Read Turn To Me for Free Online Page B

salary.  Painfully rising from my couch, I went into my kitchen and dug inside my cookie jar.  When I returned, I handed Frankie a small wad of money.
    “Thank you for your help tonight,” I said.
    Frankie took the money, glancing uncertainly back up at me.  “B-but that man p-p-paid,” he protested.
    “Well, I'm paying, too,” I said firmly.  “Take care of your sister, okay, Frankie?”
    He nodded, but made no move to leave.  He opened his mouth to try and speak, but his stuttering had grown worse and he couldn't seem to get out a sentence.  It seemed to really distress him and I chewed my lip in sympathy, waiting.  Finally, he was able to be coherent enough for me to understand.
    “Th-th-that man,” he stuttered anxiously, “d-d-did he d-do that t-t-to you?”  He pointed to my face.
    That man?  It took me a second to figure out that he meant Blane.  “No,” I denied, shaking my head for emphasis.  “I was being mugged.  That man rescued me.  He'd never hurt me.”  Again, I was touched at his concern.  It seemed, like Blane, Frankie's protective instincts ran strong.
    Frankie nodded in acknowledgement, breathing hard from the exertion of getting that last sentence out, and didn't bother trying to speak again.  Impulsively, I gave him a hug.
    “Thanks again,” I said warmly.  He awkwardly patted my back before leaving.  I shut and locked the door behind him and wearily headed to the bathroom for a shower, dropping my ruined dress carelessly on the bathroom floor.  Usually I was a pretty tidy, but I was too tired to care.
    I slipped on an old t-shirt and curled up on my couch with a blanket and Tigger, grabbing the remote and flipping on the news.  Both the couch and television reminded of Blane, since he had purchased them.  When my apartment and belongings had been trashed several weeks ago, Blane had taken it upon himself to be my benefactor.  He'd completely refurnished my apartment, right down to the underwear in my bureau drawers.
    I watched the news with half my attention, the other half listening for a knock on the door that would signify Blane's arrival.  I hoped he hadn't had a bad time with the cops, or the press.  I had never seen photographers descend on Blane like that before, though I knew he was often in the paper.  It had been rather disconcerting, though Blane had handled it like he was used to it, which I supposed he was.
    My attention was suddenly caught by the news anchor and I realized he'd said Blane's name.
    “...Blane Kirk, a local lawyer now turned local hero, saved a young woman from being mugged this evening in downtown Indianapolis,” he intoned seriously.  “Authorities have not revealed the identity of the woman, only that she was not seriously injured, thanks to the timely rescue by Mr. Kirk.”
    I watched avidly as footage played of Blane and me walking out of the alley.  My face couldn't be seen clearly, since he'd had the foresight to turn me towards him.  I watched as the cameras filmed him putting me in the taxi, before abruptly cutting away.
    “What made you decide to attempt something as dangerous as stopping a mugging?” a reporter asked, shoving a microphone into Blane's face.
    “People should be safe on the streets of our city,” Blane replied.
    “Did you know the woman you rescued?” someone else asked. 
    “A fellow attendee this evening,” Blane answered, which was true, though I noticed he wasn’t really answering the question.
    “Blane Kirk is the defense attorney defending Kyle Waters, Navy SEAL currently embroiled in a wrongful death suit here in Indianapolis.  Of course, Mr. Kirk is a fellow ex-Navy SEAL himself, tonight putting his life on the line to rescue a woman he didn't even know.  Now that's a hometown hero for you.  And now for the weather.”
    I flipped the TV off, the last image of Blane standing, calm and collected despite his torn shirt and bloodied lip, as he answered the reporters' question, burned into