Devon Goral leaned forward on the desk of his old bedroom, looking out the window onto the lush grounds below. Tiny specs waddled about the greens playing rounds of golf, although from this height they just looked like bright eggs rolling about on felt.

Two suitcases sat atop the desk ? one large, one smaller. The Protector examined each article of clothing he removed from the bigger suitcase before deciding whether it would fit in the other.?

After carefully transferring his favorite suit, he came across a wooden box. He lifted the lid and raised the contents ? his prized Ares Predator. Despite the bright sunlight shining in from outside, the weapon just didn't seem to show the brilliance it normally had. Even after several cleaning sessions, specs of blood from Cameron McRae and Albert Rooney still stained the barrel and its various machined crevices.

"How long until you leave?" Helen asked from the doorway.

Devon turned his head to nod a greeting. "My flight leaves tonight. I need to finish packing."

Helen signed. She entered the room, glancing around at the old furniture and stale appointments. "And you're sure you won't change your mind?"

"I need time, grandmother," Devon explained delicately. "Time to reflect. To grieve. I need to get away from all the death and destruction and darkness."

Helen tilted her head, her eyes narrowing. "You need to grieve? What am I supposed to do while you're reinventing yourself?"

Devon set the pistol back down in its box and turned towards his grandmother. She looked frail ? the skin on her hands was wrinkled and loose and her eyes seemed to be sinking deep into their sockets. Although she was not as physically active as Sullivan, she did regularly play tennis and Devon never knew her to be weak. His convalescence and passing had obviously affected her far more substantially than he'd realized.?

"We've talked about this, grandmother. I can't live here. I can't be in this house."

"But you might still come back to London?" she asked, her eyes flashing with desperation. "Stay in the city, maybe?"

"I honestly haven't decided. Gunther and I had a long talk, he made a bold offer. But I just don't know that I'm ready to come back to this." Devon sighed, looking down at his own hands. "Too many old mistakes to re-live. Too many reminders of why I left here in the first place."

"I don't know if I can do this alone," Helen said. "You owe me."

Devon's head snapped back up, but he let the brief burst of emotion pass. "You're not alone, grandmother. And I've already promised to come visit every few months. But first I need to decide what I'm going to do with my life, and I can't do that here."

"Not here with your family," she observed. "But you'll run off to some strange world to meet up with a teenage girl you barely know," she continued, gesturing at a stack of letters sitting on the nightstand.

Devon followed her movements, his eyes falling on the letters from Maria Napoli. Each one sounding more urgent the last. "I owe this girl. I let her father die right in front of her. For months she's been writing to me, asking me to come visit her. Well, I find myself with some time and a need for a change of scenery. So why not?"

"Because you have responsibilities here," Helen insisted. "Your house. Your family."

"Not my house," Devon countered. "I haven't lived in this room since I was sixteen."

"Your wife is gone," Helen observed coldly. "Your business collapsed. Here you can start fresh."

"But it won't be fresh, grandmother. That's what I'm trying to explain to you. I need to be away from my past ? all of my past. I need to go somewhere different. It's why I went to RhyDin and it's why I want to take this trip."

Helen sighed, but nodded. They'd had variations on this same conversation half a dozen times since he arrived here for his grandfather's funeral a week before.?

Devon took a step towards his grandmother and placed a hand on her arm. She flinched at first, not accustomed to human contact, but she did not pull away.

"I promise I'll be back in a week or two. I'm just going for a visit and to spend some time on my own. Once I return, I should have a better idea what my next steps will be. And, while I'm not ready to commit to living here, I've already said I'll visit more often. You won't be alone."

Helen's eyes studied Devon's face. She seemed hesitant to trust his words ? afraid to be let down. In truth Devon knew very little about her, having been away most of his life.

Finally she forced a smile and nodded. "Thank you, Devon."

Devon returned the smile, genuinely, and squeezed her arm. He then returned to the suitcases and placed a hand on the box holding his handgun. "If you don't mind, I'd like to leave some of my luggage here. There are things I won't need where I'm going."

"Of course," she answered, "leave anything you like."?

Devon understood that she took comfort in the idea of him leaving things behind. It guaranteed that he'd have to come back for them ? at least once. But it was not merely a gesture. Glancing down at the box, Devon couldn't remember the last time he'd traveled anywhere unarmed. But he was going to a civilian school to visit a thirteen-year-old girl. He wouldn't need a weapon.

And somehow, that was refreshing to him.

Devon Goral folded his hands patiently in his lap as he watched Doctor Hansen flip through pages in a file folder. Being calm under pressure was one of his trademarks, and although this was nothing like taking gunfire he found that some of he same receptors were firing.

Maria Napoli, on the other hand, fidgeted noticibly as she slowly sank into the large chair.

"I need to start," Hansen began, still looking down at her files, "by pointing out that you are not listed as one of Miss Napoli's guardians. Our privacy regulations restrict to whom we can speak about a minor's academic file. The only guardian we have on file is Miss Napoli's aunt, Juno Napoli."

Hansen glanced up at Devon, who did not react in any way. He was still waiting to see where this was going while plotting a dramatic escape out the window if necessary.

"That said," Hansen continued, "we've had considerable difficulty getting a hold of Juno Napoli. She does not return any of our calls or letters, even from me personally. So under the circumstances, and based on Maria's representation that you are her uncle, I am willing to turn a temporary blind eye to the lack of documentation until we can finally reach Juno Napoli and confirm that you are authorized to act on her behalf."

"Thank you, Doctor Hansen," Devon answered simply.

Hansen produced a pen from inside her desk. "For the purposes of our bookkeeping I'll need some information from you. What exactly is your relation to Maria? Are you on the mother's side like Juno?"

Devon cleared his throat. "No, my connection is to Miss Napoli's father, Berto." Not a lie, other than of omission.

Hansen narrowed her eyes at the evasive answer, and scribbled down a few notes on a form. "I suppose we can complete this later."

Devon merely smiled. He was Hell-bent on saying as little as necessary in order to get him out of this situation.

"The reason we asked you here ? well, the reason we requested an adult ? is that Miss Napoli's recent poor academic performance is of great concern to us."

Devon glanced briefly over at Maria, who was still slinking into the chair.?

"Doctor Hansen, should Maria be here while we're having this discussion?"

"Miss Napoli is well aware of the difficulties she's having," Hansen snapped, her tone stern but calm, "and at the age of thirteen she is capable of hearing the hard truth."

"Please proceed."

"Since the current term began, Miss Napoli has ? at best ? acted in a manner best described as 'distracted.' I've had conversations with each of her instructors and they report that she no longer participates in class discussions, that her homework is sloppy and often late, and that she is sometimes disruptive in class by conducting conversations with classmates not related to the subject matter."

"Her only saving grace," Hansen continued, "is that she continues to do exceptionally well on tests. But just because she is a good test-taker does not make her a good student or a well-rounded individual, and we are not satisfied that she is learning or being educated."

Devon shifted in his chair, for the first time showing any discomfort. "Doctor Hansen, I'm sure you're aware of the tragedies Maria recently experienced."

Hansen nodded, straightening her posture somewhat. She was an attractive woman perhaps in her early forties, her expression serious but her eyes kind. A tinge of grey shaded the temples of her otherwise dark brown hair.?

"We are well aware of Miss Napoli's situation. When she returned to school this term, we extended counseling and various other accommodations. She refused every offer ? and she barely spoke during one mandated meeting with a school psychologist."

Devon squared his jaw. After his parents were killed, they tried making him see a psychologist and he'd have nothing to do with it. It was the source of the first of many arguments with his grandparents. He certainly appreciated Maria's desire to be left alone.

"Kittredge Prep prides itself on academic excellence," Hansen continued, her tone a bit too lofty. "We don't have 'B' or 'C' students here. We graduate 'A' students and dismiss the rest."

Devon raised a brow. "I'm sure the ones that wash out appreciate your selectivity."

"This school is home to future leaders of the world. Presidents and Generals and Laureates. Every minute that we have to waste on silly disciplinary issues is a minute that doesn't go towards grooming the best of us. Our resources are finite and must be focused on those students exceeding their potential."

Devon faked a smile, quietly biting his lip. Everything this woman said to him recalled similar attitudes of the prep school in London his grandparents sent him. He never regretted washing out there.?

"Her father was murdered in front of her," Devon responded bluntly. "No amount of counseling can make that better. It takes time and introspection."

Hansen seemed taken aback by the brutality implied by his words. Her lips parted but she said nothing.

"What do your notes say about her performance in the previous terms?" Devon asked, pressing his attack.

Hansen tilted her head, then closed the folder on her desk. "I don't have to look. Maria was among the best students here. She was an inspiration to her class and a delight to her teachers. She represented everything on which this school prides itself."

Devon nodded. "So clearly this has to do with her loss."

"Which is why we asked for a guardian, Mister Goral. We are satisfied that Miss Napoli has the potential to continue to excel here. We just need her to resume focus."

Devon extended his arms out to the side. "Well, here I am. What do I need to do?"

"I'd like to schedule meetings between you and each of her instructors for this term. Listen to their issues and discuss resolutions. I also want you to meet regularly with me. If we can develop a plan to get Miss Napoli back on track, then perhaps there is hope of saving her academic career."

Devon wrinkled his brow. "How long is this going to take?"

"A few days. A small price to pay for your niece's well-being."

Devon again bit his lip, responding with a plastic smile.

Hansen offered over the paperwork she'd begun filling out ? a standard census form. "Please complete this and return to me at your earliest opportunity. I'll get meetings booked with all of Miss Napoli's instructor, starting tomorrow morning. You and I should also meet periodically while you're here. I can have the schedule messengered over to you ? where are you staying?"

"Linden Suites," Devon responded. "I haven't even checked in yet."

"I'll make sure to send over the schedule before we close for the day."

Devon glances at the form in his hands and then back up to Hansen. What had he gotten himself into here?

Hansen's tone changed somewhat and she tilted her head. "Now I think would be a good time for us to speak privately. Miss Napoli, please excuse us for just a moment."

Maria nodded and climbed out of the chair. She made her way quickly to the door and disappeared beyond, closing the door behind.

"There is one last thing I wanted to bring up ? of a more discrete nature."

"Go on," Devon bid.

"Maria is a strong-willed girl. I have no desire to diminish her competencies."

"But??"

"Several of her professors report that she has been seen associating with another student that is, well, a bad influence on others. It's not clear if they are dating or merely just friends."

Devon narrowed her eyes. "You're keeping track of her social life?"

"When that social life potentially has an impact on her academic performance," Hansen responded sharply. "This boy is at the nexus of many of the disciplinary issues we have here and she'd do well to avoid him."

"Not an 'A' student?" Devon asked with a hint of sarcasm.

"It's not appropriate for me to discuss the private file of other students. No school can claim to be immune to bad influences. Suffice it to say we are aware of his issues and are working diligently to correct them."

"Quite the underbelly you have here."

"Exceptional minds often have equally exceptional flaws, Mister Goral," Hansen observed with almost clinical detachment. "As Dean of Students and head disciplinarian, I assure you that I have my hands quite full here."

Devon pushes off with his feet and rose to his full height, towering over the bookish woman.?

"I'm a firm believer that we all need to make mistakes in order to learn from them, Doctor Hansen."

Hansen stood up and extended a slip hand towards The Protector. "I agree, Mister Goral. But I have a responsibility to ensure that Miss Napoli doesn't let childish mistakes ruin her life."

Devon took the hand and shook it firmly. "Maria is an intelligent and personable young woman. With all due respect to this institution, a few black marks here might not be as dire or impact her as profoundly as you might think."

Hansen's eyes sparkled under the light and she almost cracked a smile at the suggestion. "All we can do is try to point her in the right direction. And I hope that, after evaluating the situation for yourself, you will try to do the same."

"Fair enough. Good day, Doctor Hansen."

"Good day, Mister Goral."

* * *

Devon and Maria strolled casually across the town square, the afternoon sun warming their skin. The lunch hour had now passed and a handful of stragglers were on their way back to school or work. Maria, for her part, generally avoided looking at Devon, although she didn't hang her head.?

"I've had a long flight," Devon finally said, gazing at the large fountain in the center of the square. "I'd like to get checked into my hotel room and take a nap."

