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

31. Carter

THIRTY-ONE

Carter

Max. My loyal companion, the dog who’s been by my side since he was a pup, isn’t moving. He’s on his side; his fur matted and dark with something I don’t want to acknowledge staining the cold concrete.

I drop to my knees beside him, my hands shaking as I reach out to touch him.

Please. Please, don’t let him be…

“Max?” My voice is a broken whisper, a plea, and a prayer all in one.

His fur is sticky, warm, and wet beneath my fingers. The coppery scent of blood fills my nostrils, and bile rises in my throat.

“Max, buddy. Come on. Look at me.”

But his eyes are closed, his body still.

Too still.

I press my fingers to his neck, searching for a pulse, praying for any sign of life.

And there, beneath my fingers, a weak flutter. It’s thready, but there.

He’s alive .

Hurt but alive.

Relief crashes over me like a wave, staggering in its intensity, but it’s short-lived, chased by a fear colder and sharper than before.

If Max is here, hurt and bleeding, then where is Jenna?

What’s happened to her?

I look around, desperate for any sign of what might have transpired.

And then…Right there, her phone on the ground. Its screen cracked.

Shit.

I fumble for my phone again, my fingers slick with Max’s blood. I hit Walt’s number. The line clicks, and I don’t wait for a greeting.

“I found Max. He’s hurt. Bleeding. Jenna’s not here, but her phone is. She’s gone.”

Walt is silent for a beat, and then he sucks in a sharp breath. “Shit. Okay. Where are you?”

I give him the cross streets, my eyes never leaving Max’s still form. The line goes dead, and my phone falls from my hand. I cradle Max’s broken body against my chest. Hot blood seeps through my fingers, the coppery scent turning my stomach.

Quickly, I pull off my shirt, rip it into long strips, and do my best to bandage his wound. I gather Max into my arms and wait helplessly for Walt’s arrival.

“Hold on, buddy. Help’s coming. Just hold on.” I press my forehead to Max’s, my tears mingling with his blood.

A few minutes later, Walt’s vehicle screeches to a halt beside me. He leaps out. Malia is hot on his heels.

“Jesus Christ.” Walt’s eyes widen as he takes in the scene.

“Is he…?” Malia lets out a choked sob, her hand flying to her mouth.

I shake my head, not trusting myself to speak. I gather Max closer, trying to shield him from their horrified gazes.

“We need to get him to a vet. Now.” Walt crouches down beside me, his hand on my shoulder.

I nod, my movements feeling slow and clumsy. Together, Walt and I lift Max. A whimper escapes him, protesting the movement, suffering and in pain .

It’s a sound I’ll hear in my nightmares.

We ease Max into the backseat of Walt’s vehicle. I slide in beside Max, cradling his head in my lap while applying pressure to his wound.

The tires squeal as Walt peels away from the curb. The force of it slams me back against the seat. Malia gives Walt directions to a twenty-four-hour emergency vet, then calls ahead to let them know we’re on our way.

We race through the night, the city lights blurring past in a kaleidoscope of color. Max’s labored breathing fills the car, each ragged gasp a ticking clock, a countdown to the unthinkable.

With a shaking hand, I pull out my phone. The screen is smeared with blood, the keypad slick beneath my fingers.

I call my brother.

“What’s up?” Blake’s voice turns sharp, alert.

He knows me.

He knows I wouldn’t call at this hour unless something was very, very wrong.

“I need you.” My voice sounds foreign to my own ears, hoarse and strained. I’m surprised my phone hasn’t shattered in my white-knuckled grip. “Jenna’s missing. Max has been shot.”

The words feel like glass shards in my throat, jagged and cutting. Saying them out loud makes it real, makes it something I can’t pretend isn’t happening.

“Where are you now?” Blake’s sharp intake of breath crackles across the line.

“I’m with Walt. We’re heading to the emergency vet on Fifth.”

“I’ll rally the team.” There’s steel in his voice, a promise and a vow.

