Page 12 of Jenna's Protector

Her breath flutters against my skin when she speaks, sending shivers down my spine. It’s intoxicating, and I have to remind myself this is a professional interaction.

“I’ll help you.” Her voice is stronger now. “But I need you to promise me something.”

“Anything,” I reply, perhaps too quickly.

“This stays between us. I don’t want my past to get out. It’s a small town, and I don’t need any rumors circulating. I don’t want people to know what—what happened to me. I don’t want to be treated like a victim.”

“I promise.” I nod solemnly, squeezing her hand gently.

The relief that washes over me is tempered by the weight of what I’m asking her to do. I’m in awe of her strength and her willingness to revisit her trauma to help others.

It makes me admire her even more, if that’s possible.

“Thank you,” I say, my voice rough with emotion.

Jenna nods, a small, sad smile touching her lips. Then, I realize I’m still holding her hand, my thumb unconsciously tracing circles on her skin. I should let go and maintain professional distance, but I can’t break the connection.

Instead, I find myself lost in her eyes, struck by the depth of emotion I see there. The air between us feels charged, heavy with unspoken words, and brimming with possibility.

For a moment, I forget about the case, the missing girls, and everything except the extraordinary woman in front of me.

But I can’t forget.

Not really.

This isn’t about me or my feelings for Jenna. It’s about finding those girls, about stopping whoever is behind their disappearances.

With a reluctant sigh, I step back, giving her some space. “We should get started. Whenever you’re ready, of course.” My voice is huskier than I intend.

Jenna nods, taking a deep breath as if preparing for battle. And in a way, she is.

“Let’s get this over with.” Her voice is steady despite her fear.

FOUR

Jenna

We sitin the small office, the air thick with tension. Max sits quietly at my side, his presence soothing. His ears perk up, and he watches us intently, sensing the gravity of the conversation.

“What do you want to know?”

“If you could tell me what happened to you, maybe I can find something that ties in with my case. Forest told me a little, but left a lot out more.”

“There’s not much to tell.” My voice is steadier than I feel.

“Take your time.” Carter nods, his expression one of solemn determination.

“I was seventeen, a runaway, and living on and off the streets.” I take a deep breath, gathering my thoughts. “Or rather, I bounced between living on the streets and living in an abusive home. It wasn’t pleasant.”

“Seventeen?”

“Yeah.”

“So young.”

“Not for that industry.”

“What industry?”

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