"That's a good idea," Maria volunteered cheerfully. "I have a class in twenty minutes."

"How about if I take you out to dinner tonight? Do you have a favorite restaurant in town?"

That suggestion caused Maria to light up, and she spun around towards The Protector. "There's an Italian restaurant just off the square. They have amaaaaaaazing flat bread pizza. Can we go there?"

Devon raised a brow at her sudden enthusiasm. He liked her better when she was acting embarrassed and ashamed. Still, it was hard to deny that smile.?

"Pizza would be fine. Meet you here at seven?"

Maria nodded sharply. "Sounds good, see you then!"

She started to dart away, but Devon raised a hand which froze her in her tracks. "We have a lot to discuss, Maria. You're not off the hook."

"You buy dinner tonight, I'll take you out to lunch tomorrow at the cafeteria. And I'll explain everything, I promise. I have a plan."

Devon narrowed his eyes sternly, but another brilliant smile from Maria caused him to break down and return the smile. With that, he waived her away and she disappeared back through the school gate.?

Devon turned and glanced up at the hotel, but decided to take a seat in the square instead. He found a nice park bench near the fountain, settled his suitcase next to him, and leaned back with a grunt. The warm air washed over him, punctuated occasionally by a splash of mist from the fountain. Tourists wandered in and out of the various shops carrying parcels wrapped neatly in paper. Life in general seemed slower here, despite the chaotic moment, and he wanted to enjoy the quiet for a time.

One person caught Devon's eye as standing out. A young man, perhaps in his late-twenties ? too old to attend Kitt-U but too young to be a parent, and he didn't really look like a tourist. He wore jeans and a faded t-shirt over a skinny frame, but his most distinguishing feature was a mass of curly hair that draped down to his lower back.?

Devon watched as the young man darted into a small alley between an ice cream parlour and a barber shop. There he appeared to meet with two teenage girls ? perhaps of high school age. In clear view of Devon, they surreptitiously exchanged cash money for a small paper bag that the young man produced from under his shirt. Once satisfied, the three parted ways and the young man disappeared down an adjoining alley. The exchange had all the marks of illegality that Devon knew too well.?

As he observed the two teenagers cross the square and head towards the gates to Kittredge Prep, Devon grumbled to himself. Hansen was right about bad influences. Not the pristine font of academia it claimed to be. Perhaps this place wasn't so alien after all.

With considerable practice, Devon learned how to watch the antique wooden clock on the credenza behind Doctor Reginald E. Morton III, PhD, as the old man launched into his second hour on the indigenous peoples of ? no joke ? a world called Hausenfraus, a place that surely didn't exist on any map Devon had ever seen. With wild gray hair and tiny wire-rimmed glasses, Morton looked like the archetypical crazy old professor who's been stuck in academia far longer than anyone rightfully should. And what any of this lengthy lecture had to do with Maria Napoli's scholastic performance remained a mystery.

Periodically Devon would try to guide the professor back to the task of assisting Maria in improving her grades, but Morton had little tolerance for interruptions. He'd raise a silencing hand and that would be the end of it, as he branched into yet another story of the discovery of ancient arrowheads or remnants of campfires.

As the clock ticked towards eleven forty-five, Devon felt his stomach begin to growl. He had a lunch date with Maria at noon, and ? while he was not particularly eager to eat in a cafeteria, literally anything would be better than sitting in this office for another minute.

"The biggest mystery about the Hausenfrausans," Morton continued unabated, "is how they managed to advance so quickly into the production of bronze tools and weapons. Most ancient cultures transition over a period of centuries, yet archeological evidence suggests that they completed the transition in as little as thirty years. My colleague Doctor Helgesen believes there might have been outside influence, but the respected Doctor Bates rightfully points out that none of the typical signs of such interference are present in the archaeological record, which leaves us with so many unanswered questions."

Prompted by an audible growl of hunger pangs, Devon jumped up from his chair and raised an excited hand in the air. "So what you're telling me is that if Maria can write a paper on this subject with conclusions of her own, supported of course by experts in the field of early Hausenfrausian civilization, it would get her grades back on track and allow her to pass the current semester."

Morton blinked. He narrowed his eyes, clearly upset at being interrupted, but he was forced to consider the question posed to him. "Well, uh, I, um, suppose." He smiled. "Miss Napoli is a brilliant student. I'd love to see her opinions on the subject."

The smile then faded and Morton again put on his stern look. "But it would need to have research from all of the experts. She can't just side with Helgesen because he's so charming. Bates is no slouch."

Devon held up his hands as he backed towards the door. "I'll make sure she researches both Helgesen and Bates. I think we both know that Maria is up to the task."

Morton mumbled, but nodded a concession. "Thank you for speaking with me, Mister Goral. Your personal interest in your, uh, niece's performance is a model that I wish all of our parents follow."

Now it was Devon's turn to smile. "It warms me to know that she is surrounded by such luminaries as yourself. Good day, Doctor Morton." He turned and fled, just barely catching a reminder about the arrowheads.

* * *

Devon spotted Maria waiting for him at the entrance to the cafeteria, an eager smile on her face. "You're late!" she ribbed. "Welcome, Monsieur?to le cafeteria." She let out a bit of a giggle as she bowed, leading him inside.

The Protector rolled his eyes at the greeting, making his way past the throng of young students into the room beyond. To call this place a 'cafeteria' was to give it insufficient credit. Like everything at this school it was quite massive, with antique wood paneling on one wall across from a massive bank of windows on the other ? all looking out on the mountains and cliffs beyond. There was enough seating for at least three hundred students at a time, and it was filling up quickly.

"So what's good?" Devon asked, making his way to the food preparation stations on the close end of the room. "I'm famished."

"I usually get one of the salads. I know it's a little clich?, but they're so good."

Devon followed her gaze to a large table covered in massive crystal bowls. Every type of salad was represented ? including a mouthwatering Caesar salad, a zesty Greek salad, protein-packed chopped salad, and more. Smaller bowls organized around the table allowed students to add other ingredients of their choosing, and massive steel bowls with ladles featured every imaginable variety of dressing at the end.

"You might prefer the carving station, though," Maria added, pointing at the next table. Arranged on several wooden blocks under warming lights were a variety of cuts of meat ? roast beef, prime rib, and a succulent roast pig. Friendly attendants in immaculate white uniforms and razor-sharp knives cut slices off of the hunks for eager students in line.

As Devon watched the knife cut easily through the prime rib, a cascade of juices flowing down the side, his stomach again growled ? seemingly loud enough for the whole room to hear.

"Ah, yes, I think we have a winner," Maria concluded with a giggle.

Devon waited patiently for Maria to load herself up with a beet salad with goat cheese and roasted walnuts (her father likely would have been horrified) before she joined him and walked him through the line at the carving station. The two then made their way with their trays to the cashier where Maria made a big deal out of swiping her lunch card for both meals.

"Thank you," Devon said with a smile.

"Least I could do," Maria answered with one of her own.

"Where do you usually sit?"

Maria craned her head as she peered around the cavernous room as if looking for someone. Just as she started to say something, however, another girl inadvertently plowed into her from behind. Devon's reflexes were on-task and he steadied her tray before she could shower the tile floor with beet salad.

"Ooof!" Maria shouted.

"Ooops, sorry ? Maria!" the other girl responded. Both immediately lit up with recognition and stepped in to give hugs and cheek-kisses to each other.

"Maddie!" Maria responded.

"I haven't seen you in, forever," the girl named Maddie droned. "Where have you been? We're in the corner, come sit and tell me everything!"

"Well, actually, I'm here with my ? uncle. Devon, this is Madison. Madison, Devon."

Maddie peered up ? all the way up ? at Devon, appraising him curiously. There were few adults in the cafeteria, and none of such substantial height. Maddie herself was quite slight, but she carried an air of superiority about her. Her clothes were expensive and she wore valuable jewelry ? enough to stand out, but not so much as to be gaudy.

"Madison Andrews," she introduced herself, extending a limp hand. "Of the Andrews Rubber Company," she added.

Devon furrowed a brow, not quite sure why she felt the need to mention that, but he took her hand and shook it firmly. "Nice to meet you, Ma?"

"Andrews Rubber?" Maddie interrupted. "We invented the gum you can sculpt?" She seemed annoyed at the lack of recognition in Devon's face.

"Never mind," Maddie continued, withdrawing her hand unsatisfactorily. She then turned her attention back to Maria, apparently done with Devon altogether. "Maria, I ? oh, hang on!" the flighty girl then disappeared in the wake of a teenage boy wearing a suit jacket.

"You have to excuse Maddie," Maria apologized, "she can be a bit scattered."

Devon chuckled. "I'm sure everyone here could be diagnosed ADHD."

"You'd be surprised," Maria answered. "We have all types."

"No doubt."

"Maddie's good people, I've learned to rely on her judgment. But we don't have to sit with her if you don't want."

Devon shrugged. "We can sit with your friends. They seem to miss you." Plus the whole situation of eating around children was uncomfortable to him, perhaps they'd just leave him alone and talk amongst themselves.

"Okay!" Maria beamed, and she began leading him towards a table near the windows. "So how did it go with Professor Saenz?"

"She was a breeze. Very concerned about your well-being and she gave me some study guides to go over with you. I think she'll cut you some slack if you can just be a bit more attentive."

Maria nodded before cringing. "And old man Morton?"

Devon narrowed his eyes. "Almost ninety minutes," Devon grumbled.

"Oh no?" Maria blanched. Clearly she was familiar with the octogenarian's idiosyncrasies.

"And I may have volunteered you for a research paper to get me out of there. But if you do a good job, I think you can put him behind you as well."

"Is this your way of getting back at me for tricking you into this?" Maria asked warily.

Devon grinned mischievously. "May-be."

The two approached a table filled with five raucous teenage girls, all involved in a spirited conversation peppered with frequent laughter. Devon's ears rang with the squeals of the girls as they spotted Maria, several of whom jumped up to give her hugs.

"Where's Ry-Ry?" one of the girls asked, before being hushed by Maria.

"More importantly," a different girl asked, peering up at Devon, "who's this?" The other girls rang out in amused giggles.

"Everyone, this is Devon. He's basically like my uncle," she added, giving him a wink.

The girls looked him up and down like a piece of fresh meat, intrigued at anything new and different.

"Devon, meet Ashley, Sophia, Hadley, Ariadne, and Penny."

"Pendleton," Penny corrected staunchly to Devon. "Like the heroine in Running The Page."

"Penny, come on," Ashley stage-whispered across the table. "This guy's obviously never read Klugelstadt."

Devon took a seat at the table near the corner, uncomfortable with so many teenage girls staring at him.

"You can't be familiar with the name Pendleton, can you?"

Devon cut into his prime rib, eyeing the girls disdainfully. Maria started to say something, but Ashley interrupted, "Mais non, bien sur."

"Probablement il ne sais pas quoi nous parlons maintenant," Sophia practically sang, showing off.

"Of course he's not," Maddie added, arriving at the table like a glider. "He hasn't even heard of Andrews Rubber."

"He doesn't know about the gum?" Ashley asked, dumbfounded.

Maddie shrugged and the whole table erupted in giggles.

"Okay, people," Maria grumbled. "Assez already."

"So Devon," Hadley piped up, "just what do you read? Yeats? Bulgakov? Or are you more into drama? "What dost thou? Or what art thou, Devon?"

"Seriously?" Penny wore a look of shocked bemusement. "Il n'a jamai lu Shakespeare dans sa vie!"

Sophia tsked in Devon's direction. "Lord, what fools these mortals be." She shook her head sadly.

Devon gave Maria a looked and she slunk down in her chair, embarrassed.

"So Mister Devon," Ariadne asked, "we're wondering just do you do?"

"Let me guess!" Hadley offered. "I bet he's a ??mechanic!"

"No," Ariadne countered, "look at those hands. I bet he repairs antique clocks and watches."

The two girls giggled.

"Okay, that's enough," Maria thundered, jumping up to her feet. "Let's go." She grabbed her tray and sidestepped away from the table.

"No, don't go!" Penny wailed. "Regardez ses chemise! Ils sont ridicules!"

Devon rose to his feet and took his tray as well, moving after Maria. The girls continued to laugh, and Maddie asked Devon she'd see him tonight at 'Carnival' (without explanation).

