Page 60 of Fear of Flames
How long had she slept?
Slipping her nightclothes back on, she made her way into the bathroom. Water droplets inside the glass enclosure let her know Fletch had showered. She’d slept through it all. Out of the bedroom, she peeked into Fletch’s office, hoping he was still home. That hope was dashed at the sight of the vacant room, dark screens, quiet computers, and empty chairs. In the living room, she checked the clock beneath the television. The time read 10:32.
After Fletch helped her forget the world, she’d slept for five or six hours.
Michelle spun a slow circle, taking in Fletch’s apartment. With the sunshine streaming through the windows and the cleaning she’d done the night before, the apartment was less bachelor pad and unquestionably homier.
The star rating had gone up.
Michelle snickered at the thought.
It wasn’t that Michelle was a neat freak. Cleaning was a matter of health and safety. She was relatively certain there were more than a few CDC violations before her intervention.
The thought of Fletch’s meeting weighed heavily on her mind. She couldn’t sit and do nothing. No matter how long she’d be staying with Fletch, she knew the one element she needed to truly feel at home.
Her computer was still in the entry where Fletch had unloaded it the night before. There was no room in his office for another computer. That didn’t deter Michelle. Looking in his office reminded her that she longed to feel the keys beneath her fingers and to create stories, maybe as unbelievable as the one she was living.
She warmed a cup of coffee in the microwave and found the sugar. The refrigerator was a monster she hadn’t tackled the night before. There wasn’t much inside apart from condiments, a jar of pickles, and leftover pizza. Michelle thought it was pizza. Whatever it was, it was harder than the box that contained it. A shopping list was forming in her mind. The number one item was cream. Two would be milk. Today she’d settle for coffee without cream and dry cereal.
As she drank and nibbled, Michelle set up her new workstation on the table near the breakfast counter. Without Fletch’s Wi-Fi password, she couldn’t be fully operational. Nevertheless, simply seeing her keyboard, mouse, computer, and screen filled her with a sense of purpose.
After a second cup of coffee, Michelle unloaded the dryer and folded the towels. She made the bed and began to search through her luggage. She’d wait for the mysterious Peterson’s decision before she unpacked her clothes. Her toiletries were something else. In no time, the vanity in the bedroom suite was filled with creams, cosmetics, and other items she’d grabbed from home. It wasn’t much neater than when she arrived, but at least she was sure the surface was clean.
Nearly an hour later, while wrapped in a towel with her hair still wet, Michelle heard the door to the apartment open. Tentatively, she stepped into the bedroom awaiting the verdict. Fletch entered from the other doorway, his lips twitching as he scanned the towel. The scan went both ways. With an important meeting, Michelle expected Fletch to be dressed differently than to what she’d become accustomed.
Other than instead of hanging down, Fletch’s hair was cinched at the nape of his neck in a small ponytail, he looked the same. Still handsome, tall, and muscular. A growing beard covered his cheeks and neck. His long legs were covered with blue jeans, and he was wearing his customary hoodie. This one was gray. The different color meant he’d gotten a clean one from the closet.
Placing his hands at her waist, he exhaled, tipping his forehead to hers.
His lack of speaking caused the small hairs on Michelle’s arms to stand to attention and her pulse to race. This was the end of the line, as Fletch said, because entering the agency complex was a one-way ticket. If Peterson said no, Michelle didn’t know any other options. Witness protection. The thought added to her trepidation. She didn’t want to be completely alone.
Taking a step back, she met his dark gaze. “You’re scaring me. What did Peterson say?”
“Do you want the whole story or just the conclusion?”
She needed the answer. The story could wait. Michelle blurted out her question. “Will they let me stay here with you?”
He exhaled. “Yes.”
She exhaled as tears filled her eyes.
Fletch framed her cheeks between his large palms. “If you’re willing to help the cause, Peterson would like to meet with you.”
A lump formed in her throat. Help? She didn’t know if she could. Then again, Fletch said the agency wasn’t all brawn; it was brains too. “This is what my parents did?”
“Yeah, Chell, it’s what they did.”
Michelle nodded. “When does he want to meet?”
“We have some time. He wants to meet on Monday. Before then, I’m supposed to take you to a lab we have here. Peterson wants data before anything is officially decided.”
Her eyebrows arched. “What kind of data?”
“Before I was part of the agency, I was in Force Recon. It’s a Special Ops unit of the Marines. To get to that level, I had to pass physical and mental assessments. Tests.”
Michelle looked down at herself and back to Fletch. “If they want to see how many push-ups I can do, I’ll save them the trouble. The answer is zero.”
Fletch chuckled. “No push-ups. I told Peterson about your strengths and skills. The tests will be to determine your proficiency in the area of your mother’s expertise.”
