Slamming the door behind her, Marissa pressed her back against the wall and dropped her bag on the floor, pausing for several seconds to catch her breath. As soon as she felt recovered, she rushed over to her window to see what had transpired in the street after she had fled. She felt like a great coward running away like she did, and though she knew no concrete ill of Sam, she somehow suspected that teasing innocent girls didn't encompass the entirety of his capacity for mischief. Had she left the unknown boy to the machinations of Sam? If she absolutely had to, she would return to the street and distract Sam from the boy who had helped her. For all she knew, though, the two young men had a much longer history than she could imagine. She had been in town less than a week, after all.

As she reached the window and looked out, she sighed with relief. The two boys stood across the street from each other, a conversation of some sort underway, and she pulled her window open a crack so she could hear what they said. Though neither party had stepped toward each other, Marissa could sense a tension between the lone boy – man, really, she corrected her thoughts - and Sam with his gang of friends. She heard nothing of interest by the time she opened the window, just Sam's communication of a time and place, and then she watched in relief as Sam gestured with his head for the group to follow his exit. With tension still apparent in his stance, her rescuer watched the group's retreat until it passed the perimeter of the park.

When the man turned to peer up at her darkened window, she didn't know whether he had done so in response to her movement or if he had surmised her position from her entry into the bookstore. Either way, as she saw his face raised to hers, she found herself forced to swallow a nervous lump in her throat, and she backed swiftly into the darkened room, away from the glow of the streetlamp outside her window. From as far away as he had stood, Marissa could tell little about him beyond his generic features. Dark hair, broad shoulders, tall in relation to the street lamp. Whoever he was, she couldn’t help but feel gratitude for his interference.

Marissa hurried over to the door and secured the locks before throwing herself down on the sofa. By all intents and purposes, a walk through the park in this neighborhood should not entail any inherent danger, but Marissa felt like she had just escaped some life-threatening scare. She forced herself to reign in the drama.

Finally recovered, she stood up and made her way to the tiny storage chest next to the small entry alcove of her front door. Opening the top, she pulled out a small package of saltines and a metal camping cup that her dad had gifted her before she came to St. Louis. She moved toward the door so she could step out to the bathroom and get a drink of water from the sink. Just before she reached for the handle, she noticed an envelope on the floor at her feet.

Surprised, Marissa reached down and picked up the paper, unprepared for the weight and quality of the texture. She smiled when she read Barbara's name, grateful that her new friend had thought enough of her to send a note. Marissa opened it and saw with delight that Barbara had requested her presence at a meeting that very evening. To Marissa, the type of meeting didn't matter as long as she could spend time with friends. For a moment, Marissa stood in her doorway, considering what she should wear and whether she should bike or walk.

All at once, she glanced outside and remembered her earlier misgivings. Marissa did not want to go outside by herself, not with Sam and his gang somewhere in the park. Disappointed, she tucked the letter in the pocket of her sweater and continued out into the hallway to get her drink. When she returned, she pulled the letter back open, preparing to sulk over her lost opportunity. At the bottom of the paper, she saw a post script that reignited her excitement. If you ever need me, it read in Barbara's handwriting, my house has a party line. Find a telephone and ask the operator for Marshall Crenshaw.

The prospect of using a telephone excited Marissa almost as much as spending the evening with Barbara. While Marissa had used a telephone a couple of times before, her father had always lent her a small amount of instruction; still, she had never shunned new technology, so she made her way into the darkened bookstore and over to the front desk. She thanked God that Mr. Ellenwood had decided to invest in a phone, though she had no idea how late the operators would work.

"Who would you like to call?" the bright voice greeted Marissa's ears, and she tingled with the excitement of the new experience.

"Um," Marissa stuttered slightly. "Marshall Crenshaw, please?

"One moment while I connect you," the woman replied courteously, and within a few seconds, Barbara's voice rang through the line, a bit scratchier and fainter than it sounded in person.

"So," Barbara began, and despite the odd quality that the phone lent the voice, Marissa could hear excitement. "Are you coming?"

Again, Marissa's heart fell a little, and she replied with a negative.

"But you have to come," Barbara whined plaintively. "I need to talk to you about a new idea that I have!"

"I'm sorry, Barbara. I ran into a situation tonight that made me feel a little insecure about going out right now.

Barbara huffed into the phone. "I told you to stay out of those neighborhoods! Now you've gone and attracted attention to yourself..."

