Page 11 of Jenna's Protector

“No one knows about my past,” Jenna whispers. “No one except for…” Her words trail off as understanding dawns. Her eyes snap open with disbelief and betrayal. “No. He wouldn’t. He promised…”

Her raw, emotional pain hits me like a physical blow. Her eyes glisten with unshed tears, and her hands tremble as she clutches the edge of the desk, knuckles white. The haunted look on her face reveals the depth of her reopened wounds.

Max whines again, pressing his body against Jenna’s legs, his brown eyes darting anxiously between us.

“I’m not here to spill your secrets, Jenna.” I keep my voice steady despite the turmoil inside me.

I take a step closer, breaching her personal space. The urge to wrap her in my arms, to shield her from this pain, is almost overwhelming.

Tears spill down her cheeks. The sight of them stings worse than if she’d slapped me. “Do you have any idea how hard I’ve worked to put that behind me?” Her voice breaks. “Do you know what it’s like to live with those memories, those scars?” She absently scratches the inside of her wrist.

Max nudges Jenna’s hand, and she strokes his head, her eyes never leaving mine.

“I was told you have a unique perspective. You’ve seen things, experienced things that could be invaluable in cracking this case.”

“How?” she asks, shaking her head in disbelief. “How did you find out?”

I take a deep breath. “I was talking to my brother, Blake. He works for the Guardian Hostage Rescue Specialists.”

Recognition flashes in her eyes at the name.

“I needed help with this case, and when I told him about it, he mentioned it to his team. Forest Summers overheard that conversation and he told Blake to have me reach out.”

Her eyes squeeze shut, and when she opens them again, her steely determination takes my breath away.

“My past is in my past for a reason. Right where I intend to keep it. I’m sorry, but that was years ago. I can’t help you.”

“Jenna…” Her name comes out as a plea. Every nerve in my body screams that I’m losing her.

Without thinking, I take her hand in mine. It’s small and delicate, but there’s strength there too. Max whines again, pressing closer to Jenna as if trying to offer comfort.

Her eyes widen in surprise at the contact, but she doesn’t pull away. Those eyes, once so guarded, now reveal a world of pain and fear. They’re piercing, wounded, beautiful, and filled with an ache that makes my heart clench.

“I know you have to find them,” she says softly, “but… Not me. Please, isn’t there someone else? Anyone else who can help?”

“I know it’s asking a lot. I know it’s painful, but the tiniest detail could break this case wide open.”

For a long moment, Jenna is silent, her internal struggle playing out across her face. Max looks up at her, his tail giving a tentative wag as if encouraging her. For a long moment, the only sound in the room is our breathing and the soft panting of the dog.

Finally, Jenna’s shoulders slump slightly. Her voice is small and vulnerable. “I can’t promise anything. But—I’ll listen. That’s all I can offer.”

“Thank you.” I give her hand a gentle squeeze. “That’s more than enough. We’ll take this at your pace, I promise.”

Jenna’s hand is still in mine, and our fingers are now intertwined. We’re holding hands, but not in the way I would like.

Her skin’s warmth against mine is comforting and distracting, but her pulse, quick and erratic, shows her distress.

“What did Forest say to you?” Jenna asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

I swallow hard, knowing my next words will cause her pain. “He told me he found you. You were…” I hesitate but press on, “running from something. You were bruised, hurt.”

Jenna’s breath catches—a small, pained sound. Her handtrembles slightly, and it takes every ounce of willpower within me to resist the urge to pull her into my arms.

I’m acutely aware of how long I’ve been holding her hand. This prolonged contact between us should feel awkward, but it doesn’t. Her skin is soft, and her hand fits perfectly in mine. I don’t want to let go, afraid she’ll pull away if I do.

Jenna’s hair, black and silky, cascades down to her waist. A stray strand falls across her face, and I clench my hand to keep from reaching out and tucking it behind her ear. Her eyes, those mesmerizing green eyes, flood with fear, pain, and suffering.

The scent of her—the richest blend of coffee, vanilla, and something uniquely Jenna—envelops me. I could spend all day simply breathing her in.

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