Page 58 of Fear of Flames
Michelle closed her eyes and exhaled. “It was good to stop thinking for a while.”
“Your legs are bruised.”
Michelle looked down at the purple splotches on her thighs and back up to Fletch’s concerned gaze. “They only hurt if I touch them.”
His timbre changed, his tone deeper and words slower. “Maybe…I could take your mind off of them and everything else for a while.”
The suggestion caused her core to twist and her nipples to bead. “I thought it was only one night.”
“Chell, I’ll let you sleep. I can even go out to the couch. When we were running, I was too concerned with keeping you alive to let my guard down. You’re safe here.”
She was also alive. That was evident by the way her circulation suddenly raced through her veins. “Don’t sleep on the couch.”
If cleaning had been cathartic, being in Fletch’s arms was empowering. The bulk of his body surrounded her, creating a cocoon where she was not only safe, but satisfied. The unfamiliarity of their first night together vanished. They’d lived and breathed the same air in the same space for nearly a week. They were together in their quest for safety, bonded during hours of sharing, and forged by the dangers of their journey.
When Fletch offered to take her mind off things, Michelle wondered if the night they’d shared could be repeated. It wasn’t. Tonight was more. Their days and nights were no longer threatened. Mutual pleasure was their only focus.
The secret agency, Sheriff Perkins, and even Michelle’s father were momentarily forgotten. When Michelle surrendered to sleep, she was both satiated and exhausted.
Chapter
Twenty-Seven
Ralph didn’t care for the visitors currently waiting for an interview in an interrogation room. Their names didn’t ring any bells. He wasn’t much into podcasts. Sports radio was more his speed. He stayed informed about the Patriots and Red Sox. Baseball and football were his favorites. Ralph cared if the Celtics won but didn’t follow the team the way he did the others. True crime, hell, he dealt with that every day. He sure as hell didn’t want to listen to it for entertainment, especially from some Nancy Drew wannabes.
Britney on the other hand was ecstatic that Ali and Kenzi from Crime Daily Podcast were in Iron Falls. She’d already set the pair up with water and cookies.
Joclyn Evans, Old Man Evans’s wife, brought a big batch of snickerdoodles to the station to thank the sheriff for the return of her husband’s snowmobile. Ralph had no idea how the snowmobile returned, but he sure did like snickerdoodles.
Things were falling into place. Officer McCoy’s call yesterday set a whole new string of dominos in play. ATF and the FBI were officially on the case. Shelly was still out there. She wasn’t a scared woman running for her life. Later tonight, the two agencies will hold a press conference from the federal building in Indianapolis. They’ll officially announce that Michelle Holdcraft was being sought as a person of interest—a possible serial arsonist.
While Ralph was relieved the blame was on Shelly and hoped it would take some of the heat off of him, he wished it wasn’t getting the attention that it was. He detested publicity.
Now he had to deal with fucking podcasters.
The last thing the sheriff wanted was a spotlight on crime in Iron Falls. Taking one last puff of his cigarette, Ralph smashed the butt in an old plastic cup and threw the two into the trash can. He couldn’t put off this interview any longer. Standing, he puffed out his chest, adjusted his belt, and made his way out of his office.
He worked out the kinks in his knee, walking with a slight limp. As he turned the corner, he saw Britney standing in the door frame to the interrogation room. With her hand on the doorknob, she was chatting and laughing with the podcasters. The sound of the three women cackling was enough to give Ralph a headache. The entire last week gave him a headache.
“Sheriff,” Britney exclaimed excitedly. “Our little town is making the Crime Daily Podcast.” She made it sound like it was an award or something.
If Iron Falls had to be made famous, Ralph would rather have it be recognized for Winston Hunting Lodge or the catfish Gloria served at the diner. Being on a true-crime podcast wasn’t exactly a sheriff’s dream.
Britney pushed the door farther open. “Sheriff Perkins, this is McKenzie Shaffer and Allison Buckley, better known as Kenzi and Ali.” Her smile grew, splitting her face in half. “Kenzi and Ali, this is Sheriff Ralph Perkins.”
Years on the force gave him the ability to read people. During the overly enthusiastic introduction, he made a few quick assumptions. These girls were young and pretty, looking like any one of the Instagramers or TikTokers that he avoided. Their smiles were plastic. Their hair was long and shiny, one blond and the other a brunette. If Ralph were to guess, the two weren’t any older than Britney, probably younger. His most confident assumption—there was no way they were qualified to solve true crime.
“Thank you, Britney,” the sheriff said as he stepped inside the room and pulled out a chair on the opposite side of the table. When Britney remained, he motioned with his chin. “Shut the door on the way out, will you?” He sat and turned his attention to the visitors. “Well, Britney sure seems pleased to meet you. Tell me, what can I do for you girls?”
They both shifted in their seats. The one with brown hair spoke first. “Deputy McBride was very nice.”
“Now, which one are you?”
The same girl answered. “I’m Kenzi.” She gestured to the blond. “She’s Ali. As you know or Deputy McBride informed you, we host a true-crime podcast.”
Sheriff Perkins grunted a response.
“Sheriff,” Ali began, “we came to Iron Falls to learn more about Dennis Holdcraft’s death.”
