The Reluctant Hero. Lenora Worth

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