A Fresh Start

“I’m going to puke,” Cherise murmured, bending over in the chair in front of Maria’s computer.

Micah rubbed her back sympathetically. Ever since the miscarriage, it didn’t take much to make Cherise nauseous. Apparently, Mexican food was part of the food.

“We’re almost done,” he assured.

“How many more entries?” she asked, rubbing her eyes.

“Ten,” he said. “I can finish them if you want to get some fresh air.”

She shook her head. “No. It’s okay.”

Unfortunately, it took them longer than normal because Cherise kept grabbing her sick bag just in case. Finally, after an extra hour, they put in the last entry. Maria poked her head in.

“How is it going?” she asked in her thick accent.

Cherise put a smile on her face. “We actually just finished.” She got the invoice out of her briefcase. “Here’s your invoice. We broke down all the jobs we did and how much we charged.”

She swayed and Micah steadied her.

“Are you okay, dear?” Maria asked and she forced another smile.

“Just a little hot,” she lied. “Thank you for working with us.”

Maria shook her head, clasping both of Cherise’s hands in her own. “Thank you. I heard what happened at Lido’s. I can’t believe something like that was happening here in Oklahoma!”

“Thank you very much,” Micah said, shaking Maria’s hand and they left.

Cherise took a deep breath when they got into the car. It smelled of Micah’s cologne and that, plus the water he gave her, helped her stomach settle. She closed her eyes as he drove back to the office. Lira jumped up and licked her face while he drove.

“I’ll go drop our things off,” Micah said.

She just nodded, too tired to speak.

That all changed, though, when they got back to their apartment. As soon as Cherise opened her door and Lira jumped out of the car, the black lab immediately started barking and pulling on the leash.

“Lira!” Cherise cried, pulling back. “Stop that this moment!”

“Cherise,” Micah breathed.

He was looking at something.

“Help me,” she snapped.

“Cherise, you need to see this.”

She sighed in frustration and looked up. She almost dropped Lira’s leash. Micah took it from her but Lira continued to fight. Micah stood in front of Cherise, putting his arm out to block her.

A man a little taller than Cherise was standing against the wall by her door. There wasn’t anything arrogant about his stance, though. He radiated exhaustion. He had black hair that was rumpled and dirty. His skin was incredibly tan and muscled but marked with several scars. He had blue eyes just like Cherise. It was like looking in a mirror.

“Hello, Cherise,” he said in a hoarse voice.

His black outfit was torn and he was missing his shoes.

“Dad?” she whispered.

“So you remember me.”

Before he could say anything else, he fainted. Micah rushed over, handing Lira back to Cherise. Lira sniffed Cherise’s father, still growling quietly. She wasn’t as hostile, though, and Cherise unlocked the apartment door, looking around. She didn’t see the normal people around her but she didn’t feel any better it. Micah dragged him. Cherise noticed he wasn’t bothering to be careful.

After putting him on the couch, Micah poured a glass of water and, despite Cherise trying to stop him, tossed the cold water on his face. Her father coughed and bolted up.

“What are you doing here?” Micah asked, his voice rough.

“Micah, please,” Cherise said but her father shook his head.

“No. He’s right to be angry. As are you,” he added, looking at Cherise with eyes full of remorse. He turned back to Micah. “My name is Amos. What is yours?”

At first, Micah didn’t say anything. “I am Micah,” he said finally but he didn’t step out from in front of Cherise. “And I’d like to know what mess you’ve dragged us into.”

“Do you have something I can eat?” Amos asked. “I haven’t eaten in several days.”

Cherise hurried to the kitchen and pulled out a Ziploc with leftover spaghetti. Amos stumbled to the dining room table, Lira at his heels.

“Is she for your seizures?” he asked and she nodded, not sure what to say.

Micah sat across from Amos, glaring at him. When the microwave went off, she put it on a plate and got a fork. Amos ate as if he was starved. And, looking at him, he probably was. Cherise took a minute to look at him closer. There were bruise marks all over him and there were scrape marks that hadn’t healed over completely.

He still wore his wedding ring.

“That was delicious,” he said finally. “Who made it?”

“Stop,” Micah snapped. “You owe Cherise a lot of answers.”

Cherise put her hand on his knee under the table.

Amos dabbed at his face with a napkin and stared at the fork.

“I’ve been in Paris,” he started.

“For 17 years?” Cherise asked, not able to hide the bite in her voice.

He ran a hand through his dirty hair. “Yes. I’ve been trying to stop a sex trafficking group.” He shook his head wearily. “It’s not as easy as it may seem. I went undercover as a pimp. They found who I was several months ago and I was locked up. My superiors must have noticed so they sent the letters to you and Olivia. I tried several times to escape but I never made it very far.”

“Then how did you escape?” Micah demanded.

“Dug a hole,” he said simply. “I know it seems tacky but, these last few weeks, they haven’t been watching me as closely. When no one came to save me, they figured I was safe to ignore.”

“And why are you here?”

Amos shrugged. “It was the only safe place I could think of to come to.”

“Who are you working for?”

Amos shook his head. “I can’t tell you that. It’s sensitive information.”

Micah slammed his hand on the table. “You want to know what sensitive is?” he demanded and Cherise tried to pull him back into his seat. “Sensitive is being abandoned by your father at 8 years old. Sensitive is finally opening up to a guy just to have him rape her. Sensitive is not being able to love. Sensitive is not having the one person who should keep her safe. You don’t have any fucking clue what sensitive is. Now answer her damn question!”

Micah fell back into his seat, his eyes seething hatred.

“Amos,” Cherise began but he shook his head.

“No. Micah’s right. It’s an underground organization called Bridges. We wanted something common and it also has significant meaning. They need to know I’m here. They’re the only ones that can help us.”

“Us?” Micah repeated.

Amos sighed heavily. “At this very moment, there are at least five men outside your apartment ready to attack at a moment’s notice.”