Читать книгу The Reluctant Hero - Lenora Worth, Rachel Hauck - Страница 8

She was bored to tears.

Stephanie Maguire glanced up at the man sitting across from her in the posh confines of one of downtown Atlanta’s best restaurants, and wondered when she’d learn to just say no to blind dates.

But this one had seemed so promising. Her best friend and the producer of Atlanta’s WNT Nightly News, Claire Cook, had promised Stephanie she wouldn’t be disappointed this time.

“He’s tall, dark and handsome,” Claire had told her. “And…he has a good job at one of Atlanta’s hottest real estate firms. He sells property to the rich and famous. And he’s pretty well off himself. I think you’ll really like him.”

So far, Stephanie hadn’t seen too much to like. Jonathan Delmore was so self-involved that he hadn’t even bothered to ask Stephanie about her own philosophy on life, or anything else regarding her life, for that matter. Why, he’d barely let her order her own food, let alone get a word in during the one-sided conversation.

So here she sat, bored and on the verge of a massive migraine, listening to Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome—and didn’t he know it—go on and on about being the top salesperson at Garrett and Garrett Realtors. If he told her one more time that he’d practically single-handedly resold every overpriced square foot of commercial property in fashionable Dunwoody to some of the richest people in Atlanta, she was going to throw her pasta primavera right in his clean-shaven face.

“So I’m definitely up for the one-million in sales per quarter award,” Jonathan told her, his smile so full of self-gratification, Stephanie wondered if he even knew she was sitting across the table from him.

“That’s so exciting,” she replied, glad he’d let her speak at last. “But then, our work keeps us focused, don’t you think—”

“That’s the key—staying focused.” Jonathan said, bobbing his head as he lifted his hands together to form a make-believe lens. Looking at Stephanie through the lens of his lily-white hands, he said, “And I am so good at that. It takes intense discipline—have to keep your eye on the prize.” With this, he dropped his hands in a dramatic flourish and stared at her, his brown eyes boring into her as if to put her into a trance. “Focus—that’s what’s earned me—”

“Wow, look at the time!” Stephanie held up her left hand, squinting at her bracelet watch. “I’ve got to get back to the station to do an edit on a story. I’m sorry to cut our evening short, Jonathan.”

Confused, Jonathan stood, watching as she grabbed her purse. “Oh, too bad. And we were having so much fun. How ’bout I drive you to the station, so we can continue our conversation, get to know each other a little better?”

Through a haze of indignation Stephanie managed a polite smile. She did not want to get to know this man any more at all. “Really, you don’t have to bother giving me a ride. I’ll just grab a cab.”

But Jonathan, at least, was a gentleman. “Well, let me walk you out,” he said. “And I need to get your home number, so we can schedule another dinner without me having to track you down at work. How about next Friday?”

Stephanie brushed a lock of brown hair off her shoulder, then shrugged. “I’ll have to check my book. Reporters have crazy hours, you know.”

“Really?” Grinning smugly, he added, “I wouldn’t have guessed, considering it took me two weeks to finally get you on the phone. Well, you know what they say—all work and no play—”

“Gets the bills paid,” she finished for him. “My work is just as important to me as yours seems to be to you. And I’m certainly just as focused.”

Thinking her mother would scold her for being so blunt and sarcastic, Stephanie said a little prayer for patience. She’d been raised by the Golden Rule, and while she did try to do what was right and treat others as she expected to be treated, sometimes she lost all decorum and, without thinking, let loose with her true feelings. This character flaw hadn’t won her many friends, but the friends she did have understood when to back off and leave her alone.

Jonathan didn’t know her well enough to do that, though. She’d have to remember that and tamp down the need to tell him exactly what she thought about him.

Jonathan hurriedly paid the tab, then turned back to her, obviously missing her little stab at his over-inflated opinion of himself. “Absolutely. Staying focused, staying on top of the game, that’s what success is all about. In fact, I was just telling one of our junior Realtors the other day—”

“I think I see a cab outside,” Stephanie interrupted. Then without a word, she rushed out of the restaurant, intent on getting as far away from Mr. Prime Location as she possibly could.

