Lisa Childs - Watching Over Her

“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?