Watching Over Her. Lisa Childs

it had only two chairs at it. There was a bed in each of the two bedrooms.

      Blaine showed her to one while taking the other for himself. Maybe she slept. Maggie wasn’t sure. She drifted in and out, occasionally hearing Blaine’s voice. She doubted he slept at all. He had been on his cell phone instead.

      The house was quiet now. But Maggie knew he hadn’t left because she smelled food. Bacon. And coffee. Her stomach grumbled, but she stayed in bed, not eager to face him. Her face heated even now, as she thought of how she’d acted.

      Like a girlfriend...

      But Blaine Campbell was just an FBI agent doing his job. He probably had a girlfriend somewhere, because a man that handsome was unlikely to be single. Unless Blaine’s only commitment was his career...

      She had to stop thinking of him as Blaine and remember that he was Special Agent Campbell. That was all he was and all he would ever be to her.

      The baby kicked. Apparently they both wanted food. So she tossed back the covers and kicked her legs over the side of the bed. The T-shirt Blaine had loaned her as a nightgown had ridden up, revealing her high-cut briefs. She reached to tug down the hem of the shirt just as someone cleared his throat.

      “Sorry,” Blaine said, as he had the night before when he’d peeled her off him.

      She was the one who should be apologizing—for inconveniencing him as she had. For costing him a friend like Sarge. For making his job harder. But for once she, who usually couldn’t stop talking, couldn’t find words to express herself and her gratefulness for his saving her over and over again.

      “I was just coming up to see if you were awake,” he said. “I had some groceries delivered and made breakfast.”

      The man could cook? He really was perfect.

      But perfect wasn’t for Maggie—not with the mess her life had become. She pulled the T-shirt down, but it was still short enough that it left her legs bare. And, in her mind, Blaine’s gaze skimmed down her legs like a caress.

      But that could only be in her mind—her imagination. The FBI agent couldn’t really be interested in her. Not for anything but information...

      He proved that a short while later when he picked her empty plate up from the table and started asking questions. “You’re sure that you didn’t recognize anyone from the robberies?”

      “I’m sure,” she said. “I only recognized those horrible masks from the robbery at the Sturgis branch where I used to work.” She shuddered as she thought of the grotesque masks. They could have come right from that R-rated zombie movie she’d gone to so long ago. “With the masks and the trench coats, I couldn’t see any facial features or even body types of the robbers.”

      “You’re not protecting anyone?”

      She shook her head. But her hands automatically covered her belly. The baby had stopped moving. Maybe the food had satiated him. The cheesy scrambled eggs, crisp bacon and wheat toast had been delicious—so delicious that Maggie had probably eaten more than she should have.

      But then, she could barely remember the last time she’d eaten. Some crackers at the hospital? Before that a breakfast she’d made herself—lumpy oatmeal with too much brown sugar. She would have to learn to be a better cook for the baby. If she lived long enough to cook for him...

      “I want to protect my baby,” she said. But she feared that she was going to fail, just as she had failed Andy. “That’s the only person I’m protecting. So if I knew anything about the robbers, I would tell you.”

      “You haven’t noticed anyone hanging around the bank, casing the place?” he asked.

      She shook her head again. “I don’t know what casing a place looks like. So I can’t say that someone hasn’t done it.” Obviously they had or they wouldn’t have pulled off the robbery so easily—until Blaine had arrived. If only he could have saved Sarge...

      Blaine hadn’t eaten nearly as much as she had. Most of his food was on his plate yet, forgotten, as he asked his questions. “Nobody came around both of the banks?”

      Once again, she shook her head. “The branches are far enough away that they had different customers. I knew most of the clients from Sturgis since I’d worked at that branch since I graduated, but I’m just getting to know the people at this branch.” Should she bother? Or should she move on again to another branch, another city?

      How would she work there without remembering those robbers bursting in? That was why she’d left Sturgis. Because of the memories. But there were worse ones here; there was Sarge getting shot and dying.

      “What about workers?” Blaine asked. “Did Susan work at both branches, too?”

      “No,” she said. “I’m the only one who worked at both branches.” Which was why he had suspected she was involved, and she couldn’t blame him for his suspicions. “But I really have nothing to do with the robberies.”

      He didn’t look at her the way he had before, as if he doubted her.

      Hope fluttered in her chest like her baby fluttered in her belly, waking up from his or her short nap. “Do you believe me?” she asked.

      He uttered a heavy sigh of resignation. “I believe that you’re not consciously involved.”

      She should have been happy that he didn’t think she was a criminal mastermind, but his comment dented her pride. He clearly thought she was an idiot instead. “I’m not unconsciously involved, either.”

      “You haven’t told anyone about your job?” he asked.

      “Most people know that I work at a bank,” she said, “except for Mr. Simmons.”

      “Because you don’t want to worry him,” he said with a slight smile, as if amused or moved.

      She sighed. “That was all for nothing after you called the cops on Susan. He probably knows now. But that’s all anyone knows about me—that I work there.”

      “You haven’t told anyone any details that might make it easier for them to hold up the bank,” he persisted, “to know which days you’d have the most cash on hand?”

      “No,” she replied, pride stinging at how stupid he thought her. He wasn’t the only one who’d thought that. Because she talked a lot, people sometimes thought she was flighty. But her grades in school and college had proved them all wrong. She talked a lot because she really didn’t like silence. It made her uncomfortable, so she generally tended to fill it with chatter.

      “You don’t talk to your family about your job?” he asked skeptically. “You wouldn’t share any details with them?”

      So now he thought her family members were criminal masterminds? She corrected that misassumption. “For his job, my dad and mom moved to Hong Kong a couple of years ago.”

      And since Andy’s death, all they talked about was the weather—asking about hers, telling about theirs. Their conversations didn’t get any deeper; they were probably afraid that they might make her cry if they brought up something that would remind her of Andy. Or maybe it would make them cry because they’d loved him like a son.

      “You don’t have any brothers or sisters?” he asked.

      “No.” And because she was sick of being the only one answering questions, she started asking some of her own. “What about you?”

      “I have three older sisters,” he replied, and his lips curved into a slight smile as his green eyes crinkled a little at the corners.

      Growing up, she had wanted sisters. But her father had been busy with his career, and her mom hadn’t wanted to raise more than one child alone. Maggie would really be raising her baby alone.

      She shook off the self-pity before she could wallow and asked, “Any brothers?”

      “Just in arms,”