Page 5 of Hero Daddy

He reached into his pocket with his free hand and pulled out a phone. With his thumb, he dialed without looking at the screen.

"Security breach in the north woods, nature trail," he said when someone answered. "I've got an attempted robbery suspect detained. Female victim appears unharmed. Send park security." He gave his location with military precision, then ended the call without waiting for acknowledgment.

Minutes ticked by in silence. I focused on my breathing, trying to slow it from the rapid, shallow pattern of panic to something more controlled. My hands trembled violently, and no amount of willing them to be still had any effect.

Footsteps and flashlight beams announced the arrival of park security – two uniformed men who moved with purpose but nothing like the fluid grace of my rescuer. They took in the scene with professional detachment – the man still pinned to the ground, me still slumped against the tree, my rescuer looking entirely in control of the situation.

"Mr. Wakes," one of the security officers said, recognition in his voice. "What happened here?"

Mr. Wakes—my rescuer—gave a concise account of what he'd witnessed, his words measured and precise.

The security officers handcuffed my attacker, hauling him to his feet. Up close, I could see he was younger than I'd thought—maybe early twenties, with bloodshot eyes and a face twisted with resentment. He looked nothing like the monster my fear had created, just a pathetic, drunk kid who'd made a terrible decision.

"We'll need your statement, miss," one of the officers said, crouching beside me. His flashlight beam momentarily blinded me, and I raised a hand to shield my eyes. "Are you hurt? Should we call an ambulance?"

I shook my head, then found my voice at last. "No ambulance. I'm okay." The words came out steadier than I felt. My shoulder throbbed where my attacker had gripped it, and my back ached from impact with the tree, but nothing felt seriously damaged beyond my sense of safety.

As I recounted every detail I could remember, my legs wobbled beneath me, threatening to give way again. That's when I felt him—Mr. Wakes—materialize at my side, his calloused hand steadying my elbow. His touch was firm but careful, keeping me upright without constraining me.

"You're safe," he said again, this time for my ears only.

The security officers led my attacker away, radio crackling with reports to the local police. I was told I'd need to file a formal statement, but it could wait until morning if I preferred. Relief washed over me at the reprieve.

I walked with Mr. Wakes toward the main path. As I did, I hugged my arms across my chest, trying to stop the trembling that had overtaken my body. Without a word, Mr. Wakes slipped his jacket off and draped it over my shoulders. The material was warm from his body and smelled of sandalwood, clean sweat and a faint, expensive cologne. The jacket engulfed me, its sleeves hanging well past my hands, but its weight felt reassuring, like armor.

"Thank you," I managed, clutching the edges of the jacket tighter around me. The lining was smooth against my bare arms, and I resisted the urge to bury my face in its collar to breathe in more of his scent.

He nodded once. No unnecessary flourishes, no wasted words.

We reached the main path, and in the glow of the sodium lights I could see my savior’s face clearly for the first time—a strong jawline shadowed with stubble, high cheekbones, and piercing gray eyes that swept over me with clinical precision.

He wasn't conventionally handsome—his features were too sharp, too serious for that. But there was something compelling about the intensity of his gaze, the controlled power in his compact frame. He was solidly built, not tall but broad through the shoulders and chest, his plain black t-shirt stretched across powerful muscles.

"Let me take you home," he offered, his voice lower now that we were alone.

I should have hesitated. Should have considered the wisdom of getting into a car with a man I'd just met, regardless of the fact that he'd saved me from another man. But the thought of waiting for an Uber, of being alone even for those few minutes, was unbearable.

"Yes," I said. "Please."

He nodded again, then gestured toward the north entrance. "My car's this way."

He moved with a slight limp, favoring his right leg in a way that was barely perceptible but caught my attention nonetheless. It didn't slow him down or seem to cause him pain, but it added a rhythm to his gait that was distinctly his own.

"I'm Chad," he said suddenly, breaking the silence. "Chad Wakes."

"Daliah," I replied, suddenly aware that I hadn't introduced myself during the chaos.

"Daliah," he repeated, as if testing the name, seeing how it felt in his mouth. He gave a small nod, apparently approving.

We reached the park's north entrance, where a black SUV sat in the nearly empty parking lot. It was clean but not flashy, practical rather than showy. He opened the passenger door forme, waiting until I was seated before closing it with a solid thunk.

He slid into the driver's seat with fluid grace, despite the slight limp.

"So. Where to?" he asked, starting the engine.

And then, to my surprise, a thought popped into my head that—thank goodness—I didn’t voice. I stopped myself just short of saying, “Wherever you want to take me.”

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