Chapter 2
Jenny sat up in bed at three in the morning, her hand reaching for the phone, stopping herself as she remembered Jethro wasn't home. During the aftermath of the La Grenuoille mission, she'd gotten used to calling him when she couldn't sleep or when she woke up from a nightmare. He never seemed to mind, willing to talk to her until she could relax or until morning, even coming over to sit with her from time to time. More and more lately, it was almost as if they were together again. The stress, the arguing, had all taken a back burner; they could talk, even sometimes laugh, with each other again. She'd give anything to hear his voice, to be able to talk to him, not about her nightmare or about Davidson, but just talk. Even all those years ago, he had been the only thing that had gotten her through, the one who saved her life, in more ways than one.
She was trained better, she was trained to know someone was watching her, to fight off attackers, but she was caught totally unaware when she woke up and felt someone on top of her in her bed, holding down her arms, pinning her where she couldn't move, a hand around her neck, choking her so she couldn't scream, stuffing some cloth inside her mouth, far enough that she gagged and started to cough. She couldn't scream, couldn't fight back, couldn't get away, was trapped like a caged animal. She knew what was coming and was powerless to stop it, but refused to cry, knowing it would do more harm than good. The hand around her neck let up and she heard the rip of the gown she'd been wearing, the sound of a zipper opening. Her attacker was wearing a mask so she knew that, even if she did manage to get through this, she'd never be able to tell what he looked like. She tried to focus on some minute detail, anything that might be able to help later, until she let out an involuntarily cry as she felt incredible pain and then blacked out.
Jenny didn't even realize how bad her hand was shaking until she saw the bourbon she'd spilled. She took a sip out of the glass, trying to steady herself, trying to get the images out of her head. She wondered, at times, what would have happened if Jethro hadn't woken up that night. If it wasn't for his famous gut, if he'd waited until the next morning to check on her, if he'd called instead of driving over, she truly believed that Davidson would have killed her. As it was, she was in the hospital for a week, therapy for months. She'd never been able to return to her apartment, hadn't felt safe in Washington at all. Jethro had fixed everything, stayed by her side, moved her things to her father's townhouse where she now lived, and talked their director into transferring them to Europe after the trial. She thought she had moved on…until this.