Page 11 of Saving Jennifer
“I think I might miss this place,” she said softly, running her hand along the wooden dresser. “It’s the longest I’ve stayed anywhere since…”
“Since Paris,” Noah finished for her.
Jennifer nodded, surprised he’d been paying that much attention. “I almost started to feel comfortable here—settled. If my mother was here, instead of in hiding, it could almost feel like…home.”
“Home isn’t always a place,” Noah said, zipping his bag closed. “Sometimes it’s where you feel safe.”
The simple observation lingered as they continued preparing for their move to the French Quarter, to become immersed in the crowds and the music. A different kind of anonymity, in a jazz club apartment, where they would wait out the final days before the trial.
And whatever came after.
The thrumming bassfrom the jazz club below vibrated through the floorboards as Noah made another circuit of the cramped apartment. Three exits. Fire escape through the bedroom window, main stairwell to the street, and the service stairs that led down to the kitchen. Each route memorized, each potential choke point assessed and catalogued in his mind.
It was after midnight, but sleep wasn’t coming. Not with the noise from below, not with the constant vigilance required, and certainly not with Jennifer Baptiste sleeping in the room adjacent to his, separated only by a thin wall that might as well have been made of tissue paper.
Noah paused at the window overlooking the busy street corner. Below, tourists and locals mingled on the sidewalks, drinks in hand, laughter spilling into the humid night air. Perfect cover, Gator had said. No one pays attention to anyone else in the Quarter. They’d be able to blend in, disappear in plain sight.
He hoped his uncle was right. Ten more days. That’s all they needed. Seemed like such a short amount of time, and yet it might as well be an eternity if he had to keep fighting the attraction he felt toward the sultry brunette.
The door to Jennifer’s room opened quietly, and Noah turned to see her emerge, wrapped in an oversized cardigan despite the warmth of the night. Even exhausted and stressed, she moved with a natural elegance that spoke of her years in Paris fashion houses.
“I thought you’d be asleep,” he said, keeping his voice low.
Jennifer gestured toward the floor. “The saxophone player downstairs has other ideas.”
A small smile tugged at Noah’s mouth. “Gator forgot to mention the midnight jam sessions.”
“It’s not that,” she admitted, moving to stand beside him at the window. “I can’t seem to turn my mind off.”
Noah nodded, understanding all too well. In the soft glow of the streetlights, the shadows under her eyes were more pronounced, her cheekbones sharper than they had been when they first met a few days ago. The strain was wearing on her.
“Would you like some tea?” he offered, retreating to familiar ground. “I think there’s some in the kitchen.”
Jennifer shook her head and looked up to meet his eyes. “Will this ever be over, Noah? Really over?”
The question hit him like a physical blow. He’d been trained to protect, to secure, to neutralize threats—but not to heal the kind of wounds Jennifer carried. Wounds of betrayal that he recognized all too well.
“The trial will end,” he said carefully. “The Amirs will go to prison. The immediate danger will pass.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Noah sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I know.” He paused, weighing honesty against comfort. “The scars will always be there. The wariness. The second-guessing. But it gets…manageable. With time.”
Jennifer turned to look at him then, her eyes searching his face. “Is that what happened with you? It became manageable?”
The question was too close to the truth he kept buried, the reason he retreated to his cabin in the Tennessee mountains, why he preferred the company of the forest to people. Why he’d felt so disturbed by his growing attraction to the woman he was supposed to be protecting professionally. “Most days,” he admitted finally.
They stood in silence for a moment, the music from below shifting to something slower, more plaintive.
“I’m sorry about the move,” Noah said eventually. “I know you were just getting settled at the Garden District house.”
Jennifer gave a soft laugh with no real humor in it. “I’ve learned not to get too attached to places.” She wrapped her arms tighter around herself. “Or people.”
The words were spoken softly, almost to herself, but they landed with precision. Noah felt a tightening in his chest—recognition, empathy, something more complicated that he wasn’t ready to name.
“Smart policy,” he said, forcing lightness into his tone. “Though it makes for a lonely life.”
“Says the man who lives alone in a cabin in the mountains,” Jennifer countered. Gator must have mentioned his home in Tennessee.