Page 16 of Fight for Me

But I didn’t stop there. It was the first time in my career as an FBI agent that I went against direct orders and continued to meet with Jennifer whenever I could. At first, I saw her just as a teenager who needs my help. But then time went by, and she grew on me in a whole other way. After some time, it was harder and harder to look at her beauty, hear her smart ass comments and deal with her shameless flirting.

It's getting difficult for me to ignore the attraction I’m feeling toward her, but I’ll do everything in my power to distance myself from it. I turned thirty-one this year, and I feel like a fucking creeper even thinking about Jen in that way. But I guess attraction doesn’t always follow logic or propriety. Needless to say, though, I would never cross that line with her. This isn’t why I’m helping her at all.

When I squash the murderous thoughts and feel more composed, I go to my bathroom to grab the first aid kit before going back to Jenny. She hasn’t moved since I left, but her breathing turns erratic when I kneel by her and reach toward her face with a wet towel to clean the blood.

I barely touch her skin when she starts thrashing around.

“No! Get off me!” Jen whimpers with a broken cry in her sleep.

Startled, I drop the towel and then quickly take her hand and put it on my chest, right above my wildly beating heart. I move closer, careful not to touch her anywhere, and whisper in her ear soothingly. “Shh, it’s only me, sweetheart. You’re safe. Everything is all right. I will protect you. Jen, I promise.”

I repeat my words a few times before the girl hiccups in her sleep and relaxes. I pick up the towel again to clean her, happy when there’s no resistance this time. There isn’t much I can do to help when she’s asleep. So, after cleaning the blood as well as I can, I put some ointment on the cut on her eyebrow and then change the warming pack to a fresh one. It will have to be enough for now.

I bring an armchair next to the couch, turn off the light and get comfortable there before closing my eyes. I could go to my bedroom and leave the door open, but I’ll feel better staying closer in case Jen needs something.

As I’m falling asleep, I still wonder if I’m doing the right thing. Maybe I should be firmer about taking Jen to see a doctor, or maybe I should’ve reported the whole incident to my boss. Fuck, my head is a mess. This entire case is a mess.

But I guess it’s too late to back out now.

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I FEEL HER STARE EVEN before I open my eyes.

“Take a picture, it will last longer,” I grumble, my voice still heavy with sleep.

“How’d you know I didn’t already?” Jen questions from somewhere close to my left.

I turn my head in that direction and smell fresh coffee wafting through the air. Opening one eye, I find Jen already dressed in jeans and a fresh shirt, her bare feet planted on the carpet as she’s holding up a steaming mug. One side of her face looks like someone has mistaken her for a punching bag, but otherwise, she looks like on any other day. Not a hair out of place. The bruises on her body fully covered by her clothes.

I blink my other eye open before shifting in my seat and groaning when I feel how stiff my muscles are. I get to my feet and stretch, my joints popping loudly with the strain.

“Is this what the elderly life looks like?” Jen asks in a playful voice, as she’s sipping from her mug, looking me up and down shamelessly.

“Watch it,” I warn her with a stern look and then check the time, frowning when I see it’s after nine already. How did I sleep through her busting about in my apartment?

Jen makes an innocent face. “I was gonna say, the elderly looks mighty fine on you.”

I ignore her and move to the kitchen to pour myself some coffee. The annoying creature comes after me and jumps up effortlessly to sit on the counter, her legs swinging back and forth. After I take a sip and feel more like a human again, I decide it’s time for the little lady to provide me with some answers. I turn to her fully and lean on the counter.

“Okay, Jen. The jig is up. Tell me what happened.”

She moves her mug to the side and then crosses her arms stubbornly.

“Please, don’t be difficult. Not after what I saw yesterday. Your father did this?” I gesture toward her face.

At the word “father”, she flinches slightly, but otherwise keeps her expression neutral as she answers with a simple “Yes.”

“All right. No surprise. And how often does something like this happen?”

She shrugs and averts her gaze. “I don’t know... Sometimes?”

“Why didn’t you go to the police or report your father when I asked you?”

Jen casts me a quick patronizing look. “Not exactly in the position to trust the police.”

“But you trusted me enough to come here,” I state.

She shakes her head and looks away. “Didn’t have anywhere else to go, and you offered your help many times.”

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