Watching Over Her

“Where is he?” the chief asked, as if he had read Blaine’s mind. “Why haven’t you brought Mark Doremire in for questioning?”

“We haven’t found him yet.”

“We?” the chief asked. “You’re having the witness help you do your job?”

“I have an APB out on him,” he said. “The witness is helping me figure out places where the man could be hiding. We checked out his dad’s house.”

The chief studied him through narrowed, dark eyes. “So you’re only using her to lead you to a suspect?”

Blaine tensed as anger surged through him. “I’m not using her. I’m trying to keep her and her baby from getting killed.”

“Is it the pregnant thing that’s getting to you?” the chief asked.

If this was the way this chief ran this Bureau, Blaine wasn’t sure he would want to stay in Chicago after all. And he’d considered staying here, putting down roots. Chicago wasn’t that many miles from his sister Buster, who had settled in west Michigan.

“What?” he asked, offended that his professionalism was being questioned.

“I’ve read your history. I know you have a few sisters. Is that it?” the chief persisted.

He didn’t feel at all brotherly toward Maggie Jenkins. And he suspected that neither did Mark Doremire. “The robbers keep trying to grab her. One of these times that they’re trying, we’ll be able to catch them.”

“So you’re using her as bait.”

He tensed again. Furious and offended. “You may have read my file, but you don’t know me.”

“Ash Stryker does,” the chief said. “He vouched for you. Says you’re the best.”

Although Blaine appreciated his friend’s endorsement, he added, “My record says that.”

“I’m still worried about the witness.”

So was Blaine.

“You no longer think she’s personally involved in the robberies?” the chief asked, as if he wasn’t as convinced.

“She didn’t plan the robberies.” Blaine was certain of it. “She didn’t recruit the other robbers.”

“What evidence do you have of that?” Chief Lynch asked. “Her word?”

“The attempts on her life,” he replied.

“Coconspirators have never tried killing each other?” The chief snorted. “You’ve been doing this job long enough to know better than that.”

“No honor among thieves,” Blaine murmured.

“Or loyalty.”

“If that were true, she would have given them up,” Blaine pointed out. “If she knew who they were, the fastest way to stop them would be to tell me who they are.”

“You really believe that she doesn’t know?”

He nodded. “But the robbers don’t realize she doesn’t. They must think that she can identify them somehow. That’s why she’s our best lead to them. It’s also why she’s in so much danger.”

“But guarding her isn’t the best use of your time or talents,” the chief said. “We’ll put other agents on her protection duty. We can keep Jackson and Hernandez on her.”

Blaine was used to butting heads with local authorities trying to run his investigation. Usually the Bureau respected his handling of a case. But maybe the chief was right. Maybe he had lost all perspective where Maggie Jenkins was involved.

Maybe it would be better for him to trust her protection to someone else...because he couldn’t trust himself where Maggie Jenkins was concerned.

* * *

BLAINE HAD BEEN gone so long—all night and all morning—that Maggie doubted he was ever coming back. And she felt sick to her stomach because of it. Maybe that was why the baby was restless; maybe it was because he missed him, too.

Him? Andy’s dad had called him a boy. Sometimes she thought her baby was, too. But she didn’t care if she had a boy or girl; she just wanted a healthy baby. That was all she wanted.

She didn’t want Blaine Campbell. Liar, she chastised herself. She had wanted him, the night before, when he’d kissed her senseless. But when he’d pulled back, and her senses had returned, she’d recognized his kiss for what it was. A balm for her battered ego. Pity...

So she didn’t want Blaine Campbell anymore. All she wanted was a healthy baby. And she couldn’t have that with someone trying to kill her. So she gathered her courage and picked up the phone one of the agents had let her borrow. She dialed a number she had looked up online. Andy’s mom was listed.

“Hello?” a friendly female voice answered on the first ring.

“Mrs. Doremire?”

“Maggie? Is that you?” the older woman asked. “Is everything all right? Is the baby all right?”

“Yes.” For now...

“Oh, thank God.” The woman released a sigh of relief that rattled the phone. “What can I help you with, honey?”

Honey. She didn’t hate her like Andy’s dad did? “I stopped by your old home yesterday...”

