by Jodi Thomas
“Cooperate, lady, or I’ll kill you right here.”
She had no intention of cooperating. Kicking at him, Blaine tried to trip him, but she couldn’t even seem to slow him down. She thought of falling and letting him tumble on top of her, but that might hurt the baby. She had to wait for her chance, then she’d fight. She knew he planned to kill her, so she’d take her first opportunity to break free.
When they were a block from the bombing, he shoved her hard against a wall, releasing her grip on her mouth, but not her wrist. “Scream if you want to! No one will hear you.”
Blaine knew he was right. Sirens sounded all around them. She’d only be wasting her breath. Everyone was watching the scene a block away. No one would notice her struggling with him.
“Let me go.” She tried to reason with him. “I can do you no harm.”
“Not a chance.” He laughed. “You made a mistake. You should have died the first time.” He pushed her once more, hard against the wall, allowing his anger to show. “You’re the reason I’m not getting the money he promised.”
“Who promised?”
“You don’t need to know. You just got to die.”
“Let me go. I won’t tell anyone.” Fear made her words choppy.
“You’ve already told one person too many.” He glanced down the street in both directions, making sure they were alone. “I don’t like the idea of killing face-to-face, but in your case I have to make an exception. If that old man in the café hadn’t stormed toward me earlier, I wouldn’t have grabbed the wrong bag. I’d have blown you all up instead of a few worthless old bag ladies.”
Blaine knew her only chance might be to keep him talking. Every second that ticked by left more time for Miller or Mark to find her. “But, why kill me? I can’t hurt you. I don’t even know you.”
He pulled a small pistol from his pocket and let go of her wrist long enough to jerk the weapon from its case.
Blaine hadn’t taken two steps when he shoved her back against the wall. Miller was right about the man, he was stronger than he looked.
She tried to act as if he wasn’t frightening her to death. “Why?” she repeated as she watched him point the gun toward her waist. He seemed to be searching for just the right spot to shoot her. “I got a right to know before you kill me!”
He dug the point of the weapon into the material above her waistband and she heard her blouse rip slightly, giving the steel the right of way. When she would have inched away, he braced his arm on the other side of her, blocking her exit.
“I knew you didn’t die that day. I could tell you were still around.” He twisted the barrel of the gun against her skin. “Laying that dynamite just below your window wasn’t no harder than dropping it down a hole in the old days of drilling for oil. I was just doing my job, just like when I was the shooter in the oil fields. You should have had sense enough to disappear, but first thing I know, you’re showing up at the shelter. Changed your look, but I could still see the fear in your eyes.”
“You don’t have to kill me.” Blaine grasped at anything. “I will disappear.”
His smile turned her stomach. “I can’t trust you to stay dead.” He leaned closer to her, fouling the air with his whiskey breath. “I’m making sure this time.”
“But why?” Blaine tried to ignore the gun barrel poking against her skin. “You have to tell me.” If he had to build his courage to kill her, maybe she could stall him a minute longer.
“I ain’t got to do anything, lady.” He swore. “Once I kill you I’ll be sitting pretty.”
He straightened with pride. “For years I’ve been doing favors for them that don’t want to get their hands dirty. Fitting their cars, making their problems go away. And I never got caught. Even if I did, they’d get me off.”
Blaine was too frightened to talk anymore. She wanted to scream, to beg for him not to kill her, but she knew nothing would change his mind. She was just a job he had to do.
She closed her eyes and waited.
A car went by, splashing water from the runoff of hoses near the fire. A couple ran, hand in hand, along the other side of the street. They didn’t bother to look toward Blaine; they seemed afraid they might miss something if they didn’t hurry.
The bomber jerked nervously and tried to push her into the alley, but she gripped a pole running along the wall behind her and held on with all her strength. If he planned to take her to her death, he would have to drag her, she would not make it easy for him.
The pole clanked against the wall, but held as he tried to tug her away with one hand while his other held the gun.
“Come on!” he ordered and poked her skin again.
“No.”
“Come along, or you’ll die right here.”
She only widened her stance, preparing for the gunshots. If she was to die, better here in the street where someone would find her than in the alley where she wouldn’t be found until dawn.
“Move!” The bomber’s anger flared. “It’s time to get this over with.”
The barrel of the gun bruised her side, but she didn’t budge.
“Wait!” Mark’s voice rang with anger. “Stop right there!”
Blaine opened her eyes. Her husband, bloody and wrinkled, stood behind the bomber, looking nothing like the powerful lawyer he was, but sounding like one.
“Drop that weapon or you’re a dead man,” Mark yelled without a weapon in his hand.
The bomber tried to twist to see Mark without letting go of Blaine.
“I said drop it!”
“Come any closer and she’s dead,” the bomber threatened.
“No,” Mark answered almost calmly.
“Stay out of this,” he mumbled. “I got to kill her.”
Mark took a step closer. The wound on his head was bleeding into his left eye but he didn’t seem to notice. “Then you’ll have to kill me too. Because I’m not going away, and if you kill her now I’m a witness.”
The bomber heaved in frustration. Insanity settled in the depths of his gray eyes. “I might just do that,” he answered.
