Watching Over Her

“Yes,” Blaine admitted. “She’s female. She’s also young and pregnant.” Too young to have already lost her fiancé, her baby’s father...

“Married?” Ash inquired.

“No, her fiancé died in Afghanistan.” And she must miss him so much that she couldn’t even bear to look at the engagement ring he had given her. Blaine patted his pocket, but the ring was gone. He’d handed it over to the local authorities as evidence in Susan Iverson’s attempted robbery—along with Maggie’s credit and debit cards. He would make sure that Maggie got back the cards and the ring.

But he couldn’t bring back what she probably wanted most. Her fiancé...

While Blaine had dated over the years, he’d gotten over the breakups easily enough to know that he had never been in love. He couldn’t relate to Maggie’s pain, losing the man with whom she’d intended to spend the rest of her life. It had been hard enough losing the friends he’d lost over the years and now losing Sarge.

“Was her fiancé one of Sarge’s former drills?”

He sighed. “I think so.” It would explain why, after retiring from the military, Sarge had taken a part-time job in a bank. Maybe he’d heard about Maggie getting robbed at the first bank, and he’d intended to protect her. Or maybe she had switched to the bank where Sarge was working because she’d obviously known him. Sarge had always stayed in touch with his former drills.

“Then the old man would have been happy he died saving her,” Ash said.

Blaine hadn’t expected his cynical friend to come up with such a romantic notion. He blinked hard as his eyes began to burn. “Yeah, he would have been...” He sighed. “But the threat isn’t over for Maggie Jenkins. One of the robbers tried grabbing her from the ER where the paramedics took her after the robbery.”

“You stopped him, though.” Ash just assumed.

“This time.”

“You’ll keep Maggie safe for Sarge.”

Blaine wasn’t so sure about that. He had that feeling again—that chill racing up and down his spine—that told him all was not well. The thought had no more than crossed his mind when his phone beeped with an incoming call.

“I have to go, Ash.” He didn’t waste time with goodbyes, just clicked over the phone to take the next call. “Agent Campbell.”

“Agent, this is Officer Montgomery,” a man identified himself. He then continued, “We have a report of shots fired at the motel where we took the bank-robbery witness.”

He cursed, and his stomach knotted with dread. The motel was nearby, but probably still too far for him to get there in time to save her.

* * *

MAGGIE STARED AT the locked bathroom door, waiting for somebody to kick it down or riddle it with bullets. But as she listened, an eerie silence had fallen where only moments before gunfire had deafened her.

She’d wanted to press her hands over her ears and hide under the covers in the dark motel room. But this wasn’t a nightmare from which she could hide. So she had forced herself to jump out of the bed and run into the bathroom. Once in there she had locked the door and barricaded it shut by wedging the vanity chair beneath the knob. As a barricade, it was flimsy; it wouldn’t take someone much to kick open the door and drag her out.

But she wasn’t worried just about herself or about her baby. Had the officer who’d been stationed outside the door of her room been hurt or worse? Her stomach lurched with dread because she suspected the worst. If he was fine, wouldn’t he have checked on her? Wouldn’t he have at least knocked on the bathroom door and assured her it was safe to come out?

But Maggie wasn’t even safe in a safe house.

Blaine Campbell was right. Even though she had no idea what it was, she must have seen or heard something that could identify at least one of the robbers. Why else would they so desperately want her dead?

Unable to stare at the door any longer, she squeezed her eyes shut. And she prayed. She prayed for that young officer who had only been doing his job. Like Sarge, trying to protect her.

And she prayed for her baby. Her hands trembled as she splayed them across her belly. Nothing shifted or kicked beneath her palms. For once the child slept—blissfully unaware of the danger he and his mother faced.

Was this all Maggie’s fault?

Maybe karma didn’t think she deserved the baby because she hadn’t loved the baby’s father the way she should have. Andy had been such a sweet guy; he hadn’t deserved to die. And neither did his baby.

Maggie had to keep him or her safe. But there was no window in the bathroom, no way of escaping except through the door she had barricaded. But the shooting had been out front. Whoever had been shooting at the young police officer could already be inside the motel room, just waiting for her to leave the bathroom.

