Watching Over Her

Blaine shuddered with foreboding. But maybe he was just overreacting, as Maggie kept insisting. Maybe Mark wasn’t involved. Maybe he was just taking a time-out from his jealous wife and his drunken father and the loss of his brother...

Maybe the guy really had nothing to do with the robberies, and Dalton Reyes’s informant had identified the wrong guy. As Maggie had pointed out, a lot of guys looked like Mark Doremire. Andy had. Hell, even Ash did.

Even though he would have to start all over looking for suspects, Blaine almost hoped Mark had nothing to do with the robberies. If he didn’t, Blaine could just check in with him and make sure that everything was all right with the man.

Then he could return to Maggie and ease her worries about her letters to Andy inspiring the robberies. She already took on too much responsibility for everything that had happened. Maybe that was his fault, too—for being so suspicious of her. Maybe he should have told her that he trusted her.

Instead he had pulled away from her. Physically and emotionally. He needed distance. He needed perspective. Hell, maybe if Mark wasn’t at the cabin, Blaine would hang out for a while. He would try to regain his lost perspective.

But he worried that time and distance wouldn’t change his feelings for Maggie. He would probably always love her. And she would probably always love Andy.

Finally some of the trees gave way on one side of the two-track road, making a small space for a little log cabin. Blaine couldn’t see any vehicles. Only a small space of the dense woods had been cleared for the cabin, so he doubted there were any vehicles parked around the back.

Maybe Maggie had been right. Mark wasn’t here. Coming here had probably been a waste of Blaine’s time. Because no matter how much distance he gained, he was unlikely to gain any new insights.

Still, he shut off the SUV and stepped out of it. He would take some more time to enjoy the silence.

To clear his head.

But the silence shattered as gunfire erupted. And Blaine worried that he was more likely to lose his head than clear it.

Chapter Eighteen

Maggie had wanted to meet Buster, but not like this—not riding along in the Michigan state trooper’s police cruiser. At least Buster had let her ride in the passenger’s seat and not the back.

The woman had pulled off into a parking lot, and now she studied Maggie through narrowed eyes that were the same bright green as her brother’s. She was blonde, too, but most of her hair was tucked up under a brown, broad-brimmed trooper hat, so it wasn’t possible to tell if it was golden, like his, or lighter.

She was older than he was but not more than a few years. And she was even less approachable. Maggie, who usually had no problem making conversation, had no idea what to say to the woman, so an awkward silence had fallen between them—broken only by an occasional squawk of the police radio.

Finally Buster cleared her throat and remarked, “Blaine has never asked me to guard anybody for him.”

“I’m sorry for being such an inconvenience,” Maggie said. “I know you’re too busy for babysitting.”

“I have four hyper kids and an idiot husband,” Buster shared, “so I’m used to babysitting.”

The heat of embarrassment rushed to Maggie’s face. She hated feeling so helpless and dependent.

But then Buster continued, “This isn’t babysitting. Nobody is trying to kill my kids or my husband—except for me when they piss me off too much. You’re in real danger.”

Maggie felt safe, though, with Blaine’s older sister. She had an authority about her—the same authority that had Blaine easily taking over the bank investigation and her protection duty.

“Blaine is the one in danger now,” Maggie said, as nerves fluttered in her belly with the baby’s kicks. “He’s trying so hard to track down those robbers.”

“That’s his job,” Buster said. “He’s been doing it for a while. And he’s been doing it well.”

Maybe he was right about Mark, then. Maggie hadn’t wanted to believe Andy’s brother capable of violence, but she was on edge and it had less to do with how Buster was studying her and more to do with the danger she felt Blaine was facing. “I’m still worried about him.”

“I see that...”

With the way she had been staring at Maggie, she had probably seen a lot. More than Maggie was comfortable with her seeing.

Buster continued, “I see that you love him.”

Maggie’s breath shuddered out in a ragged sigh. She could have lied—although she sucked at it—and said Buster was mistaken. But she wasn’t a liar. And maybe it would relieve some of the pressure on her chest—and her heart—if she admitted to her feelings. “Yes...”

“You could have denied it,” Buster said.

“Why?”