At that, Devon stopped and spun around on his heel. Regarding Ashley, he narrowed his eyes and loomed tall over her until she shrunk a bit in her chair.

"To answer your question," Devon explained, "I am very familiar with the Pendleton character. The one in Charlotte's Web." He then looked up at the assembled group with a cruel smile. "Have a nice day, ladies."

As he turned and followed Maria away from the table, he heard someone whisper: "Did he just call you a rat?"

* * *

Devon twitched nervously outside the office of Dean Hansen, pacing back and forth across the thin red carpet. After the lunch fiasco, he and Maria found a quiet nook in the courtyard to finish their food. She apologized profusely, but he said little. As much as he wanted to criticize her for her poor choice in friends, he didn't want their relationship to be about him judging her decisions. It was bad enough she'd put him in the position of covering up her academic mistakes. Her personal ones would have to find some other relief.

Yet here he was, summoned to the Dean's office half-way through his meeting with another of her professors. To a certain extent it was a relief to get out of there, but he also knew he'd probably have to go back to finish the meeting.

Finally, he was admitted to the inner office. Hansen was just finishing up a meeting with some other adults, who filed past Devon and out. Devon made his way to the desk and sat heavily in one of the chairs across from the Dean. Hansen avoided looking at him at first, finishing up some notes in a binder before finally looking up. Her expression was awkward, and she fiddled with the pen in her hand.

"Good afternoon, Doctor Hansen," Devon greeted. It gave him some comfort to know that she was just as uncomfortable as he.

"I understand you've had three meetings so far today?" She asked, all business. "How is that going so far?"

"Well, you fetched me out of one of those meetings, but yes. I think we're working out way towards solutions with each of Maria's professors. I am confident that her problems are fixable, if she'll apply herself and if your faculty continues to be willing to work with us. Her."

Hansen nodded. "Good. I spoke briefly with Doctor Morton at lunch and he was very complimentary of you."

Devon chuckled. He couldn't imagine any conversation with that old codger being 'brief.'

"Well, I wanted to check in with you," Hansen continued. "To make sure everything was going well."

Devon paused, tilting his head. He then nodded. "Well, everything is going well."

Hansen let out a sigh, and leaned back a bit in her chair. She then corrected herself, sitting up straight. "Our encounter last night is a source of embarrassment for me. I try to lead a private life and it's not always possible in a small town."

Devon held up a hand defensively. "I didn't mean to insert myself into your private business. It's already forgotten and there's no need to say anything."

Hansen peered intently into Devon's eyes, evaluating him. "My husband ? ex-husband and I have a complicated relationship. We don't always see eye-to-eye on things."

Devon frowned. "Doesn't give him the right to yell at you in public. The things he said weren't right."

"Well, like you said, it's my private business," Hansen said quickly.

Devon smiled. "Indeed."

Hansen tilted her head curiously. "I have to wonder, though. If he hadn't shown his badge, what would you have done?" she asked, her tone stern. "You looked quite ready to pick a fight."

"Your husband's badge?"

"Ex-husband," Hansen corrected quickly.

"?had no impact on my decision to walk away. It was you telling me that everything was okay that did that."

Hansen narrowed her eyes. She didn't look convinced that he was being truthful, and she certainly didn't seen to believe that Devon wasn't intimidated by a badge and a gun.

"Well then, I guess that settles it," Hansen finally concluded. She rose to her feet, extending her hand. Devon also stood up, shaking her hand firmly.

"Perhaps I'll see you at Carnival tonight?" Hansen asked, changing the subject.

"I'm not sure what that is," Devon said. "Maria hasn't mentioned anything."

"Once a month, when the weather is good, they set up a small carnival in the square. Mostly booths and stands with interesting games and food and merchandise. The whole town comes out for it. I'm sure Maria will want to go."

Devon stepped back, pausing to scratch the beard on his chin. "Well, if Maria wants to go, I'm sure we'll be there."

Hansen smiled, the tension leaving her face. "Then until tonight, Mister Goral."

"Until tonight, Doctor Hansen."

* * *

Kittredge Prep was a massive school with many different buildings, and Devon was quickly learning that finding his way around was going to be difficult. With a map in one hand, he navigated several corridors and a stairwell attempting to get back to his meeting with Professor Yo.

The school used a fairly free-form schedule, which meant that there was no time when all students were guaranteed to be in class. Frequently he had to step around or over kids studying or socializing in the hallway. And although the buildings generally segregated the middle school and high school students, it was not unusual for Devon to see all ages wherever he went.

Devon reached another marble staircase and trudged upwards, grumbling about the lack of elevators in these old buildings. Turning a corner, he spotted two teenage buys standing in the landing. They jumped with surprise at Devon's approach and both began running in different directions. One made the mistake of trying to run down the stairs past Devon, and he instinctively reached out and grabbed the boy by the shoulder.

"Whoah there, what's the hurry?" Devon asked sternly.

The boy was perhaps thirteen, with sandy blond hair and a fair complexion. He wore jeans and a t-shirt and had a heavy backpack slung over his shoulder. But as he made contact with Devon, a small bundle fell from his hands and hit the floor. Before he could retrieve it, Devon swept downwards and picked it up.

"Give that back!" the boy yelled.

Devon, who easily had 50 centimeters on the boy, held him firmly in place and gave him a stern look. With his other hand, Devon peered at the bundle ? a plastic bag containing some kind of pills.

"Those are mine!" the kid yelled. "Give them back."

"So if I drag you to the nurse right now, she'll confirm that these are something you should be taking?" Devon asked. "What are they for, allergies? Anxiety?"

"They help me focus," the boy mumbled.

"So that wasn't cash I saw in that other kid's hands."

"I don't know. We were just talking."

Devon sighed, releasing his grip on the boy. "I wasn't born yesterday, kid. Get out of here. Get to class."

"Give me my pills!" the boy demanded.

Devon raised a brow, stuffing the bag into his own pocket.

"That's two hundred bucks worth of product you asshole," the kid barked.

Devon loomed tall, bemused at how little time it took for the boy to show his true colours. "And you're about two seconds away from me dragging you by the ear to the Dean's office, punk."

The boy scowled, but he realized he wasn't going to win this argument and he disappeared down the stairwell.

Devon couldn't help but chuckle, shaking his head. He made his way back up to the next floor, pausing to dump the bag of pills into a trash can. They sure didn't make criminals like they used to. Good for his business, for sure.

Devon Goral returned to the festival square, juggling a plate of deep-fried fish sandwich and potato chips in one hand and an aluminum can of ginger ale in the other. It wasn't quite the kind of meal that makes a man salivate, but it would have to do.?

The band was now in full swing, playing a pop-inspired rock set that seemed popular with the young audience. Devon spotted Maddie and Maria's other friends near the stage, all dancing and swaying along with the music. He didn't immediately spot Maria, nor her giant pink dinosaur, so he found a small picnic table and set down his food.?

The Protector brought the mediocre fish sandwich up to his mouth for a bite, pausing afterwards to glance around the festival and take in the entire scene. Children and teenagers dancing and singing and playing. Adults standing about talking and eating and comparing notes. It all seemed so ? innocent, so normal. Despite the confrontation in the alley with the try-hard drug dealers, Devon found nothing relatable in this place. It was more alien to him than any alien world he'd ever encountered. There was no chance of a battle breaking out. The likelihood of a monster showing up and eating half of the assembled civilians was very low. And to Devon, that lack of imminent danger was unsettling. He kept waiting for a shoe to drop that wasn't there.

Devon set down his sandwich as he saw a flash of pink approach from the corner of his eyes. He started to smile at Maria, but the look on her face suggested she was not happy. In fact, he saw rage.

"What did you say to Ryan?" she demanded.

Devon frowned, furrowing his brow. Somehow that little weasel double-backed from the alley when he wasn't looking.

"I thought you had my back," Maria continued. "Instead you stabbed me there."

Devon rose from the picnic table, offering a defensive hand.?

Maria wasn't having any of it, however, and continued her tirade. "You've been here for barely two days. You're supposed to be helping me. Instead you're conspiring against me with my teachers, embarrassing me in front of my friends, and now you have to stick your nose in between me and my boyfriend."

"I thought he wasn't your boyfriend," Devon grumbled.

That seemed to anger Maria even more and her eyes went wide. "I can't believe you. What is WRONG with you? I should have never asked you here. Just go!"

With that, she plucked her giant pink dinosaur off the picnic table bench and stormed off into the crowd. Maddie, who apparently witnessed the argument, gave Devon a brief disapproving look before chasing after Maria.

Devon glanced down at his sad fish sandwich. He'd never been yelled at by a teenage girl before. It was unsettling.

"I bought this for me, but you look like you need it more."

Devon glanced up to see Doctor Hansen offering him a bottle of beer. She was dressed casually in jeans and a blazer, hair flowing freely over her shoulders instead of in its rigid braid. Her smile was both bemused and sympathetic.

Devon declined the beer, instead reaching for his ginger ale. "How much of that did you see?" he asked, ashamed.

"Enough to know it's none of my business," Hansen answered casually. "Don't take it too personally, they can be tough."

"I? I'm just trying to help."

"Teenage girls often aren't smart enough to know when they need help, Mister Goral," Hansen explained. "And then sometimes they cry out for it in ways that adults ? especially men ? can't comprehend."

Devon grumbled, sitting down on the corner of the picnic table.?

"Trust me," Hansen continued. "I have a Master's in Social Work. Oh, and I was a teenage girl, once."

Devon chuckled. Her smile and easy way with words was comforting. "Please, call me Devon."

"And when we're not in school, you should call me Amelia," she said, sitting down at the table and stealing some of his potato chips. "So what do you think of Carnival, Devon?"

The Protector glanced around. Although Maria and her friends were now gone, the rest of the town was still engrossed in the entertainment ? their fun unhampered by Maria's blow-out. "People are certainly having a good time. Looks like a good way to bring the community together."

"It's a small town," Amelia acknowledged, "but it has an international charm due to all of the students. We're lucky to have so many interesting kids with different backgrounds."

"Do you get to work with the gamut? Or do you just handle disciplinary issues?"

"I try to spend at least some time with every student," Amelia answered, taking a gentle sip from her bottle of beer. "Although certainly some take more of my time than others."

Devon afforded her a smile. It was refreshing to see her dressed down and drinking a beer ? like a normal person. "You have a position of authority over a lot of these kids. Is it weird for you to be out socializing around them?"

"It took some getting used-to,"?Amelia?admitted. "I started out teaching Philosophy at the High School, so I already knew a lot of the kids. At first it was a little uncomfortable to move into the Dean of Students position ? some of the kids definitely treated me differently after that. And I have to be careful how I comport myself in public. My wild partying days are definitely over," she added with a sarcastic grin. "Still, as Dean I'm in a position to really help these kids. Everyone here has the potential to change the world. Some just need more guidance than others."

"Must be an interesting job," Devon observed.

Amelia tilted her head curiously. "I don't remember if I asked you what you do, Devon."

"Uh, I handle security, of a sort," he answered evasively.

"Like Maria's father?"

"He and I have worked together, yes," Devon answered with a nod.

"Terrible what happened to him. I can't imagine losing a parent at that age. And both parents?" she trailed off.

Devon squared his jaw. His parents were lost even younger, of course.?

The somber moment was interrupted when Devon caught the strong odor of whiskey in the air and felt a warm breath on the back of his neck. He started to turn, but a large man pushed past him.

"Amelia, have you seen my phone?" the man asked. Devon immediately recognized him as her ex-husband, the man who almost started a confrontation at the restaurant the previous evening.

Amelia straightened her posture at her ex-husband's sudden insertion into the scene. "No, Carl, why would I have?"

"I can't find it anywhere," the man mumbled, searching his pockets. He was wearing a cheap suit and appeared disheveled ? his collar was wrinkled and his shirt was coming untucked. He reeked of alcohol and he was wobbling just a bit.?

Amelia shot a quick look at Devon. She was clearly embarrassed, yet not particularly surprised.

"Go home, Carl. You probably left it on the night stand again."

"No, no, no, no, no," Carl mumbled, still searching his pockets. "I know I had it at lunch."

Remembering?Amelia's admonition that he stay out of her private life, Devon stood up and collected his food and drink. "I'm going to go see if I can find Maria and apologize to her," he said. "Nice chatting with you, Am? Doctor Hansen."

