Page 25 of Saving Jennifer
She nodded, the determined set to her jaw that Noah had come to recognize during their time together. When he grabbed her again, she executed the move perfectly, twisting and stepping toward him instead of pulling away.
“Good,” he said, unable to keep the approval from his voice. “Now try it faster.”
They progressed through different scenarios; frontal attacks, side attacks, surprise grabs. Noah gradually increased the intensity, impressed by how quickly Jennifer adapted. She might have been raised in a solitary female household in Paris, but there was a fighter’s spirit in her the Amirs had clearly underestimated.
“What do you do if I come at you like this?” Noah demonstrated a basic choke hold, his arm around her neck from behind, careful not to apply any real pressure.
Jennifer froze in his grasp. Noah immediately felt her tension, the way her breath caught. His own body responded traitorously, acutely aware of her back pressed against his chest, the delicate curve where her neck met her shoulder just inches from his lips.
“Remember,” he said, his voice dropping low, “drop your weight and—”
“Drive my elbow into your solar plexus,” she finished, her voice unsteady.
“Show me.”
She moved, executing the technique almost perfectly, but Noah wasn’t prepared for the actual contact. She didn’t pull back, her elbow making enough contact with his stomach to throw him slightly off balance. Instinctively, he reached for her when she also stumbled, catching her before she could fall.
Suddenly they were face to face, Noah’s hands at her waist, Jennifer’s palms flat against his chest. Time seemed to slow. Noah could count every freckle dusting her nose, could see the golden flecks in her beautiful eyes. Her lips parted slightly, and his gaze dropped to them before he could stop himself.
This can’t happen.
The thought sliced through the haze of attraction like a blade. Images flashed through his mind—the last protection detail he’d failed, the consequences of losing focus. Of trusting his instincts.
“We should take a break,” Noah said abruptly, stepping back. The loss of contact left him cold despite the cabin’s warmth.
“I’m fine,” Jennifer protested. “I can keep going.”
Noah ran a hand through his hair, needing to put distance between them. “Take a break. Grab some water. It’s important to stay hydrated, especially in the mountains. We still have the firearms training to get through,” he said, forcing his voice to remain professional. “No point in wearing yourself out now. As a matter of fact, let’s grab lunch before we work with the weapons. I’m starving.”
She studied his face for a long moment before finally nodding. They ate lunch on the narrow porch, the mountain air helping to clear Noah’s head. He watched Jennifer as she bit into her sandwich, noting how the sunlight brought out deep mahogany highlights in her hair. Just days ago, she’d been just another assignment—the star witness in the case against the Amir family, willing to come forward to help somebody else in need. A chance to try and make up for a past betrayal. Because of that brave act, she’d become a woman who needed protection until she could testify. Now she was…what? Still an assignment, he reminded himself firmly. Nothing more.
Liar.
He shook his head. Why was this happening now? He knew a lot of beautiful women, had never claimed to be a saint. By and large he qualified more as a sinner. Yet there was something about the French woman who made his thoughts race. Made him think about things he hadn’t in a long time—like the future. He couldn’t stay holed up in this cabin forever. When Gator had called, he seriously considered refusing his request to protect Jennifer. Had even planned to go to New Orleans and turn down his uncle face-to-face. But one look at her picture and he’d been a goner.
I can’t. We can’t. There’s no future here, nothing except keeping her safe for another week. After that, she won’t be my responsibility anymore. Carpenter’s men will take over her protection, and I can come back here and…what? What am I going to do then?
After finishing lunch, Noah led Jennifer to a small clearing behind the cabin where he’d set up targets on several tree trunks.
“Have you ever fired a gun before?” he asked, removing his Glock19 from its case.
Jennifer shook her head. “Never had the need. Growing up in Paris, the closest I came to weapons was an antique sword collection for one of my clients. Although, I will admit, once I found out about my father’s business interests and the dangerous people he associated with, I considered getting one—to protect me and my mother.”
Something dark passed over her face—a memory, Noah guessed, and not a pleasant one. He knew from her file that her father’s connections had been her introduction to the Amir family, that she’d been shunned by Sayifa Amir and the rest of the family. Tarik had been the only one who’d contacted her, made her feel as if she were accepted. Learning that Tarik had only been using her, trading on their connection to have someone he could manipulate. That kind of blow left a psychic scar that might never fully heal. He could only imagine what that felt like, because he’d never had a problem being part of a loving and accepting family, both his immediate one as well as extended family, like Gator and his kids. His Aunt Elizabeth had been a loving, kind woman that he remembered vividly, though she’d been gone a long time. She had been his father’s sister, so he’d spent a lot of quality time in and around New Orleans with that side of his family.
“We’ll start with the basics,” Noah said, pushing aside his curiosity about her expression. He explained the parts of the handgun, the safety procedures, proper handling techniques. Jennifer needed to be comfortable with the weapon. Like it or not, he might not always be there when she needed him to protect her. He wanted her able to protect herself, to be able to stand her ground if confronted. Things might have eased up a bit, but they weren’t in the clear yet, not by a long shot.
“Never point it at anything you don’t intend to shoot,” he emphasized. “And always assume it’s loaded, even when you know it isn’t.” He didn’t hesitate before adding, “Always shoot to kill, because if you have a weapon in your hand, the situation can and will escalate to the use of deadly force, you can count on it. Don’t hesitate because the other person won’t.”
Jennifer listened with the same intense focus she’d shown during the self-defense training. When he finally handed her the unloaded weapon, a small smile tugged at his lips as she gripped it, reacting immediately when he warned her not to put her finger on the trigger.
“It’s heavier than it looks.”
“This is a Glock19. Reliable, relatively simple to use, and with manageable recoil. Good for beginners.”
He moved behind her to adjust her stance, aware of their proximity as he positioned her arms. The smell of her lavender shampoo drifted up again, and beneath that, something uniquely her—a scent that had become distressingly familiar to him over the past few days.
“Keep both eyes open,” he instructed, forcing himself to focus. He couldn’t let his attraction to her keep him from doing his job, and right now his job was teaching her to stay alive. “Align the front sight with the target and squeeze the trigger slowly. Don’t pull it.”