The Pregnant Witness. Lisa Childs

      

       “It’s crazy to think that you’d be attracted to me.”

      “It is?” That green gaze was intense on her face and then it slid down her body.

      “Of course it is,” she said. “I’m so fat and unattractive …”

      “You’re pregnant,” he said. “And you’re beautiful.”

      She laughed. “I wasn’t fishing for compliments. I know exactly what I look like—a whale.”

      “I would not be attracted to a whale.”

      “You’re not attracted to me.” She wished he was. But it wasn’t possible. Even if she wasn’t pregnant, she knew he would never go for a woman like her.

      He stepped closer, his gaze still hot on her face and body. “I’m not?”

      She shook her head. But he caught her chin and stopped it. Then he tipped up her chin and lowered his head. And his lips covered hers.

       The Pregnant Witness

      Lisa Childs

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      LISA CHILDS writes paranormal and contemporary romance for Mills & Boon. She lives on thirty acres in Michigan with her two daughters, a talkative Siamese, and a long-haired Chihuahua who thinks she’s a rottweiler. Lisa loves hearing from readers, who can contact her through her website, www.lisachilds.com, or snail-mail address, PO Box 139, Marne, MI 49435, USA.

      MILLS & BOON

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      To Kimberly Duffy—with great appreciation for all our years of friendship! You’re the best!

      Contents

       Cover

       Introduction

       Title Page

       About the Author

       Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

       Chapter Six

       Chapter Seven

       Chapter Eight

       Chapter Nine

       Chapter Ten

       Chapter Eleven

       Chapter Twelve

       Chapter Thirteen

       Chapter Fourteen

       Chapter Fifteen

       Chapter Sixteen

       Chapter Seventeen

       Chapter Eighteen

       Chapter Nineteen

       Chapter Twenty

       Chapter Twenty-One

       Chapter Twenty-Two

       Chapter Twenty-Three

       Extract

       Copyright

Chapter One

      Gunshots erupted like a bomb blast, nearly shaking the walls of the glass-and-metal building. Through the wide windows and clear doors, Special Agent Blaine Campbell could easily assess the situation from the parking lot. Five suspects, wearing zombie masks and long black trench coats, fired automatic weapons inside the bank. Customers and employees cowered on the floor—all except for the uniform-clad bank security officer.

      Blaine had already reported the robbery in progress and had been advised to wait for backup. He wasn’t a fool; he could see that he was easily outgunned since he carried only his Glock and an extra clip.

      But he left the driver’s door hanging open on his rental car and ran across the parking lot crowded with customers’ cars. How many potential hostages were inside that bank? How many potential casualties were there, with the way the robbers were firing those automatic weapons? Blaine couldn’t wait for help—not when so many innocent people were in danger.

      Ducking low, he shoved open the doors and burst into the bank lobby. “FBI!” he called out to calm the fears of the screaming and crying people.

      But his entrance incited the robbers. Glass shattered behind him, as bullets whizzed over his head and through the windows, falling like rain over the customers lying faces down on the tile floor. The interior walls, which were glass partitions separating the offices from the main lobby, shattered, as well.

      More people screamed and sobbed.

      Blaine took cover behind one of the cement-and-steel pillars that held up the high ceiling of the modern building. He held out his hand, advising the customers to stay down as he surveyed them. Except for some cuts from the flying glass, nobody looked mortally wounded. None of the shots had hit anyone. Yet.

      “Campbell,” the security guard called out from behind another pillar. “You picked the right time to show up.” The older man, who was also a friend, had called him here with suspicions that the bank was going to be robbed. Obviously Blaine’s former boot-camp drill instructor’s instincts were as sharp as ever. He had been right—except about Blaine.

      He was too late. The robbers already carried bags overflowing with