But the gruesomely masked gunman hadn’t waited for her to leave the hospital. He had walked right into the emergency department and dragged her from her bed.

If one of those masked gunmen were inside the motel room, he wouldn’t wait long for her to come out. He would break down the door to get to her.

To kill her? What else could they want with her?

She had no money to offer them. But after all the banks they had robbed, they shouldn’t need any more money. Some people, however, never thought they had enough. So maybe they wanted to keep robbing banks and for some reason thought she had the knowledge to stop them...

So they wanted to stop her from talking. They wanted to kill her.

As if her fearful thoughts had conjured up one of the men, the door rattled as someone tried to turn the knob. The chair legs squeaked against the vinyl floor, moving as someone wrenched harder on the knob—determined to get to her.

Could she convince them that she knew nothing? That she had no idea who they were?

It was the only chance she had. But she would be able to pull it off only if they still wore the masks. What if they didn’t? Then she couldn’t look at them—because they would kill her for sure.

The door rattled harder—metal hinges creaking, wood cracking. In case they came in firing, she climbed into the bathtub. She put her face down on her knees and wrapped her arms around the back of her head. Her stance wouldn’t protect her or the baby from bullets. But she had no other way to protect herself...

The chair toppled over against the sink, and the door flew open with such force that the wood cracked against the side of the bathtub. Someone must have kicked it in.

But she didn’t dare look up. She didn’t want to be able to identify any of the robbers. She wanted the danger to end. She actually wanted Blaine Campbell and his protection. But he was too far away to protect her.

“Please leave me alone,” she begged. “You don’t have to hurt me. I don’t know anything about the robberies. And I don’t care...”

All she cared about was her baby. She actually hadn’t been thrilled when she’d found out she was pregnant. But then Andy had died and she’d been relieved that she hadn’t lost him completely.

But now she wasn’t just going to lose that last piece of Andy—she was going to lose her own life, too.

Chapter Eight

Guilt had Blaine’s shoulder slumping slightly. Or maybe he’d hurt it when he had broken down the bathroom door. “Maggie, it’s me,” he said.

But she kept her arms locked around her head, her body trembling inside the bathtub. Curled up the way she was, she looked so small—so fragile—so frightened.

He hadn’t dared to say who he was as he broke down the door...because he hadn’t known what he would find inside. Maggie might not have been alone. One of the gunmen might have gotten to her and barricaded them both inside the bathroom when he’d arrived. Or it might have only been one of the gunmen inside the bathroom and Maggie might have already been gone.

Blaine hadn’t arrived quite in time. The officer outside the door had been shot. Maybe mortally...

Sirens wailed outside the motel as more emergency vehicles careened into the lot. Hopefully an ambulance was among them—with help for the young cop and for Maggie.

Maybe she needed medical attention, too. Had any of the shots fired at the officer struck her? Blaine looked into the tub again, but he noticed no blood on the white porcelain—only Maggie’s dark curls spread across the cold surface.

“Maggie!” He reached out for her.

But she swung her hands then, striking out at him. “Leave me alone! Leave me alone!”

He caught her wrists and then lifted her wriggling body from the tub and into his arms. “Maggie! It’s me—it’s Blaine!”

Finally she looked up, her dark eyes wide as she stared at him in wonder. “Blaine!” Then she threw her arms around his neck and clung to him.

And his guilt increased. He never should have left her to the protection of anyone else. The young officer had been shot, and Maggie might have been taken if he hadn’t gotten there in time. The wounded officer had held off the gunmen until Blaine had arrived.

Then Blaine had fired on them, too. He didn’t think that he’d hit any of them, though. And tires had squealed as a van had sped out of the parking lot.

For a long, horrible moment he’d thought that Maggie might have been in that van. That he had been too late to save her. Then he had found the bathroom door locked inside the room, and he’d hoped that she’d hidden away. But Blaine had been doing this job too long to be optimistic. So he had expected the worst—that one of the gunmen had been left behind and barricaded himself alone or, worse yet, inside the bathroom with Maggie.

