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
