Page 85 of Jenna's Protector

As if this might all be some misunderstanding.

But she’s not here.

The realization hits me like a physical blow, staggering in its certainty. Jenna is gone, and I have no idea where.

I stand in the middle of her living room, my mind racing, trying to piece together what could have happened. Did she leave of her own accord?

Was she taken?

The possibilities swirl in my head, each more terrifying than the last.

I pull out my phone and dial her number again, but it goes straight to voicemail. The sound of her recorded voice is a cruel reminder of her absence.

I end the call and look around, really look, trying to see the apartment through the eyes of a detective.

Is there a sign of struggle?

No.

Everything looks normal, undisturbed. Just an empty home. Which means—she never made it here.

I turn on my heels and head for the door, my mind already racing ahead to the next steps.

The café.

I’ll check there. Maybe she’s lost track of time? Maybe she’s knee-deep in inventories or supply orders? Even as I cling to that shred of hope, I know it’s a lie.

Something is wrong here.

Terribly, terribly wrong.

The night air hits me like a slap to the face as I exit the building, but I barely feel it. All I feel is the cold knot of fear in my stomach and the burning determination in my veins.

I peel out of the parking lot, the tires of my truck screeching against the asphalt. The sound is jarring, but it barely registers over the pounding of my heart and the rush of blood in my ears.

The streets are a blur as I speed toward the café. I push the speed limit, daring any cop to stop me.

“Please be there.” My words are a fervent prayer falling from my lips.

I don’t know who I’m pleading with.

God?

The universe?

Jenna herself?

All I know is I need her to be okay, need it with a desperation that borders on physical pain.

Each red light is agony.

Each stop sign is torture.

My fingers pick up their drumming on the steering wheel, an erratic beat that matches the racing of my thoughts. Scenarios flash through my mind, each one worse than the last.

Jenna hurt.

Jenna taken.