“Because you haven’t told him yet,” his sister replied. “And he’s the one you should have told first.”

Maggie shook her head. “I can’t tell him at all.” Ever.

“Why not?”

“Because he doesn’t have the same feelings for me that I do for him,” Maggie said. “And I would just embarrass him.” The way she had at the hospital when she’d clung to him, refusing to let him leave without her.

“Blaine doesn’t embarrass easily,” Buster said. “Trust me. I’ve tried.” She chuckled. “He has three older sisters. He may not get embarrassed at all anymore.”

Maggie laughed, too, as she imagined a young Blaine enduring his siblings’ teasing and tormenting. He had probably handled it as stoically then as he handled everything now. Her laughter faded. “It may not embarrass him, but it would make it awkward for him. He’s only doing his job—”

“He has never asked me to protect anyone for him before,” Buster repeated as if that was monumental.

As if it meant something.

Could he return her feelings?

Maggie shook her head. “That’s because I’m in a lot of danger,” she said. “People have been trying to kidnap and kill me.”

“People?”

“He thinks the brother of my...” She didn’t know what to call Andy. While she had accepted his proposal, she’d done it only to avoid hurting him, not because she’d ever intended to actually marry him.

“Baby daddy?” Buster supplied the title for her.

Maggie laughed again. But Andy would have been appalled at that title, especially since he’d been trying so long to get her to marry him. He’d wanted to marry right out of high school, but she’d told him she wanted to go to college first. And then when she’d graduated, he had suggested they get married. But she’d put him off, saying that she wanted to get her career established first.

Poor Andy...

Buster reached across the console and squeezed her hand. “You cared about him.”

“We were friends since sixth grade, when my family and I moved to town. He was the first person who was nice to the new girl in class.” Because he had been nice to her, she had latched on to him, declaring them best friends. But Andy hadn’t wanted to be just a friend.

Buster nodded as if Maggie’s words had given her sudden understanding. “So he’s the only boy you ever dated?”

“Yes,” Maggie replied.

“It must have been hard losing him and finding yourself alone,” Buster said, “with a baby on the way.”

Did Buster think that Maggie was afraid to be alone? That that was why she’d fallen in love with Blaine? Because he’d been nice to her? Maggie knew that he was only doing his job, though. He didn’t want more than friendship from her; he probably didn’t even want friendship.

“But that’s not why I...” she began defensively, “...why I have feelings for your brother.” She couldn’t say it—couldn’t express those feelings.

“That’s not why you’ve fallen for my brother,” Buster said, as if she didn’t doubt her.

“He might not believe that, though,” Maggie said. “Or he might think I’m just grateful for all the times he has saved my life and the baby’s.”

“May I?” Buster asked, as she moved her hand from Maggie’s arm to her stomach. She smiled as the baby kicked beneath her palm. “You should tell Blaine how you feel about him. That’s the only way you’re going to know what he thinks and how he feels about you.”

Was it possible that he could return her feelings? He had made love with her. He’d wanted her...

“My brother has never been an easy man to read,” Buster said. “Hell, he wasn’t even easy to read when he was a little boy. It’s always been hard to tell what Blaine is thinking or feeling. So don’t assume that you know.”

Maggie had been making assumptions. But it wasn’t based so much on what she thought of Blaine but more on what she thought of herself. She didn’t believe that she, especially pregnant, could ever attract a man like Blaine Campbell. The gorgeous FBI special agent was more of a superhero than a regular man. “But—”

“Do you want any more regrets?” Buster interrupted. “It seems like you already have a few.”

About Andy. About never telling him the truth...

“I don’t regret my baby,” Maggie said, anger rushing over her.

“I know,” Buster said. “And I am a firm believer in everything happening for a reason. So stop beating yourself up about the baby’s daddy.”

Apparently Maggie wasn’t very hard to read at all.

Buster patted Maggie’s belly. “Remember—everything happens for a reason.”

Because she carried his child, Maggie would always have a piece of Andy with her. She hadn’t completely lost her best friend.

“You’re right,” Maggie agreed.

But she didn’t have a chance to tell Buster exactly what she was right about because the police radio squawked again—interrupting them. “Shots fired during FBI raid on cabin. Possible casualties...”

