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

3. Carter

THREE

Carter

Jenna leads me to a small office tucked away at the back of Marlowe’s Café. The aroma of freshly ground coffee beans gives way to the musty scent of old ledgers and paper.

Max follows us, his nails clicking softly on the worn wooden floor. His tail wags gently, and his nose twitches constantly, drinking in the new scents. His head tilts slightly as if processing the lingering sweetness of pastries, the sharp tang of cleaning supplies, and the unique scent that is purely Jenna.

As we enter the cramped space, Jenna’s fingers trail along the edge of an old oak desk, her touch almost reverent. She turns slowly, her green eyes meeting mine with curiosity.

“What did you want to talk about, Detective?” Her voice wavers, barely above a whisper, so unlike the confident barista who greets me every morning.

I’m about to hurt her in the worst way possible.

Jenna kneels to scratch behind Max’s ears, a small smile playing on her lips as my loyal companion leans into her touch. The simple gesture, so full of warmth, makes what I’m about to do even harder.

“I need your help.” The words come out more abruptly than I intended, my usual confidence faltering in her presence .

“My help? What do you need my help with?” Her brow furrows, confusion evident in her emerald eyes. She tilts her head slightly.

“I’m working a case.” I scratch the back of my neck.

“A case?” She crosses her arms, her confusion deepening. “What could I possibly have to do with any of your cases?”

“It’s a kidnapping case. The missing girls. Have you heard about them?”

Recognition flashes across her face, followed by something deeper, more visceral.

“I… Yes, I have. Some regulars were talking about another girl going missing just this morning.” Her voice wavers slightly, a tremor that most people wouldn’t notice.

I’m not most people, not when it comes to Jenna.

“It’s horrifying,” she says. “But I don’t see how I can help you.” She absently strokes Max’s fur as he sits contentedly at her feet, his presence a soothing buffer between us.

I take a step closer, careful not to invade her personal space but wanting to convey my sincerity.

“I need to ask you something. I wouldn’t be asking if it wasn’t important.”

“What is it?” Her voice is barely above a whisper, her fingers now clutching at the fabric of her shirt over her belly. It’s a subtle gesture, one I wouldn’t have noticed if I hadn’t spent months cataloging her every movement.

I swallow hard. I’m about to drag her back into a past she’s tried to leave behind.

“It’s about your past.” I keep my voice low and as gentle as possible.

The warmth in her eyes vanishes instantly. Her posture straightens as if bracing for a physical blow.

“My past?” The words come out in a whisper, but the tension in the small office makes it feel like a shout.

A fierce, protective instinct surges through me. I want to shield her, to take back my words and pretend this conversation never happened.

But I can’t .

The missing girls are counting on me.

I force myself to continue, hating every word. “I know what happened to you.”

The transformation in her expression is heart-wrenching. Disbelief morphs into shock, then raw fear. Her breathing quickens—a subtle change that nonetheless screams of rising panic. Max whines softly, picking up on her distress, and presses closer to her legs.

God, her eyes tell a story of pain and fear, making me want to gather her in my arms and never let go.

But I can’t.

I’m here as a detective, using her trauma to solve a case. The guilt of it sits heavy in my chest, a weight I’m not sure I’ll ever be rid of.

“Why are you digging into my past?” She steps back, eyes wild with a mix of fear and rage.

“I didn’t dig into your past. I reached out for help, and your name was mentioned.” I raise both hands in a placating gesture, my heart breaking at the pain I’ve caused her.

Her gaze darts around the small room, reminiscent of a trapped animal searching desperately for escape. Max whines softly, picking up on the tension, his tail tucked between his legs.

“How?” she chokes out, her voice barely above a whisper. “How is my past related to any of this?”

I meet her gaze, my eyes filled with concern and an ache that goes beyond professional duty. “I was told you might have insights that could help me find these girls. That could help me stop whoever’s behind this.”

“No.” Jenna wraps her arms around herself. “I buried my past for a reason.”

I take a deep breath, steeling myself. “If there was any other way…” I trail off, running a hand through my hair in frustration. “I’ve exhausted every lead. These girls, they’re running out of time. Without your help, they might be lost forever.”

Jenna’s eyes flash with anger, but beneath it, a flicker of something else exists.

Understanding ?

Compassion?

Resignation?

“Please. These girls need your help.”

“No one knows about my past,” Jenna whispers. “No one except for…” Her words trail off as understanding dawns. Her eyes snap open with disbelief and betrayal. “No. He wouldn’t. He promised…”

Her raw, emotional pain hits me like a physical blow. Her eyes glisten with unshed tears, and her hands tremble as she clutches the edge of the desk, knuckles white. The haunted look on her face reveals the depth of her reopened wounds.

Max whines again, pressing his body against Jenna’s legs, his brown eyes darting anxiously between us.

“I’m not here to spill your secrets, Jenna.” I keep my voice steady despite the turmoil inside me.

I take a step closer, breaching her personal space. The urge to wrap her in my arms, to shield her from this pain, is almost overwhelming.