"Not from that neighborhood," Marissa corrected, interrupting her friend's lecture. "After I got to the park. I just don't think a walk through the park after dark is such a good idea for me tonight. Why don't we talk on the phone?"

"Because," Barbara raised her voice to an almost shout, "My old lady neighbors like to pick up the line and eavesdrop on the councilman's conversations! I wouldn't ever disclose anything important over the phone!"

Marissa held back a gasp of surprise at the thought of someone's listening, but after a moment's pause, Barbara spoke again.

"I'll send someone to get you. Just watch out the front, and then come over here! I have something exciting to tell you. Bye."

A clicking sound preceded silence, and Marissa held the phone dumbly in her hand until the operator came back on. "Do you need to make another call?" she asked pleasantly.

"Oh, um, no thank you," Marissa responded before replacing the receiver and running back up the stairs to her room. She grabbed her stockings and shoes, threw on a sweater, and rushed to look out her window for a sign of a messenger. When her eyes recognized the form of Mario approaching her door, Marissa felt both surprise and pleasure. She pinched her cheeks and bit her lips to bring out the color, glanced into the mirror to make sure that her hat still hid her hair, and met Mario at the door.

"I didn't expect you," she offered honestly, and Mario returned the smile that she flashed.

"Well, Barbara and I both had this idea, but you're kind of involved, so we wanted to include you in the planning."

"What is it?"

A bit furtively, Mario peered around them, resting his gaze a moment longer on any shaded spot his eyes encountered. "Really, we should wait until we make it to her house. I'm not sure that we want anyone overhearing us."

"Oh," Marissa responded dully, but immediately perked herself up, trying to redirect her temporary disappointment. "I hope your father passed a pleasant evening," she began conversationally, and then the pair continued in sometimes awkward small talk until they reached the entrance to a private road about three blocks from the park.

"We're here to see Barbara Crenshaw," Mario informed the officer who stood watch over the entrance, and shortly thereafter, Marissa found herself winding along a meandering path which led to a huge house – mansion, really – that lay half a mile from the road. A wide stairway led up to a set of heavy wooden doors, carved and very expensive looking. Through the window on her right shone an intricate chandelier, its crystals shimmering like raindrops on a window pane. On her left, Marissa could see Barbara, reclining languidly across a wing-backed chair. Her expression spoke the boredom of impatience, and she had stretched her crossed legs as far from her body as they would go.

As she approached the door, Marissa watched with interest, wondering what would give Barbara such a contrary expression. After a moment, the stout form of a man came to stand next to the small blond. The man was fifty, maybe a little older, with greying hair and a mustache. Though he didn't look obese, he had a portly build, more square than round. If she could use one word to describe him, Marissa would have said imperious, though pompous, grandiose, any synonym would have worked. She thought he looked like a self-important college professor, a marked contrast to the humble Professor Garner, but Marissa had never seen a professor look quite as angry as this square man did.

When Marissa hesitated in her walk, Mario grabbed her elbow and urged her forward. The door opened as they reached it, and a doorman welcomed them in. As she stood in the two-story foyer, Marissa could just make out the words coming from through the door to her left.

"...my career," a resonant male voice carried through the air. "I hope that these people you've invited won't sully the Crenshaw name."

Marissa heard a muffled laugh and some words she couldn't make out.

"Professor Garner is a fine man," came the man's response, "but I don't want this other girl to cause me any trouble."

A little disheartened, Marissa turned her eyes to study the elaborate rug that carpeted the entryway. Before she realized it, Mario had urged her forward again, and she looked up to see an older lady leading them past the stairs, past a large living area, and through to a cozy but lush seating area

"Marissa!" Barbara rushed up to them just moments later.

"Your house is beautiful," Marissa offered sheepishly, suddenly feeling much more intimidated by her new friend. Who would have guessed that Barbara had so much money?"

"It's just a house," Barbara shrugged dismissively. "Wood and stone and lights."

And servants and carpets and opulence, Marissa countered silently.

"So, listen. Here's our idea," began Barbara, impervious to Marissa's discomfort. "We all agree that those stories you told us, Marissa, are horrific, and that someone needs to stand up against that type of injustice."

"Well, I guess that's true," Marissa answered hesitantly. Though Marissa agreed with the general idea, Barbara's tone sounded much more aggressive than Marissa would usually have adopted.

