Читать онлайн книгу «The Reluctant Hero» автора Lenora Worth

The Reluctant Hero
Lenora Worth
JUST WHEN SHE NEEDED A HERO…Reporter Stephanie Maguire had found herself in a dangerous situation, when rugged Derek Kane rushed in to the rescue. But no sooner had he brought her to safety than he fled the scene, leaving the lovely reporter's nose twitching for information about her hero.Derek wanted to keep Stephanie safe–from him and his past. He was nobody's hero. The time he spent doing good deeds for others was to pay for his mistakes. But little did Derek know that his steady faith and warm heart had already hooked Stephanie, and she wasn't about to give up on his story–or his love….



If Derek Kane thought a mere kiss would scare off Stephanie Maguire, he was wrong. Very wrong.
He didn’t need to know that kiss had made her stop and ponder more than once. In fact, thoughts of Derek had disrupted her work all day long. The kiss hadn’t caused her to back off, however. On the contrary, it had only made her want to get to know him even better.
And she would find a way to do that. Soon.
Just as soon as she figured out how to win over a man who obviously didn’t trust reporters. A man who’d been desperate enough to kiss her just to get rid of her.
She’d keep looking, keep searching, until she found out what was up with Derek Kane.
And in the meantime, she’d put that kiss right out of her head!

LENORA WORTH
grew up in a small Georgia town and decided in the fourth grade that she wanted to be a writer. But first she married her high school sweetheart, then moved to Atlanta, Georgia. Taking care of their baby daughter at home while her husband worked at night, Lenora discovered the world of romance novels and knew that’s what she wanted to write. And so she began.
A few years later, the family settled in Shreveport, Louisiana, where Lenora continued to write while working as a marketing assistant. After the birth of her second child, a boy, she decided to pursue her dream full-time. In 1993, Lenora’s hard work and determination finally paid off with that first sale.
“I never gave up, and I believe my faith in God helped get me through the rough times when I doubted myself,” Lenora says. “Each time I start a new book, I say a prayer, asking God to give me the strength and direction to put the words to paper. That’s why I’m so thrilled to be a part of Steeple Hill’s Love Inspired line, where I can combine my faith in God with my love of romance. It’s the best combination.”

The Reluctant Hero
Lenora Worth


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Love…your neighbor as yourself.
—Luke 10:27
To my niece Stephanie—
with love always

Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Epilogue
Letter to Reader

Chapter One
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.

Chapter Two
Dawn was coming over Lake Lanier.
The sight never ceased to amaze Derek Kane, which was why, he supposed, he automatically woke up at this time every morning. He liked to see that golden sun coming up through the trees, its rays spreading out over the water. It reaffirmed that at least for a few precious minutes everything was right in God’s world.
Maybe that was why rainy days got to him so much. That and the fact that if it rained, he didn’t get much work done.
But today Derek didn’t have to worry about rain. From the looks of that sunrise, there wouldn’t be a cloud in the sky and he’d be able to get his landscaping and yard work assignments completed.
Taking another sip of the strong coffee he’d brewed earlier, Derek closed his Bible and reached down past the deck chair to rub the nose of his faithful companion, a German shepherd aptly named Lazarus because Derek had literally saved the dog from being put to sleep a few years ago.
“Ready for our run, boy?”
The black-and-tan animal jumped to attention, his big tongue hanging out in a drooling acknowledgment. When that didn’t bring his master to his feet, Lazarus barked and wagged his tail in the air.
“Okay, okay. Sorry I’m moving kinda slow this morning. I had a late night, you know.”
Lazarus tried one more trick. He flopped down on the planks of the big deck, then rolled over for a belly rub, his black eyes filled with what he obviously hoped was sadness and despair.
“You’re pathetic,” Derek said, grinning as he, too, plopped down on the deck next to the dog, then proceeded to rub Lazarus for all he was worth. “How’s that?”
The dog seemed content to stay that way all day.
“Now look who’s lazy,” Derek replied. Bringing his hand up to the dog’s long neck, he absently continued scratching and rubbing the coarse fur.
“I met a woman last night, Laz,” he said, knowing he could tell the dog anything and it wouldn’t get repeated. “A woman I see every night on the evening news.” He shrugged against the deck planks. “Actually, she’s all over the place, everywhere in Atlanta, on billboards, on the sides of buses, in ads in the newspaper, a well-known face. And unfortunately, I had to run upon her near a dark alleyway while she tried to fend off two thugs twice her size.”
To save a helpless, homeless man, Derek silently reminded himself. Stephanie Maguire had been trying to help a stranger. And because of that one brave act, he hadn’t been able to get her out of his mind.
Not through the long, tiring wait in the emergency room of Grady Hospital, not through the endless paperwork and the necessary questions later at the police station, and certainly not through the long trip back home a couple of hours ago.
She was beautiful. Every man in metro Atlanta and the surrounding counties could see that. And they all got to view her lovely face each night as she reported the news across the airwaves. Her hair was long and wavy, fluffed out around her face and shoulders in a feminine style that somehow didn’t match her hard-hitting attitude when she delivered the news each night. Stephanie Maguire always looked a little windblown, as if she’d just come rushing in off the street to deliver her piece. Which she probably had. But she delivered with precision and accuracy, her stories in-depth, her eyes wide open.
