Читать книгу Watching Over Her - Lisa Childs, Carla Cassidy - Страница 22

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 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.