly combed her long fiery hair, donning soft shorts and a large shirt. He watched as she walked barefoot from her bedroom and entered her office. Curiosity grew within him as she sat down at her desktop. If Fletch were set up with more than just his phone, he could share her screens, seeing in real time as she researched and typed.
Most of Shelly’s books, Fletch read as she wrote. It fascinated him the way she would write and rewrite, as if the voices in her head were too loud and fast to ignore for anything as mundane as adjectives or adverbs. Those came later, adding depth, color, and emotion.
As Fletch considered pulling away from the curb, content with Shelly’s safety for the night, a local police car came slowly down the street, its headlights narrowly missing Fletch sitting in the cab of the truck. The cruiser turned, pulling into Michelle’s driveway.
Chapter
Eleven
It was nearly midnight.
Michelle’s hands became suddenly cold as the sound of the doorbell reverberated through her house. She looked around her office in search of something to take with her to the door. Using a weapon had never been her go-to, but the last twenty-four hours had changed everything.
When she was a girl, her father taught her to shoot a rifle. Clay pigeons flying in an open field. He was a policeman and wanted his daughter to be able to defend herself. If she were prepared and attacked by a flock of clay pigeons, Michelle would be safe. Before he moved to Iron Falls, he’d given her a handgun—a Sig Sauer P238. It was a small gun. He even took her to the shooting range.