"I have been thinking all day about ways to expose what has happened, and an idea kept coming back to me." Barbara stared out the window as she spoke.

"What idea?" Marissa glanced at Mario who merely nodded toward Barbara.

"Well, it started with a friend of mine, and the idea grew from my playing the role of passive informant and developed into the determination toward definitive action."

"Passive informant?"

"Mario agrees with the idea," Barbara continued without answering. "We need to get your stories out to more people, specifically people who will vote in the upcoming election. Besides the party-line gossip chain, which is hardly trusted by the populace, we could use either radio or newspaper to disseminate your stories. Since radio equipment costs a fortune, that is not really an option. Newspaper, though..."

"Newspaper costs a fortune, too, unless you have contacts in the industry" Marissa protested, confused by the line of thinking.

"Not if you have the equipment," Barbara corrected. "We have all the equipment we need, so we should be fine.

Thirty minutes later, Marissa sat with Mario and Barbara snacking and chatting mindlessly. Despite her misgivings, the idea they presented appealed to Marissa, and for the first time since her arrival in St. Louis, Marissa had found a purpose outside of the daily grind. Not only did she agree with the general premise of Barbara's idea, Marissa now felt eager to begin the nascent project that the trio had undertaken.

It took two long days to begin, but when Marissa once again met her new friends in the basement of the student center at the university, each friend had in his possession a piece of the puzzle that would make their project a reality. Barbara held a tote which she informed her friends held a special type of ink. Mario had a box full of paper, and Marissa had her notes, a relatively moderate burden, she figured gratefully. Though Marissa looked forward to their new activities with a measure of anticipation, she wouldn't have wanted to bear the load of learning all the new technology and skills required for their endeavor.

Of course, the sound sweeping up the stairs hijacked her intended entrance.

“There’s a radio down here!” she exclaimed to her friends as she cleared the last step.

“Marissa,” Barbara smiled. “Yes. And we’ve found a jazz program that plays on several evenings a week. It’s great.”

Rather than answer, Marissa walked up to the small counter that housed the radio, and she leaned against it for a moment while she waited for her friends to begin. Through the wood of the counter, she felt the music buzz through her chest, and she closed her eyes in pleasure.

"So, the first order of business," Barbara began, pulling Marissa from her distraction, "is for you to give us some of your stories, then the three of us will pick out what information we want to include in the first issue."

"Tell me again what our goal is," Mario commanded, seating himself cross-legged in the chair next to where Barbara stood.

Rolling her eyes to glare at him in exasperation, Barbara adopted an impatient tone. "We've been through this. You and I both agreed that the story that Marissa told us about that poor woman is one of the most moving stories we've ever heard."

"Right," Mario replied.

"And we also agreed that if that woman had been white, her son would still be alive."

"Okay, as long as she wasn't Irish in an Italian neighborhood or vice versa, or Polish, or poor in the wrong neighborhood. People are idiots and heartless."

"That's just the point," Barbara insisted passionately, and Marissa noted with amusement - and maybe a little disappointment - that Mario gazed up at Barbara with a sort of enchantment. "I don't think that people are idiots or heartless. I think that people have certain blinders that they wear when they live their daily lives. Some of those blinders come from an experience. I have a friend who was attacked and had her bag stolen by a group of drunk Irishmen who shouted and called her a bohunk. Her parents had moved here from Russia, but how was that her fault? Now, she's prejudiced against all Irish, but that's just more ignorance."

Barbara continued, and Marissa recognized in Barbara's eloquence the persuasion that the girl had inherited from her politician father. "I don't think those guys cared where she was from; they just wanted to steal something and cause their victim as much distress as possible. They would have done the same to anyone they had encountered on that road, and they would have found some way to cause any victim emotional distress. The difference between your friend," Barbara finally addressed Marissa, "and mine, is that the people who ignored your friend can't be called criminals. They were most likely good, compassionate people who were blinded by stupid, artificial differences. We can't eradicate all criminals, but we can work to eradicate ignorance."

Turning back to Mario, she continued, "Maybe the people who stood by and watched that boy drown had bad experiences with certain types of people. Maybe they had no personal experience, but their parents had taught them to prejudge based on superficial differences whose substance died away decades ago. And maybe some of them have lived their lives with that guilt since. We can't excuse their inaction, but if we change their minds, maybe we can help stave off a repeat of the circumstances."

