Chapter 1 #3
It hadn’t been an easy life. She always had a fake ID in her purse, and she kept herself mostly off the grid.
She didn’t even own a cell phone. It wasn’t like in the movies where someone could get a fake ID and an entire life all set up with bank accounts.
That wasn’t reality. The less paper trail she left behind the better, and that kept her off the police radar.
Most of the big cities in the northeast had someone on the inside who fed information to O’Brien.
If her name ever came up in a report, someone would find out, and then O’Brien would find out.
She had debating even going to Chicago, given the large Irish population, but she’d also known that a red-headed Irish girl would stick out more in a rural town than it would in a town full of Irish descendants.
It was the whole hide in plain sight idea that she was hoping would keep her safe.
“You okay, hon?” Mabel nudged Kara’s elbow, pulling her out of her thoughts.
“Sorry, I was just thinking.” Kara put a cookie on a man’s plate. He gave her a smile, though his eyes held a broken world behind them. She passed out a dozen more cookies before the bell above the volunteer entrance at the back of the soup kitchen jingled. She turned to see who’d come in.
There, amidst the eddies and currents of glittering snow dancing through the doorway from the dark night beyond, a man stepped into the light.
His tousled dark hair glinted with melting snow.
His eyes, a brilliant, honey-brown shade seemed to glow when he smiled at Paul.
Underneath his coat the man wore a cream fisherman’s sweater that draped over his broad shoulders.
And his face… he was like a bronzed god with a strong jaw and cheekbones cut from stone.
“Holy shit!” she gasped before she could stop herself.
Mabel’s mouth fell open at Kara’s unexpected curse.
“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean… but wow… he’s… wow. Who is he?” Kara asked utterly stunned.
She simply couldn’t look away.
Even Mabel blushed. “That is Angelo Vertucci. He owns the Italian Village restaurant that donates the food every week. He’s our biggest contributor to the soup kitchen.”
Angelo was laughing at something Paul said and Angelo’s eyes seemed to sparkle with a life and vitality that Kara envied.
“Tell me he’s an arrogant jerk, that he’s just there to do community service or something. He is, right? I mean, no one can be that perfect, can they?” Kara was only half kidding.
Mabel laughed and patted her hand. “Oh honey, they can be that perfect. And trust me, Mr. Vertucci is.”
When the man… Angelo, what a fitting name for a man who looked like an angel, turned to join the volunteer line, Kara hastily focused on handing out cookies again. For a moment she felt his gaze settle upon her, like a gentle touch or a curious caress, before he looked away again.
A strange, heated pulse burned through her body, warming up her fingers and toes.
That single gaze from a man she’d never met had changed something inside her, something she couldn’t quite pinpoint.
She only knew that after seeing him, nothing could ever be the same again.
She clamped her mouth shut so he wouldn’t see her gawking at him and turned away before he looked at her again.
Once the crowds of been served, Mabel suggested the volunteers sing some Christmas carols.
Within minutes, “Silent Night” was echoing through the room while people ate.
Kara drifted toward the side of the room in her usual desire to keep under the radar.
She was content to listen to Paul and Mabel sing the loudest because they had the best voices.
She saw Angelo at the back of the room, leaning against the wall, his arms crossed, but in a relaxed rather than a brooding way.
The volunteer apron he wore only enhanced his physique, the strings tied tight at his trim waist. His lips were curved up just at the ends as though he was unaware that he was smiling.
Somehow that warmed her even more, the thought of a single subtle smile from this man.
The last thing Kara should do right now was make a fool of herself, or worse… actually start something with a man like him. But she couldn’t stop herself from moving toward him.
She swallowed against the sudden dryness she felt in her mouth and throat. Then she joined him and couldn’t help but smile when he turned that gorgeous face her way.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
“There’s nothing more beautiful than Christmas carols,” he agreed.
Lord, his voice was deep and gravelly, but honesty and kindness rang clearly in his tone. He probably could sing like an angel.