Carl, apparently noticing Devon for the first time, turned to look at him. There was no sign of recognition from the previous night's encounter. His eyes were glassy and his face pale.?

"Who the fuck are you?" Carl asked, his tone bordering on belligerent.

"Carl!"?Amelia?hissed, trying to keep her voice down.

The Protector squared his shoulders, rising to his full height and towering over the besotted cop. "I'm nobody," he answered.

"That's right," Carl insisted. "So leave my wife alone."

Devon raised a brow, staring the man down.?

"Carl, you're drunk,"?Amelia?observed bitterly. "Go home."

"I'm fliiiiiine," Carl responded, slurring his words. "I cl-ame to watsssssssh the show," he added, gesturing at the band on the stage.

"They're almost done. Why don't you call it a night?"

"Jussss got through workin' a double," Carl said, turning away from Devon and leaning on the picnic table for support. "Need to relaksssss."

Devon took several steps back. On one hand, his instincts told him to protect her from this louse. On the other hand, she made it abundantly clear that she didn't want him to protect her. Yet something on her face suggested otherwise.

Carl produced a flask from his jacket pocket and unscrewed the top, tipping it back to drain whatever was left inside. He stumbled a bit, his center of gravity not at all stable.

Devon glanced down at the fish sandwich on his plate, which was now cold and soggy. What was barely appealing before was now downright disgusting. He'd need to figure out an alternate dinner strategy, and he felt his stomach growl. So he set the plate back down on the picnic table and gave a quick wave to?Amelia. "Good night," he bid simply.

Carl turned towards Devon and scowled. "You ssssstill here?" he asked. Then realization finally kicked in. "Hey, I recognissssse you. From the ressssss-taurant."

Devon frowned, taking another step back.

"Do you know thisssss guy?" he asked?Amelia.

"He's a parent,"?Amelia?answered coldly. "And he was just leaving."

Carl took several uneven steps towards Devon, balling his fists at his sides. "This parent needsssss to mind his own biz-nez."

"Buddy you've had a long day," Devon observed quietly. "Why don't you go home and get some sleep?"

"Who do you tink you are?" Carl challenged. "You gonna tell me what to do?" he continued, puffing out his chest.

"Carl, stop it,"?Amelia?demanded, her voice rising.

Carl either attacked ? or tripped ? but either way he lunged towards Devon. The Protector easily dodged to the side, catching Carl and holding him firmly by the shoulders ? out of harm's reach.?

Amelia's eyes went wide as she pictured a fight between her drunken ex-husband and the uncle of one of her students. She seemed on the edge of panic over the situation.

"How about I take him home?" Devon suggested in a calm voice. "He can barely stand up straight."

"I'm fff-fff-fine," Carl stammered.

"No, I should do it,"?Amelia?said, resigned. She pushed away her beer and collected her purse.

"He's in bad shape. Let me do it."

Amelia frowned. She was clearly conflicted by her desire to keep Devon out of her personal affairs, and her disgust by her ex-husband's condition.?

"I promise to be kind," Devon added, hinting at a smile. "I've had plenty of nights where I wished someone would have taken me home."

Amelia nodded reluctantly. "He lives on Peony Street. Follow this road out of the square until you get to the butcher shop, then make a right. Turn left at the first alley and his apartment building is at the end."

Devon gave her a respectful half-bow. "Then, once again, I bid you good evening."

"Thanks for doing this," she offered, still embarrassed.

Devon shrugged. "Least I can do for one of Linden's finest," he explained. It took some of the weight off of the situation ? he was doing a favor for Carl, not?Amelia.

Amelia appreciated the distinction and smiled. "Good night, Mister Goral."

* * *

Carl was so completely hammered that he could no longer put up any resistance. Devon throw the man's arm over his shoulder and, despite the height difference, helped the man walk slowly down the street.

"I can't find my phone," Carl mumbled.

"Maybe it's at home," Devon suggested. "Like she said."

Carl sighed. "Amelia's the only g-good thing I ever did. Gotta get thingsssss figured out s-so I can get her b-back."

Devon ignored the comment. He couldn't see the two together as a couple, she was so much better than him.?

Thankfully, the rest of the short walk was in silence as Carl rapidly approached the point of passing out. Devon turned down the alley and walked him to the rear entrance of a medium-sized apartment building.?

"Do you have your keys?"

"Ca-can't find my phone."

"Keys," Devon emphasized. "Do you have your house keys?"

Carl searched through his pockets and produced a keyring. Awkwardly he fiddled with the front door of the apartment building before finally pushing inside.

"Good night, Detective," Devon said. "Go get some sleep."

Carl mumbled something unintelligible in response. He stumbled up the stairs and out of sight.

Devon let out a relieved sigh as he turned away from the apartment building and back down the alley. What a day. What a night.

A scraping sound behind Devon told him that it wasn't over.?

* * *

Three young men stepped into Devon's field of view, blocking his progress. Devon turned to find three others behind him. Several were armed ? one had a pipe, a couple had baseball bats, and one was wielding a chain. They were led by the drug dealer that Devon had encountered earlier in the evening ? Jake. In this light it was clear that Jake and Ryan were related ? possibly brothers.

Jake drew a large hunting knife from behind his back. "You've got an attitude problem, buddy," he said. "You are no longer welcome here in Linden."

Devon gestured at the apartment building he'd just left. "Did you see me over there with that cop? Do you want me to call him back down here?"

Jake laughed. "Carl? By now he's passed out or choking on his own vomit. Carl doesn't scare us."

Devon grumbled. Carl's reputation was apparently well-known.

"You don't get to come here and tell me how to do my trade," Jake continued. "You embarrassed me in front of customers and in front of my crew. And that earns you a beating."

Devon twisted his head, cracking his neck. "Why don't you guys just go on home."

"People come here and they think they can tell us what to do," Jake said. "I'm trying to run a business here, and I've got people like you who think they know better. Who think they don't have to follow the rules."

"Rules?" Devon asked incredulously.?

"We run this town," Jake insisted. "You exist here at our pleasure."

"Look, son, you're clearly in a bit over your head. Step aside and there won't be any repercussions. We can all go back to Carnival and forget this ever happened."

Jake grinned. "Hey Bonsey, tall guy here wants to forget this happened."

The thug with the chain ? perhaps the toughest-looking of the group ? grinned sadistically. "He's gonna wish he could forget once we bust his skull."

The group of six began to close in on Devon.?

"This is just a warning ? for your own good," Jake explained. "Don't make us have this conversation a second time, or it won't end up good for you."

Devon sighed, unbuttoning his sleeves and rolling each one up in turn. "Conversation, eh?" he asked.

Jake narrowed his eyes at Devon's arms and the passive display of force. "I think he means to fight us, boys."

"I say we pull out all of his teeth," Bonsey suggested.

"Fingernails too," another thug added.

Devon smiled confidently. Maria's words still haunted him. He didn't know how to relate to a teenage girl. *This*, on the other hand, he understood.?

"Okay, boys," Devon said, "let's do this."

After a brief visit to his hotel room to shower and change, Devon Goral again hit the streets of Linden. Around the corner from Linden Suites was a small laundromat, and Devon stopped in with a bag of laundry. (His clothes from the previous evening's scuffle were somewhat damaged and needed care.) Afterwards, he stepped back out on the street and made his way towards the school.

"Excuse me, sir! Yes, you."

Devon glanced up at the person speaking to him. He was passing on front of an upscale Greek restaurant, where several employees were setting up an outdoor menu board. A middle-aged balding man with a thick beard waived Devon over, so he approached.

"You're Carl's friend, yes?" the man asked, a pleasant smile on his face.

Devon raised a brow. "Sorry?"

"Carl? Detective Meurling," the man corrected. "I saw you with him last night."

Devon's lip curled. "Oh."

The man reached into his pocket and produced an antiquated flip-style cellular phone. "This is my restaurant," the man explained proudly. "Carl?was in here last night for dinner and he left his phone behind. I tried calling out to him but he didn't hear me. Then I saw you two walk by later in the evening."

"I was just helping him home," Devon explained curtly. "I don't know him."

The restaurant owner frowned, the phone still proffered awkwardly in his out-stretched hand. "Oh."

Devon faked a smile. "Have a nice day."

"Say," the owner said, "if you haven't made plans for the evening, please consider having dinner here. My head chef is preparing a roast chicken that is unlike anything you've ever experienced. Mention my name to the waiter and you'll get ten percent off your bill."

Devon paused, waiting.

"Uh, Stephan," the man introduced, extending his other hand. "Stephan Kavala."

Devon shook Stephan's hand firmly. "Thank you for the offer, sir. I will consider it."

* * *

Devon resumed his walk to Kittredge Prep, but his focus was distracted. He kept replaying the previous evening's fight with Maria in his mind. Should he have handled things differently? Was his threat to the Matthews kid excessive and overbearing? Maria's a smart girl, surely she would have realized eventually that he was a punk.

Then again, Ryan's brother did pull a knife on Devon. They were both dangerous. It was Devon's job to protect Maria from people like that. To keep her safe.

Or was it?

Devon sighed. What was he doing? He was on his way to the school to meet with more professors about academic issues, while Maria wasn't even speaking to him. This wasn't him. This wasn't what he was built for.?

He stopped. A waive of panic came over him. Flight instinct reared its head and he seriously considered walking back to his hotel, packing his suitcase, and leaving for good. He had no experience fathering a young girl. No right to step into Berto's shoes. Maria would be better off if he just left now, so that actual adults could handle things.?

But who? Her worthless aunt? The school administration? There was no one to guide her. No one to protect her.

Only him.

So, after yet another sigh, Devon continued forward. Four meetings today, and he'd be almost done.?

But then what?

* * *

As the sun set slowly over Linden, Devon stood near the fountain at the center of the town square, letting water vapor mist over him. The weather was pleasant but not particularly warm today, yet Devon found the coolness refreshing.?

The Protector was dressed typically in a fashionable dress shirt with an eclectic print, tucked into dress pants. He did not wear a coat or jacket this evening ? there was no need to mask a weapon (nor any weapon to mask). He felt exposed to the world, yet it was strangely liberating.?

"I'm not sure how often they filter that water," Amelia joked with a smile as she approached. "You might not want to get too close."

Devon half-turned and responded with a smile of his own. "I'll take my chances."

"Shall we?" Amelia asked.

Devon nodded, and the two walked leisurely together out of the square.?

Amelia was again dressed casually, this time in a loose skirt and a flowery peasant top. Her outfit was accessorized with nice sandals and a small canvas purse. Her choice of attire made her appear at least ten years younger ? only the small patches of gray at her temples suggested otherwise. Despite her whimsical attire, however, she carried herself with poise and confidence.?

"I didn't even think to ask where you wanted to go," Amelia said. "I forget that you don't know this town."?

"I was thinking the Greek restaurant just off the square. I understand they have a chicken special tonight."

Amelia laughed. "You're not wasting any time finding our best cuisine. Isabella two nights ago, and now Helen's?"

Devon shrugged. "I'm a bit of a foodie, I guess. There are few true pleasures in this short life. Good food is one of them."

Amelia's eyes sparkled under the light of the antique street lamps. She did not comment.

* * *

The two were seated quickly at Helen's. It was a fine restaurant, well-appointed and probably a bit on the pricey side. All of the guests were adults, most dressed up ? some probably tourists and the others employees at the schools. The staff were friendly and helpful, and their waiter was especially effulgent.?

"What would you two like to drink this evening?" The waiter, who identified himself as Paul, asked them.

"I'll take the seasonal draught special," Amelia ordered.?

"An excellent choice. Sir?"

"The Greek beers here are fantastic," Amelia offered enthusiastically. "Can I buy you one?"

"I'll just take a club soda," Devon ordered.

"Of course. I'll be right back with those."

Amelia tilted her head curiously once Paul departed. "Forgive me for prying. Do you not drink?"

Devon smiled, briefly glancing down. "Not currently."

"Oh, I'm sorry, Devon. I shouldn't have offered."

Devon looked up again. "No, it's fine."?

"How long?" she asked curiously.

Devon thought for a brief moment. "It's been about three weeks."

Amelia blinked. "Uh, oh, wow. Forgive me but you have remarkable aplomb for someone only three weeks sober."

