didn’t have a chance to answer her question before doctors and nurses whisked Maggie’s stretcher into a treatment area. They hooked her to another oxygen machine and an IV. There was also a heart monitor for the baby and an ultrasound.
She breathed a sigh of relief when she heard the fast but steady beat. “He’s alive...”
“His heart sounds good,” a doctor agreed.
“And his lungs?”
“Did you ever lose consciousness?” someone asked. “Did you pass out from the smoke?”
Maggie shook her head.
“We’ll administer some prenatal steroids to help the development of his lungs,” the doctor said, “to make sure everything’s fine...”
But everything wouldn’t be fine until she learned if Blaine had made it out of the burning house.
“He’s active,” the doctor said as he watched the ultrasound screen.
He. The picture on the ultrasound confirmed what Maggie had previously only suspected. She was carrying a baby boy. She wanted to share that news with her best friend. But he was gone. She wanted to share that news with the man she loved. But Blaine was gone, too.
Maybe the IV contained a sedative because she must have drifted off despite her worry. She didn’t know how much time had passed, but when she awoke, she was no longer in the emergency department. She was alone in a room but for the man—tall and broad-shouldered—who stood in the doorway.
Hope burgeoned in her heart. “Blaine?”
The man stepped forward...into the light that glowed dimly from another doorway, perhaps to the bathroom. The man’s hair was dark and his eyes were light, not gold and green like Blaine’s. Disappointment made her heart feel heavy in her chest. “You’re not Blaine.”
But the man who had purchased those stolen vans had been described as dark haired with light eyes. This man matched that description as much as Mark Doremire had.
Could he be one of the robbers? And if he’d forgone the zombie mask, then he had no intention of letting her live.
“Who are you?” she asked. She didn’t recognize him. She would have had no way of identifying him as one of the suspects in the robbery.
“I’m not Blaine Campbell,” he agreed with a short chuckle. “My name is Ash Stryker. I’m also an FBI agent and a friend of Blaine’s.”
“Is he okay?” she asked. “Is he here?” She struggled to sit up, ready to jump out of bed and go to him.
Ash shook his head. “No. He’s not here. That’s why he asked me to stay with you.”
“But is he okay?” she asked, and her panic grew. Had Blaine asking Ash to stay with her been his deathbed request? Was that why he wasn’t there?
Because he was gone? Dead and gone?
Ash nodded, but he had that same telltale signal of stress that Blaine did. A muscle twitched in his cheek. Maybe that twitch wasn’t just betraying his stress but his lie—like a gambler’s tell in a poker game.
“No,” she said, her voice cracking as hysteria threatened. “I don’t believe you. I saw the roof collapse. He couldn’t have gotten out of there without some injuries.”
Serious injuries.
Fatal injuries.
The man flinched as if he’d felt Blaine’s pain. “He has some bumps and scratches,” he admitted. “And a couple of small burns. But he’s fine. Or I wouldn’t be here.”
Even though Blaine had asked him? But then, he would have been too distraught over the loss of his friend to worry about her.
Maybe Blaine wasn’t gone.
The dark-haired man sighed. “Of course, I have no place to go right now...”
“It was your house he was staying at,” she realized. And that Blaine had let her stay at, as well. He should have taken her to a motel. It might not have protected her, but it would have protected Ash Stryker’s house. “I’m sorry...”
“It wasn’t your fault,” he assured her.
“But whoever set the fire is after me,” she said. “So I feel responsible.” She felt responsible for the house and for those injuries Blaine had suffered. How badly had he really been hurt?
Agent Stryker moved closer to the bed and assured her, “You’re not responsible for any of this.”
“I wish that was true,” she said. “I shouldn’t have stayed at your house. I shouldn’t have stayed with Blaine.” Or made love and fallen in love with Blaine.
He chuckled. “Blaine was right...”
“What was he right about?”
“He said that you couldn’t possibly have anything to do with the robberies,” Ash said. “He said that you’re too good a person to be consciously involved.”
He thought she was a good person?
“I figured Blaine was only thinking that because he grew up with sisters and has this whole chivalry thing going on,” Ash said.
She nodded. “He is very chivalrous and protective.” The man was a hero like she had never known.
“I also guessed that you’re pretty,” he said.
She didn’t feel pretty now. She felt bedraggled from the smoke. Maybe it was good that Blaine wasn’t there. He would have regretted sleeping with her.
Maybe he did regret it. Maybe that was why he wasn’t here—with her. Had he even checked on her?
“Where is Blaine?” she asked.
Ash sighed. “He’s determined to end this,” he said. “He wants these guys caught.”
“He wants to avenge Sarge’s death,” she said. “Sarge is—”
“I knew Sarge, too,” Ash said with a grimace of regret and loss. “He was also my drill instructor.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Stop apologizing,” he said. “None of this is your fault. Blaine is going to prove that. He’s going to find out who the hell is responsible and bring them to justice.”
She breathed a small sigh of relief. He had to be okay, then. He had to be strong enough to want revenge. But her breath caught again as she realized that he was putting himself in more danger.
“You should be with him,” she said. “You should make sure he’s really all right. The doctors wanted to keep me here because they’re worried about my lungs having a delayed reaction to all that smoke. I think it’s called hypoxia.” That was why they were keeping her on oxygen.
Blaine