And about those eyes.
Derek knew all about those eyes. Blue green and big, as mysterious as the lake waters, and just as rich and full of depth. As the old saying went, a man could drown in those eyes.
But not this man. No, sir.
Derek pushed himself up off the deck, then whistled to Lazarus. “C’mon, boy. Let’s get that run started. We’ve got lots of work ahead of us today.”
And lots of turmoil to work off on a long, tough jog.
Derek just hoped that Stephanie Maguire would heed his warning and keep him and his so-called heroic deed off the evening news. He didn’t need or want the publicity. He didn’t want people nosing into his life, or second-guessing his motives.
He’d had that once, but never again.
Not even for beautiful, popular newshound Stephanie Maguire.

As usual, the World Network Television newsroom was buzzing like a well-oiled machine. Stephanie glanced around at the action—people busy talking on the phone, busy arguing with leads and checking out sources, or arguing with editors and producers—her adrenaline kicking in with each screech of the newswire, with each beep of the humming computers, with each beat of her heart.
She loved her work. Loved it with a passion that bordered on obsession, loved it because it brought her life and hope and a sense of accomplishment.
But this morning she had to admit she was tired. It had been a late night last night. Hours after she’d left the scene of the mugging, she’d lain awake in her downtown efficiency apartment, the sounds of never-ending traffic soothing and steady way down below, wondering if that old man was all right. Wondering who Derek Kane was and why he refused to be acknowledged as a hero.
And wondering why Derek Kane had gotten to her so much.
The homeless man’s name was Walter Griffin. He sometimes stayed in a shelter not too far from where he’d been attacked, but with spring just around the corner, Walter had ventured back out onto the street to sleep. And he’d been almost beaten to death because of it.
She’d already interviewed him early this morning from his hospital bed, a camera crew taping his every word. Even though Mr. Griffin could barely remember what had actually happened, he’d be all right. But he’d have to stay in the hospital for a few days due to a concussion, two cracked ribs and several lacerations to his face and hands.
Stephanie had promised to check back with him, but in the meantime, she also wanted to find Derek Kane. She needed his comments to finish out the story. And she needed to know more about him.
“You look like you’re onto something,” Claire Cook said as she leaned over Stephanie’s cluttered desk to hand her a bagel and a latte from the coffee shop downstairs. “Your eyes are positively sparkling.” Pushing lightly at Stephanie’s navy wool jacket, she said, “C’mon, give it up, Maguire. What are you working on?”
“Nothing,” Stephanie admitted as she tore the plastic lid off her double latte, then poured the frothy mocha contents into her favorite Do It Now coffee mug. She refused to drink out of foam cups. “Exactly nothing.”
“Exactly something,” Claire retorted. Scooting into a nearby rolling desk chair, she pulled up beside Stephanie, her green eyes bright with anticipation and her short red hair standing on end across her head. “I know that look.”
Stephanie tore off a hunk of blueberry bagel, then sighed before popping it into her mouth. Between bites she said, “I thought I had a story—I was involved in a mugging last night—”
“Oh? Are you all right?” Claire scanned her face, obviously checking for bumps and bruises.
“I wasn’t mugged, but I saw it happening. An old homeless man named Walter Griffin—these two young boys, juveniles with previous truancy and vandalism records, according to the police report, were beating him to a pulp right there off Peachtree.”
“And you intervened.” It was a statement, based, Stephanie guessed, on the fact that the veteran news producer knew her reporters well.
“I had to,” Stephanie said, shrugging her shoulders by way of defense. “Nobody else would—including your wonder boy, Jonathan Delmore.”
Claire perked up considerably, her head coming up so fast her multifaceted turquoise-and-silver earrings jingled against her slender neck. “You were with Jonathan last night?”
“For two excruciating hours,” Stephanie said on a wail of exaggerated pain. “Where did you find that overblown egomaniac, anyway?”
Grimacing, Claire said, “I take it, it wasn’t love at first sight.”
“Not at all. The man is so stuck on himself, he could be patented as the new wonder glue. Anyway, we’d just left the restaurant, thankfully, and I was looking for a cab, when we saw these two overgrown adolescents mugging and beating this old man. I tried to get Jonathan to go with me to help them, but he refused! He went back into the restaurant, he later said to get help, while I called the police and screamed for them to stop.”
“And then you waited from a safe distance?” The question was full of hope, but Claire’s expression said she already knew the answer.
“No, I ran toward them, shouting at them. They were kicking him and pounding him—I had to make them quit.”
Claire took one of Stephanie’s hands in hers. “You’ve got to stop trying to be a hero, honey. You can’t save all of them, you know that.”
Stephanie looked down at Claire’s dainty little wrinkled hand, covering hers. Claire wore several rings of various shapes and sizes. Stephanie focused on a bright topaz pinkie ring, unable to look at her friend’s face. “But I could see it in my mind, Claire. I could see my father all over again.”
“What happened to your father was a tragedy, Stef, but that doesn’t mean you have to throw yourself into every crime that’s committed on the streets of Atlanta. One day, something terrible might happen to you, and then what would your mother do?”