In a ragged sigh of relief, her breath shuddered out against his throat. She had undoubtedly expected the worst when he’d broken open the door.

He wrapped his arms tightly around Maggie, holding her close. She trembled against him—as if she couldn’t stop shaking. She was probably in shock.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

But he had to pull away and leave her again—only because he had to make sure that help had arrived for the young officer and for Maggie. He wanted a doctor to check her out again.

He wanted to make sure that she was all right.

How much fear could she and her baby handle?

There was only one way that Blaine would truly be able to protect her, the way Sarge had wanted and died trying to do. And that was to find out who was so determined to grab her or kill her.

Who were the bank robbers?

* * *

ONE OF THE paramedics assured Maggie and Agent Campbell that she was fine. Apparently she couldn’t die from fear.

What about embarrassment?

She had embarrassed herself when she cried out his name and clung to him. She had acted like a girlfriend when he considered her a robbery suspect.

Or had he changed his mind about that?

Then he took her to his home—although home was stretching it. The bungalow obviously belonged to a single man. There were no pictures on the walls. No knickknacks on the built-in shelves. Not even a book or a magazine.

The living room held a couch and a chair while the dining room contained a desk instead of a table. The table was in the kitchen, but it had only two chairs at it. There was a bed in each of the two bedrooms.

Blaine showed her to one while taking the other for himself. Maybe she slept. Maggie wasn’t sure. She drifted in and out, occasionally hearing Blaine’s voice. She doubted he slept at all. He had been on his cell phone instead.

The house was quiet now. But Maggie knew he hadn’t left because she smelled food. Bacon. And coffee. Her stomach grumbled, but she stayed in bed, not eager to face him. Her face heated even now, as she thought of how she’d acted.

Like a girlfriend...

But Blaine Campbell was just an FBI agent doing his job. He probably had a girlfriend somewhere, because a man that handsome was unlikely to be single. Unless Blaine’s only commitment was his career...

She had to stop thinking of him as Blaine and remember that he was Special Agent Campbell. That was all he was and all he would ever be to her.

The baby kicked. Apparently they both wanted food. So she tossed back the covers and kicked her legs over the side of the bed. The T-shirt Blaine had loaned her as a nightgown had ridden up, revealing her high-cut briefs. She reached to tug down the hem of the shirt just as someone cleared his throat.

“Sorry,” Blaine said, as he had the night before when he’d peeled her off him.

She was the one who should be apologizing—for inconveniencing him as she had. For costing him a friend like Sarge. For making his job harder. But for once she, who usually couldn’t stop talking, couldn’t find words to express herself and her gratefulness for his saving her over and over again.

“I was just coming up to see if you were awake,” he said. “I had some groceries delivered and made breakfast.”

The man could cook? He really was perfect.

But perfect wasn’t for Maggie—not with the mess her life had become. She pulled the T-shirt down, but it was still short enough that it left her legs bare. And, in her mind, Blaine’s gaze skimmed down her legs like a caress.

But that could only be in her mind—her imagination. The FBI agent couldn’t really be interested in her. Not for anything but information...

He proved that a short while later when he picked her empty plate up from the table and started asking questions. “You’re sure that you didn’t recognize anyone from the robberies?”

“I’m sure,” she said. “I only recognized those horrible masks from the robbery at the Sturgis branch where I used to work.” She shuddered as she thought of the grotesque masks. They could have come right from that R-rated zombie movie she’d gone to so long ago. “With the masks and the trench coats, I couldn’t see any facial features or even body types of the robbers.”

“You’re not protecting anyone?”

She shook her head. But her hands automatically covered her belly. The baby had stopped moving. Maybe the food had satiated him. The cheesy scrambled eggs, crisp bacon and wheat toast had been delicious—so delicious that Maggie had probably eaten more than she should have.

But then, she could barely remember the last time she’d eaten. Some crackers at the hospital? Before that a breakfast she’d made herself—lumpy oatmeal with too much brown sugar. She would have to learn to be a better cook for the baby. If she lived long enough to cook for him...

