Steal My Heart

Steal My Heart

By Lisa Eugene

Copyright © Lisa Eugene

All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this book. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from the author except by reviewers who may quote brief excerpts in connection with a review. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to institutions or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

DEDICATION

To my husband, John, who keeps me sane.

CHAPTER ONE

Gunfire exploded above Gabe Masters’ head. He cursed violently and spun away into the dim alley between two buildings. Another volley of shots peppered around him, causing his feet to churn swiftly and carry him deeper into the gloom ahead. Misty rain settled on his face, beading and rolling into his eyes and craggy beard.
Bloody hell!
He swore again as he heard swift footsteps splashing behind him, causing him to fold into the shadow of a wall. He chided himself for his carelessness. This was supposed to be a simple retrieval. He’d had the codes, the access, and the schedules. Hacking the high-tech security system had been child’s play. The last three weeks had been spent doing surveillance and security checks. Nothing had indicated that he’d run into this type of complication.
Nothing!

Gabe fingered the flash drive in the pocket of his tattered coat, wishing instead for the weight of his Glock. Even that had been removed from where he’d stashed it a few days earlier. He didn’t have the luxury of trying to figure out what had gone wrong. He had to think of a way to save his vulnerable ass. A subdued whisper floated to his ears, causing his head to jerk attentively. They were closer than he thought.

How many?
Two? Three
? Gabe closed his eyes and concentrated on the muted sound of footsteps.
Two
. He grunted low in his throat. Normally that wouldn’t pose a problem, but their semi-automatic pistols gave them a distinct advantage. A few more steps and his position against the wall would be revealed. He had to make a move now. A small stone caught his eye and sliding against the wall, he palmed it. His heart banged against his ribs and he commanded it to slow. The dull ache hammering his body was pushed away as he swiped at the grime dripping into his eyes. They’d been chasing him now for several blocks, down alleys and behind buildings in busy midtown. His breath sawed soundlessly in and out of his chest and his eyes narrowed resolutely.

Three, two, one
... He threw the stone into the air. It crested in a wide arc and, with a splash, landed in an inky puddle across from him. Shots followed the sound, reverberating loudly in the narrow alley. Gabe bolted into the gloom, heading for the cover of a bulky structure further ahead. Puddles jumped behind him, and the bullets soon nipped at his heels like angry hounds. He skidded behind the dumpster, ducking from the gunfire ricocheting off the metal. He had to stifle a gasp as a pair of wide frightened eyes stared out at him. The vagrant hiding there gave a startled shout and fled, skirting the hand that tried to pull him back to safety. Gabe watched numbly as bullets plugged into the vagrant, causing him to buckle into a dark lifeless heap on the wet stone.

An eager exchange between his pursuers made him realize his predators thought they’d subdued their prey. Voices now bounced around him as the gunmen approached unguardedly. A man’s heavy baritone crackled through a cell phone, demanding confirmation that he was dead and instructing a quick recovery of the flash drive. He held his body rigid, calmly watching the quivering puddles as footsteps grew close. From the side of the dumpster he witnessed a large boot lift the lifeless form and flip it over into an expanding sea of murky blood. The vagrant’s wide sightless eyes stared vacantly. The gunman gave confirmation that Gabe Masters was dead, causing Gabe’s dark brows to fly up in puzzled alarm. How did they know his true identity? He’d always gone by Dutch. Every transaction had been handled as Dutch.

One of the gunmen crouched next to the corpse and laid his weapon on the ground beside him while his accomplice talked on the phone, promising to call after the body was searched. Gabe knew he had to attack now, when one was distracted. Deciding to take advantage of the closer man’s crouched position, he flew at him with a decisive round kick that sent the man’s stunned form teetering backwards. Instantly, Gabe grabbed the body before it fell and maneuvered it in front of him, using it as a shield to absorb the bullets his accomplice now shot in his direction. With a twist of his torso, he snatched the gun from the ground and, with his usual precision, aimed and neutralized the other threat.

“Who sent you?” he rasped into the ear of the body he still clutched. He sensed the dwindling life, but his rage demanded answers. White knuckled, he roared and brutally shook the form, realizing his futility as the man’s head lolled and hung limply from his body.

Gabe released the dead weight and staggered backwards. The exertion had cost him. He wheezed as pain exploded in his left shoulder, and he looked down to see the dark hole seeping blood and saturating his dingy overcoat. Shit! He’d been shot. Clutching his shoulder he forced his feet to slide forward, to drag through lingering swells of murky water. His torpid brain tried to tell him he was forgetting something vital, but instinct screamed for him to flee. Street lights assaulted his eyes as he made his way from the dark alley to the main avenue.

The night grew suddenly cold, causing a shiver to tighten his muscles. Pedestrians gave him a wide berth, shooting wary contemptuous glances in his direction. Gabe staggered forward, growing dizzy with each sluggish step. His father’s deep voice floated through the dark cloud consuming his brain. Gabe vigorously shook his head, trying to dislodge the surfacing memories. The remorse that always accompanied the memories stabbed his already weak body, causing his steps to falter. He saw a sign for the subway and headed towards it. He needed to hide, blend in. No one would take note of a dirty homeless man in New York City’s underground.

Maggie snorted and cursed David for the millionth time. That…that…
scoundrel
! She fumed angrily, annoyed that she couldn’t summon a viler epithet. David was her supposed best friend. But again, he’d left her stranded after her evening shift at the hospital—and just because she’d asked him to clean the mysterious stain off the passenger seat of his car.

