Page 48 of Fear of Flames
Despite their impending discussion, Fletch smiled as he scanned Shelly from her head to her bare toes. Water droplets came from her crimson hair, leaving spots on her sleeping clothes. The soft shorts and oversized t-shirt were the same as he’d seen her wear many nights on the secret cameras. Her lack of a bra was evident by the way her nipples tented the shirt.
Shelly surely didn’t see herself the way Fletch saw her. Her smile was infectious, her laugh a melody. He’d always been attracted to women with curves. Stick-straight, boobless women weren’t appealing in his opinion.
Fletch couldn’t remember the last time he’d spent three consecutive days with anyone. A week ago, he would have said it was unimaginable. During this escape, he’d shared more with Shelly than any other person he knew. It was natural to talk with her. The more time they spent together, the more he wanted it to continue.
“Water, right. Glad it’s hot. That’s one star for this dump.”
Shelly laughed. “Two stars, it’s also clean.”
“I have everything we need in the room and the door’s locked.” He took the Glock from his holster in his jeans and laid it on the TV stand.
Michelle’s blue eyes opened wide at the sight of the gun. Her lower lip disappeared between her teeth. “Are you leaving?”
He shook his head. “Just showering. You know how to use that if you need to.”
“Knowing and wanting to are two different things.”
Fletch fought the urge to touch her and reassure her. Instead, his shoulder brushed hers as he went into the bathroom. They had enough happening without a repeat of the other night. While the shower’s water was hot, he turned the temperature down—cool to colder. The shivering didn’t help his hard cock. Closing his eyes he took matters into his own hands as he jacked off to the memories of their night together. His body trembled as he came. Fletch doubted it was the first time someone had masturbated in this sleazy motel shower.
When he came out after showering, the lights were all off. With the heavy drapes closed, the room was mostly dark. At first, he assumed Shelly was asleep.
As he crawled into the bed beside hers, Shelly’s voice cut through the dim motel room. “You never answered me about the podcast. Are people suspecting me?”
There were many things he hadn’t answered her about or told her about. Fletch needed to resolve a few issues. Peterson was one. He wasn’t happy that Fletch went back for Shelly Holdcraft. He was even less pleased that Fletch planned to take her to the complex.
“Fletch?”
“We have all night to talk.”
The morning sun created a brightening frame around the heavy curtains. Heat hummed from the large radiator beneath the window. Instead of going to sleep, Shelly turned toward his bed. Lifting her head to her fist, she asked, “The things you know how to do. You said it’s from practice, but you had to learn them somewhere.”
“Good night, Shelly.” It was actually Thursday morning, but he wanted the conversation to end.
It didn’t. Shelly continued, “My dad was always good at everything he tried. Once when I was little, I caught him in our basement with a hand radio. It was a relic, but he was talking on it.”
“Can this story wait until we’ve slept?”
“That memory came back to me today after the crime podcast. Dad told me the radio was a hobby, but I heard him talking about a high-profile child abduction. He was talking in letters, like Alpha, Gamma…” She sighed at the memory. “I didn’t know what his conversation was when I heard him. Later I saw a news bulletin about a kidnapping and…” Her voice trailed away. “I don’t know why it stayed with me. I think it’s why I wrote The Wishing Well.”
“You said The Wishing Well was based off of a true crime in Wisconsin.”
“That was Broken Promises. The Wishing Well came to me while I was interning at the Indianapolis courthouse.”
He was glad it was dark because the memory of Shelly in that courtroom made him grin. Something he was doing more and more of these past few days.
“My dad didn’t have anything to do with Timothy Wells’s disappearance. If anything, I’d say he was somehow trying to solve it.”
“Denny was retired.”
“From IMPD,” she replied. “I can’t shake the feeling that he was still involved in something.” She sighed.
Fletch lay on his back, staring up at the popcorn ceiling. Shelly was close. Maybe he could explain it all to her. He didn’t have a choice. She couldn’t enter the complex without understanding what the agency was.
She continued talking. “He didn’t want me to stay the night he was killed, but I couldn’t leave with the snow. I think he was worried that something would happen.”
Fletch didn’t respond. If he did, they’d be talking for hours, and they both needed to get some sleep.
It didn’t take long until he heard the even breathing coming from her bed. Shelly was asleep. Her questions sparked a memory of something she’d mentioned in the truck. It was about having a sibling. One that died before Shelly was born.