Devon laughed. "It's not like that. I'm not in a program or working the steps. I just haven't had a drink in three weeks."

Amelia was clearly confused. There was an awkward silence during which they received their drinks.

"Three weeks ago I received the news that my grandfather passed away," Devon explained solemnly. "I was in a dark place at that point, and I felt that I needed some clarity. So I spilled out my drink and haven't had another since then. I don't think I intend it to be a permanent thing, but I need to know that decisions I make are free of that kind of influence."

Amelia nodded slowly, the humor gone from her face. "I have a lot of respect for that, Devon. Maybe I'll just have water this evening."

Devon shook his head. "Please, enjoy your beer. Just because I'm not drinking doesn't mean no one else should. My demons don't affect the rest of the world, nor should they." He raised his glass in a toast.

Amelia nodded, raising hers as well. "To clarity, then."

"To clarity," Devon responded. They clinked their glasses.

"In the past I considered myself a bit of a wine aficionado," Amelia explained, "but as I get older I find myself appreciating the really good micro brews. I suppose I'm doing it backwards," she added with a smirk.

"Nothing wrong with that," Devon observed, the levity returning to his face. "I'm a scotch drinker, almost exclusively. My grandfather is ? was an investor in a distillery and we had it around quite a bit. In fact I have several fine bottles at home waiting for me right now."

"Were you close?" Amelia asked delicately.

Devon sighed, observing the bubbles in his drink. "My grandparents raised me after my parents passed. I was a bit of a rebellious child and I ran away from home when I was a teenager. But I've always kept in contact, and we reconciled somewhat a few years ago. As I age, I find that I've become more like him ? and that I am only now starting to understand some of the choices he made."

"You've experienced quite a bit of tragedy, Devon," Amelia observed. "How old were you when your parents passed?"

Devon pursed his lips, remembering the lights and the decorations and the train. "I was four ? almost five. It was Christmas Day."

Sorrow flooded Amelia's face. She instinctively reached out a hand and placed it on his. "Oh Devon, I'm sorry."

Devon squared his jaw and shook his head. Withdrawing his hand. "Thank you, but it's alright. I came to terms with that grief long ago."

Bright light. Heat. Shards of glass.?

"I'm fortunate, both of my parents are still alive," Amelia said. "I'm very close to my dad ? we talk at least once a week on the phone. He jokes that I'm a Daddy's girl, and he's not wrong," she added with a chuckle.?

"It's great that you can have that," Devon observed with a smile.

"I do remember when his brother died, though," she said, her eyes going a bit out of focus. "They were very close ? only about a year apart ? and Uncle Roger used to come to the house all the time. He contracted an aggressive form of stomach cancer at an unusually early age. He stayed with us for a few months towards the end, and I remember it being very hard on my father. I was just a little younger than Maria at the time."

Devon nodded slowly. "I'm sorry you had to go through that."

"Do you feel that you connect with Maria on that level?" Amelia asked. "Both orphaned at a young age?"

"I've considered that before," Devon admitted. "We definitely have had similarities in our paths."

Paul returned to take their orders.?

"I'll take the pan-seared salmon, please."

"An excellent choice, ma'am. And sir?"

"I understand from Stephan that the grilled chicken is not to be missed."

Paul grinned. "We can't get him to leave the kitchen, he's bursting with pride."

"Then I have to see what all the excitement is about."

"You got it. Any appetizers?"

"Bread is fine," Amelia said.

Paul departed, practically skipping away from the table.

"He's way too cheerful," Devon observed with a grumble.

"Tourist trap," Amelia offered. "You get used to it."

"The town or the restaurant?"

"Both," Amelia answered with a grin. "Although Carl loves this place. He used to sit at the bar all night and watch obscure third-world soccer matches."

"Football," Devon corrected playfully.

"Ugh, are you a fan also?"

Devon shook his head. "My sport is rugby. Although where I live, there aren't many viewing options."

"I've never found the appeal of watching sports," Amelia confessed. "I was on the track team in high school but lost interest in college. I suppose I wasn't hard-core enough. I still kill it on the jogging path, however," she added with a grin.

Paul returned to the table with fresh drinks, and Amelia polished off the last of her first beer with zeal.

"This morning I didn't thank you for walking Carl home last night," she said, her tone more serious. "Instead I accused you of things and I was hasty in my judgments."

"That's not necessary," Devon dismissed.

"You did a favor for a person you don't really know ? a person who has not been particularly kind to you. And in the process it put your life and safety at risk. I'm not sure most people would have done that for him."

"I didn't do it for him," Devon offered quietly.

Amelia tilted her head to the side curiously.

"It's fine. Don't waste another word on it."

Amelia glanced down at her beer. "Now there's someone who needs to take a break from drinking and find some clarity. He was hammered in front of the whole town."

Devon shrugged. "I've had nights like that. It can happen."

"I can't picture you out of control like that."

Devon grimaced. "It's not a pretty sight."

"I suppose not."

"I have to admit," Devon hedged, "I have a hard time imagining you two together. He's ? boisterous, and you're ? not."

Amelia chuckled. "An interesting choice of words."

Devon waived off the subject. "It's not my business."

There was a long pause, and mercifully their food arrived. Amelia's salmon was fried in butter and herbs and glazed with red pepper. Devon's chicken looked especially juicy, roasted in garlic and lemon. Both dishes were first rate.?

"I was in my late-twenties when I first came here for my interview," Amelia recounted as if dictating to her biographer. "It was stressful because I really wanted to teach here. I nailed the interview and got the job a few days later ? and I've been here ever since."

"I imagine this place is an academic mecca. Brilliant children from grammar school through university."

"It really is. Positions don't open up often and it can be very competitive."

"A tribute to your talent," Devon offered, tipping his glass in her direction.

"Thank you," Amelia responded with just a hint of color. "I met Carl virtually on day one. He kept making excuses to come see me about things, and I'm certain he was pursuing me. I barely gave him the time of day for the first two years because I was so focused on my career. Plus, as a cop and a bit of a brute, he was not at all what I was looking for."

"What were you looking for, if you don't mind my asking."

"Well, I suppose I wasn't looking at all. I buried myself in my work. In those two years, not only was I trying to establish myself here but I finished and published a book on ancient philosophy. There was no time to do anything else ? barely even to breathe."

"Fair enough."

"I suppose in my dreams I pictured myself with a handsome-but-studious professor of art history. Someone who would take me to all the finest museums and discuss the finer points of neoclassicism."

Devon dug into his chicken. The meat fell off the bone and the aroma was succulent but not overpowering. The chicken was flavorful ? easily the best he'd ever had. Stephan was right.

"But it didn't work out that way," Amelia continued. "Instead, as things here started to settle down and I came up for air, I finally noticed what had been in my orbit the whole time."

"Carl," Devon observed.

Amelia nodded. "No one was more surprised than I. He had a certain danger about him ? a rebellious streak that appealed to me. It's an old story that has been told a thousand times, and I fell into that trap. I wanted a bad boy to fix. I fell hard in love and we got married less than a year after we started formally dating."

"So you're human after all," Devon offered casually with a disarming smile.

Amelia pursed her lips. "Somewhere deep inside I knew it was a mistake. But it didn't stop me from getting pregnant with our son ? the best thing to ever happen to me."

Devon was taken aback by that revelation ? he hadn't considered that she might have children. "Does your son live with you?" he asked.

"Brian," she answered with a nod. "He's eleven years old and he attends Kittredge." She produced a small photograph of a handsome young boy from inside her purse. Devon smiled.?

There was an awkward pause as Amelia put away the photograph, and Devon hedged. "We don't have to discuss this if it's too personal."

Amelia frowned, glancing down at her fingernails. "One of the things about living in a small town is that everyone knows your personal business. I guess it's not fair that you're the only person that doesn't know the story."

"You're welcome to take solace in that," Devon offered earnestly. "You have a clean slate with me."

"No, it's okay, I don't mind," she said. "Unfortunately, over the years, Carl and we had an increasingly difficult time finding common ground. The qualities that I found cute when we were dating, became annoying and frustrating after we were married. He began drinking and carousing and picking fights. And his temper ? oh Devon his temper."

"Were you ever frightened of him?" Devon asked, his tone serious.

Amelia paused, a piece of salmon speared on her fork. "I was never afraid for my safety, no. He never laid a hand on me. But he'd get into bar fights with strangers and I grew ?concerned that he was going to get himself seriously hurt ? or worse, seriously hurt someone in a fit of rage. And I'm not going to lie, it affected my reputation as well. By this point I'd become a respected administrator at the school, meanwhile the whole town knew that my husband was a violent drunk. I'd hear the whispers and it really bothered me."

"It must have been hard."

Amelia paused, collecting herself. "Finally we split up about fifteen months ago and the divorce was finalized just after the holidays."

"Good."

"But it's a small town. We keep running into each other. And we share custody of Brian. So I'll never truly be rid of him. And his drinking, frankly, has gotten even worse ? either because of his frustration at the divorce, or because I'm not there to shame him. Or both."

"That's not your fault or your responsibility."

"I know that. Doesn't make it any easier. For either me or my son."

Amelia was now trembling with emotion. She tried to hide it by focusing on cutting up her fish into small bite-sized strips, but the toll on her was obvious.?

"How's your dinner?" Devon asked kindly.

Amelia forced a smile. "It's good. It's really tasty. Yours?"

Devon nodded. "Quite good."

Amelia took a long drink of her beer, finishing all but a sip as she tried to regain her bearings. She then wiped her mouth with her napkin and looked back up at Devon. "Well, you know all about me ? way more than I intended to say. What's your story?"

"My story?" Devon asked simply.

Amelia gestured with her eyes at his left hand, and the wedding ring he wore. "Your wife. You said she couldn't make a trip."

Devon took a long pause, looking down at his hand. "We are recently separated."

Amelia frowned. "I'm sorry, Devon. How recent?"

"Five months, two weeks, three days and some odd hours," he recounted without any hesitation.

Amelia winced.?

Devon glanced up and forced a smile of his own. "It's okay. I'm okay."

"I'd ask if you miss her, but I think I already know the answer to that," she offered gently.

Devon nodded. "I keep hoping it will get easier but it doesn't. I see her all the time ? well, I imagine I see her."

"I miss Carl every day. He's a lout and a bully, but I love him. I don't think I'll ever stop loving him."

"You don't have to," Devon said calmly. "It's okay."

Amelia took in and let out a deep breath. "Wow, I didn't expect this conversation to get so personal. You're easy to talk to, have you ever considered social work?"

Devon chuckled. "I don't see that working out well. I tend to be impatient and lack empathy."

Amelia scoffed. "We both know that's not true, Devon."

"I appreciate that you felt comfortable enough to talk to me," Devon said. "Of course I will keep your confidence."

Amelia gain reached out for Devon's hand, stroking it lightly with her fingertips. "And if and when you decide you're ready to talk, I'm here."

Devon tensed up a bit, his arm flinching at her touch. He bit his lip and nodded. "Thank you."

Amelia tilted her head curiously before withdrawing her hand.

"This dinner was supposed to be about Maria and we've barely mentioned her name," Devon grumbled.

"You're right. We ? you have yourself a problem."

"So how do I fix it?"

Paul arrived and refreshed both drinks. Amelia took a long sip of her third beer. "Maria will never admit it, but she needs structure. She needs an adult telling her what to do. She wants you to be there for her."

"Her words last night said the opposite of that," Devon observed dryly.

"She won't tell you that. She might not even realize it on the surface, but deep down it's there. Especially a bright, intelligent young woman like Maria. She craves authority."

"How would you have reacted if your father told you not to date and marry Carl?"

"Oh, he did. The first time he met Carl, they almost got into a fist fight over politics. Afterwards, my father told me in no uncertain terms to leave Carl and never look back."

"And how did that go?"

"I screamed at him, he yelled at me, and we didn't speak to each other for a month. Then my mom yelled at both of us and we worked it out. At the end of the day, my father just wanted me to be happy ? despite the fact that he knew Carl wasn't right for me."

"But how can be want you to be happy, and hold his tongue about Carl? It's a contradiction."

"It sure is. But he eventually did hold his tongue because I was an adult and he realized he wasn't going to change my mind. He needed me to come to that realization myself. Which I eventually did."