Her face heated. “Oh. I meant… I meant the way these people have a home here, at least for a few hours. A place with joy, food and companionship. That’s beautiful.”
His gaze drifted from the people in front of them to her, and she wondered what he saw. Her wild red hair, her green, cable knit sweater pockmarked with holes, or the torn blue jeans she still had to wear in December along with her scuffed boots.
“Yes, that’s beautiful too,” he said.
His eyes held hers and for an instant something inside of her went very still. That wild, desperate need to run simply stopped. For a moment her life felt as still as a lake, her mind quiet.
This too perfect man made her want to stay right where she was, made her want a home so badly it terrified her.
Because that wasn’t her life. Her life was moving from place to place, making acquaintances, never friends.
Having apartments, never a home. Staying one step ahead and always looking over her shoulder.
The only solace and peace she’d found in that constantly moving life was that she lived in and visited lots of different places and experienced different things that she might never have seen if she’d lived in just one place.
She could never have a home, a happy ending or peace, because her father’s men would always be after her.
She had to get away from him before she did something foolish, like tug him under that bough of mistletoe a few feet away.
“Can you tell Paul that I’m leaving?” she asked Angelo. She couldn’t keep the slight tremor out of her voice. In just a few minutes, this man had completely undone her composure and made her want to risk things she couldn’t risk.
“Sure.” His brows drew together in obvious concern, but he turned away to call for Paul. She rushed to grab her coat and purse, flying out into the snowy night.
She crossed the street, ducking her head as she walked into the wind, moving quickly.
Just then, a figure lunged out of the nearest alleyway. Kara gasped as a man knocked her to the ground in a vicious tackle. He snatched her purse and adjusted the mask on his face while keeping her pinned to the ground.
“Stop! Help!” Kara tried to hit him with her free hand so she could get her purse back. He avoided falling but stumbled, her purse dropping to the ground as he tried to steady himself on the alley wall.
She grabbed her purse and got to her feet just as the man dove at her again.
“Kara!” Someone shouted at her. The mugger tensed.
Somehow, Angelo was there, throwing a fist in the man’s face. How did he know her name? She had never introduced herself to him.
With a grunt of pain, the mugger moved back, clutching his chin with one hand. In his other, a knife gleamed in the muted streetlight. He slashed it through the air in warning as Angelo moved toward him, unafraid.
“Get out of here!” Angelo growled as he advanced on the mugger. Even though he towered over the man, the mugger lunged at him, then suddenly turned and ran, vanishing into the night. Angelo turned back to Kara, breathing a little harder as he put a hand to his side.
“You okay?” he asked.
She nodded. “Are you?” Her gaze dropped where he held his hand to his abdomen. Bright red blood was oozing from between his fingers and spreading across his white sweater. Kara wanted to throw up.
“Yeah, of course—” he started.
She raised a shaky hand and pointed at him. “But you’re bleeding…”
Angelo glanced down, dropping his hand away from his sweater and swaying on his feet.
“Oh my God!” She rushed to put his arm around her shoulders to keep him upright. His legs buckled, his weight draping over her, and she grunted with the effort to keep him standing.
“Call… 911…” he gasped, sliding off her supportive stance and falling on his back in the snow.
“I don’t have a phone…” she said, her vision blurring with tears. This beautiful, wonderful man was going to die because of her.
“Left pocket…” Angelo nodded at his body, and she realized he meant his jeans. She carefully rolled him onto his side a few inches and gingerly searched his back left pocket, pulling out a cell phone. Thankfully the phone had no screen lock, so she swiped up and dialed 911 immediately.
“911, what’s your emergency?”
“A man’s been stabbed… we’re just outside the Clifton Avenue soup kitchen…please hurry!” She pressed her free hand against the wound on his stomach as she watched his eyes gaze up into the snow falling from the skies.
“Wanted to kiss you… to chase the shadows from… your lovely eyes…” Angelo murmured drowsily as he stared up at her. Then his dark lashes fluttered and his eyes closed.
“Mr. Vertucci! Stay with me! Angelo!”
Please don’t die… please…