Page 29 of Daredevil Lady and the Mysterious Millionaire (The Hidden Hearts Collection #3)

“No, Johnnie, of course I didn’t. I only needed to find out some things about you.” A troubled look came into her eyes, which quickly cleared as she beamed down at him. “You see, I want to adopt you, Johnnie. I want to bring you home with me, to be my own boy.”

He did not believe her at first. But she meant it. Things seemed to happen quickly after that. His memory contained only fragmented images of standing up before a judge and being told his name was now John Marceone.

Far clearer was the day he had been taken home to the cozy warmth of an apartment, garbed in the first new clothes he had ever owned—knickers and a sailor middy.

The cloth was cheap, but the stitching impeccable, set in by Sadie’s own clever hands.

He had barely had time to take in his new surroundings when he was confronted by three girls in calico dresses, all with long, dark braids.

They rose like stair steps, the youngest about his own size and age, the eldest, Caddie, at that time seeming to tower over him.

All three regarded him with solemn, critical eyes.

“Girls.” Sadie placed her hand on his shoulder. “This is Johnnie. He’s come to live with us, the brother I promised you.”

Caddie softened enough to give him a shy smile, while Agnes, the little one, let out a delighted whoop and planted a kiss on Zeke’s cheek.

She didn’t even seem to mind when he scrubbed it away.

But Tessa, the one nearest his own age, glowered with resentment, muttering low enough so that Sadie couldn’t hear, “We don’t need any boys around here. ”

If the little girl with the dark, scornful eyes had been a boy, Zeke would have socked her for making it so plain that he didn’t belong here anymore than he had ever belonged anywhere else in his short life.

Instead he assured himself it didn’t matter.

He didn’t want to live in a houseful of silly girls either.

First chance he found, he would get the hell out of there.

His moment came after supper when Sadie shooed the girls off to clear the table. Settled into her rocker, she appeared absorbed with darning a pair of Tessa’s stockings. Zeke backed toward the door.

Without glancing up from her work, Sadie said softly, “You can run away again if you want to, Johnnie. But I hope you won’t.”

Somehow her giving him permission to flee dulled his desire to do so. He squared up to her, saying, “Well, I might hang out here—for a day or two. But I don’t want any more mushing over me, see? And don’t expect me to start calling you Mama.”

Her eyes were sad, but filled with understanding. “You don’t have to, Johnnie. But if the day ever comes when you want to, that’d be just fine with me.”

Even after all these years, those patient words still echoed through Zeke’s mind, more bitter than any reproach that Tessa could have heaped upon him. He tried to shake off all these troubling memories and snap himself back to the reality of tossing upon the sofa in Rory’s tiny parlor.

But with Rory asleep in the next room, there was little distraction, only the lonely ticking of the clock upon the mantel. Remembrance of Sadie’s wistful expression continued to haunt him.

What had she seen in him anyway that had impelled her to such a rash step, taking in a half-wild street kid to be her son?

It wasn’t as though she were some wealthy woman given to philanthropic impulses.

A poor widow, she had labored long and hard, plying her needle, already burdened with the care of three young daughters.

She still had found time to do charity work, at the settlement house and for her church.

Had he been just another of her charities? She had never made Zeke feel that way. More like the son she had always wanted, but never had. But in the end, he had proved a disappointment to her.

True, with time, he had mellowed somewhat from the young savage he had been, learned to wash once a day, not to get into fights more than twice, to bow his head when grace was said, even if he was too stubborn to pray along.

But the one thing he had never learned was how to show her his love.

Long after he had come to think of her in his heart as his mother, he had continued to call her Lady.

After all, tough fellows didn’t show their feelings, didn’t do anything as embarrassing as go around bleating, “Mama.”

And when he was finally old enough to know better, it had been too late. With a heavy sigh, Zeke struggled against the sofa pillows, levering himself into a sitting position. He would never get to sleep this way. The stillness in the flat seemed to reproach him like the silence of Sadie’s grave.

It was so close in here, he could feel the sweat gathering beneath his arms. Maybe he had made a mistake staying here tonight. Sadie had never wanted anything to do with his mansion on Fifth Avenue. Her ghost rarely haunted him there.

But Rory’s place was too reminiscent of that old apartment, the home Sadie had carved for her family in that concrete wasteland that was Little Italy.

Zeke had had difficulty, after so many nights huddled in some alley, in sleeping there too.

His temperature had always seemed to run a shade hotter than Sadie’s and the girls.

Flinging off the covers, Zeke finally got to his feet.

Surely Rory would have no objection if he opened a window.

He approached one of the side ones and tugged at the sash.

It stuck. Didn’t they always? He was obliged to put a little shoulder into it before the window creaked upward.

