Page 26 of Fear of Flames
“His only proof that you could have been there was your car. Stick to your story. You’ll be safe.”
“He’s going to lie to me, tell me that Dad perished in the fire. I know what I saw. I know he was shot.” Her words were coming faster. “The fire was the cover-up. The one officer suggested that Perkins is investigating arson as if Dad set the fire himself.” Her voice cracked. “He didn’t.”
“You don’t know that, Shelly.”
“Does this phone work both ways? Can I call you?”
“I don’t exist, remember.”
She nodded. “I felt your heartbeat and your warm skin. You can’t tell me that you don’t exist.”
“You can call me. If I don’t answer, don’t keep calling. I’ll call you back as soon as possible.”
Michelle swallowed and looked up to where the ceiling and walls met. As she scanned, she noticed small irregularities that she hadn’t paid attention to in the past. “Are you watching me now?”
“It’s all part of my assignment.”
Inhaling, Michelle stood, feigning strength she knew she didn’t possess. “I should sleep.”
His baritone timbre reverberated through her body. “We didn’t get a lot of that last night.”
She nibbled on her lip, synapses sparking to life in her nervous system at the memories his comment brought to mind. Their one night was the eye of the hurricane. She needed to prepare for the rest of the storm. “Goodnight, Fletch.” Before he could reply, she hit the red button.
Once this was done, once her father was laid to rest, she would do a thorough scan of her entire home. Michelle knew a little about surveillance from research she’d done for her books. The bulky nanny cams of yesteryear were replaced by slim and stealthy options, ones difficult to detect with the naked eye.
If Fletch was going to disappear into the unknown, she knew better than to try to hold on. They had one night filled with fear, flames, and desire. Michelle would call it research and recall the details when they would fit into a story.
Chapter
Twelve
The clock read after two in the morning when Michelle finally made her way to bed. Doors were locked and double checked. Her new phone wouldn’t arrive until tomorrow, meaning her doorbell apps had no way to notify her if anyone came near. The idea that Sheriff Perkins was trying to call the tragedy in Iron Falls a suicide had Michelle unnerved. For a few minutes, she lay looking up at the familiar ceiling. Her mind raced with uncertainty.
The crackle of flames eating away at her father’s home played on the ceiling like a movie. The scent of burning wood filled her nostrils. She knew that these were memories, yet they seemed real enough for her flesh to warm. Finally, Michelle threw back her blankets and went into her closet. Turning on the light, she pulled out a step stool and climbed. The small gun safe was where she remembered. Shocking even herself, she brought it down from the top shelf.
It had been years since her dad’s lessons. So, Michelle did what anyone would do. She went back to her office, put her computer in incognito mode, and went to YouTube. Her hands trembled as she laid six cartridges on her desk. Next, she picked up the empty magazine and one by one, she inserted the cartridges into the magazine. More than once, she thought about stopping.
Her brain was telling her that she was being ridiculous. Since her brain was turning to mush from stress, sadness, and lack of sleep, Michelle wasn’t sure if it was a reliable source of information.
Once the magazine was filled, she slowed the video and mimicked the movements of inserting the magazine. A click told her it was properly seated. With a firm grip, Michelle pulled the slide backward and released it. The slide sprang forward.
According to the woman on YouTube, that meant a round was in the chamber. After engaging the safety, she exited YouTube and turned off the lights in her office and bedroom. A sense of exhaustion crashed over her as she made her way back to her bed. The Sig Sauer lay on her bedside stand, beside her glass of water and the book she hadn’t yet begun to read.
With too many thoughts competing for space in her mind, Michelle found a bit of reassurance in the presence of the gun. Maybe because it reminded her of her dad or she felt proactive.
Being independent was always important to Michelle.
Even she was surprised when sleep finally came. She expected nightmares or a cascade of tears. After all, the Indianapolis police delivered and confirmed the news she already knew—her father was gone.
The tears would come, she knew they would.
Perhaps she was too drained to cry.
Maybe she was still in shock.
Whatever the cause, sleep was a welcome void.
Michelle wasn’t certain how much time had passed when she woke with a start. Panic sent her circulation racing. She flung one way and the other, but she barely moved. She was trapped. A pillow covered her eyes and blocked her vision. Pressure from a hand pressed against her lips, muting her scream. The taste and overpowering aroma of cigarettes made her stomach revolt.