Tears spill down her cheeks. The sight of them stings worse than if she’d slapped me. “Do you have any idea how hard I’ve worked to put that behind me?” Her voice breaks. “Do you know what it’s like to live with those memories, those scars?” She absently scratches the inside of her wrist.

Max nudges Jenna’s hand, and she strokes his head, her eyes never leaving mine.

“I was told you have a unique perspective. You’ve seen things, experienced things that could be invaluable in cracking this case.”

“How?” she asks, shaking her head in disbelief. “How did you find out?”

I take a deep breath. “I was talking to my brother, Blake. He works for the Guardian Hostage Rescue Specialists.”

Recognition flashes in her eyes at the name.

“I needed help with this case, and when I told him about it, he mentioned it to his team. Forest Summers overheard that conversation and he told Blake to have me reach out. ”

Her eyes squeeze shut, and when she opens them again, her steely determination takes my breath away.

“My past is in my past for a reason. Right where I intend to keep it. I’m sorry, but that was years ago. I can’t help you.”

“Jenna…” Her name comes out as a plea. Every nerve in my body screams that I’m losing her.

Without thinking, I take her hand in mine. It’s small and delicate, but there’s strength there too. Max whines again, pressing closer to Jenna as if trying to offer comfort.

Her eyes widen in surprise at the contact, but she doesn’t pull away. Those eyes, once so guarded, now reveal a world of pain and fear. They’re piercing, wounded, beautiful, and filled with an ache that makes my heart clench.

“I know you have to find them,” she says softly, “but… Not me. Please, isn’t there someone else? Anyone else who can help?”

“I know it’s asking a lot. I know it’s painful, but the tiniest detail could break this case wide open.”

For a long moment, Jenna is silent, her internal struggle playing out across her face. Max looks up at her, his tail giving a tentative wag as if encouraging her. For a long moment, the only sound in the room is our breathing and the soft panting of the dog.

Finally, Jenna’s shoulders slump slightly. Her voice is small and vulnerable. “I can’t promise anything. But—I’ll listen. That’s all I can offer.”

“Thank you.” I give her hand a gentle squeeze. “That’s more than enough. We’ll take this at your pace, I promise.”

Jenna’s hand is still in mine, and our fingers are now intertwined. We’re holding hands, but not in the way I would like.

Her skin’s warmth against mine is comforting and distracting, but her pulse, quick and erratic, shows her distress.

“What did Forest say to you?” Jenna asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

I swallow hard, knowing my next words will cause her pain. “He told me he found you. You were…” I hesitate but press on, “running from something. You were bruised, hurt.”

Jenna’s breath catches—a small, pained sound. Her hand trembles slightly, and it takes every ounce of willpower within me to resist the urge to pull her into my arms.

I’m acutely aware of how long I’ve been holding her hand. This prolonged contact between us should feel awkward, but it doesn’t. Her skin is soft, and her hand fits perfectly in mine. I don’t want to let go, afraid she’ll pull away if I do.

Jenna’s hair, black and silky, cascades down to her waist. A stray strand falls across her face, and I clench my hand to keep from reaching out and tucking it behind her ear. Her eyes, those mesmerizing green eyes, flood with fear, pain, and suffering.

The scent of her—the richest blend of coffee, vanilla, and something uniquely Jenna—envelops me. I could spend all day simply breathing her in.

Her breath flutters against my skin when she speaks, sending shivers down my spine. It’s intoxicating, and I have to remind myself this is a professional interaction.

“I’ll help you.” Her voice is stronger now. “But I need you to promise me something.”

“Anything,” I reply, perhaps too quickly.

“This stays between us. I don’t want my past to get out. It’s a small town, and I don’t need any rumors circulating. I don’t want people to know what—what happened to me. I don’t want to be treated like a victim.”

“I promise.” I nod solemnly, squeezing her hand gently.

The relief that washes over me is tempered by the weight of what I’m asking her to do. I’m in awe of her strength and her willingness to revisit her trauma to help others.

It makes me admire her even more, if that’s possible.

“Thank you,” I say, my voice rough with emotion.

Jenna nods, a small, sad smile touching her lips. Then, I realize I’m still holding her hand, my thumb unconsciously tracing circles on her skin. I should let go and maintain professional distance, but I can’t break the connection.

Instead, I find myself lost in her eyes, struck by the depth of emotion I see there. The air between us feels charged, heavy with unspoken words, and brimming with possibility .

For a moment, I forget about the case, the missing girls, and everything except the extraordinary woman in front of me.

But I can’t forget.

Not really.

This isn’t about me or my feelings for Jenna. It’s about finding those girls, about stopping whoever is behind their disappearances.

With a reluctant sigh, I step back, giving her some space. “We should get started. Whenever you’re ready, of course.” My voice is huskier than I intend.

Jenna nods, taking a deep breath as if preparing for battle. And in a way, she is.

“Let’s get this over with.” Her voice is steady despite her fear.