She grabbed Buster’s hand and clutched it. Possible casualties? Was one of them Blaine? Had he been shot?

* * *

“WE DIDN’T FIND the shooters,” Trooper Littlefield reported to Blaine. He was one of Buster’s coworkers. He had provided backup—along with a couple of FBI agents—in case the cabin had been the robbers’ hideout. But they had arrived early and hidden in the woods so that it would look as though Blaine had come alone.

Blaine had even felt alone in the middle of the woods. These law-enforcement officers were so good that he hadn’t seen a single one of them—until the gunfire had erupted. Then they’d stepped out of their hiding spots and returned fire—giving him cover so that none of the shots had actually struck him.

“They had a vehicle parked on a two-track gravel road that led to another cabin, and before we could block them in, they’d gotten away,” the trooper said regretfully.

Blaine sighed. They had eluded him so many times that he wasn’t surprised. “In a van?”

The trooper nodded.

Dalton Reyes stepped up to him. “Another stolen one,” he confirmed with a curse. “The guy who ordered this one isn’t the one that my informant ID’d, though. She claims she hasn’t seen him again.”

Blaine had a bad feeling that Mark Doremire was already gone. But still he held out hope. “You sure you can trust your informant?” he asked. Mark was a flirt; maybe he’d turned the woman to his side.

“I don’t really trust anyone.” Reyes shrugged. “Maybe she’s been lying to me.”

“Do you think any of the guys you’re after could be involved in the robberies?” Blaine asked. “There were five guys at the bank.” But more could have been involved.

He had no idea how many had been shooting at him in the woods.

Dalton shrugged again. “I’m not sure. I didn’t get a look at any of the shooters.”

“And the guy inside the cabin?” Blaine asked, as he walked back into the run-down log structure. He’d already been inside but Agent Reyes hadn’t. He hoped Dalton recognized the corpse because Blaine was afraid that he did.

Dalton checked out the scene and cursed. The guy was slumped over in a wooden chair, a pool of blood dried beneath him. His clothes—a camo shirt and pants—were also saturated and hard with dried blood. Bloody bandages were strewn across the table in front of him.

But those weren’t the only things on the table. A pile of envelopes, bound with a big rubber band, sat atop the scarred wooden surface, too.

Maggie’s letters...written to her fiancé. Blaine hadn’t looked at them; he probably wouldn’t be able to look at them. But he knew they were hers.

“What the hell happened to him?” Dalton asked.

“I think I killed him.”

Dalton snorted. “This guy has been dead for days. You didn’t do this.”

“I think I did. During the bank robbery,” he said. “That first van that was recovered had blood inside, and I did get off some shots during the robbery.”

Ash stepped into the cabin behind Dalton. “Is he the one?”

Blaine nodded. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure this is the guy who shot Sarge.”

Ash patted his shoulder. “You got him!”

“I wasn’t sure I hit him. They were wearing vests...”

This guy’s vest was lying on the floor near his chair along with the zombie mask and the trench coat. He had definitely been one of the robbers. Was he the one who’d killed Sarge?

When Blaine had fired back, he’d thought that he shot the one who’d hit Sarge.

“He must not have had his vest tight on the sides,” Dalton said as he leaned over to inspect it. “Looks like it was too small for him—probably left a gap.”

So Blaine had gotten a lucky shot into the guy’s side. “There was a smaller robber—maybe their vests got mixed up...”

“I don’t care what happened,” Ash said. “I just care that you got him—for Sarge.”

But who was he? Blaine stepped closer to the body, intent on tipping back the guy’s head to get a better look. But then a glint of metal caught his eye, and he saw the dog tags dangling from the chain around the corpse’s neck.

He picked up the tags and read, “‘Sergeant Andrew Doremire...’”

“Who the hell is that?” Ash asked.

“A dead man,” Blaine replied. He tipped up the face—he looked like the man on the security footage from the bank. Maggie had said that Andy and Mark looked eerily similar.

Dalton snorted. “Obviously...”

“No, he’s Maggie’s dead fiancé.”

Dalton Reyes cursed. “Do you think she knows he didn’t really die in Afghanistan?” Of course he would ask that; he’d already said he didn’t trust anyone.

