Nate did smile then. Cyn thought it was the coldest, most dangerous expression she'd ever seen on a man's face. Nate released his hold on the boy.
Lazarus jumped up, pulled a switchblade from his pocket and thrust it toward Nate in a show of manly triumph. Cyn sucked in her breath and stepped backward. Dear God, what was she doing here? Why had she been stupid enough to think that dressing like a hooker and carrying a can of Mace and a whistle in her purse would protect her? Hadn't Evan's senseless murder taught her anything? The very sight of the knife in Lazarus's hand intensified the terror that had been building inside her for the last few minutes. Since Evan's death, the sight of a knife in another person's hands created irrational fear in Cyn.
The other boys at the table backed up further, even the swaggering Casey. Bobby stood beside Cyn, grabbing her hand, trying to pull her away.
"I don't know what kind of hold you had on me, man," Lazarus said, swaying from side to side in a macho strut. "But you came up on me from behind. Things are even now. We're face-to-face, and I'm going to stick you, big man, and watch you fall to your knees."
Nate knew that he could take care of this cocky young hood quickly and efficiently in the way only a trained warrior could. After all, he knew more ways to kill a man than most people even knew existed. But he had no intention of physically harming this streetwise punk. Scaring a little sense into him, however, was a different matter.
"Please, don't do this." Cyn heard a pleading female voice say, then realized she had spoken the words. Dear God, this couldn't be happening. It just couldn't! One of these men was going to get hurt, maybe both of them, and it would be her fault. She had thought she could handle the situation, been so confident in her ability to do what Evan would have done. But Evan died like this, a tiny inner voice reminded her, stabbed to death when he'd tried to help a wayward teenager.
While Cyn and the group of boys watched, while the dark man several tables over simply glanced their way, while a couple of barmaids stopped to view the scene, Lazarus Jones lunged toward the older man. The switchblade in his hand gleamed like shiny sterling silver in the smoky, muted light of the barroom. Cyn cried out. Bobby held her hand so tightly she winced from the pain.
From out of nowhere it seemed to Cyn, her rescuer pulled a knife—longer, wider, larger than his opponent's. Within seconds he had knocked Lazarus's knife to the floor and turned him around to face Cyn, twisting his arm behind his back and holding the deadly blade to the boy's throat.
Cyn could see the fear plainly in Lazarus Jones's eyes. Obviously, he thought he was going to die. Cyn prayed he was wrong.
"I think you owe the lady an apology," Nate said, letting the sharp blade of his knife rest against the boy's flesh.
"I... I'm sorry. I—"
"Please, let him go," Cyn said.
"Should I let you go, Lazarus?" Nate asked, leaning down slightly so he was practically whispering in the boy's ear. "Should I set you free so you can keep on selling drugs to other kids? So you can rob again, maybe even kill?"
"Hey, man, how the hell did you know—" Lazarus trembled with the certain fear of a man facing death.
Cyn felt hot, salty bile rise in her throat when she realized what kind of human beings she was dealing with. The boy was so brutal and uncaring, and her rescuer was twice as deadly as the boy. Dear Lord in heaven, this wasn't the kind of world she wanted to live in. She had spent the last ten years of her life trying to help change things, trying to make a difference. She hated violence, and yet she seemed unable to escape it.
Nate shoved Lazarus toward his companions. "Get out of here, and pray to whatever God you believe in that our paths never cross again."
Lazarus and his entourage left in a big hurry, Casey following quickly. Bobby released Cyn's hand, but continued staring at the big man coming toward them.
"Bobby—" Cyn had no more than said his name when he ran. "No, Bobby. Wait," she cried out, but didn't try to follow him, knowing she would never catch him. Bobby was too adept at running and hiding.
Nate hadn't felt such rage in a long time. It had been years since he'd wanted to kill another man, but the moment that cocky boy had touched her, Nate had wanted to rip him apart. He hated to admit it, but the brutality within him, the way he so often used violence as a means to settle problems, made him, in a strange way, no better than the smart-mouthed young hood he'd just subdued. Violence breeds violence. It was a fact he couldn't deny.
"Are you all right?" he asked, as he folded his lock-blade knife, reached beneath his jacket and slipped it into a leather sheath attached to his belt.
"Yes." She stared up at him, her heart pounding so loud and wild she thought surely he could hear it.
"What the devil are you doing in a place like this? Don't you know you could have gotten yourself raped or killed?" He wanted to grab her and shake the living daylights out of her. Then he wanted to pick her up and carry her out of here to some isolated place where he could make love to her.
"Look, no one asked you to interfere," Cyn said, tilting her chin upward in a defiant manner. "What made you think I couldn't handle the situation?"
"What made me...?" Nate glared at her flushed face, noting the anger in her dark brown eyes. Rich, warm brown eyes. "That young stud had plans for the two of you."
"Do you realize that your interference could well have ruined a boy's life?" Even though she knew she should be thanking this man for coming to her rescue, she was lashing out at him, some deep-seated instinct warning her to protect herself from the emotions he had stirred to life within her.
Nate moved closer, but didn't touch her. "What are you talking about? Which boy?"
"Bobby, the boy that was clutching my hand." Cyn took several deep, calming breaths. "Bobby's a runaway who has been staying at Tomorrow House, and we had just about talked him into trying a new foster home."
"Tomorrow House?" Nate's stomach tightened. Hell and damnation, what was she, some sort of social worker? Might know, the first woman he'd truly wanted in years would turn out to be some bright-eyed, sanctimonious do-gooder. "Don't tell me, you're some sort of undercover nun, out to save the world."
Cyn stiffened her spine, gritted her teeth and glared up at Rambo-to-the-Rescue. "I'm Cynthia Porter, and I'm assistant director at Tomorrow House, a church home for runaway children. Two of our boys, Bobby and Casey, came here tonight to buy drugs. I came here to try to persuade them not to. To try to get Bobby to return to a place where he feels safe.''
Nate could see the zealous determination in her eyes. Rich, warm brown eyes. "The kid will probably come back on his own."
"After what happened here tonight, I'm not so certain. You scared him half to death." Cyn noticed that the man who'd been watching from several tables over had just gotten up and was walking toward them. "Your friend?" she asked.
Nate felt Nick Romero's approach, slanted his eyes just enough to pick up the other man's shadow in his peripheral vision, and nodded affirmatively. He wondered if this woman realized that they'd met before. She'd made no reference to having seen him on the beach. "Romero, meet Cynthia Porter, assistant director at some shelter for runaways."
Romero reached out and took Cyn's hand, brought it to his lips and brushed a feather-light kiss across her knuckles. "I'm delighted, Ms. Porter. I was afraid Nate might forget to introduce us. I'm Nicholas Romero, and the man who just saved you from a rather unpleasant evening is Nathan Hodges. But you can call him Nate."
Nathan? Nathan Hodges. Nate. His name was Nate. Cyn noticed the stormy darkness in his eyes as he glared at his friend. Up until this very moment she'd thought his eyes were deep, dark brown because they appeared almost black. But they weren't brown. They were green—an incredibly dark green. Powerful eyes. Stunningly green, set in a hard, bronzed face with sharp cheekbones, a strong nose and a wide, full mouth. Recognition shot through her like a surge of electricity. Those were his eyes. Her phantom protector. Her dream lover.