Jenna’s Protector (Guardian Hostage Rescue Specialists: CHARLIE Team #4)

2. Jenna

TWO

Jenna

Before the morning rush gets going, the bell above the door jingles, cutting through the low hum of the coffee shop I call home.

I lift my gaze from the steaming espresso machine to greet the newcomers.

My regulars, Frank, Doris, and Mav, step inside.

“Morning, Jenna.” Frank’s gravelly, deep voice bellows, his silver mustache twitching like a hairy caterpillar on his lip.

“Morning, Frank.” My reply is light and breezy, warm and sincere. “Your usual?”

“The blacker, the better.” He rubs his hands together as if to wring out the chill from his bones.

“I’ve got you.” I fill a cup with our strongest brew and slide the steaming mug across the counter toward Frank. “Here you go, strong and bold, just the way you like it.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.” He winks as he takes the mug and inhales the dark aroma of a perfectly brewed coffee.

Doris grips his arm and walks beside him. Her silver curls bounce with each step. Mav, their grandniece, a schoolteacher with an infectious laugh, trails behind them, her nose buried deep in a book .

Not one of those e-readers, but a genuine book.

Her voracious appetite for literature knows no bounds.

They stop in every day like clockwork. Mav brings them here for a caffeine hit, then drives Frank and Doris to the senior center. She then heads to the elementary school to spend the day with a classroom of kindergartners. I couldn’t do it, but she thrives in that environment.

“Morning, Jenna.” Mav peeks up from her book, likely coming to the end of a chapter or paragraph. I’ve learned to give her time to find an appropriate place to stop before barraging her with questions.

“What can I get you?”

Mav, who loves all the frills in her coffee, never orders the same thing twice. She’s on a quest for the perfect combination of sweet, cream, and caffeine.

“I’ll have a large caramel macchiato with extra caramel drizzle, both in the cup and on top of the foam. Could you add a shot of vanilla syrup, too? And extra frothy with whipped cream on top.”

“Gotcha.”

Mav’s order does not disappoint and reflects her penchant for a sweet, indulgent treat first thing in the morning.

“Oh, and if you have them, sprinkle some cinnamon and some chocolate shavings on top.”

“You know I will.” I quickly scratch down her order before I forget, then turn to Doris. “And what will you have today, Doris? Are we taking it boring black like the love of your life? Or dressing it up with all the frills like your grandniece?”

Doris responds in a manner I’ve come to love. She’s balanced in all things. Not too plain nor too extravagant.

“Oh, love, you know me, always somewhere in the middle. Let’s go with a medium cappuccino today. Just a touch of sugar and a dash of cinnamon on top, just a little something to brighten the day.”

“I’ve got you covered. Have a seat. I’ll bring them to you once they’re done.”

Mav’s order will take a moment to prep. Doris isn’t too steady on her feet, and I don’t want her waiting while I create Mav’s masterpiece.

Doris is a wonderful woman. She’s welcoming to strangers and someone I’m glad to call a friend. She’s the mother and great-aunt I never had, all rolled into one bundle of joy and delight.

I love her approach to coffee and life. She enjoys simple pleasures with a hint of something special.

But not too fancy.

“You spoil us too much,” Doris chides gently. Her eyes crinkle at the corners, indicating a life well-lived and full of smiles.

“It’s no trouble.” I feign nonchalance while my hands move on autopilot, crafting their orders with the precision born out of countless repetitions.

And then, out of nowhere, a memory crashes over me like icy waves against jagged rocks—cold, dark, and suffocating.

I strike, the letter opener sinking into flesh, warm blood spilling over my fingers. His eyes widen in shock, then go lifeless.

The steam wand hisses, and I froth the milk for Mav’s cappuccino; the sound drowns out a past I want to forget, but those memories always lurk, invading my thoughts at every turn. There’s not one day when they don’t intrude on my life.

As hard as I try to drown them out, they find chinks in my armor where they slip in, resurface, and steal my breath.

While I work, Frank steers Doris toward their special spot near the door. Mav is already there, tucked into the special nook, nose buried back in her book.

It’s a cozy little booth with a great view of Main Street.