But Jonathan was quick on his lanky feet. “Stephanie, don’t be in such a hurry.”

Groaning under her breath, Stephanie craned her neck, wishing for a cab to appear in the busy Peachtree Street traffic. She didn’t think she could tolerate another minute of Wonderboy and his tall tales.

But no cab was in sight, so she was forced to smile at Jonathan. “Thanks for dinner. The food was very good.”

“They know me well here,” he said, winking. “And they know to treat me right.”

“I’m sure.”

Stephanie looked down the street again, willing a cab to appear. If one didn’t come soon, Jonathan no doubt would insist on driving her back to the television station, and that might mean he’d come in to visit. Which she couldn’t take.

His next words proved her right. “I’d be happy to give you a lift. It’d give me a chance to see where the famous Stephanie Maguire comes up with all those exciting, in-depth news stories.”

Somehow, he sounded condescending instead of truly interested in her work. So Stephanie gritted her teeth and tried to be polite, just as her mother had taught her. “Really, that’s not necessary. I’m afraid I won’t have time to visit any longer tonight. I have to prepare for a story I’ve been working on for some time now.”

“You’re a very busy girl.”

Groaning again at being called a girl, Stephanie bit back a retort. “Guess I’ll have to call the cab company,” she said instead, reaching into her purse to find her cell phone.

Just then, she heard a commotion coming from across the street. A shout echoed loud and clear through the looming skyscrapers and dark alleyways. That shout was followed by laughter and another sound.

The sound of someone striking hard against something or someone.

Stephanie looked out into the night, her eyes focusing on the direction from where the sounds were coming. In the muted glare of the streetlights, she saw shadows playing about a block away.

“Oh, my,” she said, grabbing Jonathan by the sleeve of his silk suit. “Look!”

Down the street, and over, it looked as if two young men were attacking another human being. From what Stephanie could tell, the other person was also a man, but from his stooped shoulders and the way he held his arms up to shield himself, he looked much older and much more frail than his assailants.

Not even bothering to stop and think, Stephanie grabbed Jonathan by the arm, dragging him along with her as she ran toward the scene. “We have to help him,” she told Jonathan over her shoulder.

Jonathan pulled at her suit jacket, bringing her to a tugging halt. “What? Oh, no. I don’t think I want to get involved in a street fight. You know how those people are. We could be killed.”

Shocked, Stephanie turned to stare at him, then she heard a loud moan and the sound of a fist hitting flesh. “They’re beating that man!” she told Jonathan. “We have to stop them.”

Jonathan crossed his arms over his chest, then gave her an indignant shrug. “I’m not going over there. Way too dangerous.”

“Then I will,” she said, pivoting in a huff.

Jonathan grabbed her by the arm again. “Stephanie, it’s too dangerous.” Pointing to the forgotten phone she still clutched, he said, “Call 911.” He backed away again. “I’ll go back in the restaurant to get help.”

“Okay, but I’m still going to try and scare them away.”

Then she took off, dialing as she ran, oblivious to the jarring impact of her high heels hitting the sidewalk pavement, or Jonathan’s cry of protest in the background. As she shouted directions into the phone to the 911 operator, telling them to send an ambulance, too, she hurried up the street.

“Hey, you, stop that!”

The thugs kept right on hitting and punching, and laughing, which made Stephanie sick to her stomach. And underneath their laughter and taunting shouts, she could still hear the moans of their victim. If someone didn’t do something soon, they were going to kill the old man.

Looking around as she neared the end of the block, Stephanie didn’t see anyone in sight, including Salesman of the Year Jonathan Delmore. That figured. Just another example of all the men she’d tried to date recently—all talk and no action.

Whatever happened to the good old-fashioned heroes? she silently asked herself, her heart racing as she neared the horrible scene, the moving shadows of the three appearing grotesque and enlarged on a nearby building’s facade. Dear Lord, I could use some help right about now.

She’d just have to do something herself until the police or that help arrived. After all, she’d taken a course in self-defense and she had a pretty mean left hook from working out with the boxing bag at the downtown fitness center.

