Page 71 of Jenna's Protector
It’s not unusual—I’m used to men staring, a byproduct of my appearance—but it still makes me uncomfortable. I focus on the task at hand, trying to ignore the prickle of unease on the back of my neck.
When I hand him the coffee, our fingers brush briefly. A feeling I can’t quite name passes through me, gone as quickly as it came. He takes the drinks with a polite nod, leaves a massive tip, and exits my shop, climbing into a nondescript sedan parked across the street.
As the day wears on, I glance out that window more times than I care to admit. Something about that man makes me edgy and jumpy.
My thoughts drift to Carter. I wish he were here. His solid presence is reassuring when my thoughts get muddied. I’m ashamed to admit it, but the stranger’s visit unsettles me more than it should.
I shrug it off, however, attributing it to my nightmares, and if I’m being honest, all he did was order two coffees and leave.
I feel out of sorts.
Hyperaware.
Letting my imagination run wild.
As much as I wish Carter was here with me, his work is important. The missing girls need him more than I do. I know this, but the longing persists, a dull ache in my chest that won’t go away.
The next few days pass in a blur of caffeine and growing paranoia. The same man returns every day, always cordial and polite, but something about him puts me on edge.
His car is parked outside the café at odd hours, sometimes in the early morning when I arrive to open up, other times late at night as I’m locking the doors. Sometimes, he comes alone, ordering a singlecoffee, but other times, he orders two. When he does, I peek out the window and see another figure in the sedan, not in the passenger seat, but in the back.
It makes me think the man works for whoever is sitting in the car, an odd arrangement that sets off alarm bells in my head.
But I’m being foolish.
My nerves are frayed, and tension twists through me as my overactive imagination creates shadows in every corner. I remind myself it’s just the lingering effects of my nightmares and that I’m overreacting.
But the unease continues to build.
Every now and then, a prickling sensation of being watched comes over me. It never quite goes away and turns into a constant companion that sets my nerves on edge.
I rationalize my unease, chalking it up to my recent nightmares, but the feeling of being watched persists.
I wish for Carter’s presence more and more, longing for the safety and comfort of his arms. But I don’t want to burden him, not when he’s so close to cracking the case of the missing girls. So, I keep my fears to myself, trying to push through the growing sense of dread that follows me like a shadow.
As I walk home from the café with Max by my side, the unease that’s been building over the past few days reaches a crescendo. The streetlights flicker to life, casting eerie shadows on the pavement. Max presses close to my leg, a comforting presence in the growing darkness, but I still feel uneasy.
I can’t explain it better than that.
Inside my apartment, I make dinner. The routine of chopping vegetables and stirring pots helps soothe my frayed nerves, but it’s a temporary distraction.
Max settles at my feet, his warm weight a reminder that I’m not alone. He makes me feel safe, and if anything bad happens, he’ll alert and protect me.
No sooner does that thought cross my mind than Max’s head jerks up. His ears thrust forward, and a low, menacing growl reverberates deep within his chest.
The hairs on my arms stand up.
A sharp and insistent knock rattles the door, setting Max off. He erupts in a frenzy of snarling and barking, all teeth and fangs. His hackles raise as he lunges toward the door, snapping with his teeth at a threat beyond the door.
TWENTY-FIVE
Jenna
Max isall teeth and fur, terrifying yet comforting. His presence reassures me, a fierce protector in the face of unknown threats. I’m profoundly relieved he’s on my side.
Yet, my heart catches in my throat. Hands trembling, I creep toward the door and press my eye to the peephole.
My breath hitches.