But the welcome rush of cool air was worth the struggle.

Just outside loomed the familiar metal rungs of a fire escape, making it possible to descend or mount up to the roof.

A smile tugged at Zeke along with a memory, one of his few pleasant ones.

On those really hot nights, Sadie had always let him sleep up on the roof.

It was a good place for privacy, to get away from the chattering of Caddie and Agnes, Tessa’s endless scolding.

Only him and all those stars to count. Somehow up there it had been easier to relax, to stop being so tough, to harbor a few tender dreams hidden away beneath the moon’s shadows.

Zeke leaned up against the window frame, a rare mood of nostalgia sweeping over him.

A sudden impulse seized him, or was it the night itself that beckoned?

He didn’t know, but he eased himself through the window onto the fire escape.

He peered down through the grating to the street below.

It was only two stories down, but Zeke felt a familiar churning in the pit of his stomach.

He had always had a fear of heights, ever since he was a kid and two of the Plug Uglies had dangled him by his heels from on top of the old cotton warehouse.

It had been one of the few times in his life anyone had ever gotten him to cry uncle.

After all this time, Zeke knew the fear to be irrational, but there seemed to be no ridding himself of it. He coped now as he had always done as a boy. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to look up, never down. Clambering along the metal rungs, he finally reached the flat surface of the roof.

He had been afraid he would find the experience not at all as he remembered, changed somehow, but it wasn’t.

The night was like velvet, the sky still as vast as he recalled, the stars just as far away and mysterious.

Keeping a prudent distance from the edge, Zeke sat down, drawing up his knees.

Of course it had not been that long ago that he had done this, only two years.

But he hadn’t noticed much of anything then, the last time he had been with Sadie.

A hot July night, he helped her up above to seek some relief, but no air was stirring, not even on the rooftop.

And still Sadie shivered. She was already sick then.

If only he hadn’t been so stupid, he would have noticed that.

But he had been too caught up describing to her the wonders of his castle on Fifth Avenue.

“I’ll get you away from this wretched tenement at last, lady. The kitchen is going to be bigger than your whole apartment. You’ll love it.”

Sadie only gave a sad shake of her head. “I don’t belong in such a place, Johnnie. I wouldn’t know how to go on.”

“You’d learn. My friend, Mrs. Van Hallsburg, has undertaken to teach me to be a gent. I’ll get her to help you become a grand lady.”

Zeke flinched now at the recollection of his own crudity, his incredible ignorance. As if there had been anything that Mrs. Van H. or any woman could have taught Sadie. The mention of the wealthy widow had only served to spoil that night with his mother, his last, if he had only known it.

On parting, Sadie’s eyes had been shaded with trouble. She had always looked that way, ever since he had first told her of his acquaintance with Mrs. Van Hallsburg.

“I wish you would stay away from her, Johnnie. She’s not a good woman. She comes from bad blood—all those Markhams. Cold, uncaring people.”

Zeke had been surprised that such a remark would come from Sadie, who ever saw only the good in people.

“But you don’t know the Markhams or Mrs. Van H,” he had protested.

“I know enough,” she began and then stopped. He had the feeling she had meant to say more, but she complained suddenly of dizziness, begging him to take her inside.

Although he had been disturbed, Zeke had managed to dismiss Sadie’s warning. After all, she had only ever seen Mrs. Van H. once. He had pointed the elegant widow out to her during a Sunday drive through Central Park.

But remembering the incident, it now struck him as strange, especially considering that Rory had also taken a strong aversion to Mrs. Van H. on first sight. What was it Rory had said when Zeke had awoken her from that nightmare in his bed?

She had been dreaming that Mrs. Van. H. was some sort of a monster. “She’s evil,” Rory had insisted.

These women and their peculiar instincts. Zeke wished he could dismiss them that lightly, but the memories continued to trouble him. He was still pondering the matter when he heard the scrape of metal behind him. Someone was mounting the fire escape.

A half-formed hope seized him that Rory might have awakened, found him missing.

If she had noticed the window open, perhaps she had guessed where he had gone and decided to join him.

Earlier he had only wanted to be alone, lick his wounds from the scrap with Tessa.

But now he welcomed the thought of Rory.

He glanced over his shoulder, but his smile froze on his lips. For the second time that night, shadows fell across one of the ugliest faces he had ever seen, the man with the scarred chin.

“What the devil?” Zeke exclaimed, tensing for battle, but this time his reflexes were a shade too slow.

A heavy club swished down through the darkness, catching him hard on the side of the head. The stars above him seemed to explode, a thousand pinpoints of white hot light.

Then they vanished and there was nothing but unrelenting black.