Making her way across the street until she was a few feet from the attackers, Stephanie shouted again. “Hey, I said stop!”

One of the attackers stopped kicking the old man long enough to look around at her, his eyes wild with defiance, his meaty fists raised in the air. “Yes, lady, you gonna make me?”

From out of the darkness of a nearby alleyway came a strong, deep-throated reply. “No, but I sure am.”

The attacker who’d just challenged Stephanie tugged at his accomplice’s coat sleeve. “Hey, man, we got company.”

Surprised, Stephanie swallowed back a wave of relief and turned, hoping to find Jonathan behind her. But the man emerging from the shadows wasn’t Jonathan Delmore.

He stood at least six feet tall, and from what she could see, he was built like a linebacker and dressed casually in jeans, boots and a dark leather bomber jacket. He stayed in the shadows, his legs braced apart, his hands at his sides, a deliberate calm surrounding him.

“C’mon, boys,” he said, his voice even and low. “This kind of violence will only bring you trouble down the road. Walk away now and we’ll forget the whole thing.”

One of the youths snorted, then started laughing. “We got us a smart man here. You gonna forgive and forget, mister?”

“If you let that old man go, yes, that’s exactly what I’m gonna do.”

In answer, one of the youths leaned down and slapped the man lying on the ground. “You hear that, buddy? He’s gonna let us beat you, then walk away.”

“But we ain’t ready to do that,” the other youth said, coming toward Stephanie, his eyes flashing white, his hand creeping to his pocket. “We’ll just have to take you down, too, I reckon.”

Before Stephanie could protest, the man behind her swooped past her and head-butted one of the muggers, knocking him off his feet and up against the bricks of a nearby building. The other attacker took that as a challenge and came rushing toward the man.

But this man, whoever he was, didn’t even flinch. Instead, he whirled and kicked the youth right in his midsection, sending him flying on top of his buddy.

“Want some more?” the man snarled, dancing toward the two winded, groaning people lying in a pile at his feet. “C’mon, you two, what’s the matter? No more fight left now that things are a little more even?”

One of the muggers managed to get up. With some effort, he held out a fisted hand and took a weak swing toward the man. But he was too slow. The man sent him flying again with a left jab that looked like a blur to Stephanie. The attacker went down cold.

That left the other one, and he didn’t seem in any hurry to get back into the fray. Trying to stand, he held up a hand in defeat, all the while gasping for breath.

That didn’t stop the rescuer from taking action. “Get up against the wall,” he shouted as the sound of sirens echoed around the corner. “Don’t move—unless you want your teeth kicked out.”

Taking a long look at his friend who was just regaining consciousness, the other fellow sank back against the wall, holding his hurting midsection. “Who are you, anyway, man?”

Stephanie wanted to know the same thing. But a moan from the old man lying on the sidewalk sent her scurrying over to him. Leaning down, she touched his bruised and cut face with a gentle hand. “It’s all right. Help is here now. Try to lie still.”

As the police cars and an ambulance pulled up, she watched the stranger’s face while he explained the situation and handed the culprits over to the police. He didn’t even seem winded by all the fighting, and that steady, unnerving calm remained intact, in spite of the grim expression carved across his features.

She’d never seen such an interesting face. It was scraggly and dented, as if he’d seen a lot of fights such as the one he’d just entered into. His dark hair was about an inch too long for her taste, but it was thick and wavy and unkempt from fighting. She couldn’t call him handsome, not in the way Jonathan was handsome. But the attraction was there, maybe because this stranger spoke of a controlled kind of power, and a quiet dignity that more than made up for his battered expression and his too-long hair.

Definitely hero material.

“Thank you, God,” she whispered, her attention moving between the helpless victim and his rescuer.

Stephanie’s reporter’s instincts urged her to find out more, while her woman’s intuition told her this man was way too dangerous to mess with.

Torn, she stayed by the hurt old man and listened as the stranger talked to the officers in a deep-throated, lazy drawl.

“I came upon these two beating this old man,” he told the policeman. Pointing to Stephanie, he added, “This lady was telling them to stop, but they didn’t seem to be listening.”

