Page 90 of Fear of Flames
“Where is that?” Fletch asked.
“East Texas. Old-money country.”
“No fucking way.”
“Who?” Michelle asked.
“Arron Nelson,” Leo said with a grin.
“Oh my God,” she said. “He has the money to fund a network, right?”
Leo pushed back from the desk. “We need to go to Texas. We can’t be sure until we physically check his network. If we can prove this is correct, we get Nelson and all the people under him, including Patrick Lehman.”
“Wait,” Michelle said. “Isn’t this enough? You can’t go to his house. He’s not going to just let you in.”
Fletch’s lips curled into a grin. “We don’t knock on the door.”
“You’re going to break into the home of one of the wealthiest men in the world. That doesn’t sound safe or smart.”
“We only need to confirm his network’s extensions,” Leo said. “His system is well protected. We need to be in close proximity.”
Michelle reached for Fletch’s hands, the fears of the past few weeks surfacing. “Please don’t go.”
“Leo and I have pulled off more dangerous jobs. This will be a quick trip.”
“Are you going now?”
“We’ll coordinate with Peterson,” Fletch said. “I’ve been wanting evidence on Nelson since Crossroads. We’re so damn close.” He smiled at Michelle. “Because of you and Denny.”
Satisfaction bloomed in her chest. It felt better than the doubt she’d had earlier. “My father didn’t take those pictures.”
“I doubt Nelson took them. He must have them sent to him after each abduction,” Leo said. “Let’s take this to Peterson.”
Chapter
Forty-Four
Michelle sat at the dining room table, the story in her head coming out as she typed. Every now and then, she looked at the clock. It was nearly midnight. She didn’t know where Fletch and Leo were. They’d left after six p.m., before she’d been able to tell him Peterson’s news about Sarah. There was too much happening with the possible connection to Arron Nelson.
Unlike their cross-country drive, the agents flew to East Texas via an agency plane. What Michelle imagined was happening fifteen hundred miles away was the thing of spy thrillers. While part of her wanted to accompany them, Michelle knew her strengths didn’t lie in on-the-ground reconnaissance. That was Fletch’s strength or one of them.
She let her mind go back to her story. It was about an author who found herself living an unbelievable chain of events. As in all Michelle’s stories, there was a love interest. Handsome and dangerous, he was a man the heroine would never imagine having in her life, but Michelle knew by the end of the story, they’d be together. She was writing their first meeting. It was easy to describe her character’s reaction because she was describing her own feelings the first time she encountered Fletch.
Michelle shivered, recalling the frigid air, the ache in her feet, and the blazing flames.
After she finished writing the scene, she saved and closed her manuscript. Telling the story felt cleansing and cathartic. Remembering the sheer terror of that night was too much, especially with Fletch out on a mission.
She settled in the large cool bed and was almost asleep when she heard the door to the apartment open. Her mind told her it was Fletch. She was safe in the complex. No one would hurt her. At the same time, her body trembled, reliving the horrors of the night her father died.
Her focus went to the bedroom door, mostly closed but not completely. There was someone out there. Staring, she waited for Fletch to enter the bedroom.
As more time passed, Michelle’s alarm intensified. She quietly slipped out of bed and tiptoed to the closet. Instead of on a high shelf, her gun safe was on the floor, tucked in a corner near Fletch’s boots.
Careful to not make a noise, she opened the small safe and removed her Sig Sauer. She checked the magazine. It was already loaded. Unfastening the safety, she waited.
Would whoever was out in the rest of the apartment come looking for her?
Or she wondered if it would be better for her to find them.