Not too pretentious. Not too plain.

It’s just right.

As I lose myself in the routine of my job, the memories subside, replaced by the gratitude that fills my heart. The simple act of serving brings normalcy to my world.

Surrounded by the delicate aromas of coffee beans and pastries baking in the back, I carve out a new life for myself one day at a time—a life far removed from the one that nearly devoured me whole .

The air is thick with the stench of sweat and fear …

I push the intrusive thought away and repeat the mantra I created for moments like this: I won’t let the memories win. I will breathe and enjoy the freedom I fought so hard to have. I will focus on the present—forget the past—and embrace the life I’ve built.

A flicker of determination ignites in my eyes as I bus orders for Mav and Doris to their table.

“Thanks, Jenna.” Mav cups her drink and takes a sip. The froth sticks to her lips, and she darts out her tongue to lick them clean. “You always know how to start our day right.” Her voice is a modern marvel, a melodious tune that brightens the darkest corners of my soul.

“I can’t let my favorite people down.” I note Frank’s half-downed cup and nod. “I’ll bring you a refill.”

“Thanks, Jenna.” Frank gulps his coffee and sets the empty mug on the table. “Best damn coffee in town.”

“Thank you.” I turn to leave, but Doris’s next words catch in my throat.

“Did you hear?” Doris’s voice pierces the relative quiet, heavy with concern. “Another girl’s gone missing. Vanished into thin air.”

My hands grow still as their conversation flows around me. Its chilly tendrils sink into my skin and hitch in my breath.

“Terrible.” Frank sips his coffee, his brow furrowing. “This town used to be safe.” He shakes his head and stares into his mug.

“Seventeen, they said. Can you imagine?” Mav glances up from the page she’s reading.

Yes.

Yes, I can.

A shudder wracks my body, and I turn away under the pretense of grabbing a cloth from the pocket of my apron.

He lunges at me, ripping the lingerie off in one swift motion. I'm exposed, vulnerable, and terrified. He pushes me down onto the bed, his hands rough and demanding …

My past rips through the walls I’ve built over the years. Terror grips me hard and renews my greatest fear: that one day, I may find myself taken once again .

Swallowed by shadows.

I scratch absently at the invisible tattoo on my wrist—a tattoo I didn’t place and am too scared to get removed.

“Jenna?” Frank reaches for my arm. “Are you okay?”

“Y-yes.” I clutch the cloth to keep my hands from shaking.

Miraculously, my voice remains steady despite the torrent of emotions raging through me. I offer a soft smile and wipe down the spotless table.

“I was just wondering if I took the pastries out of the oven.”

“You sure?” Doris’s eyes fill with genuine worry and meet mine. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Not a ghost.

Just my past.

“Yes, I’m just going to go check.”

She and Frank welcomed me to this town with open arms and few questions. They seemed to sense I was running from something and knew I wasn’t ready to talk about it.

I’ll never be ready.

These people and this place are my anchors.

I shouldn’t let their comments about another missing teen get to me.

It’s a good day.

Business is steady.

My customers are happy.

The café hums with life.

I’m happy to kickstart their day with lattes, laughter, and light-hearted banter.

That’s what I need to focus on.

Focus on the positive and bury the negative.

Unfortunately, a part of me is always a little bit afraid.

Afraid of being noticed.

Afraid of being found.

Afraid of being taken.

Their conversation continues, weaving through both the mundane and the tragic.

I can’t shake the feeling these disappearances are more than random strokes of bad luck. There’s a pattern—I feel it—and it’s one I know all too well.

It’s a constant battle… Fighting the pull of my memories, suffocated by the weight of my fears, and forced to live with the fact I’m Jenna Marlowe, a barista with eyes that have seen too much darkness.

Danger could slip through that door as easily as my morning regulars.

The only light is that I’m no longer seventeen.

No longer prey.

No longer naive.

No longer vulnerable.

Speaking of regulars—I try to shift my thoughts—one regular is running late. He’s the brightest spot of my day.

