by Lisa Childs
Blaine pushed open the door to a dark and empty house. “Thanks for giving them the heads-up,” he said. “And thanks for letting me crash here.”
Ash Stryker was also an FBI special agent but with the antiterrorism division, so he traveled more than Blaine did. Right now he was in DC or New York; Blaine couldn’t remember which city. Hell, maybe it was neither. Since he specialized in homegrown terrorism, he could have been off in the woods somewhere. Blaine knew better than to ask. Ash was rarely at liberty to say.
“Thanks for calling me about Sarge,” his friend replied, his voice gruff with emotion.
Blaine stopped in midreach for the light switch. While he dealt with his emotions over losing Sarge, he would rather stay in the dark, but he hadn’t wanted to leave Ash there. He’d had to tell him about their loss. He and Ash went back before the Bureau. They had been marines together, too.
“I’m sorry,” Blaine said. “So damn sorry...”
If only he could have done something.
If only he could have stopped Sarge from stepping out from behind that damn pillar.
But Sarge had reacted instinctively to Maggie’s scream and had come to her rescue. If the former military man had actually thought she’d been involved in the robberies, he probably wouldn’t have tried so hard to save her. But maybe he still would have done it—out of loyalty to her dead fiancé. He suspected Sarge had been Andy’s drill instructor, as well.
“I’m going to try to make it home for his funeral,” Ash promised. “Let me know when it is.”
“Sure thing,” Blaine replied. He knew his friend hated going to funerals as much as he did because they had attended way too many. They’d had so many friends who hadn’t made it home—like Maggie’s fiancé. “I’ll tell you as soon as I find out when the arrangements are.”
“Thanks,” Ash said. “And feel free to make yourself at home.”
“I won’t be here long enough,” Blaine said. He was more determined than ever to catch these bank robbers. He flipped on the switch and an overhead light flickered on, illuminating the sparsely furnished living room.
“I’m not there much, either.” Ash stated the obvious. “If my uncle hadn’t left me the place, I would probably just rent an apartment or a hotel room for when I’m in the city.”
Blaine had wondered why his friend owned a house. Ash was a confirmed bachelor. The only commitment he’d ever made was to their country and the Bureau. “Like me,” Blaine murmured.
Ash chuckled. “Well, you have sisters you can crash with when you have the urge to feel domestic.”
Blaine groaned as he thought of the noise and chaos of his sisters’ households. Kids crying. Throwing toys. His sisters yelling at their husbands. “Staying with them and their families reminds me why I’m single.”
But then he thought of Maggie Jenkins and the baby that had moved beneath his touch. Maggie, with her friendly chatter, would fit in well with his family. Hell, she would fit in better than he ever had.
“So I’m warning you,” Ash said, “that the fridge and cupboards are probably bare. There are take-out menus in the cupboard drawer by the fridge, though.”
Blaine didn’t feel like eating. Ever since that bullet had struck Sarge’s chest, he had felt sick. Maggie Jenkins hadn’t made him feel any better. He’d had local authorities take her into protective custody at a nearby motel. She would be safe.
He didn’t need to worry about her. But he was worried. Did the single mom-to-be have anyone she could trust? Even her former roommate had been trying to steal from her. After interrogating Susan Iverson, Blaine believed that was probably the woman’s only crime. He didn’t think she was smart enough to be able to hide it if she were involved in the bank robberies.
“It’s not your fault,” Ash assured him. “You know Sarge. He would have never backed down from a fight—not even when he was outgunned.”
Blaine sighed. “I know, especially since he was determined to protect the bank’s assistant manager.” He’d given up his life for hers and the baby’s.
A large part of Ash’s job was picking up subtext in recorded conversations. That was how he found threats to security. He easily picked up on Blaine’s subtext, too. “Sounds like Sarge might not have been the only one wanting to protect this...woman?”
“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 w
as 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.”