"This is all well and good," Mario interrupted her, "but all you want to do is publish a newspaper. If people have these blinders on, then they're going to read the stories while wearing their blinders, and we'll be wasting our breath."

"And so comes the genius of my idea. That's exactly why we will make our paper different," Barbara grinned. "We will remove the blinders, not by just reporting facts, but by stripping the truth down to its barest elements. We'll print these stories without reference to color or nationality. We'll show everyone that we Americans have more in common than we have differences. Though we won't convince everyone, maybe we can change the way the good people think."

Suddenly excited, Marissa finally chimed in as she watched Barbara remove the paper from its box and the ink from her bag.

"So, what if," Marissa asked, "we don't make this a newspaper as much as we make it a periodical. We can present the stories almost as if they're fiction, but every week, we'll print several stories of similar circumstances. At the end of the month, we promise to reveal shocking information about each 'character.' Only after we tell the story and garner as much sympathy as possible do we reveal the character's race or background. It can become part of the mystery and excitement that will bring people back." As if in agreement, the radio on the counter blasted an explosion of brass notes, and Marissa found herself grinning at the symbolism of the moment.

She had grown so enthralled with the idea, in fact, that she didn't notice the entrance into the room of a tall man that she might have recognized had she seen him.

"If you really want to include the political stuff you talked about," Marissa kept her gaze fixed on Barbara, "we can put it in the back, maybe in a section called current events or something. Announcements and such. No politics at first, because we want to avoid repelling people."

Sinking into thought, Marissa crossed her arms in front of her and rested her chin on her hand. She began a slow turn of her head as her eyes mindlessly raked the books of the shelf that line the basement entrance. "We could possibly take anonymous donations. If people like the work, we may find ourselves with a group of like-minded individuals who want to participate. We could...oh."

Her voice died in her throat as she recognized the form in the doorway. He seemed as surprised as she when their eyes met, and Marissa's heart started a rapid thrum as the man awkwardly averted his gaze to Mario. "Sorry to interrupt," a deep voice intoned, and as he spoke, Marissa noticed a similarity between the man and Mario. Though he looked no older than Mario, the stranger carried himself with more authority and command than Marissa's more studious friend.

"What is it, Tony?" Mario sounded annoyed, and Marissa glanced at her literary cohort with sheepish regret; she only then realized that the stranger's presence had caused her to stare, and Mario didn't look happy for the interruption.

"Pop told me where to find you, and I needed to get some supplies for a meeting tonight. You have the keys to the storeroom."

"A meeting," Mario mumbled disgustedly under his breath, as if he did not consider the stranger's words the truth. "Why don't you just say what it is?" Mario accused uncharacteristically, and Tony squinted in surprise at his brother's vitriol. "A gambling party with a bunch of low-lifes."

Marissa couldn't restrain her discomfort, and she looked to Barbara to assess whether the blond shared Marissa's embarrassment. Instead, Barbara wore an amused smirk.

"I don't think you've had the pleasure, Marissa," Barbara began. "This is Tony: Mario's brother, and Professor Garner's youngest son."

Things immediately came into focus, and Marissa tried to smile at the young man. "Nice to meet you," she offered shyly, and he nodded at her in introduction.

"You, too," he offered noncommittally without looking at her.

Glad I didn't stick my hand out to shake, she thought churlishly.

"So, the keys?" Tony continued as if the exchanged hadn't taken place. He seemed unaffected either by his brother's accusations or by Marissa's presence. As soon as Mario produced the metal ring of keys, Tony turned and exited without a goodbye, though he spared a subtle smile for Barbara. His shape as walked out the door brought back a memory, and Marissa narrowed her eyes in thought. That night with Sam! He was the young man who had called out to Sam from the streetlamp two nights before. Her slightly affronted feelings nudged toward an inclination to gratitude, and she wondered at the stressful interchange between brothers. Maybe just family habits?

After he left, Barbara let out a monotone laugh. "Well, that was charming," she snickered sarcastically, and Marissa turned to assess whether Mario would take offense. Instead, Mario leaned back in the seat he hadn't left and sighed with seeming disgust. Marissa thought she noted an inexplicable hint of relief in Mario's expression.

"Tony doesn't take anything seriously," Mario complained. "Even manners. My father, and even Carl and I, have tried for years to instill in him an appreciation for the important things in life, but he's too cavalier, never really undertaking any task that requires diligence."