Walt makes good time. Before I know it, the emergency vet looms ahead, a beacon of harsh fluorescent light in the darkness. Walt barely has the car in park before I throw open the door and stumble out with Max in my arms.

“I need help. My dog’s been shot,” I call out as I enter the emergency room.

Vet techs in scrubs rush to meet me, their faces grim and focused. They have a stretcher, and they load Max onto it with practiced efficiency. When I try to follow, the vet puts out her hand.

“I’m sorry, sir. You can’t go back there.”

I want to argue, to push past her and stay with Max, but I’ll only be in the way. He needs their help more than he needs me right now.

“He’s lost a lot of blood.” I choke on the words and bite back a very unmanly sob.

But dammit.

It’s Max!

“We’ll take care of him, Detective Jackson.” The vet recognizes me, but I barely register her name.

She leaves me standing in the waiting room, hands hanging uselessly by my sides, as she rushes to save Max’s life.

The adrenaline that’s been fueling me ebbs, leaving me feeling hollowed and empty.

Jenna’s absence is a gaping wound in my chest, a physical ache that steals my breath. She should be here, pacing this room with me, worrying about Max, waiting for news.

But she’s not.

She’s gone, taken, and I don’t know how or why or by whom. I don’t know who to worry about more.

Max?

Jenna?

I can’t take care of both of them.

The not-knowing is a special kind of torture, a nightmare I can’t wake up from.

Time loses meaning in the harsh light of the waiting room. Minutes bleed into hours, marked only by the relentless ticking of the clock on the wall.

I pace the linoleum, my boots clicking against the floor in a staccato rhythm. It’s a poor substitute for the pounding of my heart and the blood rushing in my ears.

Memories of Jenna flash through my mind, a slideshow of moments I’d give anything to have back. Her smile, warm and bright as the sun. The feeling of her hand in mine, her skin soft and cool. The trust in her eyes, the way she looks at me like I can do no wrong.

Each memory is a twist of the knife in my gut, a reminder of what I’ve lost.

What I’ve failed to protect.

If I’d been there…

If I’d gotten to her sooner…

The thoughts chase themselves in circles, a never-ending loop of guilt and recrimination.

I should have been there.

I should have kept her safe.

But I wasn’t, and I didn’t.

Now she’s gone, and Max is fighting for his life.

And I’m here.

Useless.

Helpless.

The weight of it presses down on me, a physical force that drives the air from my lungs. I feel like I’m drowning, like I’m being crushed under the weight of my own failure.

I lean against the wall, my head falling back against the cold plaster. The fluorescent lights buzz overhead, a mocking counterpoint to the silence of the waiting room.

Please, Max. Please pull through. I can’t lose you.

It’s a prayer and a plea, a desperate bargain with a universe that feels cold and uncaring. I’ll do anything, give anything if it means Max survives.

Hang on, Max. Just hang on. And Jenna, wherever you are, whatever is happening… I’m coming. I’ll find you. I’ll bring you home.

It’s a promise I make to the empty air, and to the uncaring walls of the waiting room. A promise I seal with blood and tears and the shattered pieces of my heart.

Blake suddenly appears in the doorway, his face etched with worry. He takes one look at me and strides over, his hand coming to rest on my shoulder.

“How’s Max?” His voice is steady, sure. An anchor in the storm.

“In surgery. If I’d been any later… ”

“Max is in good hands, but Jenna needs you now. Every second counts in a kidnapping. You know this.”

I do know it. It’s a knowledge that sits heavy in my gut, a certainty that chills me to the bone.

“I can’t leave Max on some operating table. He’s my best friend.” My voice breaks on the last word, the admission of just how much Max means to me.

“The best thing you can do for Max is find Jenna.” Blake’s tone leaves no room for argument. His grip on my shoulder tightens, forcing me to meet his gaze. “He’d want you out there, fighting for her. Can you do that?”

It’s the truth, hard as it is to hear. Max is a fighter, a protector. He’d never forgive me if I abandoned Jenna to sit vigil at his bedside.

I’m torn, the need to be there for Max warring with the desperate urgency to find Jenna.

