From far away, Zeke heard Rory cry his name. But he was aware of nothing but the feel of sharp rocks grinding against his back, the weight of his assailant bearing him down. A shaft of light piercing the tracks above streaked across coarse features, an ugly raised scar bisecting the chin, thick lips almost slavering, like a mad dog scenting the kill. One meaty hand flashed a butcher’s knife toward Zeke’s throat.
Zeke caught his attacker’s wrist, deflecting the blade just in time. Every muscle in his forearms strained upward to put distance between that sharp cutting edge and his flesh. Gritting his teeth, Zeke tasted his own blood from the blow that had felled him in the darkness. He sensed his second opponent nearby—a short, squat man, watching the deadly contest, wheezing to get his breath.
Christ, Zeke thought. This was a little more than he had bargained for when he trailed Rory from the warehouse. He had been off the streets too long, allowing two clumsy thugs such as these to catch him unaware.
But like a fish tossed back into water, Zeke felt the old moves coming back to him. Managing to get his other hand free, he struck, gouging his fingers into the deep pockets of fleshsurrounding his opponent’s eyes. As the scarred one yelped with pain, Zeke drove his knee upward, square into the man’s groin.
With another howl, the rogue rolled off Zeke, doubling over. Getting to his knees, he tried to raise himself. When he regained his footing, these two cutthroats were going to be mighty sorry they ever singled him out for their mark. But from the shadows came the other one, his thick boot catching Zeke hard in the chest.
Zeke grunted with pain but grabbed the squatty one’s leg. With a vicious tug, he upended the man on his buttocks. Using one of the railroad pillars for a support, Zeke drew himself upright just in time to see the scarred one going for his knife again.
Zeke rammed his heel down, crushing the man’s hand, forcing him to release the weapon. After that, all descended into a mayhem of flailing fists, gouging, biting, kicking.
Zeke received another hard knock to the head, but he gave better than he got, taking a keen satisfaction when his knuckles connected against bone and flesh. Caught up in the battle, it took him a moment to realize reinforcements had arrived. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the blur of furious movement that was Rory.
“Get the hell out of here,” he gasped at her, but she was doing all right for herself. Snatching up a broken segment of railroad tie, she rained blows down upon the hapless head of the pudgy one.
Just as Zeke rammed his fist into the most vulnerable part of the scarred one’s stomach, a shrill whistle pierced the night. Zeke’s attacker fell back, and as the police whistle sounded again, he took to his heels. Clutching his head, the squat one staggered after him, the two of them swallowed up by the darkness.
Old instincts died hard. At the call of the police whistle, Zeke had to suppress a strong urge to bolt. Instead he sagged back against one of the pillars, panting for breath.
“Zeke, are you badly hurt?”
Rory’s features swam before his gaze, her face as pale as the moonlight, her eyes silvery pools of fear and concern. She wrapped one arm about his waist, trying to shore him up with her own slender frame.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
“Just fine now.” He ached in a dozen different places, his jaw was swelling, but none of that seemed to matter as he draped his arm about her shoulders, drawing her close.
She glanced up at him, wariness replacing her initial concern, but before she could say another word, the law descended upon them in the form of a trim blue-coated officer, his lean face and trim mustache shadowed beneath his gray helmet. Zeke winced at the familiar sight of the thick billy club the policeman swung in one hand.
“Now then, what’s all this disturbing of the peace?” the man demanded in a thick brogue. “Why, it’s the little lady from the balloon company. Has this villain been bothering you, Miss Kavanaugh?”
“No, Sergeant O’Connell. I was up on the platform to catch the train when I saw this gentleman being set upon by thieves. They ran back that way toward the docks.” Rory gestured vigorously. “If you hurry, you might still catch them.”
But O’Connell showed no inclination to bestir himself. He spared a glance up the street and then shrugged. “Certain the rogues are long gone, more’s the pity. Were they after taking your wallet, Mr. Morrison?”
Zeke shook his head, still too winded to reply. Once a trifling skirmish such as this would have been only a prelude to arollicking night, which often ended with a trip in the paddy wagon. He must be getting old.
“Poor lad.” O’Connell edged closer, but his commiserating smile didn’t strike Zeke as being very genuine. “You’ll be needing a doctor, I’m thinking. Don’t you fret, Miss Kavanaugh. You’ve done your duty as a good citizen. You run along and catch your train. I’ll be looking after the gentleman.”
“Not necessary,” Zeke said, straightening painfully. To his surprise, Rory stepped between him and the officer, a small but fierce barrier. In the glow of the street lamp, Zeke could almost see her bristle.
“You needn’t put yourself to any further trouble, Sergeant. Mr. Morrison is a friend of mine. I will take care of him.”
“No trouble at all, Miss Kavanaugh,” the sergeant said, but Rory stood her ground. O’Connell eyed them both for a moment, his fingers twitching, running along the length of his nightstick.
But he gave way, saying, “Well, if you are certain I can be of no help, I will bid you good night.”
The policeman shuffled off down the street, pausing once to look back. Zeke was only too pleased to be rid of the officer. With a grateful sigh, he wrapped his arm about Rory’s shoulders. But she pulled away from him.
“I have a feeling you are quite capable of standing on your own power, Mr. Morrison.”
“Mr. Morrison?” he repeated. “What happened to Zeke?”
She glared and spun away from him, stomping back toward the steps leading up to the platform. Zeke hobbled stiffly after her. This was getting to be quite a habit, chasing this woman through the streets of New York.
As he mounted the steps behind her, he called, “Lucky for you I happened along, wasn’t it? You little fool! Don’t you know better than to go traipsing these streets after dark?”