"After years of difficulty."

"But if my father had been successful and broken us up, we wouldn't have had Brian. Ten years of chaos were worth it for my son. I'd do it all over again."

Devon paused, scratching the beard on his chin.

"Not that I'm saying we should let Ryan Matthews impregnate Maria Napoli," Amelia added. "Those two definitely need to be broken up."

"So how do I do that?"

"Maria's a smart girl, among the brightest we have here. You have to trust her to come to that realization herself. Equip her with the tools she needs and be there for her. But it has to come from inside."

"And if she rejects me? I'm not her father."

"But you love her. You came a great distance to be with her and help her, and she respects that."

Devon grumbled. "I hope so."

"Trust her," Amelia stressed. "And let her trust you."

Devon smiled, his eyes reflecting the candle on the table. "I'll give it a shot."

Amelia finished off the last morsel of food from her plate and pushed it back, reaching down to pat her belly. "Forgive me for not being lady-like, but I'm stuffed."

"It was good," Devon agreed.?

"Our little town meeting your foodie approval?"

Devon laughed heartily. "Yes. This little town has much to be proud of."

"On behalf of all of Linden, I thank you."

Paul returned to the table, asked if everything met with their approval, and then left the bill. Devon snatched it up off the table and left his credstick.

"Taking me out for dinner? I don't believe that was part of our original agreement."

Devon shrugged. "You've done a lot for Maria. Least I can do in return."

Amelia winced. "Careful, I'm not allowed to accept gifts from parents of students. It's a conflict of interest."

"Not even an apple on the teacher's desk?" Devon asked disarmingly.

"I'm willing to bet you can buy a lot of apples for the total balance owed on that check," Amelia answered playfully.

"Well, the owner is taking ten percent off the total, so it's not that bad. Okay, leave Maria out of this," Devon offered. "It was my pleasure to take you out to dinner."

"I'll let you pay on one condition."

"Yes?" Devon asked, his eyebrow raised.

"I'll tell you later."

Devon furrowed his brow, but nothing more was said. He paid the bill, tipped handsomely, and the two departed the restaurant, walking leisurely down the sidewalk.

"Can I walk you home?" Devon asked.

Amelia bit her lip. "I need to pick Brian up from the babysitter's house. I think it best that I walk you home."

Devon's protective side flared, but he nodded acceptingly. "If you prefer."

"I can't imagine tonight was enjoyable for you, Devon. When we weren't talking about your dead parents or grandfather, we were talking about my failed marriage. I'm pretty sure we broke every rule of?" she trailed off.

"Of what?"

"Uh, well, you know. Every rule."

Devon shrugged. "What would you have liked to talk about? The weather? Television? Life's too short for small talk."

A sharp smile came to Amelia's lips as she glanced over at Devon. "I imagine you have a great many stories to tell, Devon Goral."

"Stories?"

She nodded. "I've spent all of my life either teaching or attending school. But you've been out there."

"Out where?"

"The world. The universe. What aren't you telling me?"

This time it was Devon's turn to smile coyly. They reached the Linden Suites and paused outside the entrance.

"I'm going to try reaching out to Maria tomorrow morning," Devon said seriously. "Hopefully we can work through this."

"I'm confident that you can," Amelia answered. "Just don't give up on her."

"I don't intend to."

"How long are you in town?" Amelia inquired.

"Err, well, my return ticket is undated. I had planned to be here five or six days, but I can't say for certain. Depends on whether Maria tells me to leave and never come back, I suppose."

Amelia chewed her lip.

"Why do you ask?"

"That condition you owe me," Amelia answered.

"Oh?"

Amelia took a deep breath, and she wobbled just a bit as the three beers seemed to hit her all at once.

Devon reached out for her elbow, giving her a steadying hand. "Out with it, Doctor Hansen."

"Like you said, life is short," Amelia said, her face looking about like one does before jumping out of a plane. "Tonight you took me out, tomorrow I get to take you out. There's a new sushi bar in town that's supposed to be quite amazing. I haven't wanted to go alone, and well, I just haven't gone."

"Sushi bar?" Devon asked.

Amelia nodded.?

"Sure, sounds good. I can report back about how things went with Maria and maybe we can plan further strategy."

"I don't want to talk about Maria," Amelia blurted.?

"Oh?" Devon asked, his eyebrow again raised.

"You know everything about me, Devon, and I know very little about you. Tomorrow night, we talk about you."

Devon cringed slightly at the thought.

"Unless ? unless you're not ready."

Devon's face demurred. "I don't know if I'm ready." It was the most nakedly honest thing he'd said in weeks.

Amelia reached out gently, taking her hand in his. She gave it a brief squeeze before letting go and taking a step backwards.?

Devon caught a whiff of her perfume and he watched as the street lamps caused her skin to seemingly dance. She was a beautiful woman, mature and confident. And her lifestyle was completely alien to him.

"You don't have to make decisions like that," Amelia offered from a safe distance. "It's just sushi."

Devon smiled. "Tomorrow night, then. You're buying."

"Good night, Devon Goral.

"Good night, Amelia Hansen."

Devon Goral stepped out of the hot shower, the air in the hotel bathroom thick with steam. After wrapping a towel loosely around his waist he pressed a palm flat against the white porcelain sink, using the other hand to clear away the condensation from the mirror.

Devon barely recognized the man looking back at him. Over the last few months his personal grooming had become haphazard at best. He had settled for shaving only enough of his beard to keep it from getting completely out of control, and his hair looked like it had been trimmed in a knife fight. Few of the people he'd spent the last few months around were the type to point out his awkward appearance ? and Maria and Amelia were both saints for not saying anything.

In truth, he hadn't realized just how far he'd let himself go. He glanced at the clock in the sitting room and saw that he had more than enough time, so he zipped open the leather toiletries case and found his straight razor ? and went to work.

Nearly half an hour later, Devon nodded in satisfaction at his reflection. The beard was gone, leaving just a neatly-trimmed goatee that was his trademark. He cropped the hair close to his head ? the shortest he'd had it since his days in uniform. The short cut made him look younger ? much younger, yet his aggressive cutting had also revealed substantial veins of silver along his temple. He furrowed his brow at the revelation, but the gray hairs were nothing compared to all the other damage he'd exposed.

The scar across his cheek from an assassin's blade. Heavy stitches still closed the wound along his ribs from the sword that nearly cut him open. A bullet wound to his arm and elbow ? and most notably his thigh. Those were just the highlights from the last few months' battles. In fact, his body was covered in cuts and scars ? some from his recent surgeries, most from his encounter with a plate glass window. If he caught the light the right way, even his face looked like an intricate mosaic of lines and shapes.

The beard had covered the damage done to his face and allowed him a certain amount of deniability over the damage he'd done. But standing here now, naked and revealed, he saw the sum total of the self-destruction he'd endured. This was a soldier's body after a thousand battles. And where he should find pride in that, he felt only emptiness. What was it for? What great victory had he won?

The scars would heal and fade in time ? they always did. But tonight he was going out into the city exposed. Was it ready? Was she?

Devon took one last pass over his body before slapping on aftershave and cologne. He then dressed in a clean white shirt and his finest brown suit ? no tie. Once he was fully put together he shut off the lights and headed out into the night.

* * *

Matsuya was one of the more upscale restaurants in Linden, catering to a younger crowd. It was later ? just past nine, when Devon arrived. A cool summer breeze ran across the square and filled him with confidence. Amelia was already there, just inside the entrance, and her face lit up with a smile at Devon's entry. She wore in a conservative-yet-elegant black cocktail dress and sensible black heals. Her hair was down around her shoulders, framing the exquisite diamond earrings that flashed in the light.

"Sorry I'm late," Devon offered with a meek smile. "Had a longer commute than I expected."

Amelia nodded with a grin. "The walk across the square is brutal at this time of night."

"Shall we?"

Amelia accepted his invitation and signaled the ma?tre d' ??with whom she'd already checked in (seeing as tonight, by agreement, was her treat). Soon they were lead through a maze of tables and booths. The crowd here was young ? rich college students and a few hipper parents and locals ? all dressed up in their finest see-and-be-seen attire. There was a DJ spinning electronic music and a light system bathed the whole restaurant in pulsing greens and blues. One corner featured a dance floor, although at this 'early' hour it was not yet occupied. This was certainly not the type of restaurant Devon would have chosen ? either for the cuisine or the ambience ? yet somehow he drew amusement at the thought of two adults in their early-forties coming here for a second ??dinner.

The host seated them at a table that gave them some privacy and just a bit of shelter from the pounding music. They shouldn't have to shout too loud to hear each other, Devon thought.

"This place only opened about three months ago," Amelia said as she sat down, the host holding her chair for her. "I've been wanting to come here, but I'm afraid none of my girlfriends are adventurous enough."

Devon took his seat and nodded acceptance to the host.

"This town is a bit of a tourist trap, so restaurants come and go with the seasons. Hard to build a steady clientele, especially if you do anything that doesn't have mass appeal."

"What's more mass appeal that tiny portions of raw fish priced exorbitantly?" Devon asked with an amused smirk.

Firelight from the candle on the table reflected brilliantly over Amelia's hazel eyes. "I'm guessing this isn't your scene."

Devon shrugged. "I like food. All kinds of food. It's nice to branch out."

"Fair enough," Amelia responded.

A waiter arrived with menus and announced the specials ??none of which appealed to The Protector.

"I have to admit," Amelia said after the waiter departed, "I almost didn't recognize you?"

Devon smiled coyly. "The beard?"

"You're a completely different man under there."

Devon pursed his lips. "The last few months I've been working long hours. I haven't taken time time to, uh, take stock."

"Of your facial hair?"

Devon merely chuckled.

"It's nice," she said, before averting her eyes and looking down at her menu.

"I know you said you didn't want to talk about Maria tonight," Devon said, "but I have good news."

"Oh?" Amelia asked, looking back up at him.

"She and I sat down and had a talk this morning. I think we worked through our issues and that we're on a good path."

Amelia smiled genuinely. "That's great, Devon. You're good for her. I want her to trust you."

"You and me both."

The waiter returned to take their drink orders. Amelia ordered a fancy apple-something-martini, and Devon just a club soda. The waiter seemed disappointed, but took the orders and left.

"So if you took today's meetings as scheduled, that means you're done, right?"

Devon nodded. "Now it's up to her. If she can get through all the work I committed her to, she'll be back on track to pass all her classes."

"She can do it. I have faith in her."

"I appreciate that you do. In my conversations with her professors I've come to understand just how much you did for her. How none of this would have been possible if you hadn't pushed for it."

Amelia raised a hand to her mouth thoughtfully. "The professors here can be very rigid. When you deal with the best-of-the-best, it can be very easy to come down hard on someone for not being perfect. Sometimes I have to remind them that there is more at stake. That our weaknesses sometimes define us in ways that our successes can't."

As their drinks arrived, Devon smiled softly. He raised his glass of sparkling soda in the air. "To weaknesses."

Amelia let out a bit of a laugh, clinking her martini glass with his. "Weaknesses."

"Are you ready to order or do you need a few more minutes?" the waiter asked.

"I'm ready," Amelia said.

Devon gestured towards her, deferring.

"I'll take the Chef's Choice Sashimi," Amelia ordered.

"An excellent choice. And for the gentleman?"

"Beef-don, please."

"Okay, we'll have those up in just a bit." The waiter collected their menus and disappeared beyond an annoyingly-placed fog machine.

"Anything else about Maria?" Amelia asked.

"Hmm?"

Amelia leaned back in her chair, holding her martini aloft before her. "You've never told me exactly what it is you do, Devon Goral. You've dodged or been vague every time it's come up."

"I believe it only came up once," Devon said, narrowing his eyes.

"Well, there's no escape this time, unless you want to go up on that dance floor. What do you do for a living?"

"I like to think that I work to live, not live to work," Devon said with a sly grin. Why does a career have to define me?"

Amelia paused a moment before narrowing her eyes. "Bullshit."

"Eh?"

"You just got through saying that you've been working so hard you forgot to shave," she observed pointedly. "Besides, when I look at you, I see a man who lets his career consume him. I don't believe you're some hippy who compartmentalizes like that."

Devon smirked. "Fair enough. Perhaps I'm not much of a liar."

"It's not something shameful, is it?"

