A Life Rebuilt

by Jean Brashear

  He’d had enough of the world and avoided people whenever he could.

  But now it meant that he could make no convenient calls to the cops. Unless a neighbor had heard her scream, this woman had only Roman to depend on.

  He emerged from the vegetation five feet behind the man, who appeared agitated, likely hopped up on something, as he cursed and gestured with the knife. On cat feet, Roman closed in with one more long stride, then launched a well-aimed kick that sent the knife spinning away. He used his momentum to topple the assailant, then pin him to the ground. He spotted wires lying on the ground and swiftly restrained the man at both wrists and feet.

  “Are you all right?” he asked the woman.

  “Yes.” To her credit, her voice shook only a little.

  “You have no business out here alone at night.”

  “Yes, I do. This is my project. I know the neighbors.”

  “Didn’t help you much, did it?” He glanced around at closed front doors, at the absence of a single person or light. “I don’t see anyone rushing to your aid.”

  Just then they both heard the sirens, and she turned to watch for the police. “See? The neighbors called for help.”

  Damn it. He didn’t want to talk to the police, didn’t want to be making statements or appearing in court. Too many people. He wasn’t ready. He didn’t look at her again, but he didn’t need to. She was pretty and naive and valiant, a sure recipe for trouble. Instead he tugged his ball cap down lower over his eyes as he edged back into the cover of darkness, still near enough to watch over her until she was safely in someone else’s hands.

  But not close enough to be spotted.

  The moment the police cars arrived and officers emerged, he slipped away as quietly as he’d arrived.

  * * *

  “MA’AM? ARE YOU HURT?” one officer asked.

  “No—no, I’m fine, just…” Now that it was all over, Jenna found herself shaking and wrapped her arms around her middle. Her brothers had each had experience with danger, but her life had been free of any trace of violence. It was astonishing how fast her heart was racing, how her knees wanted to give. She straightened her back and locked her knees to support her.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Jenna MacAllister.”

  “You live around here?”

  “Not far. Closer to South Congress.”

  “Someone I can call for you? Sure you don’t want the paramedics to check you over?”

  “No!” she said quickly. “I’m fine.” Or she would be.

  “You do this by yourself?” the patrolman asked, pointing to the man lying on the ground, trussed like a roasted bird by the very wire he’d been stealing.

  “Oh, no, he did—” She turned and pointed.

  At the empty darkness.

  “Who?”

  She scanned around her for the stranger who’d come to her aid. “There was a man…I don’t know where he went.”

  “Come on out,” ordered the cop into the air. “Sir? Come out now.”

  Nothing but silence.

  “Where did he go? When did he leave?”

  “He was just here. He saved me.”

  “Who was he?”

  “I have no idea. I’ve never seen him before.”

  The second cop glanced at the man on the ground, then exchanged looks with the other officer. A quick frown. “Can you describe him?”

  She had only the briefest impression of a tall, powerful body and shaggy dark hair, a thick black beard obscuring his features. “Not really. He had on a cap that hid his eyes, and—” An unexpected shudder shook her. “I was on the ground facedown when he showed up.” She stared at the spot, at the man who’d attacked her. “This guy had a knife and he was waving it at me,” she said, pointing to the man on the ground.

  “Would you like to sit down, ma’am?”

  “No, thank you. I’ll be fine.” She would be, even if the shock had her a little shaky inside. Her size always made people assume she was weak, but they were wrong. She was the head of an organization that survived at least in part through the sheer force of her will.

  “All right then. Can you tell me how it all happened?”

  “Gladly, but first, may I ask a favor?”

  “Sure thing.”

  “I have friends and relatives in the police department. Is there any way to keep them from hearing about this?”

  “Don’t you think they’d be worried?”

  She gave a half laugh, then sighed. “Well, you see, that’s sort of the problem. They’re a bit overprotective.”

  “They’re right to be that way. Young lady like you shouldn’t be here at night, all alone.”

  “I know all the neighbors. I run a nonprofit that’s building this house. I’m here almost every day.”

  “Wouldn’t be letting my sister come here at night.”

  Jenna resisted another sigh. “If I promise not to do it again, would you please keep this as quiet as you can?” Her brothers and father already wanted her tucked inside layers of tissue paper and could barely stand the less than desirable location of her office, not to mention the parts of the city she frequented. “The publicity would be very bad for my organization’s efforts to recruit volunteers and obtain funding. I’m trying to do good work here, and I actually do trust the people in this neighborhood. Tonight was a unique occurrence.”

  She glanced back at the man being pulled to his feet. “I’ve never seen him around the site before.” She returned her gaze to the policeman. “These are good, hardworking people we’re helping, folks just trying to get ahead against long odds. Please? Could we avoid any unnecessary publicity?”

  “You’re lucky not to be seriously hurt. I don’t know what that guy’s on, but he’s wired on something and wouldn’t have thought twice about hurting you real bad.”