“I know, I know,” Stephanie said, her bagel cold in her hand. “And I’m careful—you know that. I did call the police last night, but I just couldn’t let it happen again. Not to that helpless old man.”
Claire patted her hand, then let go. “Okay, so what happened? Did you stop it, or did the police get there in time?”
Stephanie chewed another bit of bagel, then sipped her lukewarm latte. “That’s when he came out of the shadows, like some caped avenger.” Shaking her head, she looked up at Claire at last. “I tell you, Claire, I’d never seen anything like it. He reminded me of my father—Daddy would have done exactly the same thing.”
“Who? Who helped you last night?”
Stephanie threw down the leftover half of her bagel, then pushed both hands through her unruly hair. “His name is Derek Kane. He’s a man—”
“I gathered that much,” Claire said, a wry smile moving across her freckled face. “And apparently he came to your rescue?”
“He did,” Stephanie admitted, bobbing her head again. “He just stepped out of the shadows and told the muggers he was going to stop them and then…well, after talking to them didn’t work, he rushed one of them and sent him flying. Then he turned around and kicked the other one right in the stomach. The whole exchange lasted less than a minute, and then he had them up against the wall.”
Claire blew a breath up on her spiky bangs, causing them to flutter across her forehead. “Okay, so you two played Starsky and Hutch? So why aren’t you writing the story for the noon news?”
“Because Mr. Kane refused to be interviewed.”
“That’s never stopped you before.”
“He made it very clear. The man doesn’t want to be bothered.”
“Like I said, that’s never stopped you before.”
Stephanie shot her friend a grin then. “No, it hasn’t. That’s why I’m putting together the story, with an anonymous hero as my focus. I hope we can run it tonight at six and eleven. And in the meantime, I’ve got research digging to find all the Derek Kanes listed in Atlanta and the surrounding vicinity. I intend to track him down and find out why he doesn’t want to be in the limelight.”
“Intriguing,” Claire said, maneuvering her chair back to the desk across from Stephanie’s. “A man with something to hide is forced into the role of a Good Samaritan, huh?”
“I’m beginning to think that,” Stephanie replied. “And if Derek Kane is hiding something, I intend to be the one to find out what it is.”
“Tell me something, kid,” Claire said, leaning a hip against the corner of Stephanie’s desk. “Was this Derek Kane young and attractive, or old and feeble?”
“He was…gorgeous,” Stephanie blurted out before she could catch herself. Quickly she added, “Of course, it was dark and he stayed in the shadows for the most part, but—”
“But you’re interested?”
“No, no. Not in him as a man. He was too snarly, too…” She couldn’t put her finger on it, but there was something awfully familiar about Derek Kane, besides the way his actions had reminded her of her sweet father. And that something had been eluding her all night and morning. Maybe that was why she had such an incredible urge to find the man and get to the bottom of his story.
“So what did he look like?”
Stephanie crossed a long navy-stockinged leg, then watched the wide pleats of her matching skirt settle over her knee. “Dark hair—kind of shaggy, leather jacket, cowboy boots, jeans…and from what I could tell…the most incredible gray eyes—deep gray.”
“Wow.” Claire stared down at her, her green eyes shifting like a cursor on a computer screen. “Our man Kane does sound intriguing. Maybe he’s a movie extra or stunt man, or maybe even a movie star. Hollywood is always making films on the streets of Atlanta.”
Stephanie shook her head. “Oh, no. This man definitely shuns the spotlight. I doubt he has anything to do with Hollywood. Maybe…maybe he’s a detective! He did say he’d been to a lawyer’s office nearby.”
“Honey, from your description, I’d say he’s dangerous, at any rate.”
“Yes, you can be sure of that,” Stephanie told her boss as she uncrossed her legs and pushed her chair back from her desk.
“Too dangerous?” Claire asked, rising to get on with her busy day. “I mean, too dangerous to consider getting to know on a personal level, of course.”
“Yes. Tall, dark and definitely dangerous. And not my type.”
“Sounds exactly like your type.” Claire threw the comment over her shoulder as she waved. “Keep me posted—on the story, that is.”
“I will,” Stephanie promised, ignoring Claire’s suggestive look. And I will find Derek Kane and I will find out what he’s hiding.
She told herself it was all about getting the story. That was her goal, after all. To get the story, find out the truth, expose corruption, save the day.
But you couldn’t save your father, could you, Stef?
No, because she’d been too young to understand how to save him, to even to begin to understand his death.
Putting those thoughts out of her mind, Stephanie looked at the Bible verse her mother, Vanessa, had cross-stitched for her the Christmas after her father had died.
“The just shall live by faith.”
Romans, chapter one, verse seventeen.
Stephanie read that verse each time she sat down at her desk, but she remembered that justice didn’t always seem fair. But, as Vanessa would remind her time and time again, she didn’t have to depend on justice alone, as long as she had her faith, too.
“My father lived by faith,” she whispered now. “And he died trying to bring about justice.”
Where was the fairness in that? Stephanie had to wonder. Her mother believed faith and justice could work hand in hand. Stephanie still had her doubts.