Even with the sting of Tony's rudeness fresh in her mind, Marissa had trouble believing that he deserved such censure. She hadn't seen him crack a smile in their two encounters; if anything, he needed to lighten up a little. Still, she refrained from expressing her thoughts aloud, certain by Mario's expressions that he, at least, didn't wish to engage in a reconciliation.

"Oh, don't be so hard on him," Barbara expressed. "He's already too much of a sourpuss. Have you ever carried on a conversation with him that lasted more than five words?"

At this, Mario laughed, seemingly entertained by anything that painted his brother in a negative light. "Well, yes, actually, but nothing of substance. Usually, I end up scraping some food product off the back of my head when we're through."

Barbara laughed her low sultry laugh, and even Marissa managed a soft chuckle. “Let me grab a notebook, and we’ll get started.” Mario disappeared behind a panel, and Marissa reached to turn the music back up. Barbara’s chuckled arrested Marissa’s hand.

“Well, now,” Barbara hummed. “That was interesting.”

“What?” wondered Marissa.

“Just Tony. He seemed – I don’t know, unusually surly.”

“Is he usually more engaged?” Marissa wondered if she had misread the man.

“Engaged? I mean, that is probably accurate. He is just usually very present. He tends to listen to people, look them in the eyes as if they held his total attention. It’s one of his more charming qualities, to tell you the truth. Flatters my vanity, even if I know it reflects nothing specific about me.”

“Oh.” Marissa tried to hide her curiosity, but Barbara narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Sounds like a nice person.”

“He is very nice,” Barbara agreed, “if thoroughly underappreciated by his family, as you observed. They don’t mean it, but he doesn’t fit into their neat little world. Don’t get me wrong,” she continued as she flipped on the lights. “I love their neat little world – it’s a huge contrast to the complex stress and strain that my father deals with in politics. It just doesn’t have a specially-carved niche for a man like Tony, who tends more toward action than thought.”

“So, he’s not as smart as his brothers?”

Barbara actually laughed out loud. “I would never admit this to Mario – I don’t think his ego could handle it, the sweetheart – but there are many ways that Tony is the smartest of the bunch. Not just street smarts, either. Tony has a complexity that his brothers are missing. I think maybe Professor Garner dallied in more sophisticated thought for a while, but he is happily retired in academia at the moment. The look he gave you was rather strange…” Barbara mused. “Have you met him before?”

When Mario returned abruptly, he thankfully cut off Marissa’s opportunity to answer. "You were telling us about the stories, Marissa. I think it's a brilliant idea to pitch them in almost novel or serial form. What could better bring people back to read than the suspense of wondering if they're rooting for 'the enemy' without knowing."

"That's one way of saying it," Marissa admitted, not sure that she agreed with his characterization, but feeling pleased with the validation. "And when the public reads about the plight of these people, maybe they will find some compassion for them that lasts beyond the revelation of their race or culture."

Now fully satisfied with her shared endeavor, Marissa smiled contentedly at her friends. "I'm so grateful that you've included me in this," she admitted.

"I don't think we could do it without you, Marissa," Barbara corrected. "You seem inadvertently to find access to the types of stories that I could never find. Everyone knows who I am, so they don't talk to me about sensitive topics."

"Same here," Mario agreed. "My pop is a friend to all the local communities, but he's still high profile, and people don't really share personal problems with him since they don't like to air their private lives with someone so visible."

Marissa didn't know whether to feel grateful or depressed, seeing as her ability to help sprung so entirely from her anonymity, but neither of her friends seemed to notice her distraction.

"You can help a lot, though" Barbara turned to place a hand on Mario's shoulder, and he glanced up in mild surprise. "Without you, we wouldn't have access to the printer, and your involvement means I didn't have to beg your dad." Barbara grinned impishly, turning back to Marissa with a wink.

"Well, without you, Barbara," Marissa insisted, "we wouldn't have the idea or the funds. I think we all benefit from the relationships pretty well. Our meeting seems entirely Providential. The opportunity to start something like this journal is almost as good as being able to go to school."

Marissa had intended the comment in all sincerity, not as request for pity, but she suddenly became aware of the compassion, and maybe even guilt, that both of her companions wore. "I just mean," she tried to explain away any call for melancholy. "I will learn so much from doing this, it might even lead to a career or a passion. I haven't been this excited in years, not even when I decided to move here."