  But for the intercession of her mysterious savior, things could have ended much worse, she acknowledged. “I’ve never had any problems before, but I will be alert, I promise.”

  “Don’t tell me you’re not going to press charges.”

  She considered for a moment how frightened Freddie had been. He had disappeared, but if she pressed charges against this guy, Freddie might be drawn into it, too. She didn’t think he made a habit of this sort of activity. She couldn’t imagine Lucia letting Beto spend time with someone who did. “If you find drugs on this man, I won’t have to, will I?”

  “Your family is right to worry, miss. Don’t be foolish.”

  She knew her family thought she was a bleeding heart, but she also fervently believed that she could make a difference, that she was doing so already, in fact. This young man in handcuffs—she could see now that he was barely past being a teenager himself—might be just the same as Freddie. If no one ever believed in boys like them, they’d lose any opportunity to climb out of the world in which they’d been trapped by the simple fact of birth.

  If she couldn’t live her beliefs, then what good were they? “I’ll wait until you find out if he has anything on him.”

  The cop shook his head and walked away. A couple of minutes later, he was back. “Yeah, we found enough to take him in, but you should still press charges.”

  She saw the young man look at her and frown. She crossed the distance between them, stopping a few feet away. “You don’t have to live like this. There are people who will help.”

  His lips twisted in a sneer, but she wasn’t going to give up on him easily.

  “Not everyone is your enemy, you know.” She nodded toward the house. “We’re doing this to help a family in need. We can always use volunteers.”

  The young man stared at her but didn’t say a word.

  “Just remember what I said.” She stepped away, and the second cop put him in his squad c
ar, then drove away.

  “Do you have a good flashlight?” she asked the officer beside her. “I only have a penlight on my key chain.”

  “I do. Why?”

  “I want to put this wiring back inside the house. We’re behind schedule already, and we can’t afford the expense if the wiring could possibly be reused. I have a key.”

  “It won’t be very safe with that broken window.”

  “There might be something inside I can cover it with. You don’t have to help me, though.”

  The cop sighed. “Let’s go.” He retrieved a powerful flashlight from inside his car.

  She smiled at him. “Thank you.”

  He even helped her carry the wiring into the living room, which was untouched. They conducted a survey of the house, and Jenna was starting to feel hopeful.

  Until they reached the kitchen. It was a shambles—another window broken, the Sheetrock torn out so that the wiring would be accessible. “Hell of a mess,” the cop said.

  “It is.”

  “Might not be too bad, though. I’ve done a little remodeling with my brother-in-law.”

  “You know, we can always use help on these projects.”

  His eyebrows rose. “Uh…”

  “Isn’t the department all about community policing? It’s a great way to meet the neighbors in a positive setting.”

  He shook his head and grinned. “You’re good at this, aren’t you?”

  She smiled back. “I am. But I’m also serious.”

  “I’ve got a new baby at home, and the wife works shifts as a nurse, so we’re juggling a lot.”

  “I understand.”

  “But I’ll think about it. Mention it to the guys.”

  “Any help will be much appreciated.”

  He helped her wedge some Sheetrock in the broken window frames, but without tools on hand, that was all that could be done. It was late now, and she didn’t want to wake Teo to come help her board up the windows. She would just have to live her belief that the neighborhood would respect what they were trying to accomplish here.

  The cop walked her to her car and waited until she was inside. “Miss, I’m not saying I don’t admire your principles, but chances are that this guy will be out in a few days, getting high and stealing from someone else.”

  “I understand that, but if we give up on everyone, what does that say about us as a society? I appreciate your perspective, but I can’t afford to share it.”

  He tapped the roof of her car. “Lock your doors, miss, and go straight home.”

  “Good night, Officer. Thank you for your help—and thank you for protecting all of us.”

  He seemed stunned for a moment, as though he seldom heard such sentiments. He tipped his cap. “I appreciate you saying that.”

  As Jenna drove away, she noted that the cop waited until she had pulled onto the street before getting in his vehicle and returning to duty.

  Her brother Cade and his fiancée Sophie, who had become one of her own dearest friends, lived along Jenna’s route home in the boutique hotel Sophie had created from a run-down mansion. For a moment, Jenna thought very seriously about stopping there instead of going home alone. She loved her little cottage, but tonight some company would be welcome. She couldn’t seem to stem the jittering inside her, and despite what she’d told the cop, a good dose of family was exactly what she craved right now.

  If she did that, however, the night’s events would spill out because she was terrible at keeping secrets—and then the whole family would descend upon her. Her mother would try to understand, but she would worry, and her dad would redouble his efforts to convince her to move back to West Texas where he and her brother Diego could watch over her. At best, the male family members who lived in town—Cade and another brother, Jesse, along with her sort-of brother-in-law Vince, an APD detective—would dog her every step. Her movie-star brother Zane would insist on hiring a cadre of bodyguards for her.

