The Reluctant Hero

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?”