The woman drew in a sharp breath. “I’m sorry that you did that. Was it...unpleasant?”

Maggie’s cheek hadn’t bruised, but it was still sensitive to the touch. “I understand that he’s very upset about Andy’s death.”

“What death?” she asked.

And that sick feeling churned harder in Maggie’s stomach. Was Andy’s entire family crazy?

“My ex-husband refuses to accept that Andy’s dead,” Janet Doremire continued.

“Is that why he’s drinking so much?”

“It’s his new excuse to drink,” Janet replied. “But he always had one.”

Why had Andy never told her what he’d gone through at home? They had been best friends. But apparently neither of them had really told each other everything.

“I’m sorry...”

“He refuses to accept Andy’s death because then he’ll have to admit his blame for it.”

“Blame?” Someone besides her blamed himself for Andy’s death?

“He’s the reason Andy joined the Marines,” Janet explained. “Dustin told him that it would make a man of him.”

But Maggie and Sarge had been right. Andy hadn’t had the temperament for it. He wasn’t like Blaine Campbell, who hadn’t hesitated over firing his weapon or risking his life.

Mrs. Doremire sighed again. “Instead it killed him.”

Was that why Andy’s mom had left his dad? Because she blamed him, too? Or was it over the drinking? Maggie didn’t want to pry.

But Mrs. Doremire willingly divulged, “Andy’s death showed me that life’s too short to waste. I wasted too many years with my ex. I didn’t want to spend another minute in that unhappy marriage. Andy would have wanted me to be happy.”

“Yes, he would have,” Maggie agreed. He had loved his mother very much. But now she realized he had never said that much about his father.

“Andy would have wanted you to be happy, too,” Janet Doremire continued.

Tears stung Maggie’s eyes, but she blinked hard, fighting them back. He would have wanted her to be happy because that was the kind of man he’d been.

“I know you’re carrying his baby, but you need to move on, Maggie,” Janet Doremire continued. “You and Andy only ever dated each other. You got too serious way too young—like me and Andy’s father had. You should get out there.” The woman chuckled. “Well, once the baby’s born.”

“Mrs. Doremire, I can’t—” Maggie couldn’t have this discussion with Andy’s mother. She couldn’t talk about dating someone else. “That’s not why I called you...”

“I’m sorry, honey,” Mrs. Doremire said. “Why did you call me?”

“I was wondering if you had the letters I wrote to Andy—if they’d been returned in his personal effects...?”

“I don’t know,” Mrs. Doremire said. “I never looked through his stuff.”

“Do you have it?”

“No. I left it and the rest of my past at the old house. I don’t want to wallow in it. You shouldn’t, either,” Mrs. Doremire said. “You don’t need those letters, honey. Let them and Andy go.”

The baby shifted inside Maggie, kicking, as if in protest. Would Mrs. Doremire even want anything to do with her grandchild once he or she was born? Or was she determined to forget everything about Andy?

That was obviously her way of dealing with her grief. And Andy’s dad chose to wallow in alcohol. Since his ex hadn’t taken everything, as he’d claimed, he must have either broken it or sold it. What had he done with her letters?

“Thank you, Mrs. Doremire...” But she spoke only to a dial tone. The older woman had already hung up. “But I really do need those letters...”

“We just need to know who has them,” a deep voice remarked.

She turned to find Blaine standing in her bedroom doorway. She hadn’t even heard him open the door. How long had he been there?

“She says her ex-husband,” Maggie replied with a sigh. “I don’t want to go back there, but I really want those letters.”

“I’ll send an agent with a warrant for Andy’s personal effects,” he said. “We’ll get them.”

Her face heated with embarrassment. “I wish nobody had to see those letters.”

“Nobody cares about the personal parts,” Blaine said. “Just the parts that relate to the bank procedures.”

“That’s what I worry about someone reading,” she admitted. “I was such a fool to share those details with anyone. I’ll probably get fired when it gets out that it’s all my fault.”

“We don’t know that it is,” Blaine said. “Maybe nobody read those letters. And as you’ve pointed out, other banks were robbed.”

“Other banks that probably follow the same procedures we do,” she said with a sigh. “I’ll get fired and be unable to get a job anywhere else.” And then how would she support herself and her baby?

