I Will Protect You

After more than an hour of giving information about what happened, the police officers finally allow me to leave. I approach Jennifer, who is still sitting pensively in the back of an ambulance. Like me, she's wrapped in a warm blanket provided by the paramedics.

Before the ambulance arrived, I made her wear my T-shirt. It's wet, but it's still better than wearing nothing. She's fine despite being in deep shock, with a few scratches from the bathtub shards that broke apart in the explosion.

I sit beside her and wrap my arm around her shoulders. "Are you okay?" I ask, ignoring the persistent ringing in my ears.

She nods.

"The police want to interview me?" she asks, still dazed.

"Not now. I told them you're in shock. They'll talk to you in a few days."

"Who did this?" she asks, turning her head toward me. Her eyes are filled with fear. "Who wants me dead?"

"I don't know," I whisper.

She rests her head on my shoulder and starts crying. I rub her back in slow circles.

"But the most important thing is, they failed," I remind her.

"But they'll try again, won't they?" she asks between sobs.

"Not if I find them first," I reply.

"You?" She looks at me in disbelief. I nod.

"How?"

"I don't know. But I'll find a way," I say. "In the meantime, you can stay at my place."

"No… no, you don't have to," she declines. "I can stay at a friend's house."

"Are you sure you'll be safe there?" I ask.

"Will I be safer at your place?" she counters.

"Well, I did just save you, didn't I?" I remind her.

She nods hesitantly. "But… it'll be too—"

"I'll protect you, okay?" I say firmly.

In truth, I blame myself for letting my guard down. I got distracted and forgot the real reason I contacted her in the first place. I let my instincts take over instead of my brain.

This might not have happened if I'd been more alert.

I won't let it happen again.

----------

I open my apartment door and gesture for Jennifer to enter first, but she refuses.

"You first," she says.

I guide her to walk behind me as I step inside and turn on the light. The place feels empty—just like always. Even the air is the same as when I last closed the door. I can still smell my cologne.

Still, I close the door and tell her to stay put while I check the entire apartment.

"All clear," I say, walking back to her.

She's still in shock. She leans against the wall for support, her arms wrapped around her stomach. Her face is pale as paper, her wide eyes filled with fear, and her teeth biting her lower lip.

When I touch her, she jolts.

"It's okay. It's me… You're safe here," I assure her gently.

She throws herself into my arms, clinging to me tightly as she sobs.

I lift her effortlessly and carry her to my bed. "You should rest."

"Don't leave me!" she shouts, tightening her grip as I try to move away.

"I was just going to get you some clean clothes," I explain.

"No! Just stay with me," she insists.

"Okay," I concede, climbing into bed beside her.

She wraps her arms and legs around me, holding on as if I might disappear. Her breathing is fast and uneven. I place a hand on her back and rub slow, calming circles.

Somehow, that soothes her a little.

"Close your eyes now… You're safe here," I whisper, repeating it like a chant while continuing to rub her back.

Eventually, her breathing evens out, and she drifts off.

----------

"Jerome Louis?" I repeat, making sure I heard correctly. "What's he charged with?"

"Second-degree murder of a girl. Also kidnapping and making sex slaves out of half a dozen underage girls," Matt Windshield, Jennifer's assistant, answers.

"Sick psycho," I mutter.

"It's not, if it's a good business," Matt remarks. "The price for underage girls is triple the regular."

"You think he's the one who blew up her place?"

"I don't know. I need to make sure myself. Where was he arrested?"

"He's out on bail. One million, paid just like that."

"So he's at his house now? I need his add—"

A scream pierces through my apartment.

I immediately hang up and rush to the bedroom. Jennifer is sitting on my bed, trembling. Her hands cover her face.

"Hey… it's okay," I say softly, crawling onto the bed beside her. I rub her back, wrapping my other arm around her. "It was just a nightmare."

"I'm so scared the murderer will come after me," she sobs.

"You're safe here."

"This is the second time I've been targeted," she says.

I don't have the heart to tell her that this is part of her job. Being a D.A., prosecuting criminals—they all have a reason to want her dead.

Instead, I say, "Both times, I stopped them, right?"

She nods.

"Then don't worry. You'll be safe with me."

She starts crying again.

My phone vibrates inside my pocket, but I ignore it. It's probably Matt with Louis's location.

"You haven't eaten since last night," I remind her once she calms down.

"I'm not hungry," she says.

"Because you already ate my sausage?" I tease.

She chuckles weakly and playfully punches my chest.

