Rescuing Jenna - Anna Blakely


Jenna Shaw studied the blood on the front of her top and sighed. It wasn’t the first time she’d gone home with blood on her clothes, and unless she changed professions, it wouldn’t be the last.

The blood’s owner—a seventy-two-year-old Veteran whose car had been t-boned when a teenage driver blew through a stop sign while texting—had suffered only minor injuries and was expected to make a full recovery. As it often happens in cases like this, the kid who’d hit him had walked away with barely a scratch. Jenna just hoped the hefty ticket in his pocket, along with the headache of a totaled car, would be enough to knock some sense into him.

With her mind back on the blood, she mentally ran through the steps of what needed to be done to keep it from staining. Not that she was worried. Having been an emergency room nurse for the past several years, Jenna had become a veritable expert in making stains, such as this one, disappear.

Exhausted from another grueling shift, she pulled her keys from her purse as she made her way through the dark parking garage to her car. A cool breeze sent a shiver racing down her spine, and she shifted the strap on her purse before crossing her arms and hugging herself to keep warm.

California winters were mild, to say the least, but it was barely after six in the morning, and the sun had yet to rise. If she was lucky, she’d make it back to her apartment and into her bed while it was still dark.

Spotting her car up ahead, Jenna suddenly couldn’t wait to be in it and on her way home. With a little more speed in her step, she was rounding the rear bumper when a beat-up van seemingly appeared out of nowhere.

Tires skidded, the intrusive sound echoing through the garage. Startled, Jenna spun around to see what was going on just as the vehicle came to a hard stop.

While her tired brain worked to make sense of what was happening, a man in a dark hoodie jumped out and headed straight for her. Jenna’s heart flew into her throat as the scene finally started to make sense.

He’s going to hurt you.

She spun on her heels and ran for the driver’s door. Her long, red ponytail smacked her in the face with the movement, but she ignored it and focused only on getting away.

She’d been kidnapped in order to be bait for Ellena Dawson—the killer’s real target and Jenna’s best friend. Though it all worked out in the end, it was an experience Jenna had no desire to repeat.

Fumbling with the key fob, her trembling thumb pressed the panic button. Her car lit up and the horn began honking in even intervals. A low, inaudible curse hit her ears just before she felt her purse being ripped off of her shoulder.

“Hey!” On instinct, Jenna faced the jerk and prepared to fight.

Scrambling to keep possession of the handbag, she dropped her keys and wrapped her fingers around the thin, leather. She pulled as hard as she could. He pulled harder.

The shoulder strap burned against her skin as it was ripped from her hands. Jenna yelled, her voice barely rising over the incessant honking, but no one else was around to hear her. Shoving her hand into her scrub bottom pocket, she started to reach for her phone to call for help when the man slammed both of his large hands against her chest.

Losing her footing, Jenna cried out as she went flying backward. She turned mid-fall in order to keep from landing on her back. Instead, her left hip, thigh, and palms took the brunt of the fall. Behind her, the van door shut, and the thief and his getaway driver sped off, leaving her lying on the cool concrete between someone else’s car and her own.

Fear and adrenaline left her shaken, but Jenna’s anger was the driving force that pushed her back onto her feet. From the corner of her eye, she saw her keys lying at her feet. Bending over, Jenna picked them up, got into her car, and locked the doors.

Resting both hands on the wheel, she hung her head. After a few moments and several deep breaths, she’d calmed down enough to think rationally.

You need to call someone. Tell them what happened.

Jenna took her phone from her pocket, grateful the bastards didn’t take off with it or her keys. Tapping on the green icon with the white phone, she