Lisa Childs - Watching Over Her

If so, Blaine had another suspect for the robberies—one who had definitely read her letters and knew about the bank’s policies and procedures, and the duties and responsibilities of the assistant manager.

“Will you be okay in here?” Blaine asked Maggie.

She nodded. “Of course.”

But she stared up at him with a question in her eyes as if wondering where he was going...

“I have to make a call,” he said.

From his years as a marine, he had connections, people he could call to verify if Andy Doremire had been identified among the convoy casualties. Maybe they hadn’t identified the remains immediately after the explosion, but in the past six months they would have. And he couldn’t trust that Mr. Doremire’s drunken claims were valid. Or was Andy alive and robbing banks?

* * *

MAGGIE BIT HER bottom lip to stop herself from calling out for Blaine. She didn’t want to be left alone with Andy’s dad and his outrageous story. He was drunk, though. That had to be why he was talking such nonsense.

“He’s calling someone in the military,” Dustin Doremire said. “He’s going to talk to some marines.”

Blaine had been a marine. He would know whom to talk to.

“Probably,” she agreed. “He’s wasting his time, though.” Andy was dead. Therefore, he was not robbing banks—as Blaine probably now suspected.

“They’re not going to tell him anything,” Mr. Doremire said with a derisive snort. “It’s a cover-up.”

So he was drunk and paranoid. “What are they covering up?” she asked. She wasn’t even sure who “they” were supposed to be. First Andy had faked his death and now someone else was covering it up?

“You know what they’re covering up,” he accused her, suddenly turning angrily on her.

She edged back from his chair, not wanting to be so close to him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” That was definitely the truth.

“Andy told you everything,” he said. “You know...”

But now she wondered. Had Andy told her everything? He had never mentioned his father drinking so much. Maybe it had started only after his death. But now she wondered—because she hadn’t come over to Andy’s house very often. He had always come to hers. And if his car was broken down and she had to pick him up, he met her on the street.

Maybe she hadn’t been the only reason Andy had joined the Marines. Maybe he hadn’t done it just to support her, the way he had old-fashionedly claimed he’d wanted to do. Maybe he had also joined to escape his father.

“That boy loved you so much,” Mr. Doremire continued. “He was crazy about you.”

Andy had loved her. If only she could have loved him the same way...

The older man uttered a bitter laugh. “The boy was such a fool that he couldn’t see you didn’t feel the same way about him.”

“I cared about Andy,” she insisted. “He was my best friend.” And she would forever miss him and she would regret that his son or daughter would never know him—would never know what a sweet guy he’d been.

“But you didn’t love him,” the older man accused her, as if she’d committed some crime. “It’s your fault, girl. It’s all your fault.”

“What’s my fault?” she asked.

“It’s your fault he joined the Marines, trying to prove he was man enough for you.” Mr. Doremire shook his head. “He wasted his time, too. You never looked at him like you’re looking at that man...” He gestured toward where Blaine had gone out the open front door.

“That man is an FBI agent,” she said. “He’s investigating the robberies at the banks where I’ve worked.” He had to have heard about the robberies; they’d made the national news.

But the older man just stared bleary-eyed at her. Had he even known she worked at a bank?

“I don’t care who the hell he is,” Mr. Doremire replied. “He’s not going to be raising my grandchild.”

She hoped Blaine had stepped far enough away from the open door that he hadn’t overheard that. But her face heated with embarrassment that he might have. She assured the older man, “Agent Campbell is not going to be raising my child.”

She knew that once the robbers were caught he would move on to his next case. She was nothing more than a witness and possible suspect to him.

“That’s Andy’s child!” Mr. Doremire lurched out of the chair and reached for her as if he intended to rip the baby from her belly.

She jerked back to protect her baby. She didn’t even want his hands on her belly, didn’t want him hurting her child—before he or she was born or after—the way he must have hurt Andy had he ever spoken to him the way he’d spoken of him.

“Mr. Doremire,” she said, “please calm down.” And sober up.

“Andy won’t be letting some other man raise his kid,” he ominously warned her. “You’ll see. He’ll show himself to you, just like he’s shown himself to me.”

She wondered how many bottles of whiskey it had taken for Andy to show himself. She suspected quite a few.

“Andy is gone, Mr. Doremire,” she said. “He’s dead.”

His hand swung quickly, striking her cheek before she could duck. Tears stung her eyes as pain radiated from the slap.

“That’s what you want,” Mr. Doremire said. “You want him dead. But he’s not! He’s not dead!”

“Okay, okay,” she said, trying to humor the drunk or deranged man. “He’s alive, then. He’s alive.”

He had no idea how much she really wished that Andy was alive. Then she wouldn’t have lost her best friend. She wouldn’t feel so alone that she was clinging to an FBI agent who was only trying to do his job.

Maybe she was as crazy as Andy’s dad to think that Blaine could have any interest in her beyond her connection to the bank robberies.

The older man started crying horrible wrenching sobs. “If he’s dead, it’s your fault,” he said again. “It’s all your fault!”

She nodded miserably in agreement. Maybe it was...

If he hadn’t wanted to buy her that damn ring...

If he hadn’t wanted to take care of her...

“You’re the one who should be dead!” He swung his arm again.

And, realizing that the man wasn’t just drunk but crazy, too, she cried out in fear that he might actually kill her.

Chapter Thirteen

Maggie’s scream chilled Blaine’s blood. He dropped his phone and ran back into the house—afraid of what he might find.

Why the hell had he left her alone? He hadn’t even checked the house. Mark Doremire could have been hiding somewhere, waiting for his next chance to grab Maggie.

But when he burst into the living room, he found only the older Doremire and Maggie. She was backing up, though, and ducking the blows of the man’s meaty fists.

Blaine jumped forward and caught the man’s swinging arms. He jerked them behind his back. “Dustin Doremire, I am placing you under arrest for assault.”

“No,” Maggie said. “You don’t need to arrest him.” But her cheek bore a red imprint from the older man’s hand.

Blaine jerked Doremire’s arms higher behind his back, wanting to hurt him the way he had hurt Maggie. The old drunk only grunted. After all that whiskey, he was probably beyond the point of feeling any pain. Only inflicting it...

“He hurt you,” he said. And Blaine blamed himself for leaving her alone with Andy’s drunken father.

“He’s hurting,” she said, making excuses for the man’s abuse. “He misses his son.”

Blaine had placed a few calls. But nobody had really answered his questions about Andy Doremire. In fact, they’d thought he was crazy to even ask. Of course the man was dead. His family wouldn’t have been notified if his death hadn’t been confirmed.