“I want to protect my baby,” she said. But she feared that she was going to fail, just as she had failed Andy. “That’s the only person I’m protecting. So if I knew anything about the robbers, I would tell you.”

“You haven’t noticed anyone hanging around the bank, casing the place?” he asked.

She shook her head again. “I don’t know what casing a place looks like. So I can’t say that someone hasn’t done it.” Obviously they had or they wouldn’t have pulled off the robbery so easily—until Blaine had arrived. If only he could have saved Sarge...

Blaine hadn’t eaten nearly as much as she had. Most of his food was on his plate yet, forgotten, as he asked his questions. “Nobody came around both of the banks?”

Once again, she shook her head. “The branches are far enough away that they had different customers. I knew most of the clients from Sturgis since I’d worked at that branch since I graduated, but I’m just getting to know the people at this branch.” Should she bother? Or should she move on again to another branch, another city?

How would she work there without remembering those robbers bursting in? That was why she’d left Sturgis. Because of the memories. But there were worse ones here; there was Sarge getting shot and dying.

“What about workers?” Blaine asked. “Did Susan work at both branches, too?”

“No,” she said. “I’m the only one who worked at both branches.” Which was why he had suspected she was involved, and she couldn’t blame him for his suspicions. “But I really have nothing to do with the robberies.”

He didn’t look at her the way he had before, as if he doubted her.

Hope fluttered in her chest like her baby fluttered in her belly, waking up from his or her short nap. “Do you believe me?” she asked.

He uttered a heavy sigh of resignation. “I believe that you’re not consciously involved.”

She should have been happy that he didn’t think she was a criminal mastermind, but his comment dented her pride. He clearly thought she was an idiot instead. “I’m not unconsciously involved, either.”

“You haven’t told anyone about your job?” he asked.

“Most people know that I work at a bank,” she said, “except for Mr. Simmons.”

“Because you don’t want to worry him,” he said with a slight smile, as if amused or moved.

She sighed. “That was all for nothing after you called the cops on Susan. He probably knows now. But that’s all anyone knows about me—that I work there.”

“You haven’t told anyone any details that might make it easier for them to hold up the bank,” he persisted, “to know which days you’d have the most cash on hand?”

“No,” she replied, pride stinging at how stupid he thought her. He wasn’t the only one who’d thought that. Because she talked a lot, people sometimes thought she was flighty. But her grades in school and college had proved them all wrong. She talked a lot because she really didn’t like silence. It made her uncomfortable, so she generally tended to fill it with chatter.

“You don’t talk to your family about your job?” he asked skeptically. “You wouldn’t share any details with them?”

So now he thought her family members were criminal masterminds? She corrected that misassumption. “For his job, my dad and mom moved to Hong Kong a couple of years ago.”

And since Andy’s death, all they talked about was the weather—asking about hers, telling about theirs. Their conversations didn’t get any deeper; they were probably afraid that they might make her cry if they brought up something that would remind her of Andy. Or maybe it would make them cry because they’d loved him like a son.

“You don’t have any brothers or sisters?” he asked.

“No.” And because she was sick of being the only one answering questions, she started asking some of her own. “What about you?”

“I have three older sisters,” he replied, and his lips curved into a slight smile as his green eyes crinkled a little at the corners.

Growing up, she had wanted sisters. But her father had been busy with his career, and her mom hadn’t wanted to raise more than one child alone. Maggie would really be raising her baby alone.

She shook off the self-pity before she could wallow and asked, “Any brothers?”

“Just in arms,” he replied.

Fellow marines. Andy had called them brothers, too. She sighed.

“Do you have any friends that you’re really close to?” he asked. “Anyone that you would talk to without realizing that you might have let some information slip?”

He really thought she was an idiot. But maybe she had been—because she had told someone more than she should have.

Since he watched her closely, he must have caught her reaction as her realization dawned. “There is someone,” he concluded. “Who?”

“It doesn’t make a difference now,” she said.

“Who is it?” he asked, his voice sharp as if he thought she was protecting someone.

