“And that’s another thing. Maybe this isn’t the right work for you. I understand you left the force because you didn’t feel comfortable there, but this type of work doesn’t allow you to put down roots.”
And because she was right and I didn’t have an answer, or one she wanted to hear, I hedged. “I’ll think about it. Right now I have to go. I’ll call you during the week. Love you.”
“No, you won’t think about it, but we’ll have that talk another time. Love you too.”
I sat for a few minutes. I was happy for my mother. No one deserved it more, and she and Ira were compatible—both enjoyed the theater, traveling, interesting cuisine, and wine. Ira and I had bonded over our love of baseball and often went to Mets games together.
“Anything else?” The server stood by my table. I’d overstayed my welcome with only a cup of coffee.
“No, thanks.” I took the check and left her a generous tip.
Once outside, I decided to walk around a bit and stopped by the supermarket to replenish Isaac’s favorite beer. With a six-pack in hand, I turned the corner and came upon that small group of protesters Isaac and I had seen the other night; only this time, they had a man surrounded. Though he was tall and muscular, his eyes were wild with fear, his face panic-stricken. My instincts kicked in, and I ran toward the mob.
“We want all our money! We want justice!” The swell of voices grew louder as I drew closer, and I heard his voice rise above the crowd.
“Please, let me go.”
Suddenly he was knocked to the pavement, and glass shattered at my feet. I ducked my head to the side to prevent the shards from getting in my eyes. The group scattered and grew quiet, and then people started running.
“What the fuck are you people doing?” I called out to the crowd, kneeling at his side. “Are you all right?”
I gazed into the deep blue eyes of a man with jet-black hair and dark stubble that shadowed a hard jaw and high cheekbones. And…damn. He was gorgeous.
“I-I think so.” His slightly raspy voice washed over me like a caress. I blinked and noticed the blood trickling down the side of his scalp.
“You’re bleeding. Is this your building? Do you want me to help you inside?”
At the mention of blood, he grew even paler and closed his eyes. “Uh…give me a sec. I’ve always hated the sight of blood.”
He put his head between his knees, and I stayed with him on the ground until he glanced up at me, a little smile tipping the corner of his mouth. It made his stunning face even more attractive, highlighting dimples along with a tiny scar running into the top of his lip. It did nothing to mar the perfection of his face.
“Who are you? Aside from my guardian angel.”
I grinned. “I’m no angel, although my name is Gabriel. I was taking a walk and saw the commotion. Looked like you needed help.”
“Well, Angel Gabriel, should I break the cardinal rule of a New Yorker and trust a stranger?”
“You’re Ronan Michaels, so I guess we’re not really strangers.” Hell, was Iflirtingwith him? I couldn’t help it. Something about this man made me reckless.
He didn’t reciprocate, his smile fading at my words, and he brushed me off. “I’m fine.” Without another word, he rose to his feet and left me crouching on the pavement with my beer, feeling like a fool.
Chapter Five
Ronan
Seemed Angel Gabriel wasn’t about to let me go, catching me by the arm before I could walk through the front doors. “Hey, wait. You really should get those cuts cleaned up. They could get infected.”
“What’re you, a doctor?” I snapped at him. And then because he was being kind, I relented. “Yeah. I’ll take care of it. Thanks.”
“Good.” He smiled again, and I wished…I wished I were an ordinary guy without the weight of the past on my soul. “And no, I’m not a doctor.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out his wallet, and handed me his card. “If you ever need me for anything, give me a call.”
I watched him stroll away with a six-pack of beer in hand and disappear around the corner. If what happened today was going to become standard every time I left the house, I had no room in my life for even a flirtation. And as much as I loved my apartment, maybe I’d have to move to a more anonymous area of the city.
I looked at the card and pocketed it, making a note of his name and job title:Gabriel Sachs, Personal Protection Services.
“Trouble out there, Mr. Michaels?” the concierge asked. He was pretty new and didn’t yet treat me like a pariah.
“Yeah. Whatever. I’ll deal with it. Any deliveries for me?” I’d decided to change up stuff in my apartment and ordered a whole bunch of accessories, as well as new clothes, since my old ones no longer fit. I’d gained some muscle working out in the gym.