“Then, kill me first!” Mark demanded, from a few steps away. “Kill me first because I’ll not watch her die.”
Without warning, the bomber whirled to face Mark and raised his gun.
Blaine crumpled to the ground, too frightened to breathe.
Mark stood perfectly still.
The bomber took aim.
Mark took a step forward, realizing he was too far away to reach the gun before the bomber could pull the trigger. In the second he had left in this life, Mark looked toward Blaine. He wanted her to be the last thing he saw on earth.
A shot rang out from the shadows, echoing off the buildings like a drumroll.
Mark rushed forward, knocking the bomber’s gun away before he could fire.
The bomber stumbled backward, taking a shot high on his chest like a blow. Blood spread over his oily clothes as shock twisted his features. He tried to reach for his weapon, but Mark knocked his hand down.
Blaine scrambled out of the way so that he didn’t fall on her. Without looking back, she ran to Mark. He lifted her off the ground and into his arms as footsteps ran toward them both.
Blaine cried out as she felt Mark, solid and alive, beside her.
Miller reached them first. He rested a hand on her shoulder long enough for her to nod and let him know she was all right, then he knelt beside the crumpled body of the bomber.
Detective Randell was only a few steps behind. “What happened here? I heard a shot.”
Without a word, Miller handed the detective his weapon. A standard army-issue gun.
The cop knelt and rolled the bomber over. With care, he removed the small pistol from his fingers.
The thin man moaned in pain, blood dripping from him.
Randell looked at Miller. “You could have killed him with this cannon. Don’t tell me you’ve been lugging this thing around for thirty years.”
“If I’d wanted t
o kill him,” Miller answered calmly, “he would be dead.”
Randell radioed for a car. “I’m going to have to arrest you, Miller. You can’t go around shooting people.”
Mark didn’t turn Blaine loose as he faced the detective. “If you’re taking Miller in, I’m coming along as his legal counsel. I’ll have him out in an hour.”
Miller raised an eyebrow. Shooting a killer didn’t seem to upset him near as much as the thought that he might need a lawyer.
The cop took a step back and stared at the three of them. “You’re a sorry-looking lot to be hauling in on a night like this. Anderson, you’ve got more blood on you than they have left at the hospital. No one will believe you’re a lawyer. Mary has been frightened half out of her mind and that’s not good for a lady in her condition. And you, Miller, who’s going to believe a sixty-year-old man who owns a muffin shop can hit what he aims at from half a block away. Sounds like a stray bullet must have hit the guy.”
The car swung to the curb and Randell motioned for the driver to help him with the bomber. “Why don’t you three go home and we’ll sort this all out in the morning. I’ll see our troublemaker has full guard at the hospital tonight after I read him his rights.”
He was gone before Blaine could think of anything to say. She moved from Mark’s arms to Miller. When she hugged the big man, he almost hugged her back.
“Thanks,” she whispered.
“I got used to having you around, pest. Besides, I couldn’t let the little creep shoot my legal counsel, could I?”
Blaine laughed. “Help me one last time. We need to get Mark to the hospital for stitches.”
Miller nodded. “Never knew lawyers had so much blood.”
Two hours later, Blaine sat beside Vanilla Anna’s bed when Mark walked into the room. His cut had been stitched and properly bandaged. Without a word, he waited at the door.
Blaine stood and touched Anna’s arm knowing that she had little chance of making it and wondering if she really wanted to fight. Chocolate Anna slept in a recliner next to her friend. Miller had stretched out on a cot in the corner, his snoring louder than the pop machines, but no one complained. The staff had far too many problems tonight to worry about a few extras in the rooms.
Blaine kissed each one goodbye and joined her husband at the door. “I love them, you know.”
“I know,” Mark answered as he pulled her into the hallway. “Did you have someone look at the bruise on your side?”
“It was nothing,” Blaine answered. “He didn’t break the skin. But the doctor did insist on doing a full check including a sonogram.”
“Everything all right?”
“Everything is just fine with me, and with little Luke.”
She brushed her abdomen and walked down the hall.
It took Mark a few seconds to follow. “A boy? The baby’s a boy?”
Blaine looped her arm around his. “Come on, Dad, let’s go home. I’ll explain it all after we get you cleaned up.”
Thirty-Eight
They rode home without saying a word. Mark reached for her hand and didn’t let go until they pulled into the parking garage. He climbed from the car and hurried around to help her out.
“I can make it.” She smiled up at him thinking that if she got much bigger she wouldn’t be able to fold into his little car.
Mark waited to close her door. “I guess I’m just used to Lilly. She acts like she’s being tortured every time she rides with me.”
Blaine was surprised Lilly had been in his car. “How is Miss Lilly? I’ve missed her.”
He put his arm around her waist as they moved toward the elevator. “Besides complaining, she’s all right. Broke her leg on the steps by the mailbox, but after she turned me into her slave, she’s been fine.
“Don’t laugh,” he said even though she hadn’t made a sound. “I cook her breakfast every morning and deliver supper most nights.”
“Really?” She did have a hard time picturing him cooking anything but coffee. Mark had never shown any interest in doing so.
