Full Force Fatherhood

“Don’t make a noise.” The harsh command came beside her ear just as a sharp point dug into her shirt. A large hand grabbed her upper arm. Kelli’s stomach dropped as her heart began to gallop. Before she had time to decide if she was or wasn’t going to comply, the man yanked her into a nearby alley. It was empty. No one yelled after them. “Turn around and I cut you,” the voice growled. “Make one move or sound and I cut you. Got it?”

Kelli felt her head bob up and down. She was facing the brick wall of a business she couldn’t remember at the moment. Her mind filled with images of Grace. The thought of her child put a bit of spirit back into her, but not enough for her to be careless.

“Drop your purse,” the low voice ground out.

Kelli slowly raised the arm that he wasn’t holding and maneuvered the strap off her chest and shoulder. She tried to gauge the size of the knife, but her nerves were too frazzled. The purse was on the ground for less than a second before the man snatched it back up. She saw his black-gloved hand. It made the terror in her rise even more.

Instead of leaving, he applied more pressure with the knife. She winced but didn’t make a noise.

“There. That wasn’t so hard, was it?” His breath brushed against her ear. It sent a chill up her spine.

“You have what you wanted,” she said, voice shaking.

The knife bit deeper. This time she let out a small yelp.

“Didn’t I say no talki—”

“I have a gun,” interrupted a cool voice from even farther behind her, definitely not her original attacker. “Hurt her and I’ll—”

Kelli was pushed into the wall as the man let go of her arm and struggled with the newcomer. Pain burst in her cheek as it scraped the brick. She didn’t pause to check it. She braced herself against the wall as she turned around.

Her attacker was a white man—she couldn’t guess an age well enough—dressed in all denim and black with a red baseball cap. He wasn’t tall but he was wide. In one hand he held her purse. The other was busy trying to fend off her savior.

Who just happened to be Mark Tranton.

“Give me the purse,” Mark commanded. His arm was cut, but he was holding a knife. Apparently having a gun had been a bluff.

The mugger eyed what used to be his weapon before darting to the left and out of the alley, taking the purse with him. For a large man, he was lithe.

“Are you okay?” Mark asked, eyes roaming her over.

“Yeah,” she breathed.

And then he was running.

Chapter Five (#ulink_4d0d96a9-b1fd-5f4e-b5aa-6f41506a24e4)

The man was fast. Like a jackrabbit, he cut across the road and disappeared into an alley opposite them with impressive speed. Mark was more of a hand-to-hand combat guy, but he held his own, only slowing down when a Mazda didn’t brake, apparently not worried about hitting pedestrians.

He chased the mugger through the network of alleys that connected two blocks. Dumpsters lined the sides and debris littered the ground, but the man used neither to try to block or slow Mark down. Instead, he ran full tilt. Which meant Mark wasn’t going to catch him unless he got creative.

His memory began to pull an aerial layout of the alleyways. The one they were running down had three turnoffs before forking into two paths. One went left into another busy downtown block, next to a chic restaurant that stayed open until midnight. The other torqued right between a Chinese take-out joint and a boutique. The way the man was running, he seemed set on a destination. He hadn’t hesitated when passing the first two turnoffs.

Mark didn’t, either.

He didn’t break speed as he skidded around into the first turnoff and ran the length of the short alley. It deposited him back onto a less busy sidewalk where businesses were darkened for the night. A few bystanders too drunk to drive and too broke to call a taxi dotted the sidewalks. Mark spun around a couple that stood and gawked at him. His breathing hitched at the extra movement, but he knew his body could handle the chase. He might not have been a bodyguard anymore, but he’d never stopped training.

The stretch of block ended, and he cut left around a closed café on the corner. Pumping his legs harder, he made it to the mouth of the alley.

It was empty.

“Dammit!”

Mark spun around, his eyes darting to all escape routes. There was no hurried motion on the sidewalks. None of the people milling around seemed alarmed. The mugger hadn’t come out of the alley. Mark had misjudged.

Or had he?

With the knife heavy in his hand, Mark reentered the alley. He kept his body loose, ready to move if the other man jumped out. But no one did. He paused, listening for another set of footsteps, before bending to pick up what had caught his eye.

It was Kelli’s purse.

* * *

BACKTRACKING THROUGH THE alley to the bar, Mark kept an eye out for security cameras or any obvious eyewitnesses who might have caught the face of the mugger. There were neither. He put the knife in his pocket as he neared the street; the bag was secured underneath his arm.

“Mark!” Kelli was standing outside the bar again with a manager he knew. The older man had a phone to his ear and nodded to Mark before retreating back into the business. Kelli waved him over. The obvious relief that painted her face at the sight of him made him uneasy.

“I think this belongs to you,” he said by way of greeting. Kelli took her purse, but her eyes stayed on his.

“Thank you.” The expression of relief turned to gratitude. Again, it made him uneasy. He nodded.

“Are you okay?” he motioned to her cheek. It was red, scraped, with a few spots of blood.

“Yeah. I’d rather have this than a cut from the knife.” She quieted.

“Did the manager call the cops?”

“Yes. When you took off, I ran back to call. I would have used my cell phone, but it’s in my purse.” That’s when she noticed the cut on his arm. He could feel its sting but knew it was harmless. “You’re hurt!”

“Don’t worry. It looks worse than it feels.”

“Hey, you get a good look at the guy?” The manager had come back out without the phone. Mark didn’t miss the bulge of a gun beneath his shirt.

“Not his face,” he admitted. “But I do know he was sitting at your bar.”

“He was in the bar?” Kelli asked, voice pitching high. The manager didn’t seem too thrilled, either. Even in the dim light from the street lamp, Mark could see his face redden in anger.

“He was sitting at the end closest to the corner. I remember seeing the back of his jacket. He got up as soon as you passed him, leaving. He seemed a little too interested, so I thought I’d check it out.” He looked at the manager. “He had a beer in his hand, so—”

“So we have him on camera. And maybe his card is on file, too,” the man finished. “A cop is on the way. He’ll want your statement, so you two stick around. A beer on the house for your troubles.”

“Thanks,” Kelli said, though she didn’t follow the man back inside. Her attention was on her purse.

“Hundreds of muggings a year and you have the luck of the draw to get one of them,” Mark said.

That pulled a snort from her. “Bad luck seems to follow me.”

Whether she meant it to be a pointed comment or an off-the-cuff response, it sobered him. Standing a few inches shorter than him, Kelli looked suddenly fragile. He had to remind himself she was the same woman who’d stood her ground and kept calm when a lowlife punk had a knife pulled on her.