“Andy,” she said. “I told Andy everything...” Since they were kids, he had been her best friend, her confidant.

His blond head bobbed in a sharp nod. “Of course...”

But then she realized that she’d lied to the agent. She hadn’t told Andy everything, or she would have told him the truth—that she didn’t love him as anything more than her best friend. Maybe she’d told him so much about the bank because, as with her parents just discussing the weather, she had preferred to talk to Andy about her job than about her feelings or their future. She hadn’t seen one for them, but not because she’d thought he was going to die.

“But Andy’s gone,” she said. “So there’s no way he could have had anything to do with the bank robberies.”

“Can I ask...how did he die?”

For once she was short with her words. “He drove a supply truck. An IED took out the whole convoy.”

He flinched. “I’m sorry.”

She nodded. It was her automatic reaction to everyone’s condolences. Condolences she didn’t feel she really deserved, just the way she felt she hadn’t deserved Andy.

“Would Andy have told anyone what you told him?” Blaine asked.

“Why?” While he had listened to her, Andy really hadn’t cared about her job. He’d been proud that she’d gone to college, that she’d gotten her degree in finance, but he’d thought that she would quit working once they got married and started having kids.

Andy really hadn’t known her at all. Or he would have guessed that, while she loved him, she wasn’t in love with him. So if Andy hadn’t known her that well, maybe she hadn’t known him, either.

“I can think of hundreds of thousands of reasons why he might have told someone,” Blaine replied.

Maggie defended her friend. “Andy didn’t care about money.”

“But that was quite a ring he bought you...”

He hadn’t just paid for that ring with money; he’d paid for it with his life, too. “He used his bonus—for re-upping and for his last deployment...”

Blaine nodded as if she’d answered another question—one that he hadn’t actually asked. “Maybe he didn’t realize that he was revealing anything.”

She hadn’t realized that something she’d said could have led to those robberies, to Sarge’s death. She hoped Blaine was wrong because she already had too much guilt to live with; she didn’t need any more.

Chapter Nine

Maggie insisted on going to the bank, and Blaine agreed. The bank wasn’t open for business, though. Not yet. Repairmen were working on replacing the broken windows and fixing the damaged walls and furniture. So Blaine took her around the back, through the security door that the robbers had dragged her out.

That was hard enough—watching her face drain of color as she relived those moments. She probably hadn’t thought she was going to get away from the robbers. And for a few moments Blaine hadn’t thought he was going to get her away from them—then or later at the hospital or the motel.

He relived all those moments and found his arm coming around her thin shoulders. “Maybe this was a bad idea,” he murmured.

“I need to go to my office,” she said. “And make sure I didn’t leave anything out yesterday.”

“The manager closed up the bank yesterday,” he assured her. “I’m sure he locked up whatever paperwork you might have had out.”

He did not want her going to her office. Since her walls were glass, it had also been damaged from the gunfire. And in the lobby was the outline where Sarge’s body had been. She didn’t need to see that, and neither did he.

Maggie shook her head. “No, Mr. Hardy wouldn’t have done it himself. He probably let Susan do it and that’s how she got hold of my purse.”

Blaine hadn’t been that impressed with the manager—especially when the guy had been firing questions at her while the paramedics were trying to assess her condition. It was obvious that most of the day-to-day administration had fallen on Maggie’s slim shoulders. “She got your purse, your keys and your credit cards.”

She sighed. “I should cancel my credit cards.”

“She already used a couple of them,” he said. While Maggie had been at the hospital, the greedy woman had used her cards. “Why did you ever have her as your roommate?”

Maggie shrugged hard enough to dislodge his arm and stepped away from his side. Maybe he had offended her by implying that she wasn’t the greatest judge of character. “She was really nice to me when I first started working here,” she said in defense of their relationship, “so I agreed to let her move in when her boyfriend kicked her out and she had nobody else to stay with.”

He wondered if that had been a ruse. Maybe he had underestimated Susan Iverson’s intelligence. He would take another look at her. But first he wanted Maggie to look at something; that was why he had agreed to bring her down to the bank.