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

26. Carter

TWENTY-SIX

Carter

It’s been a while since I was a beat cop, but the familiar weight of the gear and the cold steel of a rifle in my hands bring back memories. The skills are forever etched into my muscle memory.

As we gear up, I reflect on the invitation to join Charlie team to check out the compound. I’m grateful for the opportunity but determined not to let the Guardians overshadow my case.

They may want to bring Sentinel down, but I have four young women to save.

The days leading up to the reconnaissance operation are a blur of intense training and meticulous preparation. Blake guides me through the intricacies of Guardian’s tactical gear and drills me on coordinated movement until it becomes second nature. I push myself, knowing I need to prove my worth to Blake and his team.

I will not be a liability.

What I’m not used to are the R.U. F. U. S.’s. Robotic Ultra Functional Utility Specialists, affectionately called Rufi, the mechanical dogs move with an uncanny, predatory grace that sets my teeth on edge. I miss Max’s presence at my side, but glad he’s with Jenna, protecting her when I can’t .

The night before the mission, sleep eludes me. I lie awake, staring at the ceiling, my mind churning with dark thoughts and darker possibilities. This may be a recon mission, but the thought of setting foot in the place that haunts Jenna’s nightmares fills me with grim, cold anger.

I need to see it, to understand even a fraction of what she went through, to make sense of the horrors she’s shared with me. And I believe every word, every painful memory she’s trusted me with.

Dawn comes too soon, cold and gray. We muster in the early hours, the base a hive of activity despite the ungodly hour. There’s tension in the air, a coiled anticipation that sets my nerves on edge.

We go over the plan one last time, each checking and double-checking our gear. Weapons are cleaned and oiled. Equipment is tested and retested. There’s no room for error, not on a mission like this.

Blake catches my eye across the room, giving me a nod of reassurance. I return it, grateful for his steady presence and the unspoken support of his team.

The morning passes in a blur of final preparations and last-minute intel. We pour over the satellite imagery again, committing every detail of the compound’s layout to memory.

Mitzy updates us on the latest drone reconnaissance, confirming that the place appears abandoned.

We all know how quickly that can change.

As the hour of our departure draws near, my thoughts turn to Jenna. She survived unimaginable horrors yet built a new life for herself.

That takes grit.

I draw on that now, letting it steel my resolve and sharpen my focus.

We leave after a tense, silent lunch. The weight of what we’re about to do hangs heavy in the air. The journey to the target is long, and the silence in the transport is broken only by the occasional crackle of the comm and the low thrum of the engine.

I stare out the window, watching the landscape blur past, my mind racing with possibilities and contingencies. Every mile brings us closer to the place that haunts Jenna’s nightmares.

As we travel northward on PCH-1, the rugged coastline and endless ocean to our left, the sun dips toward the horizon, painting the sky in shades of molten gold and crimson fire.

We near our destination, and the fiery colors reflect off the waves, casting a warm, ethereal glow over the landscape. Then comes an hour or so of waiting for darkness to envelop the land.

We park some distance away and navigate with the aid of night vision goggles. The compound rises like a malevolent specter, its high walls and barbed wire looming in the shadows, a foreboding presence against the starless sky.

“Drones show no signs of activity. It looks abandoned.” Mitzy’s voice crackles over the earpiece.

The Rufi fan out silently around us, their sensors probing the darkness. Through the eerie green of our night vision, the world takes on a ghostly quality. Shadows writhe, and every sound cuts through the silence like a knife, each one sharp enough to quicken the pulse.

“Comms check.” Ethan’s voice is a low rumble in my ear.

The team checks in one by one: Blake, Walt, Gabe, Hank, Rigel, and finally, me.

Blake sticks close to me, keeping me in formation with the team. Ahead, Gabe and Walt take point, their movements fluid and ghost-like in the faint light.

Shadows stretch and twist, every rustle of leaves or snap of a twig setting my nerves on edge.

We pause at the edge of the compound, where a hulking, malevolent presence lurks behind high walls and rusted gates. It’s like something out of a nightmare, with harsh angles and oppressive architecture.

“No heat signatures detected,” Mitzy reports. “You’re clear to proceed.”

It’s eerily still, with no signs of life or movement. Just the whisper of the wind through the long grass and stunted trees. Gravel crunches softly beneath our boots .

Ethan gives the signal, and we move in, melting into the darkness. The gates creak open, the sound unnaturally loud in the stillness of the night.

“Two on the door.” Ethan’s command is sharp and focused.

Gabe and Walt stack up on the door, their movements fluid and precise. The door swings open with a rusty creak, revealing a long, dark hallway.

We move forward, our steps echoing in the emptiness. The air is stale and thick with the smell of dust and decay. It tastes like abandonment, like forgotten things left to rot.

The first room we come to looks like a classroom, with desks and chairs arranged in neat rows. A whiteboard stands at the front, faded lessons still scrawled across its surface.

“Clear.” Walt’s voice is a tense whisper.

Dust coats every surface, muffling our footsteps as we move through the abandoned halls.

We clear the rooms methodically, the Rufi sweeping ahead. Their sensors probe every corner and crevice. We press on, moving from room to room. A dormitory, beds stripped bare. A cafeteria, tables, and benches coated in a layer of grime. It’s like a ghost town, a snapshot of a life interrupted.

But it’s when we descend to the lower levels that the true horror of this place reveals itself. The air grows colder, damper. The walls are narrow and oppressive. Then we see them.

The cells.

“Jesus Christ.” Hank’s voice is rough, echoing my own thoughts.

They’re small, barely big enough to stand in. The walls are scored with desperate, clawing marks. The floors are stained with things I don’t want to think about. In one corner, a pile of shattered fingernails lies crusted with old blood.

Nausea rises in my throat, mingling with a white-hot rage that threatens to choke me. The thought of Jenna trapped in this hellhole, alone and terrified, is almost more than I can bear.

What about the four missing girls?

Are they also trapped in an unspeakable hell like this?

“I’ve got something.” Rigel’s call pulls me from my thoughts .

We crowd into another room, and my stomach turns at the sight. It’s a torture chamber, complete with a rack and shackles hanging from the walls. The floor is stained a rusty brown, and I don’t need to be a detective to know it’s blood.

“She never mentioned this.” My voice is hoarse, barely recognizable to my own ears.

Blake’s hand lands on my shoulder, a solid weight. “She might not remember. Trauma—it does things to the mind.”

I nod, swallowing hard against the bile rising in my throat. This is worse, so much worse than I could have imagined.

We search the rest of the compound, but there’s nothing else. No clues. No evidence. It’s been wiped clean and sanitized.

A professional job.

Whoever was here knew what they were doing.

“Charlie team, moving out.” Ethan’s voice is quiet, somber.

We retreat the way we came, shadows disappearing into the night, and we return empty-handed.

Time is running out for the girls I’m desperate to save.