But it had worked last night. She’d tried to save Walter Griffin. And she’d asked God to send her a hero, someone strong and true, as her father, Donald, had always been.
But then along came Derek Kane.
A reluctant hero.
And a man she couldn’t seem to get out of her mind.
Because of the story.
Or because as Claire had sensed, there was more to the story. Much more. Stephanie had to admit she was intrigued by much more than just the facts. She wanted to know what had made Derek Kane so bitter, so antisocial, so unwilling to be recognized for his good deed.
“And I won’t stop until I find out what it is,” Stephanie told herself as she booted up her computer. “There can’t be that many men in Atlanta named Derek Kane. He should be easy to track down.”

Chapter Three
Derek slowly tracked the shovel through the rich, moist loam of the flower bed he was building for Miss Nadine Hamilton. Miss Nadine, as she had graciously suggested he address her the first time they’d met years ago, was eighty years old, petite and so loaded with old Atlanta money that Derek doubted the woman even knew how much she was really worth. She came from a lineage that dated back to well before the Civil War, and her hair was a silvery blue, as blue as her blue blood, Derek guessed.
On second thought, Miss Nadine probably knew down to the penny how much money she had, since she scrutinized each and every flower, shrub and bag of manure Derek had ordered to finish her spring garden in time for the annual Azalea Pilgrimage her church group had organized many, many years ago as a means of “helping those less fortunate.”
Derek liked working for Miss Nadine. She was one of his favorite clients. She kept him busy, kept him on his toes and always managed to lighten his day with her words of advice or her analysis of life in general. She could quote whole passages of Shakespeare, and whole books of the Bible, but she spoke only when she felt the need to get her message across.
Derek heard one of the tall French doors of the house opening and looked up to find Miss Nadine coming toward him. Her morning inspection of his work, no doubt.
“Land sakes, Mr. Kane—” she insisted on calling him Mr. Kane “—when did the price of fertilizer go up so high?” she called out, her tiny veined hands on her hips, her wrinkled pink face twisted in a frown of disapproval.
Derek dropped his shovel, then, to peek up at her, lifted a cluster of the ageless Confederate jasmine trailing along a pretty latticework arbor. She was standing above him on the elaborate circular brick veranda that bordered the back of her twenty-room mansion in one of the oldest, most prestigious neighborhoods in Atlanta—Buckhead.
As she petted Lazarus on the head, she pointed with the other hand to the nearby bags of fertilizer he’d picked up at the local nursery earlier. “I can’t afford much more of this stuff, and still be able to pay you, too, you hear me now?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Derek called, waving a hand. “I’ll try to keep things under budget.”
“Well, see that you do.” Cooing to Lazarus, she added in a huffy voice, “And don’t let this overgrown mutt mess up any of your handiwork, you hear?”
Derek had to grin. Miss Nadine knew his one stipulation—Lazarus came to work with Derek, and that was that. The dog was trained to stay where he was told. Besides, he was too lazy to go digging for bones. He wouldn’t dare venture into any flower beds.
And both Derek and Miss Nadine knew that.
Even though Miss Nadine looked as stern as a schoolmarm standing there in her crepe floral dress and immaculate bone-colored pumps, he could see the twinkle in her blue eyes even from this distance. Miss Nadine liked to complain about everything from the weather to the state of the world to how broke she was, but Derek had been her landscaper for over four years now, and he knew that when he was finished, Miss Nadine would not only pay him, but she would give him a big tip to boot.
“How’s life treating you, Miss Nadine?” he asked, if for no other reason than simply to hear her cultured, ladylike voice carrying out over the cool spring morning.
“Life is a constant mystery, Mr. Kane,” she replied as she carefully made her way down the circular steps leading out to the sprawling backyard of her estate. “I suppose, however, that I can’t complain on such a lovely day as this. The good Lord truly saved this one up for us, didn’t he?”
“I believe so, yes, ma’am,” Derek replied as he plucked and pruned the yellow buds of the fragrant jasmine. “I needed a pretty day, too. He sent it right on time.”
Miss Nadine pinned him with her big baby blues. “Did you go gallivanting last night, young man?”
“Gallivanting?” Derek gave her a wry smile. “I think I’m too old for gallivanting, don’t you?”
“Hmmph. Thirty-two and already calling yourself old? Wait until you get to be my age. And you didn’t answer my question.”
Derek didn’t want to explain to Miss Nadine Hamilton, of the Atlanta Hamiltons, that he’d spent the better part of last night in a hospital waiting room, taking care of a homeless man who’d been beaten on the street. And he especially didn’t want to explain how he’d made a special trip to the police station in the middle of the night to give a complete statement, in private and with the understanding that Derek’s identity would not be made public. He had enough to worry about with Stephanie Maguire hot on the story.
It wouldn’t do to tell Miss Nadine—she’d repeat the entire story to the whole garden club before noon. “And yes, it was my yardman, my yardman, I’m telling you, who helped the poor, lost soul.”
Derek didn’t mind being referred to as a yardman. That was his job, after all, and one he took very seriously. He just didn’t want Miss Nadine or any of his other clients to get wind of what had happened in downtown Atlanta last night. Because then they might find out the truth; then he might have to give up his safe, secure, anonymous life here in Atlanta and move on. And he couldn’t do that.
