Chapter 10 Micah
Micah
I’ve walked into war zones quieter than this place.
The center is alive with chaos. Kids yelling over video games, a speaker blasting some pop song I can’t name, the hum of life practically vibrating the walls.
It should put me on edge. It should make me want to back out the door and disappear into the woods where the only sound is the crunch of snow under my boots.
But I don’t.
Because she’s here.
Ellie moves through this place like she belongs to it. Not in the way a person fits into a job — in the way a lighthouse fits into a storm. Anchored. Unshaken.
The kids light up when she enters the room.
That pink-haired girl? She hugged Ellie like she was a lifeline.
The kid pretending not to look? Watched her every move when he thought no one noticed.
Even the staff—that therapist, Sasha, gave Ellie a look I’ve seen before.
The kind you give a soldier you trust with your back in the field.
It almost makes me smile.
Almost.
But I’m not here for the warm fuzzies. I’m here because someone is threatening her. Hunting her. And if I don’t keep my head sharp, she’ll end up just another case file with a string of regrets attached.
I scan the room again.
Troy. Early thirties. Fit. Friendly. Too friendly.
He’s got one of those charming, easy smiles and a voice that always sounds like it’s one laugh away from flirting. He’s watching Ellie, too—not the way I do, but in the way a man looks when he thinks maybe, just maybe, he has a shot.
He doesn’t.
I cross my arms and step into his line of sight, just to watch the way he adjusts himself. Subtle. Like he’s trying to stand straighter. Look more useful. I’ve seen that posture before—from new recruits trying to impress a commanding officer.
“Let’s grab lunch,” I murmur to Ellie once she finishes talking with a group of teens.
She turns toward me, brushing a curl behind her ear. “Yeah, I’m starving.”
Troy perks up. “You guys heading to the diner? I was thinking of swinging by.”
“No,” I say flatly. “Just us.”
Ellie gives me a quick side-eye, but says nothing. Smart woman.
We step outside into the bitter chill and start down the snowy sidewalk toward the diner on the corner.
Once we’re out of earshot, I ask, “How long’s Troy been working at the center?”
She shrugs, tucking her hands into her coat pockets. “Few months. He’s good with the kids. Why?”
“Just noticing the way he looks at you.”
She smirks. “Are you seriously jealous?”
I grunt. “I’m just observant.”
She bumps her shoulder into mine. “Troy’s harmless. He’s a flirt with everyone—men, women, the coffee machine.”
“Has he ever asked you out?”
She glances at me like she’s trying to figure out how deep this conversation’s about to go. Then, calmly, “No. And I wouldn’t have said yes if he did.”
I like the way she says that. It’s simple, sure, with no explanation needed. It settles something hot and possessive in my chest.
Still, I file it away. Doesn’t matter if Troy’s harmless. Doesn’t matter if he’s just a coworker. I don’t trust easy, and I trust no one with her safety. If he’s clean, fine. If not... I’ll handle it.
The diner is warm, with fogged windows and the smell of bacon grease and cinnamon. Christmas garlands hang sloppily over the doorframes, and there’s a plastic Santa in the corner that’s seen better decades.
Our server, Greta, spots us and lights up.
“Ellie! I was hoping I’d see you today.”
Ellie grins. “Hey, G. How’s Jack?”
“Still trying to convince me he doesn’t need snow boots, despite nearly freezing his toes off at recess yesterday.” She leans against the table, scribbling something on her pad. “And who’s this?”
“Micah,” Ellie says, casting me a glance that softens at the edges. “A friend. He’s, uh… helping out for a bit.”
Greta raises an eyebrow like she sees exactly what kind of helping is going on but doesn’t comment. “Nice to meet you, Micah. Try the pie. I made it this morning.”
“You bake too?” I ask.
“I do it all, baby,” she says with a wink before bouncing away.
Ellie’s shoulders shake with a quiet laugh. “She’s the best.”
“She’s trouble.”
“You’re just not used to people being nice.”
I grunt but don’t argue.
We order, and while we’re halfway through greasy burgers and curly fries, the door chimes and Nate steps inside, shaking snow off his shoulders and scanning the room.
His eyes land on us. Then on Ellie. Then, slowly, on me.
I brace for a lecture, but instead, he heads straight to our booth with that unreadable calm I know too well.
He’s not just visiting.
He’s got news.
Before he can even sit down, Greta swoops in. “You’re late, Mr. Bishop. I was starting to think you were avoiding me.”
He smirks. “Not a chance, Greta. You know I can’t stay away from your sass.”
“Damn right.” She pours him a coffee without asking. “Stay out of trouble.”
“I am trouble.”
She laughs and walks off, but not before brushing her hand a little too long over his shoulder.
Ellie raises her eyebrows. “Do I sense something between you two?”
Nate slides into the booth beside her, ignoring the question with practiced skill. “We’ve got a few leads,” he says instead, dropping his voice low. “Nothing concrete. We’ve found the store that the ornaments were purchased at and are trying to locate purchase orders now.”
My jaw clenches. “Location?”
“Close. Next town over. Little shop.”
Ellie frowns. “I hate this.”
“I know,” Nate says. “We’ll find whoever’s responsible.”
I lean forward. “What about cameras in the store?”
“We’re pulling footage. Might take a day or two—some of the systems are old, and the weather’s glitching them out.”
“Anything else?” I ask.
“There’s someone new on staff at the center,” Nate says slowly. “Hired a few weeks ago. Custodian. Name’s being checked, but it might be fake. Troy vouched for him.”
Ellie sits up straight. “What? Who?”
“Name on file is Jonah Marks,” Nate says. “We’re digging.”
I file the name in my head and look at Ellie. Her expression’s guarded, but I can see the edge in her eyes.
Fear.
She knows this isn’t just about scaring her anymore.
It’s personal.
Nate finishes his coffee in two gulps, glancing toward the kitchen where Greta’s laughing with another waitress. “I’ve gotta run. I’ll let you know the minute I get something solid.”
Ellie watches him go. Then, casually, “You sure you and Greta aren’t a thing?”
Nate gives her a lazy grin as he backs away. “That woman’s too good for me. I’m just trying to keep up.”
Then he’s gone.
Ellie picks at the edge of her fry. “So… Jonah Marks?”
I nod. “We’ll look into it.”
“You think he’s the one?”
“I think we’re getting close.” I pause. “And that means he’s getting desperate.”
Her eyes meet mine, soft and fierce all at once. “Then we end it. Together.”
My hand finds hers under the table.
And this time, I don’t pull away.