Lisa Childs - Watching Over Her

“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 she 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.”