“Don’t panic,” Blaine said. “We’ll figure this out.”

No, he would. And once he figured it out, he would be gone.

“Where have you been?” she asked. Then her face grew hotter as she realized she sounded like his wife or girlfriend, like someone who actually had a right to ask him where he’d been.

“Bureau chief wanted an update on my progress,” he replied easily, as if he felt she had a right to ask.

“You were gone a long time,” she said. “You must’ve had a lot to tell him.” He had probably told the chief about her letters and Andy’s brother and dad.

“He had a lot to say, too,” Blaine said with a sigh. “He thinks that I’m losing my objectivity where you’re concerned.”

“Because he thinks you should still consider me a suspect?” Maybe Blaine did; he had never really said that he no longer had any suspicions about her.

“Chief Lynch thinks that I shouldn’t be the one protecting you,” he said.

That explained the other agents who’d guarded her last night and today. But the thought of losing Blaine’s protection panicked her. She wasn’t just frightened for the baby’s safety or hers; she was panicked at the thought of no longer seeing Blaine. “I don’t understand. You’ve saved me. You’ve kept me safe.”

“He’s right,” Blaine said. “I should not be protecting you. I have lost my focus.”

“So you’re going to send me away—to one of those safe houses again?” She was losing him already. She had been right to not fall for him. But despite her best intentions, she was afraid that it was already too late.

“Not yet,” he said. And he stepped inside the room and closed the door behind himself. “Not tonight...”

“Blaine...?”

“This is why I shouldn’t be the man protecting you,” he said, “because I want you. Because I’m attracted to you, and when I’m around you, I can barely think, let alone keep you safe.”

She must have fallen asleep; she must have been dreaming—because he couldn’t be saying what she was hearing. Testing her reality, she reached out and touched his face. His skin was stubbly and sexy beneath her palm, making her fingers tingle.

“You’re attracted to me?”

“I showed you last night,” he reminded her, “with that kiss.”

“I thought that was pity.”

He laughed. “That wasn’t pity.”

“Then why did you stop?” She’d lain awake all night—wanting him. Needing him...

“I thought I was taking advantage of you,” he said, “of your vulnerability.”

She shook her head. “You weren’t...”

“I want to,” he said. “I want you...”

She wanted him, too, so she tugged him down onto the bed with her. And she kissed him with all the desire he had awakened in her the night before—all the desire she had never felt before. It coursed through her again as their lips met.

He kissed her back. And it was definitely not with pity but with desire. He touched her, too, his hands moving gently over her body.

Her pulse pounded madly. She wanted him to rip off her clothes, but he removed them carefully, slowly, as if giving her time to change her mind.

She had never wanted anything—anyone—more. She didn’t take off his clothes slowly; she nearly tore buttons and snaps in her haste to get him naked. When all his golden skin was bare, she gasped in wonder at his masculine beauty. His body was so sleek but yet so muscular, too.

He made love to her reverently, moving his lips all over her body. He kissed her mouth, her cheek, her neck before moving lower. He nibbled on her breasts, tugging gently on her nipples.

She moaned in ecstasy, her body already pulsing with passion. She pushed him back on the bed and he pulled her on top of him, gently guiding his erection inside her.

“This is all right?” he asked, his hands holding her hips—holding her up before she took him all the way inside her. “For the baby?”

She bit her lip and nodded. Even though she had told her doctor it wouldn’t be an issue, the female obstetrician had assured Maggie that sex wouldn’t jeopardize her pregnancy at all. “It’s fine.”

He pulled her down until he filled her. And she moaned again.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Not yet,” she said, as she began to move again—rocking back and forth—trying to relieve the inexplicable pressure building inside her. “But I will be...”

He helped, guiding her up and down—teasing her breasts with his lips and gently with his teeth—until ecstasy shattered her and she screamed his name. Then he thrust and called out as he joined her in ecstasy.

She collapsed on top of him, their bodies still joined. He clasped her to him, holding her tightly in his arms. His heart beat heavily beneath her head, and his lungs panted for breath. Finally his heart slowed and his breathing evened out, and she realized he’d fallen asleep beneath her.

She would have been offended if she wasn’t aware that he’d had no sleep the past two nights. And maybe even more nights before that. She hadn’t had much more sleep, so she began to drift off, too.