"I made cream soup. I'll bring it here. You need to eat something, okay?"

She nods.

I quickly grab a bowl of soup, a glass of water, and a pill. When I return, she's leaning against the headboard, her hand covering her mouth, tears streaming down her face.

I place the tray on the bed and lift the bowl. She doesn't resist as I feed her.

After six or seven spoonfuls, she refuses more. I don't push her. Instead, I hand her the water and the pill.

"What is this?"

"Contraceptive pill," I say.

She doesn't argue and swallows it.

When I return from the kitchen, she's already asleep.

Of course, it wasn't a contraceptive pill—it was a sleeping pill. She needs deep, uninterrupted rest to regain her strength.

I need her to sleep so I can visit someone tonight.

----------

The sound of a key card sliding into a lock is followed by drunken giggles and hushed whispers. A few seconds later, the door swings open, revealing a man flanked by two women.

Jerome Louis stumbles inside, his arms draped around them. The moment the lights flicker on, he freezes.

So do the women.

Maybe it's because of the way I'm sitting in the armchair, legs crossed, completely at ease.

Or maybe it's because of the gun aimed straight at them.

"We need to talk, Mr. Louis," I say, my voice calm, deliberate.

"Who… who the hell are you?" he stammers, his face draining of color.

"That's not important. Let's just say I'm the one who decides whether or not you see tomorrow. And that depends entirely on your answer."

His breath hitches. "What… what do you want?"

I tilt my head toward the two women. "Talk. Alone."

They don't hesitate. They bolt out of the room like frightened rabbits, heels clicking against the floor.

"Close the door and sit," I instruct.

Louis obeys, dropping onto the edge of the hotel bed, his hands trembling.

"Why did you order someone to kill Miss McCourtney?" I ask the second his ass touches the mattress.

His expression twists in confusion. "What? I don't—"

His words cut off with a choked scream as my knife buries itself in his stomach.

"Wrong answer," I say flatly, watching as his body jerks in pain.

He gasps, clutching the handle, his eyes wide with terror. "I swear—I don't know anything!"

I grab the knife and twist.

"AARRGGHH!" His scream echoes through the room, but I quickly press my free hand over his mouth.

"Try again," I growl.

Tears spill down his face as he writhes. "I-I don't know her! I swear! I didn't even know her name was McCourtney until now! I have no reason to kill her!"

I study him. His eyes are wild, frantic—not the look of a man caught in a lie, but one drowning in panic.

"She's the prosecutor on your case, and you expect me to believe you don't know her?" I challenge, pressing the knife deeper.

His body spasms. "I didn't! I swear on my life!"

"You expect me to buy that bullshit?" I snarl, yanking the blade out just to shove my fingers into the fresh wound.

Louis howls, his entire body convulsing.

"I DON'T KNOW HER!" he shrieks. "Even if I did—I HAD NO REASON TO KILL HER!" His voice cracks, desperate, raw. "Please, I swear to God, I had NOTHING to do with this!"

His breathing is erratic, his pupils blown wide.

I watch him for a long moment, then finally pull my hand away.

He gasps for air, clutching his stomach, tears streaking his face.

"I may kidnap and sell girls—but I'm no killer," he croaks.

I scoff. "A woman died in your hands, and you want me to believe you're not a murderer?"

"That's—" he swallows thickly. "That's what I've been trying to tell you. I didn't kill her! My lawyer has proof—I have an alibi! I might get locked up for trafficking, but not murder. I didn't kill anyone, and I had no reason to go after McCourtney!"

I narrow my eyes, searching his face for any sign of deceit.

Nothing.

The fear, the desperation—it's all genuine.

I exhale sharply and step back. Reaching into his coat pocket, I yank out his wallet, then grab his watch and necklace.

"Tell the cops you got jumped by those two girls. They stabbed you and took your things. Understand?"

He nods frantically.

"If I hear my name connected to this incident, I'll come back," I warn, leaning in close. "And next time, you'll be lucky if you only end up dead."

He nods again, his whole body trembling.

I give him one last glare before turning toward the window. Slipping my gloves back on, I climb out, disappearing into the night.

----------

Back in my apartment, Jennifer is still fast asleep. Even after I shower and lay down beside her, she doesn't stir.

I wrap an arm around her.

I knew it wasn't Louis the second he spoke. His voice was different from the caller. His words made sense.

I believe he didn't kill that woman.

And I believe the real killer is still out there.

Jennifer mumbles something and snuggles closer.

I kiss her head.

I'll find him, babe. Don't worry.