Chapter 2

He wasn't a hero.

His first thought, when the girl came tumbling out between cars into the path of the 6:15 bus he took home from the studio every day, had nothing to do with heroic acts and rescue. It had to do with annoyance at the mess and inevitable delay standing between him and his apartment. All of that evaporated as she hit her knees, catching herself on her palms. Her face was a pale flash in the bright wash of the bus' headlights, and he found himself moving, before thought could take over, driven by a sudden surge of panic. Between the strident squeal of air brakes and the blast of a horn, his fingers closed on her upper arm and pulled.

With strength he didn't know he still had in his tired old body, he dragged her to her feet and against his body, throwing them both into an untidy sprawl of arms and legs between a Kia and a lamppost. Her slight weight drove the air from his lungs, pain radiating up his spine and through his body as his back made contact with the curb. He groaned, his body trying to curl into fetal position and avoid the agony that was making his vision swim and blur. Hands surrounded them, pulling them to their feet, away from each other. He found Charles at his shoulder, easing him out of the icy slush in the gutters, while someone else clucked over the girl.

"You okay, buddy?" Charles' friendly, blunt-featured face was creased in lines of worry. "Jamie, can you hear me? You need an ambulance or something?"

"I'm okay," he managed to croak out. "I'm okay. The girl? She okay?"

Charles turned towards the cause of the whole fiasco, frowning. "Looks that way. Miss? Miss? Are you all right?"

Blank eyes turned towards his voice, and Jamie's breath hitched again. The same strange combination of panic and overwhelming protective instinct that had catapulted him into the path of the bus to drag her from danger swept through him again. The girl's hair, an indeterminate shade in the deceitful light of the street, was a tangled mass of curls around a delicate, heart-shaped face. Her eyes were wide and empty, her full lips pressed into a tight frown.

"Are you okay?" Jamie asked, straightening despite the throbbing ache in his lower back and reaching for her arm. Her gaze moved to his face, and a sudden flicker of fear flashed across her face. Her hands, gloveless and tiny, came up to her face, hiding her expression momentarily before pushing slowly through her curls. Impulsively, Jamie took one of them in his own gloved hand, feeling the chill of her skin even through the leather.

"I'm..." The girl stopped, shook her head. She must have been stunned, or on some sort of drug, Jamie thought. She frowned in frustration, lifting her head to look at him again. She reached up suddenly and touched his cheek with her free hand. "You saved me."

Electricity crackled between her fingers and his skin. Unable to move, he stared at her, speechless. She seemed equally stunned, her lips parted, a look of sudden wonder on her face. Time froze impossibly, and her face sharpened into view, painfully clear. The dark curls held a deep auburn glow, the shadow-smudged dark eyes crystallized into a deep, clear blue. Her finely-molded features etched themselves into his memory with burning intensity, so strong that he knew he wouldn't be able to forget them. Her fingers were so cold they burned against his face.

A shout from the opposite side of the street snatched her attention away, her hand falling to his shoulder. A woman and two men, in the corporate uniform of dark suits and well-tailored coats, were calling out to her. Her hand convulsed in his. Terror-- there was no other word for the look-- filled her face. She whirled back to face him.

"You know the church on Mulberry? The St. Patrick's Cathedral?" The urgency in her voice demanded an answer. He nodded, still trying to form words.

"If you need, or want, anything from me, anything at all, just come there any night after midnight and whistle Für Elise. I'll come to you." Before he could reply, she cast another glance behind her. Her fingers tightened around his. "Thank you, Jamie. I have to go." Her hand slid from his, and she was gone, slipping away like some half-born fantasy.

"What the hell was all that about?" Charles asked, looking after her. "You look like hell, Jamie. Are you sure that you didn't pull something? Hey, these must be her people." The business-like trio came hurrying across the street between traffic, the woman scowling, the men expressionless.