Until her eyes began to burn and her lungs...

At first she blamed guilt. But Mrs. Doremire was right. Andy would have wanted her to be happy, so she couldn’t use him as an excuse. But as it became harder for her to breathe, she realized what the real problem was.

Smoke. Someone had set the house on fire.

Chapter Fifteen

“Blaine!”

The sound of his name—uttered with such fear and urgency—jerked him awake as effectively as if she’d screamed. He coughed and sputtered as smoke burned his throat and lungs.

Soft hands gripped his shoulders, shaking him. “The house is on fire! We have to get out!”

They pulled on clothes in the dark and Blaine grabbed up his holster and his gun. He couldn’t believe that he hadn’t awakened earlier. The fire must have been burning for a while because there was a lot of smoke—so much that it was hard to breathe. Hard to see. But there wasn’t much heat.

Maybe the smoke was just a ruse to get them out of the house—where Maggie could be grabbed. Or shot. But the smoke, growing denser and denser, could kill her, too.

She coughed and sputtered. But she didn’t speak. She must have been too scared.

So was Blaine. He was scared that he had failed her and the baby—that he had broken his promise to her that he would keep them safe. He shouldn’t have let his desire for her distract him. He shouldn’t have crossed the line with a material witness.

“We have to stay low,” he said as he helped her down to the floor. He reached forward and touched the door, his palm against the wood. It wasn’t warm—at least, not as warm as the floor beneath his knees.

Maggie must have felt it, too, because she gasped and started to rise. But Blaine caught her arm and pulled her back down as she began to cough.

Getting out wouldn’t be easy, especially if the whole first floor was engulfed as he suspected. But he didn’t have time to devise a plan. He had to act now—before the floor gave way beneath them.

So he opened the door to the hall. The smoke was even thicker than in the bedroom. He crossed it quickly to the bathroom, grabbed towels from a shelf and soaked them under the tub faucet. Maggie was still in the hall as if she hadn’t been able to see where to go. He wrapped Maggie’s face and body in the wet towels, and then he picked her up in his arms.

“Blaine...”

He coughed, and his eyes teared up from the smoke. But there was no time. And maybe there was no escape. He couldn’t jump out a second-story window—not without hurting Maggie and her baby. So he ran toward the stairs. The bottom floor was aglow from the flames, but none licked up the steps. So he ran down them—wood weakening and splintering beneath them from the heat and the fire.

The house creaked and groaned as the flames consumed it. And the smoke overwhelmed him, blinding him to any exits. But he remembered where the front door was.

But had it been barricaded? Or were those gunmen waiting outside it to make sure they didn’t escape?

As he headed toward it, the door burst open, and men in masks hurried into the house. These weren’t those horrible zombie masks. These masks had oxygen pumping into them and were attached to hats. Firemen had arrived. Of course one of Ash’s neighbors would have called the police. They would have noticed the flames—unlike Blaine.

He shouldn’t have sent the other agents away. But he had wanted one last night alone with Maggie. That night might have cost her life or her baby’s life. Her body was going limp in his arms.

One of the firemen took Maggie from him and carried her out. Blaine should have fought the man. He should have made certain that he really was a fireman. What if it was one of the robbers in another disguise?

Blaine hurried after him, but the smoke was so thick in his lungs now that he couldn’t draw a breath deep enough. He couldn’t breathe. And before he could hurry after Maggie, the house shuddered as the second story began to fall into the first...

* * *

MAGGIE’S THROAT BURNED. From the smoke and from screaming. Over the fireman’s shoulder, she had seen the roof collapse and the house fold in on itself...and on Blaine. She’d pounded on the fireman’s shoulders, but he hadn’t released her.

And for a moment, she had stared up in fear that the mask wasn’t any more real than the zombie masks had been. She’d worried that it had just been a disguise.

And she’d reached for it. But she’d been too weak to pull it off. Too weak to fight off the man as he carried her away. He put her into the back of a vehicle, and it sped away with her locked inside. Sirens wailed and lights flashed, but she still did not trust where it would take her. She didn’t trust the oxygen either that a young woman gave her in the back of that van.

