Page 18 of Jenna's Protector

Max nudges my leg again, his big eyes full of concern. I stroke his head, drawing strength from his unwavering loyalty. Carter watches me, waiting for my response.

“Please,” he continues, “help me.”

SIX

Jenna

My heart thundersagainst my ribcage, a wild beat echoing the storm of emotions churning within me. I draw in a deep breath to anchor myself. Tension ripples through each vertebra as I straighten my spine.

“I should get back out there.” The words come out steadier than I feel. “Malia can’t handle the lunch rush alone.”

“Thank you. I mean it.” Carter’s eyes, warm and earnest, lock onto mine.

“What now?” My fingers twist the hem of my shirt, betraying my nerves.

“I want to bring in a sketch artist.” Carter’s chest rises with a deep breath. He leans in, his presence both comforting and overwhelming.

“Why?” The question escapes before I can stop it, sharp with fear. He doesn’t need a sketch artist, but I’ve already shared too much. I need space.

“I’m hoping we can identify some men from those parties.” Carter’s voice is low and intense. “If I can get sketches, I can run them through facial recognition databases. It might help find a pattern or link to the current disappearances.”

My stomach lurches, twisting into knots. “I don’t know if I can help with that.”

The lie tastes bitter on my tongue. Every face, leering smile, and predatory gaze is seared into my memory, and the thought of revisiting those images makes my skin crawl.

“You’re the only one who has seen these people up close.” Carter’s tone is gentle but firm.

“I’ll try.” The words are barely a whisper. I swallow hard, feeling the sting of unshed tears.

I don’t want to try.

I don’t want to remember.

I don’t want to visit a single moment from my past.

“I hate to ask more from you, but it could help.” Carter’s hand finds my shoulder. His grip is warm and reassuring.

I yearn to lean into his touch, to let his strength seep into me. His presence is a comfort, something solid I desperately need right now.

A soft whine draws my attention downward. Max nudges my leg, his brown eyes pools of concern. Kneeling, I bury my fingers in his soft fur, drawing strength from his unwavering presence.

Rising to my feet, I meet Carter’s gaze. My voice is stronger now, bolstered by Max’s silent support.

“Okay. When do we start?”

“As soon as possible. I need to schedule the sketch artist. I’ll let you know.”

“Then it’s a date.” The words slip out before I can stop them, a bitter reminder of the fantasies I’ve harbored. I force a smile, trying to mask the ache in my chest.

“I suppose it is.” Carter’s eyes soften, and a flicker of something unreadable passes over his face.

“If there’s nothing else, I do need to get back out there.”

Carter’s gaze lingers, a flicker of something—regret? longing?—passing through him.

“Sure. I’m sorry to have taken up so much of your time.” He opens his mouth as if to say more, then presses his lips together, the moment evaporating like mist in sunlight.

Would a real date have been too much to hope for? I nod, pushing the longing aside.

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