“No way,” Blaine said with absolute certainty. Maggie carried too much guilt over his death, probably because she hadn’t been able to talk him out of joining the Marines. But she hadn’t been to blame for Andy’s death.

Blaine was.

Apparently Dustin Doremire hadn’t just been a delusional drunk. He’d been right. Andy wasn’t dead—or, at least, he hadn’t been until Blaine had shot him.

“He was one of Sarge’s drills,” Ash said. “He must have been worried that Sarge had recognized him. That’s why he killed him.”

Or because Sarge had been trying to kill him...

Blaine pushed a hand through his hair. “That must have been why they were trying to take Maggie along with them—they probably thought she recognized him, too.”

But she hadn’t. She had refused to accept that even the brother of her childhood sweetheart could have had anything to do with criminal activities. She would never believe that Andy had.

So who were the other robbers? Definitely Andy’s brother—unless the informant had mistaken Mark’s picture for his younger brother. But if his brother hadn’t been involved, where the hell was he?

Maybe even Andy’s father was involved. That could have been why he’d been drinking so heavily when they’d gone to see him—because he’d known that Andy wasn’t going to survive this time.

Blaine had killed him. Would Maggie be able to forgive him? Would she be able to forgive herself?

Chapter Nineteen

He was alive!

Blaine was alive.

Her heart leaped for joy the moment she saw him walk through the door of his sister’s sprawling ranch house. When he’d asked Buster to protect her, he hadn’t wanted her to take Maggie to her home—he hadn’t wanted her to put her family at risk. Neither had Maggie.

But when they had been waiting to hear about Blaine, Buster had insisted on bringing Maggie home with her. In case the news was bad, Buster had probably wanted to be close to her family.

Her kids had gathered around them. She had three boys and one little girl—the opposite of Buster and her siblings. The boys had lost interest in Maggie quickly and gone back to playing with trucks in the living room while Maggie and Buster waited in the big country kitchen. Although shy, the little blonde girl had crept close to Maggie and pressed pudgy little fingers against her belly.

“Baby?” she had asked, though she was little more than a baby herself.

“Yes,” Maggie had replied. And she had even managed a laugh when the baby kicked and the little girl had jumped away in surprise.

But fear for Blaine’s safety had pressed heavily on Maggie until he walked through the door. His bruises and scrapes were from the night before—from the fire. Otherwise he was unscathed from the shooting. Maggie had never been happier to see anyone in her life.

But she didn’t dare launch herself into his arms the way she wanted to. He had that wall around him—that wall he’d put up back at the hospital. Something was wrong. Maybe it was just that he’d realized he had lost perspective with her, and he was trying to be more professional.

Buster pulled Blaine into a tight hug. “Thank God, you’re all right. We were going crazy worrying about you.”

“Why?”

“We heard the call on the radio,” Buster said, “about the shooting and a possible casualty.”

The little girl tugged on her mama’s leg. “What’s a castle tea?”

Buster pulled back from her brother and picked up her daughter. “It’s nothing...”

But it wasn’t. Maggie saw the look of regret on Blaine’s face. Then he leaned forward and kissed his niece’s cheek. “Hey, beautiful girl...”

“Hey, Unca Bane...”

Buster chuckled.

The boys abandoned their trucks and rushed into the kitchen, launching themselves at Blaine the way Maggie wished she had. She wanted his arms around her like they were around his nephews and niece.

“They’re so many of you,” he murmured. “You have your own Brady Bunch, Buster.”

“There are only four—five counting Carl,” she said. “But he had to go to work.”

“Is that why you came home?”

She bit her lip and shook her head.

“It’s because of what you heard on the radio?” He glanced at his niece. “About the castle tea?”

Buster nodded.

“I’m fine,” he said. “I had no idea you would have heard...” He stopped himself. “That’s right—there was a trooper along for backup.”

“Since you’re fine, us troopers must be good for something, huh, Mr. Special Agent?” Her green eyes twinkled as she teased him.

He shrugged. “I had a couple other special agents along,” he said. “That’s why I’m fine.”