“I had a long night, that’s for sure,” he told the tiny lady now. “Didn’t get much sleep, but I wasn’t misbehaving. Just had some things to sort through.”
“Personal things, I reckon.” She reached up to help him pluck the faded jasmine blossoms, her lips pursed, her expression devoid of the acute interest Derek could see in her eyes.
“Yes, ma’am. Just business. I had a meeting with my lawyer—getting some finances in order, seeing about investments and such. Left me pretty tired.”
“Investments?” Miss Nadine’s tiny head came up. “Mr. Hamilton, rest his soul, would have been thrilled to help you out there. He was one of Atlanta’s top brokers in his day, you know. Did I ever tell you that?”
Relieved that she’d found something other than his own personal life to focus on, Derek encouraged her with a smile. “You’ve mentioned it a time or two. I guess he was pretty successful, huh?”
“Successful enough to leave me quite comfortable in my old age,” she stated with all the dignity and discretion that befitted her stature in life. “That is, if my yardman doesn’t rob me blind buying fertilizer and landscaping timbers.”
Derek saw the smile curving her feathery lips, then grinned over at her. “Can’t take it with us, can we now, Miss Nadine?”
“I reckon we can’t,” she replied, chuckling. Reaching over to pat him on the arm, she added, “You sure do fine work, Mr. Kane. I can’t fault you there.”
“Thank you.” Derek couldn’t help but feel a bit of pride. Miss Nadine rarely gave out compliments. “It’s coming along just fine. We’ll have it in tip-top shape for the reception to kick off the Azalea Pilgrimage, I promise.”
Miss Nadine turned to head back to the house. “I know I can count on you. About a week—the azaleas will peak in early April, according to my calculations.” She waved over her shoulder. “I’ve got committee work to attend to. Come by the kitchen before you leave. Cook will have you a bite to eat prepared, and a treat for that mutt.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Derek watched as the old lady walked with straight-backed precision across the wide veranda. She really was a sweetheart, always feeding him and fussing at him and telling him he needed “to settle down with a good Christian woman and have a passel of babies.”
Derek appreciated Miss Nadine’s well-meaning intentions, but he’d long ago given up on being a family man. What woman would want to get involved with the likes of him, anyway?
That thought brought him back to Stephanie Maguire. Of all the women in the world, why did she have to be the one he’d run into last night? And why had he stopped to get involved in the first place?
“I should have kept on walking,” he mumbled to himself as he picked up his shovel and started slinging dirt with a fast, furious pace. “I knew better. I knew.”
But Derek also knew that he couldn’t have just walked away from the scene spread out before him on the shadowed street last night.
He’d left his lawyer’s office, discouraged but still determined to get his life back in order, only to discover two kids—teenagers at that—attacking a helpless old man. And…a beautiful, slender woman, with nothing to protect her but a cell phone and a purse, screaming at them to let the man alone.
Anyone else would have done the same thing, Derek reminded himself.
Or would they?
He’d seen the darker side of life; he’d seen the worst the world had to offer. For the most part, there was good in the world. But when the evil crept in, it devoured everything in its path.
Derek had seen that kind of evil, that kind of despair. He’d witnessed it down to his very soul, and, soul weary, he’d walked away and found a safe haven amid trees, flowers and earth. He’d needed to find his soul again, to find his faith again, to find God again, and becoming a landscaper had helped him with that.
It had been a natural transition. He’d grown up on a farm in south Georgia, had worked the land before he’d headed off to greener pastures, before he’d taken on a job that had almost brought him to the brink of madness.
Derek stopped shoveling and looked out over the vista of Miss Nadine’s tranquil garden. The azaleas stood in thick clusters underneath the tall pines, some of the bushes reaching six or seven feet in the air, their satiny green leaves bowing gently in the morning breeze, their colorful fuchsia-and salmon-tipped buds just beginning to crest open.
The grass, polished and clipped, spread like a velvet blanket out over the rolling terrain. The sun played across an ancient rose garden where bees hummed greedily over the feathery red and yellow blossoms. Way down a sloping hillside, a stark white gazebo filled with wicker furniture fat with floral cushions stood covered by dainty trailing purple wisteria vines and delicate white-tipped Cherokee roses.
The air was filled with the sweetness of hundreds of blossoming flowers, mixed with the rich smell of fresh earth and the softer, more subtle scent of still-moist dew.
Such a peaceful, gentle spot. Such a beautiful retreat. And Derek was its caretaker.
He couldn’t, wouldn’t lose any of this. Not the fragile peace he’d found, not the respect of his clients, not the contentment of a good day’s work—he wouldn’t allow anything or anyone to take that from him.
And that included Stephanie Maguire.
Derek looked up at the billowing white clouds floating by like puffs of cotton. “Lord, I’ve tried so hard to make a new life for myself. I’ve prayed and I’ve asked for forgiveness and I believe You have heard my prayers. Don’t let it end now, Lord. Don’t let them find me.” Thinking of Stephanie Maguire again, he added, “Don’t let her find me.”
