trying to tell him to rescue the assistant bank manager. Maybe he had been trying to tell Blaine to catch her.
Maggie pressed her palms over the hospital gown covering her belly and tried to soothe the child moving inside her. He kept kicking, as though he was still fighting. “I’m sorry, baby,” she said. “I know Mama’s not doing a very good job of keeping you safe.”
But she’d tried.
Why was it that danger kept finding her? She had already changed jobs, or at least locations, but she couldn’t afford to quit. Maybe she should have married Andy one of the times he had suggested it. They had been together since middle school, and she’d loved him. But she hadn’t been in love with him.
“I’m sorry,” she said again. But this time she was talking to Andy.
She should have told him the truth, but he’d enlisted right out of high school and she hadn’t wanted to be the heartless girlfriend who wrote the Dear John letter. And when he’d come home on leave, she had been so happy to see him—so happy to have her best friend back—that she hadn’t wanted to risk losing that friendship.
But eventually she had lost him—to a roadside bomb in Afghanistan. Tears stung her eyes and tickled her nose, but she drew in a shaky breath and steadied herself. She had to be strong—for her baby. Since he had already lost his father, he needed her twice as much.
A hand drew back the curtain of Maggie’s corner of the emergency department. The young physician’s assistant who’d talked to her earlier smiled reassuringly. “I had a doctor and a radiologist review the ultrasound,” the PA said, “and we all agree that your baby is fine.”
Maggie released her breath as a sigh of relief. “That’s great.”
“You, on the other hand, have some bumps and bruises, and your blood pressure is a little high,” the PA continued. “So you need to be careful and take better care of yourself.”
She nodded in agreement. Not that she hadn’t been trying. That had been the whole point of her new job—less stress. But Mr. Hardy wasn’t as competent as the manager at the previous branch where she’d worked. And the zombie bank robbers had hit the new bank anyway.
Maybe she would have been safer had she stayed where she’d been. “I will take better care of myself and the baby,” Maggie vowed. “Do you know what I’m having?” She had had an ultrasound earlier in her pregnancy, but it had been too soon to tell the gender.
The young woman shook her head. “I wasn’t able to tell.”
Or she probably would have pointed it out then.
“But maybe the radiologist had an idea.” The young woman’s face flushed as she glanced down at the notes. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I hadn’t realized that you’d been at the bank that was robbed and that paramedics had brought you from the scene.”
“That’s fine,” Maggie said. “I should have told you myself.” But she hadn’t wanted to talk about it—to remember what it had been like to see those gruesome masks again and to watch as one of them killed Sarge. She shuddered.
“Of course your blood pressure would be elevated,” the PA continued. “You must have been terrified.”
She had been until the FBI agent had saved her. Where was he? He was supposed to come to the hospital to interview her. Hadn’t Agent Campbell survived his second run-in with the bank robbers?
“I’ll be okay,” she assured the physician’s assistant. She had survived. Again. Daryl Williams hadn’t been as fortunate—because of her. Maybe Agent Campbell hadn’t survived, either.
The young woman nodded. “Considering what you’ve been through, you’re doing very well. But I would follow up with your obstetrician tomorrow and make sure your blood pressure goes down.”
“I will do that,” Maggie promised. She was taking no chances with her pregnancy. She had already lost the baby’s father; she wouldn’t lose his baby, too.
“You can get dressed now.” The young woman passed over some papers. “Here is your release and an ultrasound picture. There isn’t any way of telling his or her gender yet.”
Maggie stared down at the photo. She had seen her baby on the ultrasound screen this time and the previous time she’d had one. But this was the first photo she’d been given to keep—probably because he looked like a baby now and not a peanut. He or she was curled up on his or her side, and the little mouth was open. She smiled as she remembered her mother claiming that Maggie’s mouth had been open during every ultrasound. She’d been talking even before she’d been born.
“Thank you,” she told the PA. But she didn’t look up. She couldn’t take her gaze from the amazing photo of her baby. The child had already survived so much: the loss of a parent and two bank robberies.
“Good luck, Ms. Jenkins,” the young woman replied as she pulled the curtain closed again.
Maggie’s smile slid off her lips. She was going to need luck to make it safely through her pregnancy and deliver a healthy baby. He was fine now. And she would do everything within her power to keep him that way.
She dressed quickly so that she could pick up and study the picture again. Maybe she should wait for the FBI agent—to make certain that he was all right. It wasn’t as if she could leave anyway. Her purse was back at the bank, so she didn’t have any money to pay for a cab. And with Mr. Hardy busy with corporate, the only other person she could have called at the bank to bring it to her was dead.
Sarge...
If only he hadn’t stepped out from behind that pillar...
If only he hadn’t tried to save her...
Tears blurred her vision, but she blinked them back to focus on the baby picture again. She needed to focus on him or her, needed to keep him or her healthy and safe. The baby was her priority.
She would have to find a phone she could use and call a friend to pick her up. But she didn’t really know anyone here in this suburb of Chicago. She hadn’t known anyone but Sarge. After the bank where she’d previously worked had been robbed, she had transferred to the branch where Sarge worked—thinking she would feel safer with him there. But the danger had followed her and claimed his life—cruelly cutting his retirement short. The tears threatened again, but she fought them. Sobbing would not help her blood pressure.
The curtain moved as a gloved hand pulled it back.
“I’m sorry,” she said, feeling guilty for taking up the area. “I realize you probably need the bed for someone else...” For someone who actually needed medical attention. “I’m all ready to leave.” She just needed someone to pick her up. “I can wait in the lobby.”
Nobody said anything, though. But she could feel them standing there, watching her. So then she looked up, and her heart began to pound frantically as she stared into the creepy face of one of those horrible zombie masks. It was her nightmare come to life again.
She would have screamed but for the gun barrel pointing directly at her. She already knew that these people had
