Chapter 4
Micah
I don’t like the way it sits in my chest—jealousy.
It’s not a feeling I wear well. Feels too much like a weight pressing under my ribs.
I’ve spent most of my life shutting down feelings before they can turn into liabilities, but somehow Ellie Bright blew in with her stupid smile and candy-cane socks and managed to wedge herself into the cracks.
And now every time I hear Nate’s name fall out of her mouth, something ugly burns in me.
It’s not her fault. It’s mine.
I step outside to make the call because I don’t want her to hear. The cold air slaps me, grounding me. I dig my phone out of my pocket and scroll until I find the name I need.
“Hale,” I say when he picks up. “You busy?”
“Always,” comes the gravelly answer. There’s a clatter on his end—probably a rifle bolt or a wrench. “What’s going on?”
“I’ve got a situation,” I tell him, pacing the porch. “Woman named Ellie Bright. She’s been getting packages—creepy ones. Threats. Photos. Notes. Looks like someone’s watching her.”
“Anyone local?”
“Could be,” I say. “She works at an at-risk youth center. I’m thinking it’s connected to one of her kids. Maybe a family member. Or someone with a grudge.”
Hale exhales slowly. “Send me what you’ve got. I’ll ask around, see if the chatter says anything about a woman being stalked out this way.”
“Thanks,” I say.
“Micah,” he adds, voice quieting. “You good?”
I hesitate. “Define good.”
“You sound like you’ve got more than a job on your hands.”
I huff a laugh, bitter and soft. “You know me. I don’t mix business with anything.”
“Right,” Hale says, but there’s an edge of amusement in it that tells me he doesn’t buy a damn word. “Send the details. I’ll keep my ear to the ground.”
“Appreciate it.”
We hang up, and I stand there for a second, breathing in the sharp cold. Hale’s not wrong. There’s more to this than the job, and I’m the idiot letting it happen.
When I go back inside, the cabin smells like cinnamon. Ellie’s curled up on the couch in front of the fire, a blanket around her shoulders, a paperback in her lap. Her hair’s a mess, falling into her eyes, and she’s so soft she almost doesn’t look real in the flickering light.
She glances up and smiles when she sees me, small and easy, and I’m back in that moment—the kiss. The taste of her. The sound she made when I touched her like I might not get the chance again.
I shake it off, because I can’t afford to drown in it. Not when someone’s out there watching her.
I pull my phone out again and hit another contact.
“Nate.”
There’s a pause, then, “Micah. You got her?”
“She’s here,” I say. “Safe. For now.”
“Good.”
“She told me you’ve been helping at the teen center. That’s how you know her?”
“Yeah,” he says. “Volunteered there a while back. Been keeping an eye on things. Some of the kids have been mixed up with bad people. One of them might be tied to whoever’s sending the threats.”
“So you sent her here because you thought she’d be safer off the grid.”
“That, and because I knew you’d take it seriously.”
I lean against the counter, watching Ellie through the reflection in the window. She’s still reading, her lips moving just barely like she’s mouthing the words.
“Anything new?” I ask him.
“I’m tracking what I can,” Nate says. “We’ve got a few names—low-level punks who’ve been sniffing around the center. One of them’s got a record for intimidation. Another’s been bragging about a job that’s ‘personal.’ We don’t know yet if it’s connected, but I’m not ruling it out.”
“I’ll send Hale everything I’ve got,” I tell him. “He’s checking local chatter.”
“Good.” Nate pauses. “Micah, you okay?”
I make a low sound. “You and Ellie… you close?”
There’s silence. Then Nate’s tone sharpens. “Why?”
“Just curious,” I say, too fast.
He sighs. “She’s like a little sister, man. That’s all. She’s good people. Kind heart, lousy taste in sweaters. Why?”
I grit my teeth. “No reason.”
“Uh-huh.” He’s smirking; I can hear it. “What, you catching feelings?”
“Don’t start.”
“Too late,” Nate says. “Micah Hunt, the man who swore off emotional attachments, taken out by a guidance counselor in fuzzy socks. I’m marking the date.”
“Shut up.”
“I’m just saying—keep your head. She’s in danger. You start thinking with anything other than your training, you’ll miss something. Stay focused.”
He’s right. I hate that he’s right.
“Copy that,” I mutter.
“Good. And Micah?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t screw this up. She trusts you. Don’t give her a reason not to.”
I hang up before I can say something I’ll regret.
When I turn, Ellie’s watching me over the edge of her book, eyes bright in the firelight. “You look intense,” she says. “Everything okay?”
“Just work,” I answer.
She studies me a second longer, then closes her book and tucks her feet under the blanket. “You know, you frown so much it’s going to give you wrinkles.”
“Maybe I like wrinkles.”
“You don’t.”
She’s smiling now, soft and teasing, and I feel that same stupid pull in my chest. I grab a beer from the fridge instead of answering, because the last thing I need right now is to admit that the idea of her trusting me means more than it should.
Because the truth is simple, and dangerous:
I’m already too close.
And I’m starting to care way too damn much.