My sweater keeps slipping off one shoulder and I pull it back into place. Loose-fitting clothes are a strategic choice. They create a barrier between me and the world, a gentle reminder that I’m no longer strutting my stuff in the suffocating grip of haute couture, where every stitch and seam screams perfection, and every flaw is magnified a thousand-fold.

My friends finish their morning caffeine infusion and say their goodbyes. I glance at my watch, noting that Detective Jackson, who is usually prompt, is late.

“See you later, Jenna.” Frank waves as he holds the door for his girls.

“Stay safe,” I call out as they leave.

I spend the next few minutes tidying up, refilling stock, and checking inventory.

The chime over the door suddenly rings. My breath catches, and my hands still.

I don’t need to look up to know who it is. My pulse quickens at the familiar rhythm of Detective Carter Jackson’s gait as he slowly strolls from the door to stand on the other side of my counter.

Max, his German Shepherd, sits obediently by his side, tail thumping against the floor, eyes bright—nose going a mile a minute as he checks out all the wonderful smells in my coffee shop .

“Morning, Jenna.” Carter’s deep, rumbly voice sends shivers down my spine.

It’s delicious and decadent all at once. He leans against the counter, his presence filling the space, his eyes locked on mine.

“Detective Jackson,” I greet him, a smile playing on my lips. “And good morning to you too, Max.”

I lean over to give Max a treat from the jar I keep behind the counter for our four-footed friends. Max accepts it gratefully, all lips and slobber but no teeth. His tail wags so hard that his entire body shakes.

I turn my attention back to Carter. “The usual today?”

“You know it,” he chuckles, the sound warming me from the inside out. “I don’t know how I’d start my day without your perfect brew.”

My cheeks flush at the compliment. “Well, I aim to please. Double shot espresso, no sugar, a splash of cold water, right?”

“Spot on.” His smile is disarming, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I’m impressed you remember.”

“I remember everything about you—I mean, about your order.” I stumble over my words, mentally kicking myself for the slip. “I only meant—I know what you like.”

“You do?”

“You like your coffee strong and straightforward with a bit of a twist, Detective.”

“Please, call me Carter.”

“As you wish, Detective.”

If it weren’t for my past, I would’ve jumped his bones already. I just think a man of the law would have problems sleeping with a murderer.

As I prepare his drink, his gaze on me is intense and unwavering. We do this dance every morning—the banter, the lingering looks, and the unspoken words hanging between us.

My mind wanders, imagining what it would be like to have those strong hands on my waist, those lips on mine…

“Here you go.” I hand him his espresso, and our fingers brush against each other .

The contact is electric, sending sparks up my arm. I quickly pull away and wipe down an already spotless counter.

“Thanks.” He takes a sip, his eyes never leaving mine. “Perfect as always. You’re a lifesaver.”

“Just doing my job.” I try to keep my tone light, but I sense a heaviness in the air, a tension that wasn’t there before.

He doesn’t move away from the counter, his fingers tapping against the smooth surface. Max sits patiently, watching us with intelligent eyes.

It’s like Carter wants to say something but holds back, either unsure or reluctant to say whatever is on his mind. The wheels turn in his head, evident in the slight furrow of his brow as he searches for the right words.

“Is there something else I can help you with?” I try to keep my voice steady—my heart pounds. Anticipation and nerves coil in my stomach.

Is he going to ask me out?

“I…” He trails off, his gaze dropping to his cup momentarily before meeting mine again. “I was wondering if we could talk.” He clears his throat, looking uncomfortable. “Somewhere private.”

My breath catches in my throat. Private?

“Um, sure.” My voice wavers with a surge of excitement mixed with nerves. “Just let me grab Malia and ask her to watch the front.”

He nods, his expression unreadable. There’s something in his eyes, a flicker of emotion I can’t quite place.

My heart races, hoping this might be the moment I’ve been waiting for.

I untie my apron with shaky hands and hang it on a hook behind the counter.

“Malia, can you watch the front for a moment?” I call out to my part-timer, who’s in the back room checking inventory.

“Sure thing, boss.” Malia’s energy is infectious. She doesn’t walk to the register. She bounces.

I’m going to have a private conversation with the man of my dreams.