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

16. Jenna

SIXTEEN

Jenna

As the team buzzes with this latest information, I can’t help but feel a twinge of disappointment. I came here with my sketchpad, hoping to provide clear answers, to be the key that unlocked this mystery. Instead, it feels like I’ve only opened a Pandora’s box of more questions.

Each revelation leads us further down a rabbit hole of uncertainty. The mysterious Curator and the disappearing girls—they’re all pieces of a puzzle that’s growing larger and more complex by the minute. I can’t shake the feeling that instead of moving forward, we’re spinning our wheels, getting further away from answers than we were before.

The memories I’ve dredged up are painful, each one a reopened wound. And for what? Vague images and half-remembered details that only seem to muddy the waters further?

Am I helping? Or am I leading everyone on a wild goose chase through the darkest part of my past?

And underneath it all, there’s a growing sense of unease. With each piece of information we uncover, each layer we peel back, I can’t shake the feeling that we’re poking a very dangerous bear.

What if I’m drawing attention to myself ?

What if Sentinel realizes where I am?

I glance around the room at the determined faces of the Guardian team. They seem energized by these new leads, but I feel more lost than ever. I came here hoping for clarity, for a straight path to justice. Instead, I find myself at the center of a web of intrigue that’s growing more tangled by the moment.

“You’re doing great.” Carter squeezes my hand reassuringly as if sensing my turmoil. “Every piece of information helps, even if we can’t see how it all fits together.”

I draw strength from his words, but as the team continues their animated discussion, doubt creeps in. Are we really getting closer to the truth, or did I lead them down the wrong road?

Gabe grabs my sketch pad and draws it close to him. He flips to the beginning and then questions me again.

“What about this building here?” Gabe inquires, tapping a sketch of an opulent mansion.

“That’s where some of the parties were held,” I explain, my voice tight.

Jeb leans forward, his brow furrowed. “Jenna, in this sketch of the auction room, do you remember if there were any security cameras? Any tech we should be aware of?”

“I… I think there were cameras in the corners. And some kind of electronic bidding system.” I close my eyes, trying to recall.

The questions continue, each team member focusing on different aspects of the sketches. Forest and Skye exchange glances as they study a drawing of a man with a distinctive scar.

Finally, Carter speaks up. “Is there anything we can do with this information? Can we identify these men or locate these buildings?”

Mitzy nods enthusiastically. “Absolutely. We can run facial recognition on the sketches of the men and cross-reference the buildings with satellite imagery. It’ll take some time, but this is golden. It’s more information than we had before.”

“You okay?” Carter leans in close, his voice low.

“Yeah. It’s—it’s a lot, but if it helps, it’s worth it.” I manage a small smile .

The room devolves into several conversations at once. Mitzy and Stitch huddle over a computer, their fingers flying across the keys as they input the information from my sketches. The men of Charlie team confer in hushed tones, their expressions grim and determined. Forest gravitates over to his sister, Skye. They lean toward each other, heads pressed close, talking in hushed whispers. Sam and CJ sit beside each other, arms crossed, expressions brooding as they observe the others.

Thankfully, I have Carter. His presence keeps me grounded. When he rests his hand on my knee, his touch soothes my frayed nerves. Max whines beside me and places his chin on my knee. Soulful doggy eyes stare up at me. He doesn’t know what’s wrong, only that I’m upset.

I wish I had a treat for him. Instead, I pat his head and tell him everything’s going to be alright.

“You did great,” Carter murmurs, his breath warm against my ear. “I’m so proud of you.”

I manage another small smile, but the moment is short-lived as Mitzy’s voice cuts through the chatter.

“We’ve got something.” Her tone is flat and devoid of the excitement such a statement should bring. “Or rather—nothing.”

The room falls silent, confusion etched on every face.

“What does that mean?” Forest’s deep rumble fills the room, shaking the air like thunder.

“The men in Jenna’s sketches don’t exist.” Mitzy’s eyes flicker with irritation.

My heart stops. The world around me blurs and the voices become distant—muffled.

“How do they not exist?” Carter’s voice cuts through my haze, tight with tension.

“There’s no record of them anywhere,” Stitch explains, her voice gentle but firm. “No birth certificates, no driver’s licenses, no social security numbers. It’s like they’ve been erased from every system we can access.”

“But—they existed. They’re real.” My voice comes out barely above a whisper .

When I close my eyes, I can still feel their hands on me, see their leering faces, and hear their cruel laughter.

They were real.

They had to be.

