Rescuing Jenna - Anna Blakely Page 0,1
opened her contacts with the intention of calling the first person on the alphabetical list. She froze mid-movement.
What the heck are you doing?
Heart racing for a different reason, she stared at the name of the man she’d almost reached out to.
The last time she saw Adrian Walker, the sexy, mysterious government agent had given Jenna his number and told her to call if she ever needed anything.
That was two months ago. After he’d kidnapped her, saved her from being sexually assaulted by some asshole thug he was pretending to work with, and damn near died while protecting her friend from a deranged killer.
Apparently, Adrian had been in the Marines, but ended up working as a super-secret agent for some underground CIA operation. For the past few years, he’d been playing the role of hitman for hire. In reality, he’d given up his life to help make the world a better place.
In the end, Ellena was saved. Gabe, Ellena’s former SEAL husband, had been shot but thankfully survived. Adrian had vanished, leaving behind nothing more than his card and a promise to help if she needed him.
She didn’t need him. She didn’t need anyone. Except maybe the police.
With a mental slap to the face, Jenna closed her contact list and drove back around to the emergency room entrance. The hospital staffed off-duty officers to stand guard during each shift. That was who she needed.
An hour later—after reporting the incident to the police, her boss, and hospital security—she was still answering questions.
“Can you describe your assailant or the driver of the van?”
Anger toward the jerks who’d mugged her replaced the fear she’d initially felt. Biting the inside of her cheek, Jenna shook her head. “Not really. It was dark and everything happened so fast. I couldn’t see the driver at all, and the other guy was hiding his face with a hood.”
Standing in a quiet hallway adjacent to the emergency room waiting area, the officer taking her statement didn’t bother looking up from his notes. Sounding almost bored, he asked her, “Any memorable features of the one you saw? Scars or tattoos of any kind?”
What part of it was dark and he was wearing a hood does this guy not understand?
“I already told you I didn’t get a very good look at him.”
She’d shared that with him and everyone else she’d spoken with. The morning’s events had been playing on loop for the past hour, and she was more than ready to change the damn channel.
“Right.” The young officer’s thin lips curved into a placating smile. “Sorry. Okay, what about approximate height or weight of the man who came at you? Could you tell what race he was?”
“He was tall.” Jenna stated with confidence. “Around six feet. And lean. Maybe two-ten, two-fifteen.”
The asshole had towered over her. She remembered that one detail because, in the split second it took for the asshole to yank her purse from her shoulder and shove her to the ground, Jenna had noticed he was about the same height as—
Nope. Not going there.
With an unimpressed expression, the officer jotted down what she’d said. “Anything else?”
Closing her eyes, she willed her scattered mind to focus on her attacker. Conjuring up the infuriating scene, Jenna once again saw the man in question.
“Black jeans,” she muttered softly. “Dark gray hoodie zipped all the way up.” She couldn’t see his face, but the guy’s hands were coming toward her. Pushing against her chest as she yelled at him to give her back her purse. “He had olive skin. I think he may have been Hispanic, or maybe bi-racial.”
Or maybe he had a tanning booth in his basement. Of course, if he could afford that, he probably wouldn’t need to lurk around parking garages in hopes of stealing women’s purses. Unless he was a sick freak who did it just for kicks. In that case, who knows why—
Jenna blinked, rubbing at her tired eyes. Jesus, she needed to get some sleep. And then she was going to fix herself a very large, very stiff drink.
After I go to the bank to cancel my debit card, close my checking and savings accounts, and open all new ones.
On second thought, maybe she’d start with the drink. Or three.
“Okay, I think that’s all I need for now.” The officer slid his notebook and pen into his shirt pocket and handed her a small, rectangular card with his name, precinct address, and phone number printed on the front. “Here’s my contact information. If you think of