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“It’s straight from a few cans and some added spices I found.”
After Fletch took a spoonful of the broth, Michelle asked, “Are you really going to get me home and disappear without any information about what’s happening? Will I be safe?” She wondered if these people would follow her back to her home.
“You weren’t supposed to be there. My job, my self-imposed job, is to get you safely home. I suggest we work on some alibis. If we can come up with a story that includes you not visiting Denny this weekend, you can act as if none of this happened.”
“Self-imposed?”
“You ask too many questions.” Fletch said as he began opening cupboards and removing bowls. Next, he opened the oven and retrieved the warm bread. “Shall we eat?”
“Your job wasn’t to save me?”
He placed the bowls on the small table.
“Not officially,” she clarified.
His dark stare lingered on her as they sat. Without a word, he reached for his spoon and stirred the vegetable soup. Steam rippled from the warm bowl.
“Are you Secret Service or something?” she asked. “I mean you said you don’t exist.”
Fletch’s lips quirked. “Secret Service exists. They’re real people with real names and identifications who work to protect entitled people.”
Entitled.
Interesting.
“Okay, then what? A spy?”
He looked up through his exceptionally long eyelashes. “You’ve forgotten witness protection.”
Her eyes grew wide. “Oh, that would make sense.” She scrunched her nose. “Except why would anyone in witness protection risk their life and new identity to save me? I’m nobody.”
After a spoonful of his soup, Fletch laid down the utensil and shook his head. “You’re not nobody.”
“I am. I’ve written a few books. If I would have died last night, no one would go without reading. There’s always someone else, someone newer, someone better. I don’t have siblings or even parents.” That reality threatened her façade. “No one would care if Sheriff Perkins ended me too.”
The legs of his chair screeched across the flooring as Fletch stood. “You, Shelly Holdcroft, are not nobody. Your father died last night, but never think it happened without him loving you. You were all he ever spoke about. And maybe there are other people who can write a book, but it’s not your book.” He shook his head. “The Wishing Well had me confused until the very end. That takes talent.”
Michelle couldn’t believe he’d read her work or knew so much about her father. “You read The Wishing Well?” She shook her head. “And you’re saying you and Dad were friends?”
“I’ve read, but the answer to your second question is no.”
“You spoke with him…about me?”
Fletch exhaled and walked toward her chair.
With each step, she took in his predatory movement. Each action was fluid. Each step was calculated. There was something dangerous and enticing about Fletch that Michelle couldn’t pinpoint as if he were another flame capable of destruction, yet she was unable to look away.
“Shelly, in a different world and a different time, I’d tell you everything you want to know. Maybe that day will come. Maybe it won’t.” He offered his hand.
Michelle looked at the size of his palm as she laid her hand in the center and stood.
“I can’t tell you why,” Fletch said, “but I’ve been watching you and Denny for years. I was never involved with Tracy but only because I was too young.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Have you ever wanted someone?” he asked.
Had she?
