Lisa Childs - Watching Over Her

“He has never asked me to protect anyone for him before,” Buster repeated as if that was monumental.

As if it meant something.

Could he return her feelings?

Maggie shook her head. “That’s because I’m in a lot of danger,” she said. “People have been trying to kidnap and kill me.”

“People?”

“He thinks the brother of my...” She didn’t know what to call Andy. While she had accepted his proposal, she’d done it only to avoid hurting him, not because she’d ever intended to actually marry him.

“Baby daddy?” Buster supplied the title for her.

Maggie laughed again. But Andy would have been appalled at that title, especially since he’d been trying so long to get her to marry him. He’d wanted to marry right out of high school, but she’d told him she wanted to go to college first. And then when she’d graduated, he had suggested they get married. But she’d put him off, saying that she wanted to get her career established first.

Poor Andy...

Buster reached across the console and squeezed her hand. “You cared about him.”

“We were friends since sixth grade, when my family and I moved to town. He was the first person who was nice to the new girl in class.” Because he had been nice to her, she had latched on to him, declaring them best friends. But Andy hadn’t wanted to be just a friend.

Buster nodded as if Maggie’s words had given her sudden understanding. “So he’s the only boy you ever dated?”

“Yes,” Maggie replied.

“It must have been hard losing him and finding yourself alone,” Buster said, “with a baby on the way.”

Did Buster think that Maggie was afraid to be alone? That that was why she’d fallen in love with Blaine? Because he’d been nice to her? Maggie knew that he was only doing his job, though. He didn’t want more than friendship from her; he probably didn’t even want friendship.

“But that’s not why I...” she began defensively, “...why I have feelings for your brother.” She couldn’t say it—couldn’t express those feelings.

“That’s not why you’ve fallen for my brother,” Buster said, as if she didn’t doubt her.

“He might not believe that, though,” Maggie said. “Or he might think I’m just grateful for all the times he has saved my life and the baby’s.”

“May I?” Buster asked, as she moved her hand from Maggie’s arm to her stomach. She smiled as the baby kicked beneath her palm. “You should tell Blaine how you feel about him. That’s the only way you’re going to know what he thinks and how he feels about you.”

Was it possible that he could return her feelings? He had made love with her. He’d wanted her...

“My brother has never been an easy man to read,” Buster said. “Hell, he wasn’t even easy to read when he was a little boy. It’s always been hard to tell what Blaine is thinking or feeling. So don’t assume that you know.”

Maggie had been making assumptions. But it wasn’t based so much on what she thought of Blaine but more on what she thought of herself. She didn’t believe that she, especially pregnant, could ever attract a man like Blaine Campbell. The gorgeous FBI special agent was more of a superhero than a regular man. “But—”

“Do you want any more regrets?” Buster interrupted. “It seems like you already have a few.”

About Andy. About never telling him the truth...

“I don’t regret my baby,” Maggie said, anger rushing over her.

“I know,” Buster said. “And I am a firm believer in everything happening for a reason. So stop beating yourself up about the baby’s daddy.”

Apparently Maggie wasn’t very hard to read at all.

Buster patted Maggie’s belly. “Remember—everything happens for a reason.”

Because she carried his child, Maggie would always have a piece of Andy with her. She hadn’t completely lost her best friend.

“You’re right,” Maggie agreed.

But she didn’t have a chance to tell Buster exactly what she was right about because the police radio squawked again—interrupting them. “Shots fired during FBI raid on cabin. Possible casualties...”

She grabbed Buster’s hand and clutched it. Possible casualties? Was one of them Blaine? Had he been shot?

* * *

“WE DIDN’T FIND the shooters,” Trooper Littlefield reported to Blaine. He was one of Buster’s coworkers. He had provided backup—along with a couple of FBI agents—in case the cabin had been the robbers’ hideout. But they had arrived early and hidden in the woods so that it would look as though Blaine had come alone.

Blaine had even felt alone in the middle of the woods. These law-enforcement officers were so good that he hadn’t seen a single one of them—until the gunfire had erupted. Then they’d stepped out of their hiding spots and returned fire—giving him cover so that none of the shots had actually struck him.

“They had a vehicle parked on a two-track gravel road that led to another cabin, and before we could block them in, they’d gotten away,” the trooper said regretfully.

Blaine sighed. They had eluded him so many times that he wasn’t surprised. “In a van?”

The trooper nodded.

Dalton Reyes stepped up to him. “Another stolen one,” he confirmed with a curse. “The guy who ordered this one isn’t the one that my informant ID’d, though. She claims she hasn’t seen him again.”

Blaine had a bad feeling that Mark Doremire was already gone. But still he held out hope. “You sure you can trust your informant?” he asked. Mark was a flirt; maybe he’d turned the woman to his side.

“I don’t really trust anyone.” Reyes shrugged. “Maybe she’s been lying to me.”

“Do you think any of the guys you’re after could be involved in the robberies?” Blaine asked. “There were five guys at the bank.” But more could have been involved.

He had no idea how many had been shooting at him in the woods.

Dalton shrugged again. “I’m not sure. I didn’t get a look at any of the shooters.”

“And the guy inside the cabin?” Blaine asked, as he walked back into the run-down log structure. He’d already been inside but Agent Reyes hadn’t. He hoped Dalton recognized the corpse because Blaine was afraid that he did.

Dalton checked out the scene and cursed. The guy was slumped over in a wooden chair, a pool of blood dried beneath him. His clothes—a camo shirt and pants—were also saturated and hard with dried blood. Bloody bandages were strewn across the table in front of him.

But those weren’t the only things on the table. A pile of envelopes, bound with a big rubber band, sat atop the scarred wooden surface, too.

Maggie’s letters...written to her fiancé. Blaine hadn’t looked at them; he probably wouldn’t be able to look at them. But he knew they were hers.

“What the hell happened to him?” Dalton asked.

“I think I killed him.”

Dalton snorted. “This guy has been dead for days. You didn’t do this.”

“I think I did. During the bank robbery,” he said. “That first van that was recovered had blood inside, and I did get off some shots during the robbery.”

Ash stepped into the cabin behind Dalton. “Is he the one?”

Blaine nodded. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure this is the guy who shot Sarge.”

Ash patted his shoulder. “You got him!”

“I wasn’t sure I hit him. They were wearing vests...”

This guy’s vest was lying on the floor near his chair along with the zombie mask and the trench coat. He had definitely been one of the robbers. Was he the one who’d killed Sarge?

When Blaine had fired back, he’d thought that he shot the one who’d hit Sarge.

“He must not have had his vest tight on the sides,” Dalton said as he leaned over to inspect it. “Looks like it was too small for him—probably left a gap.”