Really, had he expected her to sit on that?
God knew what kind of germs festered in that tiny circle of goo! And she wouldn’t dare climb into the back-seat with all the garbage he’d accumulated. She could just guess at what lurked back there. Maggie shook her head in disbelief. She didn’t know how they remained friends. They were complete opposites. Now she was forced to ride the subway home.
Subway!
A veritable Petri dish! She would’ve walked home had the rain not started in earnest.

Maggie cautiously eyed the man who had sidled up next to her on the platform, brushing against her starched nurse’s whites. She knew that by the time she reached the two stops to her station her nursing uniform would be dingy with grime. She’d have to use an extra bottle of bleach in her evening laundry. The deafening rumble of the approaching train singed her ears. She fingered the bottle of disinfectant in her bag and grasped hold of a sani-wipe. She hated wearing her uniform outside of work, but thinking she’d go straight home, she hadn’t brought a change of clothes.

With this attire came judgments and expectations. One assumed that she was a people person, a kind, genial, welcoming healer—a Mother Theresa. People didn’t think twice about approaching her and engaging in conversation, openly disclosing their various miseries and cataloguing their ailments.

Maggie never had the heart to tell them that she worked in the operating room—one of the most sterile places on earth. She sighed fondly. Her patients were always asleep, and very, very clean. They were blissfully quiet. Quiet and clean. She supposed her preferences were a bit odd, or eccentric as David would say, but she couldn’t imagine doing anything else.

She made a real difference in the OR. Her sterile field was always impeccable. Instruments gleamed and sparkled razor sharp after she’d prepared them. There was always order and structure in the operating room under her meticulous direction, and most surgeons requested her presence during their cases. It wasn’t that she didn’t like people. She just didn’t want them too close, spewing droplet nuclei or spreading contagion. Maggie sighed as the train screeched to a halt and the doors slid open in front of her.

What she wouldn’t give for a surgical mask right now!

She’d just grabbed hold of an overhead rail, her sani-wipe prohibiting direct contact with the cold metal, when she heard the commotion. The sea of tightly packed bodies swayed, followed by an eddy of shocked murmurs as people shifted eagerly. Maggie craned her neck to see what had caused the disturbance when the crowd abruptly parted.

That’s when she saw him—a tall hobo, bedraggled and unkempt. Muck and grime sticking to his clothes and skin like an outer coat. A dark shaggy beard hibernated like an animal on his face, and she jerked backwards, afraid it would awaken and spring an attack. His dark bottomless eyes were glassy and unfocused. Maggie plastered her body against the doors of the subway car as the large body swayed in her direction. She was afraid the drunken vagrant would topple over on her. Just her luck to be in the path of a drunk, dirty, hobo who was about to pitch over. Her horrified gaze traveled down the length of his body, and her brows pulled together as she noticed the blood dripping in tiny dots onto the metal floor of the subway car. Apparently she wasn’t the only one to notice, as a loud scream rent the air.

“
Oh my God! He’s bleeding!”
a woman’s shrill voice cried.

Maggie jerked out of her frozen shock just in time to see the large body wobble and lurch forward. The vacant gaze collided with hers, and then briefly focused, the deep intensity sending a mysterious chill surging through her body. The man gasped, then with a thud, collapsed into a sprawling mass right at her feet.

Maggie looked down in acute disbelief. She swallowed hard and looked up again. A bed of expectant faces peered at her. They stared pointedly at her nurse’s uniform. Beads of sweat pebbled on her forehead as she deciphered the silent eager stares.
God, no!
Surely they didn’t expect her to…to…
She swallowed nervously.
She was an OR nurse! She wasn’t trained for this stuff! The last time she’d done CPR was during her training eight years ago. And that had been on a plastic dummy she’d scoured clean. This man was filthy! Maybe she could tell them she was on her way to a costume party. Maybe she should faint herself. She was certainly on the brink of it. But then she’d land on the disgusting floor, or in the streaks of the hobo’s blood.

Oh God! Why oh why had she not just gotten into David’s car?

“Don’t just stand there. Do something!” someone yelled harshly.

Maggie’s eyes darted about, assessing the fever of the mob. Seeing she had no options, on shaky knees she crouched next to the hobo. Fleetingly she wondered if anyone would mind if she sprayed him with her disinfectant. Shouts from behind pushed her errant thoughts aside and she sighed heavily, folding back the lapels of the man’s wet, grimy coat. She pointed to a bystander and asked him to apply pressure to the leaking wound on his shoulder. A mom offered her baby’s blanket for use as a pressure dressing.

Maggie probed for a pulse and found a weak throb beneath his carotid. She realized then that the man had suddenly stopped breathing. She’d have to do mouth to mouth.
Oh God
…
yuck!
She looked up and cringed, her eyes landing pleadingly on the conductor who’d just announced that an ambulance would meet them at the next station. Seeing her anxiety, the conductor nodded encouragement while keeping the meddling spectators at bay. Maggie suppressed the vision of teeming streptococcus and budding hyphae. Girding her resolve, she sucked in a deep breath and braced herself for the noisome stench and unpleasant contact that was certain to come.

Bending, she pinched the stranger’s nose and encased his mouth with hers, quickly delivering the breaths necessary to resuscitate him. After a few moments her tight jaw relaxed as she concluded the task wasn’t as distasteful as she’d imagined. In fact, instead of the foul odor she’d anticipated, she detected a faint heady musk that wrapped itself around her and drowned her with its masculinity. The lips beneath hers were surprisingly soft and pliant, full and lax against hers. They covered even white teeth and Maggie frowned in confusion. She would never have imagined a hobo would employ such care with his oral hygiene. She couldn’t make out the rest of his face as it was obscured by tangled knotted hair and that beastly beard. She wished he’d paid similar attention to the rest of his appearance as he did his teeth. A bar of soap—or two—and a blade could go a long way.