The Pregnant Witness

by Lisa Childs

  But this family obviously didn’t care about what was right. Or honorable. Or legal.

  He had to find Mark Doremire—had to catch him before he got beyond Blaine’s reach.

  “Where is her condo?” Maggie asked.

  Andy’s father named some complex that had her nodding as if she knew where it was. “It’s not that far from here,” she said. “We can go there now.”

  Blaine had no intention of taking her anywhere but to a bed. To rest...

  But the thought of a bed reminded him of that morning, of her flicking back the covers to reveal all her voluptuous curves. The woman was so damn sexy.

  “Tell that witch that she didn’t break me,” Mr. Doremire said. “Tell her that I’m fine...”

  He was anything but fine. The former Mrs. Doremire was probably well aware of that, though.

  “I hope you will be,” Maggie said. After how the man had treated her, how could she wish the best for him?

  Blaine had met few women as sweet and genuine as Maggie Jenkins.

  But the old man stared up at her again with stark hatred. “I hope you get what you deserve.”

  It wasn’t so much what he said but the venomous tone with which he said it that had Blaine protesting, “Mr. Doremire—”

  “And you, Mr. Agent, I hope the same for you. Maybe you two deserve each other...”

  Blaine knew that wasn’t true. Maggie deserved a better man. He should have protected her better than he had. So, finally, he guided her toward the door.

  “But don’t go thinking you’re going to be raising that baby together,” Mr. Doremire yelled after them. “Andy’s going to take that baby. He’s going to raise his son himself.”

  Maggie sighed. “Andy’s gone...”

  “He’s not dead,” the older man drunkenly insisted. “You’re going to see when he comes for his baby boy. You’re going to see that he’s not dead.”

  Maybe he wasn’t dead—in his father’s alcohol-saturated mind or in Maggie’s heart. Blaine wished he was man enough to deserve her love. But he suspected she had none left to give anyway.

  * * *

  ONCE BLAINE SAID it was too late to see Mrs. Doremire, Maggie feigned falling asleep in the SUV. She didn’t want to talk. She didn’t want to even look at Blaine. Her face was too hot, and not from Mr. Doremire’s slap but with embarrassment over all the horrible things that old drunk had said in front of Blaine.

  Maybe he hadn’t heard everything; maybe he’d been outside during the worst of it. But he had come running back when she’d screamed. He had saved her—as he always did.

  Mr. Doremire hadn’t been wrong about how she looked at the FBI agent. Despite not wanting to fall for him, she was falling. She had more love to give than she’d realized. But Blaine wouldn’t want her love—or anything else to do with her, for that matter—once the bank robbers were caught.

  The SUV drew to a stop. Then the engine cut out. A door opened and then another. Hers.

  Blaine slid one arm under her legs and another around her back, as if he intended to lift her up the way he would a sleeping child. She jerked back.

  “Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I just didn’t want to wake you up.”

  “I’m up,” she said.

  But he didn’t step back; he didn’t give her any room to step out of the SUV. He was too close, his green gaze too intense on her face.

  Her skin heated and flushed. She wished he wouldn’t look at her. She lifted her hand to her face.

  But he beat her to it, bringing his hand up to cup her cheek. “I don’t think it’ll bruise,” he said.

  She shrugged. She couldn’t have cared less about her face. The man’s words had hurt far more than his slap. “It’s fine.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “You’re sorry?”

  “I shouldn’t have left you alone with him.” Blaine pushed a hand through his disheveled hair. “I knew he was drunk. I never should have stepped outside.”

  “You called someone about Andy,” she said. It wasn’t a question because she knew that he’d done it. She had watched the new suspicions grow in his green gaze. “To make sure that he’s really dead.”

  Finally he stepped back and helped her from the SUV. Then he escorted her from the street up to the little bungalow where they had spent the night before. He hadn’t taken her back to the hospital or to a hotel.

  Her chest eased a little with relief.

  “Are you going to ask me what I found out?” he asked, opening the door.

  She shook her head as she passed him and entered the living room. “No.”

  “So, you’re sure he’s dead?”

  “I know it.” Even before Mark had called her, she’d known. She’d seen the news of the explosion—of the casualties—and she had known Andy was among them.

  “But they didn’t even recover his dog tags,” Blaine said.

  She shrugged. “I don’t know what was recovered or not. I don’t know if my letters were even sent back. You should have let me talk to Mrs. Doremire.”

  “It’s been a long day for you already,” Blaine reminded her as he flipped on the light switch. “We went back to the bank and watched all that footage. Then we saw Mark’s wife and nearly got run off the road.”

  She shuddered at the reminder of those harrowing moments when she had thought the SUV was going to flip over and crash onto the rocky shoreline.

  “And if that wasn’t already too much for you,” he said, “then you were assaulted by a crazy drunk.”

  “He is crazy,” she agreed. “Thinking that Andy’s alive...”

  “That makes sense, actually,” Blaine said, “that he doesn’t want to let his son go.”

  She sighed. “I guess that is his way of dealing with his grief—denial and alcohol.”