He didn’t need a reporter snooping around, nosing into his life. Even if that reporter was lovely to look at, intriguing and definitely a woman who could make him come out of his self-imposed exile.
He was safe here, in this world of earth and sky.
He didn’t want to be found, because Derek Kane knew in his heart he was nobody’s hero.
And he surely didn’t want the whole world to come to that same conclusion. But if Stephanie Maguire pursued her story, if she tracked him down and insisted on putting him on the evening news, that’s exactly what would happen.
And his life would be destroyed all over again.

“We’ll just have to start all over again, from the bottom up.”
A long, low moan followed Stephanie Maguire’s statement.
“Alonzo, are you complaining?” Stephanie asked, her hand pulling through her mushed hair as she leaned forward on her cluttered desk. “You know how I feel about whining, now, don’t you, Alonzo? And especially from a Georgia Tech journalism student.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Alonzo Sullivan scratched his nose, then tossed back his short dreadlocks, his brown eyes opening wide at the woman who sat staring over at him. “I’m not complaining, Stef. Not one bit.”
Stephanie sent the intern a bleary-eyed stare. “Funny, I sure thought I heard a loud moan coming from your direction.”
“Just stretching my throat muscles,” Alonzo replied, a huge grin cresting on his face. “But…do we really have to do all this research again? We’ve checked on every Derek Kane in Atlanta, haven’t we? And…it is almost midnight.”
Stephanie nodded her head slowly, exercising tired shoulder muscles in the process. “Do you have early classes tomorrow?”
Alonzo lifted a brow, as if debating whether to tell her the truth or not. “No, I don’t have any classes in the morning, but—”
“So, you can stay and help me go back over all these printouts from the DMV and compare them to the names we’ve gathered, right?”
Alonzo slowly nodded. “Yeah, sure. Who needs sleep.”
“I’ve told you a hundred times,” Stephanie replied, playfully slapping the twenty-year-old on the shoulder, “reporters never sleep.”
“Why did I have to major in journalism, anyway?” Alonzo mumbled. Reaching for the phone book, he shot her a steady brown gaze. “And why is it so important that you find this man? You already did the main story—without him.”
“I want to interview him,” Stephanie told her confused helper. “I was involved in this…mugging and Derek Kane…well, he saved a man’s life. He’s a hero, and I think he should be recognized as such. I think people need to know that there are still some heroes left in the world.”
Stephanie watched as Alonzo started organizing all the Derek Kanes, Derek Canes and Derek Cains they’d found on the Internet and in the phone book. After comparing those to the records they’d found through the Department of Motor Vehicles, they’d called most of them, but so far, no one fit the bill of the Derek Stephanie remembered from two nights ago. But she wasn’t ready to give up yet.
“This isn’t your usual type of story,” Alonzo pointed out as he once again went down the list. “You usually go for the more hard-hitting news.”
Stephanie scanned her own list. “Yeah, well, I guess I want to interview Mr. Kane because he…he seemed so reluctant. Here’s a man who risked his own life to come to the aid of someone else, yet he doesn’t want anyone to know about his good deed.”
“That is strange.”
“Yes, and it got me curious. Plus, I just think it would make a good human interest piece.”
Alonzo rolled his eyes, then pointed a finger at her. “You think there’s more to this, right?”
Stephanie had to laugh. “Alonzo, you’re getting too good at this job. Yes, I certainly think there’s more to this. I can’t get this man out of my mind.”
“How about the police?” Alonzo suggested. “The officer who arrested the youths? Have you talked to him?”
“Several times,” Stephanie replied. “For some reason, the arresting officer is staying mum on the subject of Mr. Kane—which makes me even more suspicious. Of course, if we have to testify as witnesses, I’ll see Kane at the hearing, I’m sure. But I don’t want to wait that long. This story is fresh and I want to interview him now. But the police haven’t really been any help.” She grinned then. “Although I do have a copy of the police report, of course. The teenagers are being held as juveniles, so they’ll be arraigned in a couple of days. I don’t want to wait until then, because I have a feeling our Mr. Kane might not even show up for the hearing.”
“So we have to dig through all these names again?”
“Yes, we do. And call them.”
“Now?”
Stephanie glanced at the clock. “It is late. Okay, we’ll go back over the list and eliminate the ones we know are definitely not our man.”
“Like the seventy-year-old Derek Cain who proposed to you over the phone?”
“Yes. Nice, sweet man, but not my type.”
“Well, out of the twenty-two we’ve called, seven have asked for your hand in marriage, and about three wanted to know if you’d live in sin with them.”
“None of them would be our man,” Stephanie replied, ignoring the sometimes flattering, sometimes disturbing adulation she received from a lot of her male viewers. “This particular Derek Kane acted as if he loathed the ground I walked upon.”
“So naturally he’s the one you’re going after, right?”
Stephanie grinned again as Alonzo fell back into his assigned task with no more complaints. He was a good kid, and a hard worker. He’d make a good reporter one day. Right now, Alonzo and the other interns got stuck with the grunt work, but then, reporting was ninety percent grunt work, anyway.
