Page 29 of Fear of Flames
“We will do it together. First, we aren’t leaving him here in your house. I’ll use his fob to find his car. It shouldn’t be far away. He’ll wake in his car, I’d imagine with a nice headache and a touch of frostbite.” Fletch shrugged. “Not sure when, but he will.”
Before Michelle could come up with a better idea, Fletch lifted the man over his shoulder. The man’s arms dangled and the spittle fell to the floor. “Pack whatever is important to you. When I come back, I’m taking you with me.” He headed out of her bedroom, the man’s head banging into the doorjamb.
Michelle followed behind him. “Wait. Taking me? Where? For how long?”
“Too many questions,” Fletch said as he carried the man toward Michelle’s kitchen.
She was a step behind. “Fletch, I don’t understand.” Watching him carry the large man as if he weighed nothing reminded Michelle of how Fletch had carried her away from her father’s home in the snow.
He turned, facing her. “Do you trust me?”
Michelle wasn’t certain why, but she knew the answer. “I do.”
A grin threatened his scowl as Fletch nodded toward her patio door. “Open that, would you?”
Michelle was too confused to argue.
Before Fletch disappeared into the line of trees behind her house, she heard his last demand. “Five minutes. Be ready to leave and not come back.”
Chapter
Fourteen
Not come back…the words sent a cold chill down her spine.
The cool night air wakened Michelle, bringing goose bumps to her arms and legs. She quickly closed and locked the sliding glass door before turning to her empty kitchen. This house was her home. She’d bought it after the settlement from the gas company. It wasn’t palatial, just comfortable. Located in a quiet neighborhood, it was her safe haven—until it wasn’t.
Pack whatever was important to her.
Those were Fletch’s parting words.
Placing her hand on the granite countertop, Michelle closed her eyes as she doubled over. The happenings of the last hour hit like a sledgehammer. Her circulation stilled, and her stomach dropped.
Holy shit, she was almost kidnapped. Maybe worse. The possibilities bloomed vividly in her wild imagination. Perspiration dotted her forehead as behind her eyes she saw the face of her attacker. In her mind, he wasn’t unconscious but brutally determined as he threatened and restrained her.
Her fingers went to her swollen lips.
Opening her eyes, she looked down at her wrists, reddened and swollen from the attacker’s intense grip. Tenderly, she probed the flesh and grimaced. In the illumination of the kitchen, she also saw bruises blooming on her legs where the attacker had held her down with his knees.
She recalled the rank stench of his touch.
Rushing to the nearby bathroom, Michelle fell to her knees with her head over the toilet. The contents of her stomach came up until her body racked with dry heaves. Flushing the evidence of her panic away, she stood. Turning on the faucet, Michelle cupped the fresh water and rinsed the sour concoction from her mouth.
Staring at her frazzled reflection in the mirror, the specifics of the attack were coming back to her. As if a scene in one of her stories, each moment bloomed in her memory with intimate detail.
The awakening.
The shock.
The pain.
The odor.
The sharp edge of a needle.
The anticipation of impending death.
Gaining strength, she began asking herself questions.
