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Without another word, she followed, step by step.
He could be leading her anywhere—to her safety or her death.
That was the problem with Michelle’s chosen profession: she had a vivid imagination. Sometimes that was helpful, other times, it was a handicap. For example, if she chose to let her mind wander, she may run back into the fishing hut and wait for her fate.
Fletch led them to another fishing hut. Through the falling snow, Michelle saw why he’d brought her here. There was a snowmobile. She wanted to ask who it belonged to and if they could borrow it, but the growing intensity of his stare told her to keep her questions to herself, at least for now.
Fletch motioned for Michelle to get on the seat. When she hesitated, he moved his hands faster, indicating for her to hurry. At the first turn of the key, the engine gave a weary groan. “Hold on,” Fletch whispered before turning the key again, bringing the engine to life with a reverberating roar.
As they sped away, voices screamed at them from behind.
Now, Michelle could add an accessory to theft to her list of sins.
With her arms around Fletch’s solid waist, Michelle laid her face against his back. The snowmobile sailed over the ice, plowing through the freshly fallen snow. When she opened her eyes, they were met with the same ferocious snow and wind painfully stinging her exposed legs. With her eyes closed, she could escape this craziness into Fletch’s manly scent, the warmth of his coat, and the roar of the engine.
Her fingers and toes tingled as she balled her hands into fists within the sleeves of his coat. They both bounced as the snowmobile left the ice. One look at the maze of tall trees told Michelle she didn’t want to watch. Their bodies swayed as he wove in and out around trees. When she was certain she would lose all feeling in her extremities, Fletch slowed the engine.
Up ahead through the falling snow was a house, not big and not small. Judging by the lack of tracks, it was either uninhabited or the inhabitants were squirreled away for the duration of this storm.
Slowing the snowmobile, Fletch turned, craning his neck toward Michelle. Despite the windshield, his face was covered in miniature icicles.
“Oh,” Michelle reached out her hand to his cheek. “We need to get you someplace warm.” Even with the coolness of her skin, her palm was warm against his chill.
Fletch reached for her hand. “Stay here. I’ll see if anyone is here.”
“Where is here?”
“It’s a hunting cabin. It belongs to some rich dude who vacations up here to gather more heads for his walls.”
Fletch eased himself from the seat. “Move forward. If you hear things go bad, I want you to take off as fast as you can. Don’t worry about me.”
Michelle’s eyes widened. “I can’t do that.”
“You can. You’re innocent in this mess. I’m not.” He reached for her hands and placed them on the handlebars, giving her quick instructions on acceleration, braking, and steering. “Tell me you have it.”
She looked up at him. “I do. But don’t make me do this. I don’t know who to trust.”
“No one.” With that, Fletch removed the revolver from his waistband and moved slowly toward the front door. The door didn’t budge as he turned the handle. To Michelle’s dismay, Fletch pulled something akin to a Swiss Army knife from his pocket and crouched down. After pushing different tools into the keyhole, the door opened.
She held her breath, waiting for the sound of gunshots.
This was unreal.
How had her life taken such a drastic turn?
She couldn’t think about her father. Or her mother. How was she connected?
Relief filled her circulation as through the still-falling snow, Fletch came out of the cabin. The darkness of his gaze had morphed to a few shades lighter. “It’s empty. I’ll get you inside and start a fire. Then I need to start the generator and hide the snowmobile.”
Michelle took his hand as he helped her from the seat.
“Generator?” she asked. “As in warm water and cooking?”
Fletch nodded. “I saw that there’s food in the pantry and even clothes in the bedroom.”
“Clothes.” She said the word as if it were a treasure. She could get out of her father’s old shirt. A bathroom. And warm water—a shower.
“And I’ll be able to charge my phone,” Fletch added.
