Page 80 of Fear of Flames
“And does this have anything to do with Timothy Wells?”
“We have more work to do. Come on, all of our cyber sleuths, please give us your theories on our website or social media. Use HashtagWheresDValentine.”
“That will do it for today. Come back tomorrow.”
Chapter
Thirty-Eight
Michelle spent about five hours wandering through cyberspace before making her way back to Fletch’s apartment. She wasn’t sure when he’d be back, but that didn’t stop her from starting dinner. She was currently in the kitchen chopping vegetables from the groceries Fletch had gotten a few days ago. After surviving on truck-stop and fast food for a week, she was enjoying cooking real meals.
When she arrived back to the apartment, she placed two chicken breasts in a teriyaki marinade. Those were now in the oven. As it turned out, Fletch had never in all his years in the complex used his oven. Brown rice and chives were simmering on the stovetop, and the salad she was creating was almost complete.
Michelle reached for the glass of merlot she’d poured earlier and took a sip. Her thoughts went to today’s earlier episode of Crime Daily Podcast. Out of habit, she fidgeted with the locket hanging from around her neck.
Could her name really be cleared by two podcasters?
She popped the clasp open. Her parents’ picture fluttered to the ground. There was another picture beneath it. Michelle strained, looking down at the faded child. A smile curled her lips. The little girl would be her. Her mother had it hidden beneath the other picture.
Michelle bent down, recovering her parents’ photo as the front door opened and Fletch came home.
As he stopped inside the entry and inhaled, his shoulders straightened. With an exhausted grin, he walked to Michelle, took the glass from her hand, and placed it on the counter. Before she could say a word, his lips were on hers.
The concerns she had about Fletch and Olivia evaporated as his tongue tangoed with hers. She lifted her arms over his wide shoulders and pressed her breasts against his solid chest.
When he pulled away, his gaze was fixated on hers.
“I like how you say hi,” she said with a grin.
Fletch stared, still silent.
She tried to read his thoughts, but there were too many to decipher.
Finally, his baritone timbre broke the spell his eyes had cast. “I want to tell you something.”
“After that greeting, you can tell me anything.”
“I’ve never in my recollection, ever, in my thirty-six years, come home to a home.”
Michelle tilted her head.
“I’ve come home to a place I can rest, but damn” —he lifted his chin and inhaled— “when I was a kid getting moved from place to place, I imagined what it would be like to be like one of the kids on television, the ones with a family that sat around a table to eat.” Fletch pressed his lips together. “I think I gave up on that dream when I was around ten.” He cupped her cheek. “I forgot about it. And then, walking in here, the delicious aroma, the clean apartment, that dream came back to me.”
She swallowed the lump in her throat. “I’m sorry you never had that growing up.”
“Don’t be. It makes me appreciate you all the more.”
Michelle pushed up on her tiptoes and brushed a kiss over his lips. “I appreciate that I’m here. I wouldn’t be without you.”
Fletch reached for her wine glass and took a hearty sip before handing it back to Michelle. “I want to talk to you about what I learned today.”
“Is it about the grand jury?”
“It’s all connected.” He went to the cabinet and found a second wine glass. As he topped off Michelle’s glass and poured his own, he asked, “How did it go with Olivia?”
“She said today went well. I guess I’m supposed to meet with Peterson tomorrow and discuss the results.”
“He’s a blowhard, but he’s a good man. Don’t be concerned.”
