to protect the bank’s assistant manager.” He’d given up his life for hers and the baby’s.
A large part of Ash’s job was picking up subtext in recorded conversations. That was how he found threats to security. He easily picked up on Blaine’s subtext, too. “Sounds like Sarge might not have been the only one wanting to protect this...woman?”
“Yes,” Blaine admitted. “She’s female. She’s also young and pregnant.” Too young to have already lost her fiancé, her baby’s father...
“Married?” Ash inquired.
“No, her fiancé died in Afghanistan.” And she must miss him so much that she couldn’t even bear to look at the engagement ring he had given her. Blaine patted his pocket, but the ring was gone. He’d handed it over to the local authorities as evidence in Susan Iverson’s attempted robbery—along with Maggie’s credit and debit cards. He would make sure that Maggie got back the cards and the ring.
But he couldn’t bring back what she probably wanted most. Her fiancé...
While Blaine had dated over the years, he’d gotten over the breakups easily enough to know that he had never been in love. He couldn’t relate to Maggie’s pain, losing the man with whom she’d intended to spend the rest of her life. It had been hard enough losing the friends he’d lost over the years and now losing Sarge.
“Was her fiancé one of Sarge’s former drills?”
He sighed. “I think so.” It would explain why, after retiring from the military, Sarge had taken a part-time job in a bank. Maybe he’d heard about Maggie getting robbed at the first bank, and he’d intended to protect her. Or maybe she had switched to the bank where Sarge was working because she’d obviously known him. Sarge had always stayed in touch with his former drills.
“Then the old man would have been happy he died saving her,” Ash said.
Blaine hadn’t expected his cynical friend to come up with such a romantic notion. He blinked hard as his eyes began to burn. “Yeah, he would have been...” He sighed. “But the threat isn’t over for Maggie Jenkins. One of the robbers tried grabbing her from the ER where the paramedics took her after the robbery.”
“You stopped him, though.” Ash just assumed.
“This time.”
“You’ll keep Maggie safe for Sarge.”
Blaine wasn’t so sure about that. He had that feeling again—that chill racing up and down his spine—that told him all was not well. The thought had no more than crossed his mind when his phone beeped with an incoming call.
“I have to go, Ash.” He didn’t waste time with goodbyes, just clicked over the phone to take the next call. “Agent Campbell.”
“Agent, this is Officer Montgomery,” a man identified himself. He then continued, “We have a report of shots fired at the motel where we took the bank-robbery witness.”
He cursed, and his stomach knotted with dread. The motel was nearby, but probably still too far for him to get there in time to save her.
* * *
MAGGIE STARED AT the locked bathroom door, waiting for somebody to kick it down or riddle it with bullets. But as she listened, an eerie silence had fallen where only moments before gunfire had deafened her.
She’d wanted to press her hands over her ears and hide under the covers in the dark motel room. But this wasn’t a nightmare from which she could hide. So she had forced herself to jump out of the bed and run into the bathroom. Once in there she had locked the door and barricaded it shut by wedging the vanity chair beneath the knob. As a barricade, it was flimsy; it wouldn’t take someone much to kick open the door and drag her out.
But she wasn’t worried just about herself or about her baby. Had the officer who’d been stationed outside the door of her room been hurt or worse? Her stomach lurched with dread because she suspected the worst. If he was fine, wouldn’t he have checked on her? Wouldn’t he have at least knocked on the bathroom door and assured her it was safe to come out?
But Maggie wasn’t even safe in a safe house.
Blaine Campbell was right. Even though she had no idea what it was, she must have seen or heard something that could identify at least one of the robbers. Why else would they so desperately want her dead?
Unable to stare at the door any longer, she squeezed her eyes shut. And she prayed. She prayed for that young officer who had only been doing his job. Like Sarge, trying to protect her.
And she prayed for her baby. Her hands trembled as she splayed them across her belly. Nothing shifted or kicked beneath her palms. For once the child slept—blissfully unaware of the danger he and his mother faced.
Was this all Maggie’s fault?
Maybe karma didn’t think she deserved the baby because she hadn’t loved the baby’s father the way she should have. Andy had been such a sweet guy; he hadn’t deserved to die. And neither did his baby.
Maggie had to keep him or her safe. But there was no window in the bathroom, no way of escaping except through the door she had barricaded. But the shooting had been out front. Whoever had been shooting at the young police officer could already be inside the motel room, just waiting for her to leave the bathroom.
But the gruesomely masked gunman hadn’t waited for her to leave the hospital. He had walked right into the emergency department and dragged her from her bed.
If one of those masked gunmen were inside the motel room, he wouldn’t wait long for her to come out. He would break down the door to get to her.
To kill her? What else could they want with her?
She had no money to offer them. But after all the banks they had robbed, they shouldn’t need any more money. Some people, however, never thought they had enough. So maybe they wanted to keep robbing banks and for some reason thought she had the knowledge to stop them...
So they wanted to stop her from talking. They wanted to kill her.
As if her fearful thoughts had conjured up one of the men, the door rattled as someone tried to turn the knob. The chair legs squeaked against the vinyl floor, moving as someone wrenched harder on the knob—determined to get to her.
Could she convince them that she knew nothing? That she had no idea who they were?
It was the only chance she had. But she would be able to pull it off only if they still wore the masks. What if they didn’t? Then she couldn’t look at them—because they would kill her for sure.
The door rattled harder—metal hinges creaking, wood cracking. In case they came in firing, she climbed into the bathtub. She put her face down on her knees and wrapped her arms around the back of her head. Her stance wouldn’t protect her or the baby from bullets. But she had no other way to protect herself...
The chair toppled over against the sink, and the door flew open with such force that the wood cracked against the side of the bathtub. Someone must have kicked it in.
But she didn’t dare look up. She didn’t want to be able to identify any of the robbers. She wanted the danger to