What if it was a drug or a gas? What if it knocked her out? She tried to fight it, but she didn’t have the strength to pull off the mask. And then it began to make her feel better, stronger.

So when the doors opened again, she was strong enough to fight. To run. But the doors opened to a hospital Emergency entrance. She pulled off the oxygen mask and asked, “Where’s Blaine?”

The paramedic stared down at her as she pushed the stretcher through the sliding doors of the ER entrance. “Who?”

“Agent Campbell,” she said. “He was in the house...” She coughed and sputtered, but she wasn’t choking on the smoke. She was choking on emotion. “He was in the house...when the roof caved in...”

The paramedic shrugged. “I don’t know...”

“Do you know if anybody else got out?”

Blaine hadn’t been the only one inside; there had been other firemen, too. Real firemen, she realized they were. They would have saved him. Right? They would have made certain Blaine got out alive.

“I don’t know, miss,” the female paramedic replied. “We were told to get you to the hospital right away because of the baby.”

Maggie had one hand splayed across her belly, feeling for movement. Was he okay? She hoped the smoke hadn’t hurt him. She was scared to think of what it might have done to his heart. His brain...

“That’s good,” she agreed. “We need to check out the baby.”

“And you, too,” the paramedic said. She leaned back as doctors ran up.

But Maggie grabbed the young woman’s arm. “Was there another ambulance there?” Was there someone who could help Blaine?

Because after seeing the roof collapse, she had no doubt that all of the people still inside would need medical help. Maggie was glad that she and her baby had been brought to the hospital so quickly. But she also wished they would have waited for Blaine—to bring him in with her.

Then she would know how badly he’d been hurt. Or if he had survived at all...

The young paramedic didn’t have a chance to answer her question before doctors and nurses whisked Maggie’s stretcher into a treatment area. They hooked her to another oxygen machine and an IV. There was also a heart monitor for the baby and an ultrasound.

She breathed a sigh of relief when she heard the fast but steady beat. “He’s alive...”

“His heart sounds good,” a doctor agreed.

“And his lungs?”

“Did you ever lose consciousness?” someone asked. “Did you pass out from the smoke?”

Maggie shook her head.

“We’ll administer some prenatal steroids to help the development of his lungs,” the doctor said, “to make sure everything’s fine...”

But everything wouldn’t be fine until she learned if Blaine had made it out of the burning house.

“He’s active,” the doctor said as he watched the ultrasound screen.

He. The picture on the ultrasound confirmed what Maggie had previously only suspected. She was carrying a baby boy. She wanted to share that news with her best friend. But he was gone. She wanted to share that news with the man she loved. But Blaine was gone, too.

Maybe the IV contained a sedative because she must have drifted off despite her worry. She didn’t know how much time had passed, but when she awoke, she was no longer in the emergency department. She was alone in a room but for the man—tall and broad-shouldered—who stood in the doorway.

Hope burgeoned in her heart. “Blaine?”

The man stepped forward...into the light that glowed dimly from another doorway, perhaps to the bathroom. The man’s hair was dark and his eyes were light, not gold and green like Blaine’s. Disappointment made her heart feel heavy in her chest. “You’re not Blaine.”

But the man who had purchased those stolen vans had been described as dark haired with light eyes. This man matched that description as much as Mark Doremire had.

Could he be one of the robbers? And if he’d forgone the zombie mask, then he had no intention of letting her live.

“Who are you?” she asked. She didn’t recognize him. She would have had no way of identifying him as one of the suspects in the robbery.

“I’m not Blaine Campbell,” he agreed with a short chuckle. “My name is Ash Stryker. I’m also an FBI agent and a friend of Blaine’s.”

“Is he okay?” she asked. “Is he here?” She struggled to sit up, ready to jump out of bed and go to him.

Ash shook his head. “No. He’s not here. That’s why he asked me to stay with you.”

“But is he okay?” she asked, and her panic grew. Had Blaine asking Ash to stay with her been his deathbed request? Was that why he wasn’t there?

Because he was gone? Dead and gone?

Ash nodded, but he had that same telltale signal of stress that Blaine did. A muscle twitched in his cheek. Maybe that twitch wasn’t just betraying his stress but his lie—like a gambler’s tell in a poker game.