With that, his gaze raked over Stephanie. His intense expression bordered on anger, but there was also a resigned composure there in the crevices of his rugged features, as if he’d seen the worst of life and didn’t expect it to ever get any better.

Who was this man?

She watched as he came close and stooped to help a paramedic check on the victim. As he leaned over the man, so close Stephanie could see that his eyes were smoky dark, his gaze held Stephanie’s for a split second. The look was at once full of questions and dismissal. She got so flustered, she had to look away. Which really unnerved her. She didn’t fluster easily.

Deciding to concentrate on the victim, so she wouldn’t feel like one herself, she said, “He’s hurt pretty bad.”

The poor man was bleeding from a nasty gash across his forehead, and one of his eyes was bruised and swelling shut. He clutched his stomach; he probably had a couple of broken ribs. His clothes were torn and threadbare, and it didn’t take long to figure out he was a homeless person, left to the mercies of the city streets, left to fall into the hands of these two young thugs.

After the paramedics lifted the man onto a stretcher, Stephanie followed them and the stranger toward the waiting ambulance. She had to hurry, however, to keep up with the conquering hero.

Wanting to know if the old man needed anything, Stephanie approached the doors of the ambulance, her gaze following the stranger who’d just come to his rescue.

“Excuse me,” she said as she touched the old man’s dirty coat sleeve. “Are you okay? Is there anyone I can call?”

The old man squinted, then grimaced in pain. “My money. They got my money. I had twenty dollars.”

“We’ll take care of that,” the officer assured him. “That’s pretty bad, ain’t it? Young punks beating up on a helpless old man like that for a few dollars.”

“Get him to the hospital,” the stranger said on a snarl. Then he turned to a paramedic, his expression daring the man to protest. “Right now.”

Before Stephanie could ask the man his name, another policeman came over to them. “Okay, people, tell me one more time, who saw what and what happened?”

Stephanie pointed to the two suspects now seated in one of the patrol cars. “They were beating him up,” she said, her gaze shifting from the suspects to the dark-haired man who’d helped her. “I saw them from that restaurant down there.” She pointed to the upscale establishment and was met with a grunt from the avenging stranger.

Frowning at him, she continued. “I shouted for them to stop, then called 911. But before you got here, Mr….?” She stopped, hoping the stranger would identify himself.

Instead, he just stood there, staring at her with that intensely dark look, as if to say, “It’s none of your business, and get out of my way.”

“Anyway, this man came around the corner and managed to pull them away from the victim. He was trying to talk to them, calm them down, when one of them started coming for us.” She wouldn’t tell the cop that the mystery man had then become like a raging bull, all fire and anger. “He saved this man. They would have killed him, I think, if someone hadn’t stopped them.”

The old man moaned again as the paramedics settled him into the ambulance, the stranger right on their heels.

“Don’t leave yet, mister,” the cop called after him.

The stranger stopped, then pivoted back around, while the ambulance zoomed away, its siren blasting.

The officer scribbled notes, then turned to look up at Stephanie. “Ms. Maguire?” he said, recognition registering in his tired eyes. “Is that you?”

“Yes, I’m Stephanie Maguire, from WNT. Do I know you, Officer?”

“No, but I sure know you. See you on the evening news every night. My wife’s a big fan, too.”

“Thank you,” Stephanie said, acutely aware of the stranger’s dark, disapproving gaze. “Do you have any more questions?”

“Yes, ma’am,” the officer said, getting back to business. “What were you doing out here, anyway?”

“I…I had dinner at the restaurant I mentioned,” Stephanie explained again. “I was out front looking for a cab.”

“And that’s when you saw the attack?”

“Yes. I heard loud voices, then looked down the street and saw those two attacking this man.”

The policeman turned to the stranger then. “And who are you?”

Silence, then a grunt. “Derek Kane.”

“And you just happened around the corner, Mr. Kane?”

“Yeah,” the man said, his face lost in the shadows, his hands buried in the slanted pockets of his leather jacket. “I had some business at a law office in the next building.”

“Kinda late for business, ain’t it?”

“My lawyer keeps long hours.”