And she should know. She’d taken some pretty big risks just to get to a story. So going after a man who didn’t want to be found was nothing new for her. Only, this man was different.
She was attracted to this man. Which was silly. She didn’t know him, had barely seen his face. Yet…it was there, staring her in the face, keeping her edgy and impatient. She wanted to know more about Derek Kane, because she was interested in him.
Putting that thought out of her mind, Stephanie helped Alonzo reorganize the list, then sent him home.
Sitting there in the almost empty press room, Stephanie once again went down the list. They’d called all the Kanes in the metro Atlanta area, and several in the outlying areas. He had to be out there, somewhere.
Thinking back over that night, she tried to remember everything Derek Kane had said or done. The clues were there. She had to put them together.
“Where are you?” she asked now, her gaze moving down the list. “Maybe that’s not even your real name.”
She was about to call it a night when her gaze hit on one address in particular. They’d called that number earlier, but no one had answered, and there hadn’t been an answering machine either, so she hadn’t been able to listen to the voice. Call it a hunch, call it woman’s intuition, but this address stood out in Stephanie’s mind for some reason.
“Flowery Branch, GA.”
Flowers? Flowers. Then she remembered—he’d said something about landscaping. Was he a landscaper?
“Think, Stephanie.” Then it hit her. She’d been eavesdropping when Derek had given personal information to the officer. Now two details of that conversation stood out in her mind. Landscaper…and lake.
“Would a reclusive man who claims he’s a landscaper live at a place called Flowery Branch?”
He possibly could, if that place happened to be near a lake.
Flowery Branch was a little town near Lake Lanier, about forty miles northeast of Atlanta.
“The landscaper who lives on the lake.”
As she sat there, her heart picked up its tempo. One of the DMV printouts matched this address. And the physical description matched perfectly, too. “This could be him.”
But she needed to be sure.
Picking up the phone, Stephanie called the Atlanta Police Department and waited as the operator connected her to one of her most reliable sources on the night shift. If the arresting officer didn’t want to divulge anything about Derek Kane, she’d just have to resort to other tactics.
“I need a favor,” she explained, then after giving her friend the details, she said, “just verify this for me. Just verify that his occupation is landscaper and that his address is Flowery Branch, Georgia. That’s all I need.”
Stephanie hung up, then waited. If this hunch panned out, she’d save herself and Alonzo a whole lot of trouble in the morning.
The phone rang five minutes later, jarring Stephanie out of her erratic musings.
“Derek Kane—that’s K-a-n-e. Thirty-two years old, owns his own landscaping business in Flowery Branch. Gave a complete statement at scene and then again at headquarters, and has requested to remain anonymous.” There was a pause, then the voice said, “So you never heard this from me.”
“Of course,” Stephanie replied. “Thanks.”
She ignored the little twinge of guilt she felt at having forced her friend to delve into police files.
“I only asked for verification,” she reminded herself as she grabbed her suit jacket and headed to the elevator.
“And now I have it.”
And now, why bother calling ahead? The element of surprise always worked best in these situations.
First thing in the morning, Stephanie intended to take a little road trip up to Lake Lanier.
To a place called Flowery Branch.
Where she hoped she’d come face-to-face with a man named Derek Kane.

Chapter Four
Derek couldn’t believe it. She’d gone and told the entire story on the evening news, complete with an interview of Walter Griffin from his hospital bed. Thankfully, Walter didn’t know that Derek had sat outside his room most of the night. Thankfully, the hospital staff had not divulged that someone had taken care of the man’s medical bills.
So all she had was her own eyewitness account and Walter Griffin’s undying gratitude for her and “the other angel” who’d saved his life, according to him.
Great. Now Derek was being billed as an angel, too.
This morning, as he stood on the deck watching the sun come up, Derek couldn’t seem to find that sense of peace waking up here had always brought him. Maybe because last night he hadn’t been able to find a peaceful sleep. He’d tossed and turned, reliving Stephanie Maguire’s vivid account of the mugging she’d witnessed in downtown Atlanta.
Her words, spoken from a voice that was half innocent, half calculating, still remained as fresh in Derek’s overworked mind as the strong brew at the bottom of his cup.
“And so, a happy ending to what could have been a tragedy. All because one man dared to step out of the shadows and help a fellow human being. Wherever that stranger, that Good Samaritan, is tonight, we thank him.”
She hadn’t told the world his name, at least.
Derek didn’t know if that omission made him glad or mad. Women like Stephanie Maguire always had good reasons for doing the things they did. Now Derek was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Maybe it was the way she’d said it, as if she were sending out a challenge, or maybe it was the way she’d stared straight into the camera, as if she were staring straight at him, straight into his wounded heart.
“You’re getting downright morose,” he mumbled to himself.
Lazarus grunted, thinking that was his cue to get ready for their run.
The morning was calm and sweet with the scent of emerging wisteria and honeysuckle blossoms from the nearby woods. Out in the pines and oaks, splashes of stark white flowering trees could be seen here and there.
Dogwoods.
Derek knew the legend of the dogwood, how their blossoms represented Christ dying on the cross. Even now, from this distance he could see the white, cross-shaped flowers waving to him, comforting him. Derek needed the gentle reminder. He wasn’t alone in this struggle.