She gently punched his shoulder. Then she turned to where Maggie sat on the kitchen chair, watching them and wishing she was part of their loving family. Buster must have seen that longing because she reached out for Maggie’s hand and tugged her up from the chair. Buster sighed and remarked, “You are so beautiful pregnant. If I’d looked like you, instead of a beached whale, I might have had a couple more.”

“God help us,” Blaine muttered.

He already had as far as Maggie was concerned, since he’d brought Blaine safely back to his family. And her...

But he wasn’t hers. He had yet to even look at her. Maybe he was mad that she was at his sister’s home—endangering his sister’s beautiful family.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I know you didn’t want me here. We can leave now.”

Buster stared at her with wide eyes, urging her to tell Blaine her feelings. But Maggie shook her head. It was obvious to her that he didn’t want her love. Why couldn’t his sister see the emotional distance he’d put between himself and Maggie?

“We’ll leave in a little while,” he said, finally speaking directly to her. But still, he wouldn’t look at her. Instead he turned back to Buster. “Can we have a few minutes alone? Maybe in the sunroom?”

Buster nodded. “Of course.”

He took Maggie’s arm and drew her from the kitchen through a set of French doors off the family room. He pulled the doors closed behind him, shutting them alone in a solarium of windows. But the sun had already dropped, so the room was growing dark and cold.

Maggie shivered.

“If you’re cold—”

“No, I’m fine,” she said. “Why do you want to talk to me privately?” Did he want to yell at her for endangering his family? “I told Buster it was a bad idea to bring me back here.”

“Buster rarely listens to anyone but herself,” he replied. “Poor Carl...”

She suspected that Carl was a very lucky man, and that he was smart enough to know it. No matter how much she joked about her husband, it was obvious that Buster loved him very much.

The way Maggie loved Blaine...

“Why did you want me alone?” she asked again. She tamped down the hope that threatened to burgeon—the hope that he wanted to tell her his feelings.

But that hope deflated when he finally replied, “I have to show you something.”

Instinctively she knew it wasn’t something she would want to see. He didn’t even want to show it to her. He had to...and even without his choice of words, she would have picked up on his reluctance from the gruffness of his voice.

“Did you find the letters?” she asked. If they’d been at the cabin and if it had been used as a hideout, then the robberies were her fault. She shouldn’t have talked so much about the bank. Her mother was right; she had always talked too much. Even though she hadn’t given out security passwords or anything, she’d talked too much about her duties as the assistant manager. And it wasn’t as if Andy had actually been interested; she’d just rambled.

“Yes, I found your letters,” he replied. But he didn’t hold them out for her to look at; he held out a photograph instead.

She didn’t look at it. First she had to know, “What’s this?”

“You tell me,” he said as he lifted it toward her face. “Is it Andy?”

Her heart leaped again. Was it possible that Andy was alive? But then she looked at the picture. The man in it wasn’t alive. And he wasn’t Andy, either.

“Why would you think that was Andy?” She’d thought he had realized that Mr. Doremire had been drunk and delusional when he’d made those wild claims about Andy faking his death and the Marines covering it up.

“He had on Andy’s dog tags.”

The dog tags that his father claimed had never been found. No wonder Blaine had thought it was Andy. She shook her head.

“He must have been mistaken,” she said. And with as much as he drank, it would be understandable.

“The dog tags must have been in his personal effects along with the letters,” she explained. “His brother must have taken them when he took the letters.”

“Now you think Mark took the dog tags?” he asked.

She pointed at the photo. “That’s Mark, so he must have, since he was wearing them when he died.”

“You’re sure that’s Mark?”

“I’m sure,” she said. “I’m surprised you didn’t recognize him from the security footage.” But he did look different dead. He didn’t look like the smiling man on the television monitor.

Blaine released a ragged breath as if he had been holding it for a while, maybe since he’d found the body and had thought it was Andy. “I think he’s the robber I shot at the bank.”

Shock and regret had her gasping. She remembered that horrific moment—remembered Blaine firing back at the man who’d shot the security guard. “You think he’s the one who killed Sarge?”

Mark had been like her big brother, too. He had always seemed as sweet and easygoing as Andy had been, and he had adored his younger brother. How could he have killed a man that Andy had loved? A man she had loved, as well?