The room falls silent, with all eyes on me. I feel their doubt, and it’s suffocating. My hands shake, and I clench them into fists to stop the trembling.

“Jenna, we absolutely believe you.” Forest steps forward, his expression serious. “The fact that we can’t find any records doesn’t mean these men don’t exist. It means someone has gone to great lengths to erase their digital footprint.”

Ethan nods in agreement. “This level of information scrubbing lends credence to your story. Only an organization with immense resources and reach could pull this off.”

Relief washes over me, but a new kind of fear quickly replaces it. “But how? How can someone erase people from existence like that?”

“That’s what we need to figure out,” Mitzy says, her fingers already flying over her keyboard. “This isn’t about hiding identities. It’s about rewriting reality.”

“This proves how big and dangerous Sentinel really is.” Carter’s hand finds mine, squeezing gently.

I bite my lower lip, trying to process it all. The men who hurt me were real; I know that with every fiber of my being. Now they’re ghosts, erased from every system. It’s terrifying but also—validating.

Only an organization as powerful and sinister as I remember would go to such lengths.

“We have encountered this before.” Stitch leans forward, her fingers splaying across the table.

“You have?” I look at her, more confused than ever.

“With Citadel.” Stitch leans back and looks toward Mitzy.

“I was thinking the same thing.” Forest nods, his expression grim. “Jenna, what we’re seeing here… It’s not unprecedented. It’s time we filled you in on what we discovered during the Citadel raid.”

“What do you mean?” I search for answers .

“Not too long ago, we became aware of an organization called the Citadel,” Ethan takes over, his voice steady and professional. “They kidnapped women and auctioned them to the highest bidder, like what happened to you. The only difference is that those women weren’t trained like you were. It took us months of investigation, but we finally located their base of operations.”

Blake continues, “When we raided Citadel, we freed dozens of women, but what we found inside was disturbing, to say the least.”

“What did you find?” My stomach clenches because whatever the answer is, I won’t like it.

“We discovered surgical suites,” Skye adds, her medical expertise evident in her tone. “State-of-the-art facilities where they were altering the women’s facial features. It went beyond simple cosmetic changes—they fundamentally changed these women’s appearances.”

Stitch nods, her eyes intense. “But it wasn’t just physical changes. We found evidence of extensive digital erasure. Birth certificates, driver’s licenses, social media accounts—all wiped clean. It was as if those women never existed. Which means they’re nearly impossible to find.”

“We always suspected,” Forest says, “this was done to evade facial recognition and make it nearly impossible to identify or rescue these women in the future.”

“Unfortunately, during our extraction, Citadel collapsed,” Mitzy jumps in. “We lost a significant amount of evidence in the process.”

“Including most of the files detailing their identity erasure methods,” Stitch adds, frustration evident in her voice.

“So you think what’s happening with Jenna’s sketches is related to what you saw at Citadel?” Carter leans forward, his brow furrowed.

“It’s a similar pattern, but on a much larger scale.” Forest nods grimly. “If they are capable of erasing victims’ identities, there’s no reason to think they wouldn’t also do that for the perpetrators.”

I sit there, trying to process all this information. It’s terrifying to think of the scale of what we’re dealing with, but at the same time, it’s oddly comforting to know I’m not alone, that what happened to me isn’t isolated.

“Jenna,” Ethan says, “your account aligns with patterns we’ve seen in Sentinel’s operations. The fact we can’t find any digital trace of these men doesn’t mean they don’t exist. It means Sentinel has gone to extraordinary lengths to hide them.”

Mitzy nods, her fingers flying over her keyboard. “This level of information scrubbing is unprecedented in scale but not in concept. It fits with what we know about Sentinel’s capabilities and methods.”

“But why?” I ask, struggling to understand. “Why go to such lengths?”

“Protection,” Forest says grimly. “By erasing these men from every database, Sentinel ensures they can operate with impunity. No records mean no trail to follow.”

“So what do we do now?” I ask, looking around at the determined faces of the Guardian team.

Forest’s expression is grim but resolute. “We dig deeper. If Sentinel can erase people from existence, we must find out why and, more importantly, how to undo it. Your sketches, your memories—they’re more valuable than ever now. They might be the only record left of these men.”

But they don’t need me to do that. I breathe out, long and slow. My part in this is done. That should bring relief, but I’m still a ball of nerves.

“I need… I need a moment,” I manage to choke out my words as I stagger to my feet.

Carter jumps up beside me and glances at his watch. “Wow, I didn’t realize how late it was getting. We can wrap up and head out.”