Devon shook his head. "Not at all."

"Well I'm not going to ask again, so out with it."

Devon took a deep breath, expelling slowly. "I work as a personal security professional. A bodyguard."

Amelia raised a brow.

"I protect the rich and famous from kidnapping, murder, and sometimes worse."

"Huh, that's not quite what I expected. Do you work alone?"

"Currently I'm a silent partner at a mid-sized firm that has about thirty or forty employees. Over the course of my career I've worked solo, and I also owned my own company at one point. But despite that, I primarily work alone. One-on-one."

"You make it sound very dry. Are you the guy standing next to the stage in a black suit wearing an ear piece and looking mean?"

Devon nodded. "Sometimes. Usually I deal in credible threats, however."

"Meaning what?"

"Meaning my subject has reason to believe he or she is in imminent danger. I keep him or her locked up in a safe house with round-the-clock protection until the danger passes."

"So we're not talking about taking an egg from an overzealous teenage fan, are we?"

Devon shook his head. "No."

Amelia took a sip from her martini and set it down. "How often is it dangerous?"

Devon tilted his head. "Like I said, credible threats. It's almost always dangerous."

"In what way?"

Devon glanced down at his hands, searching for the right words. "In the way that the threat will either be successful, or will be stopped."

"You're creating quite the word salad, Devon. Please don't talk to me like I'm a five year old."

"Assassins are hired to kill someone" Devon said, looking up at her with serious eyes. "I'm hired to protect them. The assassin will come at me until they die."

Amelia's lips parted. She was putting the pieces together to their logical conclusion.

Devon shrugged, taking a sip of his club soda. "You asked."

"I? I?"

"We don't have to keep talking about this if it makes you uncomfortable."

Their food arrived ? hers a plate of raw seafood on a bed of rice with spicy dipping sauces, his a mound of cooked beef tenderloin in sauce. It was a welcome pause from the conversation that had taken such a quick turn.

"So when those men attacked you the other night, it wasn't even a challenge."

Devon shook his head. "They were amateurs compared with what I'm used to. They didn't even lay a hand on me."

Amelia chuckled low at the situation. "I'm sorry our criminal element doesn't measure up."

Devon shrugged. "Soon their boss will come after me, and I'm sure he'll be more of a threat."

"How do you know?" she asked, a look of concern on her face.

"It's what I'd do."

Amelia let out a frustrated sigh, poking her sushi with chopsticks. "But it just becomes an ever-increasing cycle of violence. You beat them up, so they have to beat you up."

"I'm not worried."

"But why feed into it, Devon? If you keep engaging with them, you force them to amp up the response. It won't be over until someone gets hurt or killed."

"Violent men only understand and respect violence."

"And you are a violent man?" Amelia asked, her face stern.

Devon met her eyes with his and nodded. "I am a violent man, Amelia."

Amelia sighed. She looked down at her food and tried a piece of the fish. She didn't appear to enjoy it.

"Not what you were hoping for. I'm sorry."

Amelia smirked, looking back up at him. "Don't be sorry for who you are, Devon. Certainly not with me."

Devon nodded in response.

"I assure you the most violent man in this town is no threat to you, Devon. I see now that the world you live in is completely different from ours."

"It can't be completely foreign to you," Devon responded. "Your husband is a cop, certainly he's had his brushes with conflict."

"Sure, we have a police force and there's crime. But we don't have professional assassins or gun battles in the street. It just doesn't happen here. Not like that, anyway."

"And yet the first time I met your husband ? in the hallway at the Italian restaurant, he threatened me with violence. How would he have reacted if I hadn't disengaged?"

"But you did disengage, Devon. You knew full well that you could have beaten him, but you backed off."

"I backed off because you asked me to," Devon admitted softly.

Amelia sighed, dipping some of her sushi into the wasabi sauce. "I didn't come here to talk about my ex-husband."

Devon smirked. "I imagine not."

"You must think we're all rubes out here," Amelia mumbled down at her plate.

"I don't, Amelia. It's just different here."

"You make it sound like the place you come from is a war zone."

Devon scratched at his freshly-shaved beard. "The place I grew up is a war zone. The place I live is ? less so. Violence is common, yes, but it's not hopeless."

"And yet you make a steady career protecting people from imminent death."

Devon chuckled, eating some of his beef. "It's true, I've never had to hunt for customers."

Spotting their waiter, Amelia downed her martini and signaled for another. "I'm afraid this isn't going to be a one-cocktail kind of night."

"Usually women take a bit longer before I drive them to drink," Devon joked with a grin.

Amelia's eyes sparkled in the firelight, but a hint of vulnerability reflected in her lips. "I imagine that a man like you, with adventure and death always around the corner, must have your choice of women."

Devon frowned deeply. "You forget that I am married, Amelia."

A look of realization and horror came to her face. "I'm sorry, Devon. I didn't mean to imply. I? I just thought that, uh, since you said you were separated?"

"I'm not that kind of man," Devon said in a low voice, his face serious. "Not anymore."

"I was out of line to invite you here," she said, looking down. "I'm sorry Devon."

Devon reached out and took her hand. "Amelia. Look at me."

The Dean looked up into The Protector's eyes.

"You didn't force me here. I came of my own free will."

"I'm horrible, Devon. I've been acting like a teenage girl. Like one of my students."

"I'm enjoying myself. Don't waste another moment on it." He squeezed her hand, but then released it as a shudder ran down his spine.

Amelia let out another sigh, and paused to eat more of her sushi. Her second martini arrived and she took a long drink.

"And actually this beef is quite good," Devon added with a smile. "I knew I'd find something I like."

"So if you don't think we're rubes, what do you think of Linden?" Amelia asked curiously.

Devon shrugged. "It's nice. Peaceful and quiet, yet with personality and life. I look out the window of my hotel window every night and see a small town that has character and charm."

"Could you ever see yourself living in a place like this?" Amelia asked. "Not an invitation," she quickly corrected, "just curious."

Devon took a sip of his club soda. "I honestly don't know. Since I was a child I've only ever lived two places."

"You must put down impressive roots, Devon," Amelia observed.

Devon's mind flashed to his tiny apartment, filled with every possession he owns. No one would ever accuse him of having roots.

"You know, Devon, Kitt-U has a campus police force, independent of the town. I think they have about twenty full-time sworn officers up there. I happen to know that the Chief of Police is going to announce his retirement soon. The competition to replace him will be fierce."

"Think your ex-husband might go for it?" Devon asked, shoveling beef into his mouth.

"I was thinking of you," Amelia answered pointedly, her eyes locking onto his face.

"Huh?"

"Bear with me a moment, Devon. You've heard the speech before. The University is even more competitive than Kittredge Prep. Many of the students there are future world leaders. Presidents, Emperors, Generals ? along with great philosophers and artists and scientists. Security up on the plateau is pretty tight ? and they've absolutely had to deal with kidnappers and other serious problems. It's no joke keeping that place safe and it's a tremendous responsibility. But it has to be better than standing guard over some rich guy in a sleazy motel."

"I don't use sleazy motels," Devon grumbled.

Amelia held her hands up defensively. "Look, Devon, I barely know you. But I see a spark in you that I can't avoid no matter how I try. And if you're half as good as I think you are, I think you could really excel running the police department up there."

Devon grimaced. "I worn a uniform once. Never again."

"Have you thought about your future, Devon? Do you even have a plan?"

"Now you're my guidance counselor?" Devon mocked.

"Don't dismiss me," Amelia chastised. "I know Chief Garner and he's a brilliant man. But he also has a certain edge about him that reminds me of you. The job pays well with excellent benefits and pension."

"And a desk and an office and a uniform," Devon shot back. "Working nine-to-five for people who don't understand what it's like to be on the front lines."

Amelia threw up her arms dismissively. "Fine, I'm sorry I brought it up. Forget about it." She looked down at her remaining sushi.

Devon sighed. "I appreciate the thought. I'll give it serious consideration."

"No you won't," she muttered.

Devon leaned forward, again taking her hand in his. "This place ? it's beautiful and fun and warm ? and I could never live here. You said it yourself, it's a tourist trap. People don't live here, they just pass through. I'm just passing through."

"I live here," Amelia countered, withdrawing her hand coldly.

Devon sat up straight, squaring his jaw. "You wanted to know who I am. I am a soldier. A loner. I am violent. Uncontrollable. Unfixable."

"I'm not trying to fix you, Devon," Amelia hissed.

"You don't take me home to meet your parents."

Amelia's lips parted but she said nothing. Hurt flooded her face.

Devon couldn't handle her reaction. He looked down and hurriedly finished his dinner.

"You should schedule one final meeting with me to complete all the paperwork on Maria," Amelia said, her words mumbled ? just barely audible above the electronic music.

Devon nodded. "How's early tomorrow morning?"

"That would be fine."

The waiter returned, a smile on his face and a spring his step. "Can I get you anything else? Another round of drinks? Dessert perhaps?"

Devon glanced up at the man. "We'll take our check, thank you."

The waiter frowned at the early end to their dinner. He nodded and fled the scene quickly.

"My parents hated Carl. My father told me I was making a mistake when we got engaged. It was the biggest fight he and I ever had ? and we're very close."

Devon sighed, looking back up at her. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that."

"My therapist tells me that I'm attracted to dangerous men," Amelia confessed. "Not exactly a unique trait. But you're right, I don't think you'd like it here. And it's wrong of me to push you into something for my own benefit."

"I don't feel pushed," Devon said after a breath.

"Then perhaps we should call an end to this before one of us says something we'll really regret."

Devon couldn't help but smile, and he nodded. As the waiter returned with the check, Devon took it and offered over some money.

"Hey, this is my treat," Amelia reminded pointedly.

"Like I said, I can't be controlled," Devon said with a mischievous smirk.

Amelia did not resist further, and soon they were outside. Devon's ears continued ringing from the loud music from inside the restaurant, and he found himself walking across the square to the beat.

"'Violent men only understand and respect violence,'" Amelia repeated.

Devon merely nodded.

"And you are a violent man."

"I am."

"To what end?" she asked.

Devon sighed, turning away from her as they reached the Linden Suites.

"It's an honest question, Devon," she said, her voice earnest. "I'm not judging you."

"I'm already past my expiration date," Devon observed coldly, looking down at the sidewalk. "Already on borrowed time."

"Think about that," Amelia said softly. "That's all I ask."

Devon turned towards her, eyes searching for an answer.

"I enjoyed our conversation," Amelia continued. "It's not often I run into such a perplexing puzzle."

Devon mumbled an unintelligible response.

"Good night, Devon."

Devon lowered his head in a respectful bow. "Good night."

* * *

Devon Goral unlocked the door of his hotel room, slipping inside. The room was dark, save a bright shaft of moonlight that shone through the window. He shrugged out of his suit jacket and looked out the window over the square. People walked about casually, in pairs and in groups, enjoying the summer evening.

Devon turned away from the window and caught sight of the photo of Zephyer on his nightstand. He took a step towards her and dropped to his knees. Feelings and emotions that he didn't know he had, suddenly overcame him.

The men he'd killed and the things he'd done.

Grandfather.

Wife.

Devon glanced over at the hotel mini-bar. Fully-stocked with alcohol that could make the pain go away. It was only a few meters away ? he could crawl there on his hands and knees if necessary.

No. No easy answers. Not tonight. He'd have to weather this one alone.

Devon collapsed onto the carpet, drew his knees up to his chest, and began to weep uncontrollably. He cried out in anguish and begged it to stop.

But it didn't. The grief flooded over him like a torrent and reduced him to the sum of his parts. And there he lay, and cried.

The morning air had turned decided cooler as Devon Goral walked slowly down the sidewalk just off Linden Square. Heavy clouds blocked out the normally-brilliant spring sun, and a decided gloom hung over the town. Devon reaches around him to pull his longcoat closer, protecting him from the wind.

His thoughts raced manically. From Maria to Amelia to Juno. What had he gotten himself into? What had he allowed himself to get into? Maria was a client, Amelia an obstacle to be manipulated. Juno a threat. He'd allowed his emotions to get in the way of a simple job. Protect the client. Remove the threat. Ignore the obstacle. Don't get personally involved. He couldn't have feelings for Maria or Amelia. It wasn't in his nature. It wasn't good business.

