Читать книгу Watching Over Her - Lisa Childs, Carla Cassidy - Страница 16

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.