Satisfied that she had successfully diverted their attention, Marissa delved into the planning of the first print, and once engaged, Mario and Barbara participated enthusiastically. By the time they finished, the trio had a basic layout and several stories. Now, they would only have to wait for Marissa to gain permission to use the tales she had collected, and the Covert Chronicles would come into existence.

Once outside the building, Tony paused to feel the disgust with himself that his movement had suppressed. He knew had fled the building like a scared child. Why, he didn't quite know. Under normal circumstances, Tony would have clobbered his brother for insulting him, but instead, Tony had run out, a coward.

That girl had distracted him, made him unable to use his usually astute faculties. She was…a doll! When he had encountered her before, he had caught only glimpses, like peeking at a work of art through a keyhole. Seeing her whole face, lit by the warm light of the basement lamp, her loveliness struck him dumb. It was not that he had never seen anyone prettier – not on the surface. Instead, there was something about her entire effect that grabbed his attention.

Unlike most girls, she wore her hair loose and long. On the other nights he had seen her, Marissa had gathered her hair under a cloche, but she apparently hadn’t shorn her locks like most modern girls. Her tresses waved golden-brown, and as he had noted before, her form was lovely as well. He had notice her pouty lips on his first observance with Clarice, but what he had never quite grasped were her eyes. Marissa’s eyes shone intelligent a curious, and the clear kaleidoscope of colors thwarted identification. Green, blue, gold, grey. And absorbing everything she observed. It was the last characteristic that had sent him backing out the door. So rude, he chastised himself. What had he been thinking?

Tony had wooed girls before, and he had won several. Most had grown bored with his overly conscientious intentions, longing to run off as frequently as possible to engage with the latest social group. Certainly, Tony attended some of the events, and even enjoyed most of the ones he attended. He had been raised by Professor Paul Garner, though, and though he had spurned the halls of academia, he preferred a good conversation and a shared conviction over a party and group-think.

Not that he could tell anything about her convictions by one glance, but the fact that she had drawn Mario out of his books spoke well of her intelligence. Perhaps that stood as his greatest source of anxiety. He found her incredibly pretty, and every drive in him pressed him to introduce himself, recommend himself to her. But Mario.

Obviously, Mario liked the girl. Though Barbara and her friend had most likely missed the exchange, Mario had thrown Tony a glare that would have staggered a lesser man. Mario did not like the way the girl had reacted to Tony.

In truth, Tony didn't like the way the girl had reacted to Tony.

Was he so shallow as to change his impression of her because she was pretty? He had never done so before. When he had previously encountered her – first when Mario described her and then when Tony had seen her in the confrontation with Sam – Tony had found the idea of her an irritation. She obviously suffered from extreme naiveté, completely unaware of her own safety until she lay in the midst of trouble. Not only that, but her insecurity cried out to be taken advantage of. To Tony, her entire lack of sense could only prove a nuisance. But how could he avoid helping her? For some reason, this girl seemed to find herself in need of help more often than she should. After all, she seemed to have every advantage that society offered.

Sure, she had only recently moved to town and therefore didn't have much of a support group, but she had obviously received a decent education, she was smart, she seemed healthy and whole, and she didn't belong to any oppressed group. Why couldn't she stay out of trouble like a good girl? Yet, trouble seemed to gravitate to her.

Her vulnerability, though, would not have bothered him if he had not found something interesting about her, tempting him to step between her and danger. The two times he had encountered her, she had managed to draw him, not just to her temporary plight, but to herself. Somehow, when her eyes met his, they asked him questions. Not just the usual, “Who are you and what do you want from me?” Instead, she wore curiosity and concern as if she could never lay them down, as if they were an integral part of her character. He had no idea how he could read so much in a glance, but there it was, housed dramatically in two very beautiful eyes. Tony paused for a few minutes, distracted by the thought.

Irritated, Tony pushed both Mario and the girl from his mind even as he nodded a mental nod toward Barbara. The savvy and alluring blond always struck Tony as incredibly sophisticated, albeit a tad cynical. Though he rarely encountered her, Tony had observed that Barbara Crenshaw knew how to handle herself, and he shook his head in amused irritation at the thought that even if the other two fools in the gang of three might find themselves at the wrong end of a threat, Barbara at least would help steer them clear of any great danger.

Shrugging, Tony turned his feet back toward the storage closet and fixed his mind on the night’s events. They would require all of his attention, and so he pressed all other thoughts from consideration.