Blake is right. I know he is.

Just then, Malia steps forward, her face streaked with tears but her eyes fierce with determination.

“I’ll stay with Max.” Her voice is steady, resolute. “I won’t leave his side. I promise. You need to go. Find Jenna.”

I look at her, really look, and see the strength beneath her fear.

“Thank you.” With a last glance at the operating room doors, I square my shoulders and turn to my brother.

“I don’t know where to begin.”

“Well, thank fuck we’ve got that covered.”

“We?”

“Yeah, dude. The whole team is here. Charlie team. Sam, CJ, and Mitzy with her magic.”

“How…” I can’t even formulate the words.

It’s different being on this side of a person’s disappearance. It’s as if I’ve suddenly forgotten years of training. Fortunately, I’ve got Blake, and Blake has the might of Guardian HRS behind him.

“We’re all here. Waiting on you. Mitzy’s on support. CJ and Sam are standing by. Come on. Time to get your girl.”

We burst out of the clinic like soldiers going to war, a grim determination settling over us, but I pause, glancing back at the doors leading to the operating room.

It feels wrong to leave Max.

Walt places a hand on my shoulder, his grip firm and reassuring. “He’s in good hands. Malia will call the moment anything changes.”

I swallow past the lump in my throat. “I know. It’s just—he’s always had my back. Leaving him behind, it feels…”

“Wrong,” Walt finishes, his voice soft with understanding. “I get it. But Max would want you out there, finding Jenna. He knows you’ve got his back, even from a distance.” Walt repeats the very same words Blake said not moments before.

And damn if they aren’t right.

There are two vehicles in the parking lot, both filled with the members of Charlie team. With Walt’s truck covered in blood, Walt and I climb into a vehicle with Ethan and Blake while Hank, Gabe, and Rigel stay in the other.

Mitzy’s voice fills the cab of the SUV via speaker.

“I’m pulling traffic cam footage from around the café and surrounding streets.” Her words are clipped and focused. The rapid-fire clatter of her keyboard fills the background, a staccato beat that matches the pounding of my heart. “If someone took her, we’ll find them.”

Her voice is a lifeline, a glimmer of hope. I cling to it, to the certainty in her skills. She’s the best there is. If anyone can find a lead, it’s her.

“I’ve got something,” Mitzy says, her tone urgent . “Jenna’s leaving the café with another woman. Max is with them. There’s no sign of distress from Jenna or Max. Switching to the next camera… They’re on the sidewalk.”

The tension in the vehicle is palpable as we hang on Mitzy’s every word. It’s like watching Jenna’s final moments.

“A van just pulled up. They grabbed Jenna and shot Max. Oh, Carter, I’m so sorry. Is he…”

“Max is in good hands. What about Jenna?” I don’t have time for side commentary.

“They forced Jenna into the van. I’m tracking it now. Umm…”

“What?”

“The other woman…” Mitzy pauses. “She’s not fighting and she just cl imbed into the van on her own. I’m sorry, Carter, but it looks like Jenna was set up.”

“Fuck!” I’m going to kill the motherfucker who took my girl.

She feeds us information as she finds it. Each new lead is a puzzle piece slotting into place. Meanwhile, we’re on the move, heading to intercept.

“The van is headed north on the 101, toward the coast. Her words are punctuated by the relentless clatter of her keyboard. “They’re moving fast, but they won’t shake us.” Mitzy’s voice cuts through the tension. “I’m switching to the next set of cameras.”

Before long, we’re on a coastal road, a winding ribbon of asphalt cutting through the rugged landscape. The ocean is a black expanse to our left, and the cliffs rise steep and jagged to our right.

Ethan drives with focused intensity, his hands steady on the wheel. I keep my eyes glued to the GPS, watching the blinking dot that represents the van.

Mitzy’s voice crackles through the speakers, a constant presence guiding our path. Then, suddenly, we lose the tiny red dot.

“Mitzy?” My voice is tight, strained. “Mitzy, do you copy?”

“I lost visuals on the van.”