Lazarus whined again, bringing Derek’s attention back from the forest.
“I know, I know, Laz. I’m imagining things. I’m getting all worked up about nothing. She could have told the world my name. But she didn’t.”
That one act, whether intentional or out of kindness, made Derek think that maybe he was wrong about Stephanie Maguire. Maybe she wasn’t like other reporters.
Too many maybes. Too much on his mind.
“Let’s get going, boy.” Hopping down off the deck, Derek did a few stretches, then jogged in place.
Lazarus, however, was more than ready for their run. The dog started barking and twirling in circles, anxious for his master to issue a command.
“What ails you?” Derek said, his eyes following the direction of the dog’s nose. Lazarus was alert and sniffing at something.
And that’s when Derek saw her.
Stephanie Maguire. In the flesh. Walking up the winding dirt drive to his lake house. She was wearing jeans, a lightweight tailored blazer and dark sunglasses.
She looked great for seven o’clock in the morning.
Lazarus apparently thought so, too. The big dog barked loudly, then turned back to Derek with beseeching eyes. Derek quickly issued a command, then watched as the dog took off running down the lane toward his lovely quarry.

Stephanie looked up just in time to see the huge dog flying toward her. She’d heard him barking, but it was too late to run now. The big animal was coming for her.
Big dog. Big teeth. Her life flashed before her eyes as she wondered why she hadn’t done the sensible thing and tried calling first.
“Okay. I can handle this,” she told herself as the animal galloped down the dirt lane. A German shepherd. Was he trained to kill on sight? Could she remember how to protect herself—she’d done a story on how to avoid dog bites just last year.
“Avoid eye contact,” she told herself as she braced for the animal’s attack. “Roll into a ball and cover your head.”
Even as she went over the list of protection tips, Stephanie knew this animal could maul her permanently with one bite.
And then she saw Derek, dressed in shorts and a T-shirt, walking casually toward her.
Surely he would call off his attack dog.
Too late, Stephanie realized he wouldn’t. She could only stand there, frozen to the spot, waiting and wondering why this man would be so mean-spirited as to sic a dog on her. She didn’t make eye contact with the dog, but she sure gave the man a good, long stare.
And then, because she was so distracted by the look in Derek’s eyes, the big dog was on her, knocking her down to the ground before she could even manage to roll away. Gritting her teeth and closing her eyes tightly, Stephanie heard her own scream.
Her heart pounding as the animal’s giant paws held her down, she waited for the sure pain of teeth sinking into her skin.
And got a wet tongue in her face instead.
“Ugh!” Opening one eye, Stephanie faced wet black-and-tan fur and another slap of wet tongue across her cheek. And a beautiful set of the darkest dog eyes she’d ever seen.
“Why, you’re just a big old baby,” she said, laughing from the sheer relief of not being eaten alive. Bringing a hand up, she rubbed the big animal’s silky fur and heard his grunt of pleasure. “Ah, that’s so sweet. So sweet. But, hey, fellow, could you let me up? This ground’s cold on my backside.”
Then she heard feet crunching on the rocks. Human feet.
“Some watchdog you are,” Derek said to the animal, his eyes on Stephanie, his expression just short of highly amused. With something next to a grunt, he told the dog to sit.
Reluctantly, the big animal did just that.
While his master stood there with his hands crossed over his chest, his whole expression a mixture of aggravation and satisfaction.
He did have the good grace to reach a hand down to her, at least. The dog moved out of the way and, after Derek gave him another command, danced around them while Derek pulled her up as if she were nothing more than a broken branch.
Stephanie accepted his hand and felt secure in that able-bodied, strong grip. In the light of day, she also became very much aware of Derek as a man. She hadn’t imagined his good looks; they were very much a reality. His craggy face was a study in mystery, an interesting stony countenance that didn’t invite attention. But she imagined women gave him a second look whether he liked it or not.
Annoyed by her wayward feelings, she let go, then fussed with straightening her clothes and shaking dirt out of her hair.
“Hello,” she said, a lopsided smile covering her embarrassment. “Nice doggy.”
Derek folded his big arms across his chest again, then gave her a long, measuring look. “A total disappointment. He always did fall for a pretty face and perfume.”
Even as he said it with such sarcasm and disdain, he reached down and patted the dog on the neck, as if he were protecting the animal, a small fraction of pride measuring his wry smile.
Stephanie continued to brush twigs and dirt from her hair and clothes, then remembered she really should be mad at Derek for letting her think his dog was going to attack her. “I thought… You could have called him down, you know. He scared the daylights out of me.”
“I could have,” he replied, turning to head back toward the house. “But then, you could have minded your own business and stayed in the city.” Tossing her a hard look over his shoulder, he asked, “So, Miss Maguire, how’d you find me, anyway?”
“I work at a television station, remember,” she told him, hurrying up the sloping hill to keep pace with him. “We do research when we go after a story.”
Derek whirled around then, all traces of a smile, wry or otherwise, gone from his lips. “I told you—I don’t want to be a story. But since you went on the air with this anyway, I guess there’s no stopping you now.”

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/lenora-worth/the-reluctant-hero/) на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.