Devon wasn't even sure where he was going ? it wasn't in the direction of his hotel. He just needed some time and steps to work out the issues in his head. Yet his long walk was interrupted as he approached a narrow alleyway and a vehicle (rare in this town ? most people walked) pulled in front of him and cut him off. Devon muttered and started around the car, but his attention was drawn to the occupants as they opened the doors and got out.

On the passenger side was a uniformed police officer ? Devon recognized her as the officer that approached him when he first arrived in town. And from the passenger side ? Detective Carl Meurling. He appeared nearly a shambles in an an ill-fitting suit, his tie loose around his neck.

"Keep your hands where I can see them," Carl demanded, holding out a steadying hand as a warning.

Devon furrowed his brow with frustration. "Not now Carl, I don't have time for this," he muttered, continuing his path around the car.

"Stop right there, sir," the uniformed officer commanded. "Don't make me ask a second time."

Devon sighed, but he stopped near the rear of the police cruiser. Carl came around behind him, his .38 revolver now drawn and in his hand.

"Put your hands on the trunk and spread your legs."

"Is this some kind of joke?" Devon snapped. Had the school already reported him for trespassing? Or was Carl playing his own game?

The uniformed officer placed a hand on her own service weapon, her face steely serious.

"We can do this the easy way or the hard way," Carl explained, clearly enjoying having power over Devon.

Devon pursed his lips in a smirk but did as commanded, pressing his palms against the cool aluminum of the car. With one hand, Carl patted him down, checking for weapons. There weren't any, of course.

"Shall I radio in that we found him?"

"Mister Goral and I are going to take a little walk around the block," Carl told his subordinate. "Wait for us here."

The officer seemed genuinely concerned. "You sure, Detective?"

Carl nodded, taking Devon's arm in his free hand. "I've got this."

"Yes, sir."

Devon allowed himself to be pulled away from the car and walked down the alley. Carl kept his pistol in one hand, the other on Devon's arm. The height and weight difference between the two men was never more apparent. Carl was no physical threat to Devon, even with his little pea shooter. But under the circumstances, Devon decided not to inflame the situation any more.

"So you gonna tell me what this is about?" Devon asked, annoyance in his tone. He didn't want to mention the school in case this was something else."

Carl took Devon around a corner, into an adjoining alley. They kept walking at a steady pace. "The thing about small towns, Mister Goral, is that there are no secrets. I know you've been on two dates with my wife."

"Ex-wife," Devon corrected, much the same as Amelia was always so quick to do.

Carl snorted loudly. "You think I can't have any woman in this town? Amelia and I are just taking a break."

"Is that what you tell yourself?" Devon asked sarcastically. He had no fear of this jealous little man.

Carl stopped and pushed Devon back against a brick wall, the revolver pressed against his solid chest. "Watch your mouth, asshole. No one will grieve for you if a stranger is found dead in an alley."

Devon narrowed his eyes. His patience was rapidly becoming exhausted.

Carl then reached to the side and opened an unmarked metal door set in the brick wall. He gestured towards it with the pistol. "Inside."

Devon glanced around ? he wasn't quite sure where they were. Did Carl really have the courage to execute him over a disagreement over Amelia? She'd said he was never violent with her. Could be be violent with a rival?

Devon did as commanded, entering through the doorway. It was dark inside, and it took Devon's eyes a moment to adjust. They appeared to be in a restaurant or bar store room ? there were boxes of glasses and plates and some old tables and chairs.

"Keep moving," Carl commanded. "That way."

Devon moved through the dark store room to the other side. Should he tell Carl that he and Amelia weren't a thing? That they were certainly going to part on bad terms? No, it really wasn't Carl's business. But would he make things worse by stomping this little imp into the floor? Could things between Devon and Amelia get any worse?

The two men emerged from the store room and found themselves in a medium-sized industrial kitchen. The lights were off, and the only illumination came from a small window out to the alley near the freezer. The room was immaculately clean, but smelled faintly of the previous evening's food. Garlic and other spices were strangely comforting to Devon in this bizarre encounter.

"Up against the wall," Carl gestured with the pistol. "Over there."

Devon started walking towards a bare wall where some shift schedules and a phone list hung. He'd noticed that Carl's breathing was becoming erratic. He needed to react or he might not have the chance.

"Stop there and turn around," one final command.

Devon waited a beat, then spun around rapidly. With one hand he grabbed Carl's hand, the other slamming hard into the detective's arm. He twisted until Carl let out a cry, and instinctively released his grip on the pistol. While still maintaining leverage, Devon reversed their positions and slammed Carl face-first into the wall. Finally, he relieved the detective of his weapon and took it into his own hand, pressing it hard against Carl's upper-back.

Carl let out a cry and struggled, but he was helpless against Devon's superior size and strength. Devon had the detective pinned against the wall, his own weapon turned against him.

"Now how about we try this again," Devon hissed.

"That's enough!" came a booming voice from behind them.

Devon turned his head to look, while keeping Carl secure. Standing in the entranceway of the kitchen was an older man that Devon thought familiar but he couldn't immediately place. Yet to the man's side was a familiar face ? Jake Matthews, the lead drug dealer and the older brother of Maria's boyfriend Ryan. Jake's left arm was in a sling from where Devon had broken it two nights previous, and his face still showed bruises and cuts from the fight. In his right hand was a Glock 20 ? a serious weapon for such an inconsequential man.

"Please release Detective Meurling," the older man asked calmly but sternly. "No one needs to get hurt here."

Something about the way the man said Carl's name rang familiar to Devon. This was Stephan, the owner of Helen's ? the Greek Restaurant where he and Amelia had their first 'date.'

"I'm sure that you'll understand why I have no interest in complying," Devon answered, his eyes darting towards Jake's weapon.

Stephan shrugged. "Suit yourself, Mister Goral. My associate here is understandably unhappy with you, but I've explained to him the larger issues. I also explained to him that his decision to jump you the other night was unwarranted, and that he deserved what he got."

Jake squared his jaw, eyes seething at Devon with hatred. Yet he did not flinch, did not make a move.

"So he works for you?" Devon asked.

Stephan nodded simply. "They all do."

Devon raised a brow, glancing briefly back at Carl. "Him too?"

"Detective Meurling is an excellent city employee and he protects and serves the people here."

"And you're just one of the people?" Devon asked sarcastically.

Stephan's lips curled into a snide grin.

"So he brought me here to meet with you?" Devon continued.

Stephan nodded. "I decided it was time that we meet. When you dined here the other night, I was not yet aware that you were the man causing me so much trouble."

Everything was falling into place. This had nothing to do with Amelia, that was just a bonus.

"I've had some difficulty determining exactly who you are, Mister Goral," Stephan continued. "The records available to me are limited and of questionable veracity. But I can only assume that you're here to muscle in on my territory, and that cannot be tolerated."

Devon raised a brow. "Territory?"

"Both schools and the town are mine. I control all imports, distribution, and sales. It's a small market and I don't intend to share."

"You think I'm here to sell drugs to middle school kids in your town?" Devon asked incredulously.

Stephan cringed. "I am a businessman, Mister Goral. No need to characterize what I do in such ugly terms."

"You sell drugs to middle school kids," Devon repeated. "I think the words speak for themselves."

"Nothing harmful goes to the younger kids, they're mostly on caffeine pills or antidepressants. Their families are wealthy and I make no apologies for my trade."

"And the college students up on the plateau?"

"They're well-educated adults and can make their own decisions. Much of my profit comes from there."

"Plus I'll imagine the tourist trade is good for you."

Stephan nodded. "When parents come to visit their children, they see this as a vacation. There's nothing wrong with enjoying yourself on vacation."

Devon couldn't help but smile.

"I'm glad you find this amusing," Stephan scolded. "But you had to know there'd be a reaction. I wasn't going to roll over and let you have my town."

"I'm not here to take over your drug trade," Devon said, practically chuckling out the words. "I had no idea you were here and never cared."

Stephan furrowed his brow. "But your attacks on my people?"

"Overstated, to be sure," Devon answered, giving Jake a dirty look. "I suspect you haven't been given all the details."

Stephan folded his arms over his chest. "Tell me now."

"My thirteen-year-old niece attends the elementary school. That little punk's brother ? who I believe is also in your employ ??is dating her. Like any adult with half a brain, I saw who he was the moment I met him, and I warned him off. No doubt he ran to his big brother and complained about me, and things spun out of control from there."

Stephan glanced down at Jake. "Is this true?"

"He accosted several of my guys."

"I accosted Ryan Matthews twice. That you were with him the second time is inconsequential."

Jake raised the pistol, pointing it at Devon. But Stephan reacted, placing his hand on Jake's hand and forcing it down.

"I don't care what you do here," Devon continued to Stephan. "I don't care if you're selling drugs or candy. I just want my niece kept out of it."

Now it was Stephan's turn to smile at the ridiculous turn of events. "I can see that we overreacted. No doubt there was some misinformation as certain people tried to keep their name out of it."

"You're familiar with Ryan?"

Stephan nodded. "I am. We use students to sell at the school. Hazard of the business."

"And can you understand why I wouldn't want him dating my niece?"

"I'd prefer you didn't cast negative aspersions on my employees. They're not bad people, they're just making a living."

"My niece is already having academic problems. I don't need any unnecessary distractions."

Stephan pursed his lips, nodding thoughtfully.

"How about we make a deal?" Devon asked.

Stephan tilted his head to the side. "What did you have in mind?"

"Ryan agrees to stop dating my niece. Your people leave her alone and you ensure that there's no retaliation. And in return, I leave town and forget any of this ever happened."

"And in the alternative?"

"I told you I don't care about you or your business here. But I'm sure you can understand that I can't leave things be if I believe my niece is in danger. I would have to take matters into my own hands."

"And how do you know that I can be trusted with this deal?" Stephan asked simply.

"You seem like a reasonable man of business. I can't imagine you wanting to lose everything over a dispute with a thirteen year old girl."

Stephan chuckled. "A fair point, Mister Goral. I have a four-year-old granddaughter that I hope to someday send to Kittredge. I am not unsympathetic to your position."

"Then do we have a deal?"

"Please release Detective Meurling. I'm going to need him alive."

Devon hesitated, but released his grip on Carl. The detective pulled away, nursing his sprained arm. His face was red with rage, but he dared not take matters into his own hands.

Stephan walked into the kitchen, approaching Devon confidently. Both Carl and Jake watched nervously, but neither took any action.

Devon switched Carl's revolver into his left hand and extended his right. Stephan accepted his hand and the two men shook.

"Just to be clear, Mister Goral. We may seem small time to you, but if you double-cross me, I have powerful friends that can find you."

Devon nodded. "You're not the villain in this story, Mister Kavala. I have no grudge with you or your business."

Stephan nodded, stepping back.

"Then our business here is concluded?" Devon asked.

"Enjoy the rest of your trip, Mister Goral. You won't hear from me or my men again."

Devon glanced around briefly, then turned to leave. Carl followed closely behind, still cradling his injured arm.

"One question, if I may?" Stephan asked.

Devon half-turned back towards the restaurateur.

"What do you mean I'm not the villain?"

"Every story has a villain," Devon explained. "You're not it."

Stephan tilted his head curiously. "So who is?"

The Protector furrowed his brow. "Still working that out."

* * *

Devon Goral and Carl Meurling emerged into the alley behind Helen's. The sky was still overcast, and the air smelled of a coming storm.

Carl reached for his pistol, but Devon stepped back and instead slipped it into the pocket of his longcoat.

"That's my service revolver, I need it back."

"I'm going to hang onto it while I'm still in town ? for insurance. You can have it back when I'm ready to leave."

Carl scowled. "You can't have that. How am I supposed to do my job without it?"

Devon smiled condescendingly. "I'm sure you'll figure it out, Detective."

Carl took a threatening step towards Devon, his face red with fury. "You may have made peace with him, but your business with me ain't over. Stay away from Amelia, or you and I will have a problem."

Devon squared his shoulders, looming tall over the detective. "You'll find I don't react well to ultimatums. I'll do as I please, and so will Doctor Hansen. Stay out of it."

Carl sneered, and for a moment there was no fear in his face. "Watch yourself, Goral. You're in my town."

"Way I see it, you have a lot more to lose than I do."

"There's always more to lose, Devon Goral."