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

8. Carter

EIGHT

Carter

“We can resume in the morning,” Joe says, packing up his sketchpad. The rustle of paper breaks the silence.

Jenna’s whispered “Thank you” is barely audible, but the relief in her sigh speaks volumes. As Joe’s footsteps fade down the hallway, the silence settles back in, thick and palpable.

The dim light of my office casts soft shadows across Jenna’s face, highlighting the delicate curve of her cheekbones and the gentle slope of her nose. My breath catches in my throat. Even exhausted and emotionally drained, she’s breathtakingly beautiful.

I clear my throat, searching for words to bridge the gap between us.

“You did great today. I know it wasn’t easy.” The softness in my voice surprises me, laced with an admiration I can’t hide.

“Thanks. I just need a moment.” Jenna’s tired smile doesn’t reach her eyes.

“Of course.” The words hang heavily between us.

My fingers itch to reach out and offer comfort, but I hold back. I want to know her, really know her—not as a witness or a barista, but as Jenna .

She shifts in her chair, and I fight the irrational fear that she’ll bolt at any moment.

What makes her laugh?

What are her dreams?

What would it feel like to hold her and chase away the shadows in her eyes?

But I can’t ask those questions. Not like this.

Instead, I stand, moving toward the small mini fridge in the corner.

“Can I get you some water? Or maybe some coffee?” I cringe internally at the offer of coffee to a master barista.

“Water would be great, thanks.” Jenna’s soft laugh eases some of the tension.

As I pour the water, I steal glances at her: the graceful curve of her long neck as she tilts her head back, the way her fingers absently trace patterns on the arm of the chair, and the soft rise and fall of her chest with each breath. Each detail sears itself into my memory.

I hand her the water, our fingers brushing for a moment. The contact sends a jolt through me, and it’s an effort to resist the urge to let my hand linger.

“Thank you,” Jenna murmurs, her eyes meeting mine.

“Is there anything else I can do for you?” I sink back into my chair, closer to her than before.

“I should probably get back to the shop.” She shifts in her seat, fingers twisting the hem of her shirt. “Malia must be wondering where I am.” Her gaze darts around the room, not quite meeting my eyes.

The sight of her looking so lost ignites something protective within me.

“How do you feel about lunch?”

“That sounds nice.” Jenna’s gaze flicks up to mine, a spark of interest lighting them for the first time today.

“Great.” I grab my jacket, the familiar leather creaking as I shrug it on. Max’s ears perk up at the jingle of his leash. “Let’s get out of here.”

I take Jenna to my favorite place. Big Rick’s Diner comes into view. The red neon sign buzzes and flickers, casting a soft glow over the gravel parking lot. It’s a place that feels like home, where I’ve spent countless late nights after a long shift.

We step inside, and the familiar scents wash over me—sizzling bacon, fresh coffee, and the sweet aroma of apple pie just out of the oven. It’s warm and welcoming. The vinyl booths squeak as patrons shift in their seats, their low murmur of conversation punctuated by the clink of silverware and the occasional burst of laughter.

Jenna’s eyes widen as she takes in the view from the large windows—the vast expanse of the Pacific.

“This is beautiful,” she breathes, a genuine smile tugging at her lips.

Max’s tail wags as a waitress approaches, her eyes lighting up at seeing him.

“Well, hello there, handsome.” She coos at Max while reaching down to scratch behind his ears. “Your usual booth, Detective?”

I nod, grateful for the familiar routine. As we slide into the booth, Max settles contentedly at our feet. Here, away from the pressures of the case and the painful memories, Jenna and I can find a way to connect.

The menu crinkles in my hands as I open it, more out of habit than necessity. I already have my order in mind. Jenna scans the options, a slight furrow appearing between her brows as she concentrates. These little details, these glimpses of the real Jenna, are what I’ve been craving all day. I silently thank whatever impulse made me suggest lunch.

Our server, Betty, approaches our table, her seasoned eyes crinkling with recognition.

“Carter, honey, good to see you.” She turns to Jenna, her smile warm and welcoming. “And who’s this lovely lady?”

Before I can respond, Betty continues, her enthusiasm palpable.