  “How about you?” he asked.

  She stared up at him in confusion. She had dealt with her grief months ago and neither alcohol nor denial had been involved. “What do you mean?”

  “Are you going to be able to let Andy go?”

  “I don’t think he’s alive,” she assured him. “I’m not seeing him anywhere.” She didn’t see ghosts. Regrettably, she did keep seeing zombies—in person and in her nightmares. She would probably rather see ghosts.

  “That’s not what I meant,” he said.

  “What did you mean?” she wondered.

  Instead of explaining himself, he just shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.”

  She thought that it might, though—to her. Did he want her to let Andy go? Or was he like her almost father-in-law and not entirely convinced that Andy was dead?

  “What did the people that you called tell you?” she asked. She already knew, but she didn’t want to leave him yet. As tired as she was, she didn’t want to climb the stairs and go to bed. Alone.

  “They said that Andy’s dad’s claims were crazy,” he replied. “They’re not covering up anything...”

  “Mr. Doremire said a lot of crazy stuff,” she said. Hoping to dispel her embarrassment, she continued, “Like that nonsense about us...”

  “Nonsense?”

  Her skin heated again and not just on her face; she was warm all over. “Of course. All his drunken comments about you and me. That was just craziness...”

  “What was so crazy about it?” he asked.

  She drew in a deep breath to brace herself for honesty. “It’s crazy to think that you’d be attracted to me.”

  “It is?” That green gaze was intense on her face and then it slid down her body.

  Now her warm skin tingled. “Of course it is,” she said. “I’m so fat and unattractive...” And he was the most beautiful man she’d ever met.

  “You’re pregnant,” he said. “And you’re beautiful.”

  She laughed at his ridiculous claims; they were as outrageous as Mr. Doremire’s. “I wasn’t fishing for compliments. Really. I know exactly what I look like—a whale.”

  He laughed now as if s
he were trying to be funny. She had just been honest. He was not being the same as he replied, “I would not be attracted to a whale.”

  “You’re not attracted to me.” She wished he was. But it wasn’t possible. Even if she wasn’t pregnant, she knew he would never go for a woman like her—a woman who talked too much and didn’t think before she let people get close to her.

  He stepped closer to her, his gaze still hot on her face and body. “I’m not?”

  She shook her head. But he caught her chin and stopped it. Then he tipped up her chin and lowered his head. And his lips covered hers.

  Maybe he had intended the kiss as a compliment or maybe it was just out of pity. But it quickly became something more as passion ignited—at least in Maggie—and she kissed him back.

  She locked her arms around his neck and held his head down for the kiss. Her lips moved over his before opening for his tongue. He plunged it into her mouth, deepening the kiss and stirring her passion even more.

  Making her want more than just a kiss...

  Chapter Fourteen

  It had just been a kiss. But even though it had happened hours ago, Blaine still couldn’t get it out of his mind. Probably because it hadn’t been just a kiss. It had been an experience almost profound in its intensity.

  And he hadn’t wanted to stop at just a kiss. He had wanted to carry her upstairs to one of the bedrooms and make love to her all night long.

  But he’d summoned all of his control and pulled back. His cell had also been ringing with a summons from the Bureau chief to come into the office for an update on the case.

  “You’ve lost your objectivity,” the chief was saying, drawing Blaine from his thoughts of Maggie.

  “What? Why?”

  “The witness,” Chief Special Agent Lynch said.

  Blaine glanced at the clock on the conference room wall. He had left her alone too long. Of course, he hadn’t actually left her alone. He had left her with two agents guarding Ash’s house—one patrolling the perimeter and one parked in a chair outside her bedroom door. They were good men, men for whom both Ash and Dalton Reyes had vouched. They weren’t special agents yet; they were barely more than recruits. But Truman Jackson had been a navy SEAL and Octavio Hernandez had worked in the gang task force with Reyes.

  She should be safe...

  But he had thought that when he’d left the local authorities to protect her.

  “The witness is in danger,” he said. “That was proven today—” he glanced at the clock again and corrected himself “—yesterday when someone tried running us off the road.”

  “The van was processed.”

  “Any evidence?”

  “Not like in the first one,” the chief replied. “No blood.”

  “Have you gotten a DNA match yet?”

  The chief shook his head. “We’ll check some other databases—see if we can find at least a close match.”

  “Good—that’s good.”

  “What leads have you come up with?” the chief asked. “Or have you been too busy protecting the witness?”

  “She is the best lead,” Blaine insisted.

  “You checked to see if her fiancé is really dead,” the chief said. “She’s leading you to a dead man as a suspect?”

  “She didn’t think he was alive. It was the man’s father who raised some questions...”

  “You think her fiancé’s family is involved in the robberies.”

  He sighed. “Her fiancé’s brother is a viable suspect. Reyes even confirmed him as having bought the van recovered after the robbery. The one in which the blood was found.” Someone else had ordered the black cargo van. Why? Was Mark already gone?

  “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 pic
ked 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.”