  No one but her mother saw her as anything but the baby of the family, and much as she adored every last one of them and understood exactly how lucky she was to be so loved…sometimes Jenna thought she would suffocate from all the devotion.

  So she would go home alone, lock her doors and try to put the night away where it belonged.

  But her savior…Jenna took a moment to send up thanks for his bravery. She could still feel the bite of the rocks on the ground she’d been thrown onto, could still feel the ache in the shoulder that had been wrenched behind her.

  She’d never been struck by another human being, and the ugliness of it shook her.

  Without the mysterious stranger, Jenna admitted to herself—if to no one else—things could have gotten much worse. Who could he be?

  She couldn’t help but wonder about a man who risked his own life to help her but slipped away before he could be recognized for his courage. He’d been unarmed, yet he’d easily knocked her attacker’s knife out of his hand, a wicked-looking blade she could still see so very close to her own skin. Jenna shivered and turned on the heat in her car, though the night was mild. She couldn’t seem to stop replaying the young man’s tensile strength, the acrid scent of his agitation, the unnerving feeling of her own fear… .

  Stop. Now. Don’t think about it any longer. It was over, and she still believed she’d done the right thing. Not everyone could be saved, but a lot of the people she encountered only needed a hand up instead of being written off.

  She very much wished, however, that she’d had the opportunity to properly thank the man who’d rescued her. Whether or not she’d recognize him if she saw him again, she fervently hoped she’d get another chance.

  Regardless, she suspected she would be wondering about him for a long time.

  * * *

  ONCE SHE WAS safely away, Roman stretched again and resumed his run. Discipline was important in maintaining balance. He could keep all the doors in his mind safely closed as long as he didn’t allow himself to stray outside the boundaries he’d created to seal himself off from others.

  The kid’s eyes… Eyes revealed so much. He’d seen them in every guise, every state—desperation, agony, grief. Fanaticism. Hatred. For too many of his thirty-eight years, he’d lived in a world of violence and the suffering that always accompanied it. The weak, the innocent…those were the ones who suffered when others resorted to brutality.

  But even in those dark times, he’d seen eyes alight with joy, with kindness, with compassion. Even hope, though he could count those instances on his fingers.

  The small blonde’s eyes had exhibited fear, yes, but they’d held determination, as well. She might not reach his shoulder, but there was courage within her. Believing in good when the world contained so much evil wasn’t easy. He saluted her for her faith.

  He just didn’t have the conviction that her faith would be rewarded. In the end, evil always had its day, always claimed its due.

  At last he reached the broken shell of the house his grandmother had left to him, even after he’d abandoned her. Some repayment for years of devotion—instead of coming home to her after his discharge, Roman had been restless, uneasy. More important, he hadn’t wanted her to see how much he’d changed, how he didn’t know what to do with the gaping hole that was his future. The army had been his whole existence since the day he left high school and he’d never expected to leave it—and likely never would have, if not for the chopper crash that had left him fighting to survive.

  He’d been a lifer, that simple. He’d refused to be promoted beyond master sergeant because advancement meant no more leading teams, staying behind to plan and supervise instead of being in the thick of the action. Adrenaline junkies, one guy’s girlfriend had called them all, and she wasn’t wrong. The life was hell on relationships, but man, it was a sweet one, otherwise. You were risking grave danger, you
were using your body and your mind to the limit, and you knew what you were doing mattered.

  Then one day the chopper delivering his team far into the mountains had crashed, and half his team had died. After several months in the hospital he’d emerged with a new raft of scars, a leg full of pins and a ban on further parachute jumps—a death sentence to an operational team member.

  He’d fought the ruling, battled his way back into shape so that he only limped when extremely fatigued. Hell, he could have outperformed any guy fifteen years younger, but the docs wouldn’t lift the ban. Just like that, he was done. Washed-up. No idea what to do with himself without the army.

  He could’ve gone back in as a private contractor.

  There was a need for those guys, but being a mercenary was not for him.

  And yet, there was no place for him in the real world, either. He’d never been all that sociable, never bonded with anyone outside of his unit, and when he returned, he didn’t fit. People talked endlessly about things that meant nothing—how the hell was he supposed to care who could sing best on some TV show when he could still hear little Sayidah’s pure crystal voice turn to screams of terror? Couldn’t they see how ridiculous their lives were, how even the poorest person over here had ten times more than so much of the world’s population?

  Even though there were people whose lives were dedicated to destroying this country, the ordinary citizen acted as though a person could simply walk the streets with impunity, as if there was something magical about being an American that would protect them.

  He knew, however, that violence could touch anyone…anywhere. He carried the taint of it like a parasite beneath his skin. Abuela had been so good, so kind, so relentlessly positive by nature that when he came home he’d refused to expose her to the mess inside his head—it would trouble her so, and her life had been hard enough already because of him. So he’d struck out for parts unknown, wandering for months and seldom touching base with her, the only parent he’d ever had. And every day that passed without contact made the prospect of explaining himself more difficult to contemplate.