It was almost dark, and it didn’t help to know that her own stupidity had put her in this particular neighborhood as darkness fell over New York City. She could have waited for the bus, but she’d been too impatient. It was spring, and the few trees along the streets were just budding. She hadn’t thought what a long walk it would be from her piano teacher’s home to her own.
Her auburn hair blew in wavy strands around her thin face, and her big green eyes swept restlessly along the deserted street. There wasn’t a single person in sight. Clutching her cashmere sweater closer around her thin shoulders, she bit on her lower lip. She crushed her leather purse and sheet music against her small bosom as she held on to them like a life preserver. Stupid, she told herself. Stupid girl, wearing clothes that shouted money, walking through a neighborhood where you could be mugged for a dollar bill. Behind her, the footsteps suddenly grew quicker, more determined.
There were two sets of footsteps, Gaby realized suddenly as a feeling of panic came over her—one heavy, one lighter. She glanced nervously behind her as she turned the corner and quickly looked away again, her heart racing torturously. She’d caught a glimpse of them then, both ragged and greasy and mean-looking. Ahead were only alleys and dark buildings. She quickened her pace and noticed a garage a little farther down the street. If only it was still open.
She started toward it, but the footsteps were closer. They must be running, she thought. Would she be able to make it?
“No!” she cried, but it was too late. They reached her just as she was passing one of the alleys. The taller one caught her arm, and the shorter one tugged at her bag, sending her sheet music flying in all directions.
She held on to her purse with all her strength and tried to scream, but almost before she could utter a sound, one of them shoved her toward the alley, ignoring her furious attempts to fight back. If only she hadn’t been wearing silly flat rubber-soled boots! She’d have given anything for spiked heels.
“Don’t touch me!” she raged at them. Her hair came loose and flew around her shoulders as she struggled.
“Shut up, Red,” the taller one laughed, holding her by the shoulders. “Get it, Terry!”
“Let go,” the short one growled, tugging at the purse. “Come on, baby, you got all kinds of money, ain’t you never heard of sharing?”
“Yeah, we ain’t all rich, you know,” the tall one mumbled.
“Whew!” The heavyset boy whistled as he studied the contents of her bag. “Five big ones.” He held up the ten-dollar bills in his fist. “Not bad,” he grumbled, digging further.
Gaby was terrified. She didn’t care much about the money but wasn’t sure what would happen next. She’d never felt so alone or helpless. Tears stung her eyes when she saw one of the boys grin at her lecherously. She backed away, preparing to defend herself from them, knowing exactly what was on their minds, but she tripped on something and fell heavily to the ground. She felt her back hit the hard concrete, saw them looming over her, felt hands at her blouse.
“What’s going on here?” an unexpected deep voice demanded from the end of the blind alley.
The boys jerked up, staring toward the light. The figure blocking it looked massive, even at that distance. Very dark, wearing a white T-shirt and tight slacks that showed every bulging muscle. Even at this distance Gaby could see crisp, straight black hair and eyes so big and black that they de-emphasized the formidable straight nose, square jaw, and leonine quality of the rough face.
“Hey, Marc,” the shorter boy protested, hands palms upward. “Hey, no trouble, okay?”
The man he’d called Marc stared past him at the thin, disheveled redhead on the ground. “You okay, honey?” he asked her in a voice like deep, dark velvet.
She wanted to cry now that it was almost over, now that she had help. “Yes,” she managed, but her voice sounded quavering. She scrambled to her feet, clutching her blouse.
“Come on over here, then,” he coaxed. “You’re fine now, they won’t bother you again.”
Once she was safe behind him, Marc took two quick steps forward. He landed a powerful blow to the taller boy’s solar plexus, sending him crashing to the ground. Almost without pausing he spun around to Gaby’s other attacker, who by now was cringing. A quick right hook sent the boy sprawling next to his friend.
“That make you feel any better, honey?” Marc asked with a chuckle.
“Thanks,” she said, panting and holding tight to her open purse as she joined him. He looked good even close up, grease stains and all. His mouth was wide and had a chiseled look to it, and he was smiling mockingly.
“My pleasure. Terry and Gus aren’t my favorite neighbors. They take any money?”
“A little,” she said, glaring down at them. “Let them keep it. I don’t want to soil my hands by touching it.”
Marc scowled and moved forward again. He bent and jerked the ten-dollar bills from the grasp of the shorter boy, who was still groaning. “Forget it, Gus,” he said tightly. “You’re not getting paid to attack little girls. Stick your dirty nose in my neighborhood again and I’ll cut it off even with your eyelashes. Understand?”
Gus swallowed. “Yeah. Sure, buddy.” He looked nervous. “You, uh, you won’t mention this around your uncle?”
“Uncle Michael wouldn’t soil his hands on you.” Marc laughed mirthlessly. “He’s got too much pride to bother with garbage. Get out. Both of you.”
As the boys edged past, the bigger one shot a regretful glance at Gaby and took off running. One of them made a gesture that caused her to blush, but Marc returned it with interest.
“Hotshots,” he muttered, staring after them with his hands on his narrow hips. He looked down at the girl curiously, noticing her cashmere sweater, leather purse and boots, and real pearl earrings. Money, he thought. Not much to look at, poor little thing, all thin angles from her shoulders down to her feet. That wild auburn hair must look stylish to her own crowd, and her eyes were the biggest, greenest ones he’d ever seen. He cocked his head to study her. In a few years she might be something to look at, he concluded. And she had spirit, which appealed to him.
“Out of your league down here, aren’t you?” he asked.
“I sure am,” she agreed, brushing back her hair. “From now on it’s karate lessons. I’m being wasted at music class.”
He chuckled. “What’s your name?”
“Gabrielle, but I’m called Gaby. Gaby Bennett. And you?”
“Marcus Stephano,” he volunteered. His head jerked toward the garage down the street. “I own half of the neighborhood auto shop. God didn’t think I should be rich, but he gave me good hands. I can fix anything short of broken hearts.”
“You saved me,” she offered. “Thanks.” With a mischievous grin she gestured at herself. “It isn’t much, but it’s yours.”
He smiled, a genuine smile. “You’re not so bad, honey. I like your style, Gaby Bennett.”
“I like yours, too, Mr. Stephano.”
“Marc.” He pursed his wide
