Page 1 of Beautiful Heart

Chapter One

After two years of waking at 2:07 in the morning, Gerri Markham had refined her routine. It had taken time, but she found the only way to shake the recurring nightmare of the car crash that had killed her husband and left her crippled, was to walk it off. Or at least limp it off. At 2:30 in the morning, she felt fairly comfortable as she hobbled down the sidewalk of what she had come to think of as her eight-block track. She had extended her walk from six blocks to eight just two months before.

By the time she would return to her third-floor apartment, she would be hot, sweaty, and relying heavily on her cane to remain on her feet. It would take her an hour, but she celebrated every block she managed to add to her total.

Just after the accident, the doctors had tried to convince Gerri that she would be stuck in a wheelchair for the rest of her life. She refused to give credence to their pronouncements, so after they discharged her, she had used most of the cash settlement from the trucking company that had caused the accident to hire a private therapist. Though she felt her progress had been Galapagos tortoise slow, she was now able to walk on her own.

Each night while walking, Gerri saw the occasional delivery truck, off-duty cab, or police cruiser, but the drivers would wave and continue on their way without stopping. She had become a regular fixture on their early morning patrols.

No one ever bothered her.

Until tonight.

She was nearly halfway through with her stroll when trouble stepped out of a shadowed alleyway. They reeked of alcohol, body odor, and smoke—both cigarette and what she vaguely recalled from her misspent teenage years as illegal substances. The two men leaned against each other, as if they were unable to stand on their own.

The one on the left was a dirty-blond, emphasis on dirty. The other had mud-brown hair. Both needed a shower, or two or three, to get the grease out of their hair and the stench off their skin. Gerri had to swallow hard to keep down the glass of water she had drunk before leaving her apartment.

Though surprised by their sudden appearance, Gerri was not unprepared. Her cane looked festive with its bright, swirling neon colors, but underneath the paint it was a one-inch solid steel rod that would do some damage if smacked against knees, legs, or arms.

“Hey, bitch. You gotta pay the toll to pass,” the blond said, his words so blurred together they were nearly incomprehensible.

“Yeah, pay the toll,” his friend echoed.

Gerri shifted her weight onto her good leg, then changed her grip on the cane. Having lived in the city all her life, she had learned as a little girl that preparation was more than half the battle. And she refused to be a victim, now or ever. Especially against two nearly incapacitated men.

Taking a deep breath and fighting the urge to gag at the stench, she finally responded, “And if I don’t?”

The two men looked confused for a minute, and then the blond blinked and his expression turned nasty. At the same time, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a knife. A flick of his wrist and a long, shiny blade whipped out. He held it up and gave her an evil grin.

“Then we cut you and take more than just the toll,” he said, waving the knife back and forth.

The streetlight flashed off the blade into Gerri’s eyes, blinding her. In that instant, she was back with a semi’s headlights blinding her just a heartbeat before it smashed into the driver’s side of the car.

Closing her eyes, she shook her head and forced herself back to the present. Back to facing down this pair of drunk, drugged-out street rats.

“Then we have a problem, because I don’t have any money on me,” she said, tightening her grip on the cane as she prepared to knock the knife out of the wielder’s hand and hopefully break something while she was at it.

The men looked confused as they turned and exchanged a look.

“Shit, what do we do now?” Brown Hair asked.

Before Dirty-Blond could answer, a vehicle turned the corner into view. It slowed as it approached, stopping with the back door parallel to Gerri. When the door clicked open, her assailants did not wait to see who would appear. They turned and scrambled back into the dark alley from where they had originally emerged.

“Miss, are you all right?”

The deep voice with a touch of a Caribbean accent pulled Gerri’s attention away from the entrance to the alley. The alley rats would not be returning—she hoped. Shifting her grip on the cane back to holding the knob at the top, she rebalanced her weight before turning to face her rescuer.

He had climbed from the car and stood just over six feet tall, which meant a good half-foot taller than her own five and a half feet. He was a gorgeous bald man with skin the color of the mocha latte she bought each morning on her way to the library where she worked. His dark gray suit, lighter-colored shirt, and dark tie were perfectly tailored to his broad-shouldered, muscled frame. That, combined with his choice of transportation, told her he had money. A lot of money.

“Miss? Are you all right?” His deep, accented voice sent a shiver through her. She smiled as a childhood memory of a commercial for a soft drink filtered through her brain. The star had the same wonderful deep voice.

“Yes, I’m fine. Thank you for stopping,” Gerri said after swallowing down the fear that lingered.

“I was on my way to visit a café nearby for tea and something sweet. Won’t you join me? I’d be honored to see you home afterward,” the man said gently.

Gerri knew he was trying to appear nonthreatening, but she wondered if she would be exchanging the frying pan for the fire if she said yes to his offer. Maybe this was all part of a bigger conspiracy, though she had to wonder what anyone would want with a forty-nine-year-old woman who struggled to walk.

“A café in this neighborhood? I don’t know of any place that’s open this late at night,” she admitted, though she still had not made up her mind about being alone with this man.

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