“I see. So you happened upon this attack and decided to get in the thick of things?”

The stranger let out a sigh, then lifted his head to glare at the officer. “I happened upon Ms. Maguire here telling them to let the man go. I was afraid they’d turn on her, so yeah, I stepped in then.”

“To protect Ms. Maguire?”

“To stop Ms. Maguire from doing something stupid.” The look he gave her told her that he considered her exactly that.

Appalled, Stephanie placed a hand on her hip and glared right back at the man. He had his nerve. She could have handled things. But, she had to admit, she had sure been glad when his deep voice had boomed out behind her. He had saved both the homeless man and her. She’d give him credit for that, at least.

“Thank you so much,” she said on a sweet note, her own Southern drawl coming through in spite of all the diction and voice lessons she’d taken in college to get rid of it.

She was rewarded with another grunt.

Then Jonathan came strolling up, his chest puffed out, his hands on his hips, not a hair out of place. “Stephanie, everything okay here?”

“And your name?” the cop asked.

“Jonathan Delmore,” Jonathan stated with his nose in the air. “I was with Ms. Maguire earlier.”

“Then you saw the whole thing, too?”

“No, not really. I…I warned Stephanie to stay away. It wasn’t safe. But she insisted on coming right down here. I…I went back inside the restaurant to get help.”

He said this with a bit of reprimand, which only fueled Stephanie’s already red-hot opinion of him. He had gone back inside the restaurant to stay safe, and they both knew it.

“He’s right,” the cop said, nodding his head. “You could have been hurt, too, Ms. Maguire.”

“I had to stop them from killing that old man,” she replied, her gaze locking with Jonathan’s, and then Derek’s. She refused to let either one of them make her feel guilty or inadequate for helping someone in need.

Derek Kane glanced from Stephanie to Jonathan, then rolled his eyes. The expression on his face told her everything she needed to know. He thought they were both stupid.

Thinking she’d gone from a blind date with a self-centered golden boy to running smack into the original caveman, Stephanie made another pledge to give up on the male species.

“Okay,” the cop said, slapping his notebook shut. “We might need you all down at the station later for a statement. I’ll need your addresses and phone numbers.”

Caveman grunted again, then pulled the officer to the side. In a quiet voice that Stephanie could barely hear, he gave the officer the information he needed, which he obviously didn’t think anyone else needed to know.

But years of eavesdropping on conversations had given Stephanie good information-gathering skills. Straining toward the two men, she heard the words landscaper and lake, but she didn’t get the phone number or the precise address down.

Then Jonathan proudly gave his name and work number, stressing the prestigious address of both his apartment building and his work building.

Satisfied, the officer turned back to Stephanie. “Can I reach you at the station, Ms. Maguire, if I need anything else?”

She handed him a business card from her purse. “Sure. And I might need you all for comments. I think I’d like to do a story on this.” She looked straight at Derek Kane then. “After all, Mr. Kane, you’re a hero. You stepped in to save this man when everyone else around here refused to get involved.” With that comment, she once again glared at Jonathan.

Derek Kane stepped back into the light then, the look on his face catching Stephanie and pinning her to the sidewalk. “No story.”

“What? But…I have to do a story. Crime is a big issue in Atlanta, and few people want to get involved when someone is being brutalized. People need to know that there are still Good Samaritans like you who are willing to help out a fellow human being.”

He stepped closer, his face inches from hers, his eyes such a dark gray, she immediately thought about smoke and fog and the granite that formed Stone Mountain. “I said no story, lady. And I mean that.”

Turning to the police officer, he repeated all of it. “I’d appreciate it if you’d keep me anonymous, understand?”

The officer, although clearly surprised, nodded grudgingly. “If you say so.”

Derek Kane looked straight at Stephanie. “I say so.”

Shaking in her pumps, Stephanie nonetheless stood her ground. “So you’re refusing to cooperate?”

“Yep.”

With that he turned and started walking away, his cowboy boots clicking against the sidewalk with precise measure.

“But it would make such a good story,” Stephanie called after him. “At least take one of my cards, in case you change your mind.”

He didn’t even bother turning around.