had also lost a shoe—either in the bank or maybe in the van from which Blaine had pulled her, so she was unsteady on her feet. Or maybe her trembling wasn’t because her balance was off but because she was in shock. He kept a hand on her arm, so that she didn’t stumble and fall. But she needed more help than a hand to steady her.
“The bank robbers have already left in a white panel van,” he continued. “The driver’s-side window is broken and the rear taillights have been shot out.” He read off the license plate number he’d memorized, as well.
One of the officers pressed the radio on his lapel and called in an APB on the vehicle. “What else can you tell us about the suspects, Agent Campbell?”
Fighting back the grief that threatened to overwhelm him, he replied, “One of them shot the security guard.”
“We already have paramedics inside the bank,” another officer told him. “They’re treating the wounded.”
They were too late to help Sarge. The man had died in his arms—his final words urging Blaine to save the assistant bank manager.
“You should have them check out Mrs....?” He turned to the young woman, waiting for her to supply her name. She hadn’t offered it when he’d introduced himself earlier.
“Miss,” she corrected him, almost absentmindedly. Her dark eyes seemed unfocused, as if she were dazed. “Maggie Jenkins...”
She was single. Now he allowed himself to notice how pretty she was. Her brown hair was long and curly and tangled around her shoulders. Her eyes were wide and heavily lashed. She was unmarried, but she probably wasn’t single—not with her being as pretty as she was.
“The paramedics need to check out Miss Jenkins,” he told the troopers. “The bank robbers were trying to take her hostage. She could have been hurt.” But he might have been the one who’d done it when he had knocked her onto the hard asphalt of the alley.
“She should probably be taken to the hospital,” he added. For an ultrasound to check out the well-being of her unborn child, too. But he didn’t want to say it out loud and frighten her. The young woman had already been through enough.
The officer pressed his radio again and asked paramedics to come around to the back of the bank. They arrived quickly, backing the ambulance down the alley. A female paramedic pushed a stretcher out the doors and rolled it toward them.
But Miss Jenkins shook her head, refusing treatment. “What about Mr. Williams?” she asked. “He needs your help more than I do.”
The paramedic just stared at her.
“The security guard,” Miss Jenkins said. “One of the robbers shot him.” Her already rough voice squeaked with emotion. “Will he be all right?”
The paramedic hesitated before shaking her head.
Tears spilled from Miss Jenkins’s eyes again, trailing down her smooth face. She had cared about Sarge. But Blaine didn’t think they could have worked together that long. Sarge had retired from the military only a few short months ago.
Blaine wanted to hold her again, to comfort her as he had earlier. Or had she comforted him? Her arms had slid around him, her curves soft and warm against him. He resisted the urge to reach for her, and instead he released her arm.
“Go with the paramedic,” he said. “Let her check you out.”
Blaine had questions for the assistant bank manager—so many questions. But his questions would wait until she was physically well enough to answer them.
The troopers immediately began to question Blaine. He had to explain his presence and about Sarge—even while tears of loss stung his eyes. He blinked them back, knowing his former drill instructor would have kicked his butt if he showed any weakness. Sarge had taught all his recruits that a good marine—a strong marine—controlled his emotions. Blaine had already learned that before boot camp, though.
“Why did the security guard call you?” one of the troopers asked.
“I just transferred to the Chicago Bureau office to take over the investigation of the robbers who’ve been hitting banks in Illinois, Michigan and Indiana.” Bank robberies were his specialty. He had a perfect record; no bank robbery he had investigated had gone unsolved, no bank robber unapprehended.
Of course, some robbers were sloppy and desperate and easily caught. Blaine already knew that this group of them—in their trench coats and zombie masks—were not sloppy or desperate. And, therefore, they would not be easily caught. But he would damn well catch them.
For Sarge...
“You think those robberies are related to this one?” the trooper asked.
“I can’t make a determination yet.” Because he hadn’t had a chance to go to the office; his flight had landed only hours ago. But ever since Sarge’s call, the urgency in the man’s voice had haunted Blaine and made him come here first—with his suitcase in the trunk of a rental car. “I need more information.”
And he didn’t want to give up too much information to the troopers before he’d verified his facts. He needed to check in with the Bureau, but he couldn’t leave the scene yet.
He couldn’t leave Maggie Jenkins.
He turned back to where the paramedic had helped her into the back of the first-responder rig. A man in a suit was standing outside the doors, talking to her. He’d come through the back door of the bank, so the troopers must have cleared him.
Blaine recognized him as one of the people who’d been lying on the floor, cowering from the robbers. Instead of checking on her, the man appeared to be questioning her—the way Blaine wanted to. But he wasn’t certain she had any more information than he did.
He just wanted to make sure she was all right—that his rescue hadn’t done her more harm than being taken hostage had.
* * *
MAGGIE WAS FINALLY ALONE. Mr. Hardy, the bank manager, had gone back inside the damaged building to call the corporate headquarters, as she had told him to do. At thirty, he was young and inexperienced for his position, so he had no idea what to do or how to manage after a robbery.
Unfortunately, Maggie did.
She trembled—not with cold or even with fear. She hadn’t felt that until the bullet had struck Sarge, and he had dropped to the floor. Before that, when the gunmen had burst into the lobby wearing those masks and trench coats, she had been too stunned to feel anything at all.
Usually just the sight of those gruesome masks would have filled her with terror, as they had ever since Andy and Mark had sneaked her into that violent horror movie. She’d had nightmares for years over it. But for the past few months she’d been having new nightmares. And while they’d still been about zombies, they hadn’t been movie actors—they’d been about these zombies.
“I can’t believe it,” she murmured to herself. “I can’t believe it happened. Again...”
And it was that disbelief that had overwhelmed her fear—until Sarge had been shot.
“Are you all right?” a deep voice asked.