“You’re in for a treat tonight. Big Rick’s clam chowder is fresh this morning, and his burgers are the best, but I’ll give you a minute to look over the menu.”

“Sounds perfect.” I glance at Jenna. She nods in agreement, a small smile playing on her lips .

“Great. I’ll get you both some water to start.” Betty bustles off, her apron swishing with each step.

As we settle into the booth, the initial awkwardness between Jenna and me begins to fade. The panoramic view of the ocean through the large windows captivates us both. The rhythmic crash of waves against the cliffs below provides a soothing backdrop, mingling with the soft clatter of dishes and murmur of conversations around us.

I take in the familiar surroundings, seeing them anew through Jenna’s eyes. Softened by years of washing, the checkered tablecloths add a homey touch. Framed photographs of the coast adorn the walls, each one a snapshot of the rugged beauty outside. The aroma of sizzling burgers and freshly baked pies fills the air, underscored by the faint, salty scent of the ocean.

The diner is sparsely populated, but we’re past the lunch rush. An elderly couple shares a plate of golden fries by the window, their heads bent close in quiet conversation. A young mother sips her coffee, absently rocking a stroller with her foot as she flips through a glossy magazine. At the counter, two fishermen, their faces weathered by sun and salt, share a hearty laugh over their beers, the occasional bark of laughter punctuating the ambient noise.

“I’m glad it’s not busy.” I smile at Jenna. “Weekends, this place can get pretty packed. It’s nice to have it quiet for a change.”

“It’s nice.” Jenna’s gaze roams the cozy space, taking in every detail. “I see why you like it here.”

Betty returns with our waters and pulls out a pen. “Know what you want?”

“I’ll have the clam chowder, please.” Jenna’s smile is warm and genuine.

“Good choice.” Betty nods approvingly.

“The usual for me. Burger and fries.” The familiar words roll off my tongue.

Betty leaves, and I settle back into the booth.

“So, what’s it like having a twin?” Jenna leans forward, her eyes bright with curiosity .

The soft glow of the overhead lamp catches the highlights in her hair, and my breath hitches.

“Like having a built-in best friend and a constant rival rolled into one.” A chuckle escapes me, memories flooding back. “Blake and I were inseparable as kids. We did everything together.”

Jenna’s fingers trace the condensation on her water glass, her gaze never leaving mine. “Why did Blake go into the Navy, but you didn’t?”

“Blake always had this sense of adventure, a need to see the world. The Navy offered that.” The words flow easily, and Jenna’s interest encourages me to open up. “Plus, our father was in the Navy. I think Blake wanted to follow in his footsteps.”

“But you didn’t?” Her head tilts slightly, a strand of hair falling across her cheek.

“I wanted to, but…” My fingers itch to tuck it back behind her ear.

“But, what?”

“I stayed because of a girl.” The admission comes out softer than intended. “High school sweetheart. She got pregnant, and I stepped up. I needed a job quickly. Something to raise a family on. Found myself with a job as a cop.”

Jenna’s eyes widen, a flicker of something—disappointment?—crossing her face. She leans back slightly, her fingers growing still on her glass.

“I didn’t realize you had a family.” Her gaze darts to my left hand.

“We’re not together,” I quickly add, the words tumbling out. “Before we were supposed to get married, I found out she had been cheating on me. The baby wasn’t mine. It was a mess. I was already on the force by the time it all fell apart. I landed here, and then it turned out I was really good at my job.”

“That sounds tough.” Jenna’s voice is soft and sympathetic. Her hand moves across the table, not quite touching mine, but close. “What happened to her and the baby?”

“They left town. I haven’t heard from them since.” The old pain is there but dulled now. “By then, my life was set here. I let Blake have the adventures while I took care of things at home.”

I can’t help but marvel at how easy this feels. Her presence is intoxicating, drawing me in.

The soft clink of cutlery around us, the distant crash of waves, the warm aroma of cooking food—it all fades into the background.

My world narrows to Jenna’s bright eyes, attentive gaze, and how her lips curve into a soft smile as she listens.

For the first time in years, I feel a spark of something new, something exciting. This isn’t a witness interview or a casual chat over coffee. This is the start of something more, and I’m eager to see where it leads.