Mark turned toward her as he pushed the button. “I’ve changed,” he said almost apologetically. “I always thought I could handle everything, but I couldn’t get a grip on the loss of you. If it hadn’t been for Lilly needing me, I think I would have gone mad.”
She kissed him lightly a moment before the elevator opened and they rode up with strangers as they both tried to keep their hands off each other. When they finally stepped off the elevator, he took her hand in a firm grip and smiled as he gently pulled her down the hallway.
He didn’t say more until they were alone in their home—a home that now seemed huge to Blaine. She walked around touching the things that had once meant so much to her. Things she hadn’t missed at all.
Mark moved up behind her and held her for a long time, then slowly pulled away. “We have to talk.”
“I know,” she agreed. “But let’s clean up first.”
Without a word he walked to the guest bath and she crossed to the bedroom that had been theirs. Looking around, she felt as she knew she would. She no longer belonged here. This wasn’t her world, her life anymore. The polished chrome and leather no longer suited her. Everything seemed sterile, like an expensive hospital waiting area decorated by a designer who would never know the patients. The bedroom looked like a hotel room where no one had ever lived.
She pulled an oversize sweatshirt and a pair of stretch pants from the back of her closet, tossed them on the bed and went into the shower.
Lined along the shelves were all her perfumes that had been a part of her daily routine. Her makeup and brushes. She’d half expected them to be gone, removed by one of their well-meaning friends who thought they were doing Mark a favor. But everything was exactly the same as it had been the day she left.
Only she had changed. All her things might be in the right place—but she no longer was. She felt as if she was moving through a stranger’s home. But this was where Mark lived. The rooms were still a part of him. He’d been the one who’d wanted and planned for the expensive town house, not settling for one of the smaller apartments in the middle of the exclusive development.
Blaine closed her eyes, knowing that if she left this place she’d be leaving him too.
The warm shower felt great, washing away tension along with the smell of blood and fire and oily fingers.
Blaine stepped from the shower, wrapped in a thick towel that brushed her knees. She ran a comb through her hair and stepped out of the bathroom into the bedroom. It had to be after midnight. Mrs. Bailey would be worried about her if she wasn’t home soon.
Mark sat in the chair by the window. He hadn’t bothered to turn on a light, but she could see that he had dressed in clean clothes. The cream-colored slacks and cotton sweater fit his lean body. He was once more in his world.
She braced herself as she moved into the room. This wasn’t a homecoming where she would crawl into bed and all would be forgotten. Mark would want answers. He’d want details. And in the end, no matter how much he said he’d missed her, or how he’d kissed her, he might not want her back.
Blaine couldn’t blame him. She knew he still loved her, but she’d shattered his plans. When she’d disappeared, no matter how good her reason, she’d ended his chances of running for office. And she’d gotten pregnant. He’d never said he wanted the baby. All he’d said was they needed to talk.
Tres clanked through the cat door and walked past her, rubbing against her damp legs as if she’d only been gone a day.
Blaine wished Mark would say something. He must know that she saw him sitting there. Did he want her to say she was sorry? Did he want her to beg to come back home?
She didn’t know where to start, but she knew there would be no begging, no apologizing. She’d done what she had to do and she felt strong enough to handle whatever happened. If she had to, she’d raise her son alone. She’d keep the café job. She’d survive.
Walking halfway across the room,
she faced him directly. “What are you waiting for?”
Mark stood. “I’m waiting to see if you put on your nightgown, or those clothes you laid out.” He took one step toward her, his words low. “I’m waiting to see if you’re still my wife.”
Blaine knew the time to be totally honest had come. “I’m not the woman who left this place a month ago.” She raised her chin. “I can’t go back to being that person.”
“I’m not asking you to,” he answered, almost angry. “I’m asking if you’re still my wife.” He took another step.
“I never stopped,” she admitted. “But I’m pregnant and I’m not giving up this baby.”
His fingers closed around her arms. He gently turned her to face him and waited until her eyes met his. “I’m not asking you to,” he whispered as his mouth lowered to hers.
Blaine let the towel fall as she wrapped her arms around him.
His kiss was tender, gentle against her mouth as his hands moved down her body. In slow motion, he lifted her up and carried her to the bed, spreading out beside her while still kissing her. For a long while, he just touched her as if for the first time. Her changing body seemed to fascinate him as he examined it hesitantly.
Finally, he pulled away and removed his sweater. As he unbuttoned his shirt, he said, “When I saw the bomber holding you against that wall, I realized he had my life in his hands. He had my family.”
Mark pulled his shirt off. “I meant it when I told him he’d better kill me first, for I had no plans to watch you die.” The cream-colored, freshly pressed trousers tumbled atop his sweater.
He lowered, his chest pressing gently against her warm skin. “Make love to me, Mary Blaine.”
He didn’t give her time to answer, but covered her mouth with his. The need within them both set fire to their kiss and all thought of conversation vanished. He made love to her for the thousandth time, for the first time, all at once. She’d never known such hunger for him and he seemed to feel the same.
When she would have been shy, he shoved her hands away. He kissed her body, moving down until he came to the roundness of her belly. There, he took his time exploring, touching. He looked up and caught her watching him. “My son?” he whispered.