I wave him off with a small smile, my heart clenching at the worry etched on his face. He’s torn between his desire to comfort me and his duty to see this through. The conflict plays out on his face in the way his jaw clenches and how his fingers twitch at his side. He’s reluctant to step away from the table .

“I’m okay.” I pat his shoulder, trying to reassure him. “You stay. I need a moment to clear my head—and process all of this.”

I make a vague gesture, trying to encapsulate what’s happening in the room. All of this is beyond me.

“Are you sure?” he asks, his voice low and gentle. “I can come with… If you need me.”

“You stay. This is your case.”

A flicker of guilt crosses his face, but determination quickly replaces it. He nods, sinking back into his chair, his attention already turning back to the files and screens in front of him.

Carter won’t rest until he brings those missing girls home.

He can’t.

He’s the kind of man, much like the others in that room, who was born a hero and became a protector by choice.

I excuse myself, my legs shaky and my head pounding. I need a moment to process the whirlwind of emotions within me. As I step into the hallway, I collide with a solid wall of muscle.

When did…

How did Forest leave the room and I didn’t notice?

Strong hands grip my arms, steadying me, and I look up and up to see Forest’s ruggedly handsome face, his expression a blend of concern and understanding.

“Jenna, I’m so sorry.” His voice is low and sincere. “I never meant for you to be dragged into this.”

“How did you know?” The question bursts from my lips, the words trembling with a mixture of anger and confusion. “How did you know what happened to me could be connected to those missing girls?”

Forest sighs, his shoulders slumping under the weight of his guilt. “I didn’t, but things never added up after I found you. It felt too organized, too methodical to be a one-time thing. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, these people operate in small circles. It may seem as if they’re all isolated with no connections, but I find rats like to live in the same cesspool of human depravity.”

“I still don’t know why you put Carter in contact with me.”

“I have a sense about these things. When Blake talked to his team about Carter’s frustration with his case, it brought up that night I ran into you.”

“The night you rescued me.”

“No, you pretty much rescued yourself. I just happened to be in the right place at the right time.” How he says it as if what he did means nothing makes me wonder about the enigmatic giant of a man standing before me.

This man is complex. On so many levels.

“So you kept digging?”

“Not digging. I filed that night away and packed it into a nice, tidy box, but my spidey senses lit up when I overheard Blake talking about his brother. It just felt connected.”

“You’re an incredible human being. Has anyone told you that?”

“I don’t know about that.” His lip twists, and a low, rumbly chuckle emanates from his chest.

It’s not a question but a statement of fact. Because, of course, he knows. Forest Summers is something out of this world.

“We’ve run across Sentinel twice now. Their tentacles reach far and wide, and they’re not limited to human trafficking. They’ve stumped us for too long, and we’ve recently discovered they’re also into the black-market trade of nuclear weapons. We need to bring them down, and you might be the key we need to do it.”

“I don’t know about that.” His words hit me like a punch to the gut. The air rushes from my lungs in a painful gasp. “I remember so little about that night, and now my sketches are of no help.”

“Little?” His left brow arches in question. “I have an eidetic memory and recognize when someone else does too.”

“I don’t. I have good recall, but that’s about it.”

“Your sketches are next level. Don’t downplay how important those will be in helping us on this case.”

“All this time, I thought I was a random victim of a cruel twist of fate, but you’re saying I was just a pawn in a game I never even knew I was playing. It’s terrifying to know what could have happened to me.”

“And yet it didn’t. I’m sorry, Jenna.” Forest’s words are soft, his eyes filled with a deep sadness. “I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you then, and I’m sorry I have to ask for your help now, but we need you. Those missing girls need you.”

Tears prick at the corners of my eyes, hot and stinging, but I blink them back, my jaw clenching with a newfound determination.

“I think my part in this is done. You have the sketches, for whatever they’re worth, and I want to return to my very simple and safe life.” My voice bleeds with emotion.

Forest nods, his expression full of pride tempered with gratitude. He pulls me into a brief hug, his strong arms enveloping me in a cocoon of safety and comfort.

“You’re braver than you know.”

As we part, I glimpse Carter through the doorway. His face is a mask of concentration as he pores over a stack of documents. Tension girds his entire frame. It tightens his shoulders and firms his jawline.

He’s thinking about the missing girls, about the weight of responsibility that rests on his shoulders. I’m reminded of why I fell in love with him in the first place.

And yes, I have fallen head over heels in love.

Irrevocably and absolutely.

Because Carter Jackson is a man who will stop at nothing to protect the innocent and bring justice to those who have been wronged. I love watching him work. His dedication and passion shine through everything he does.