As Marissa approached the bookstore, she squinted against the dark. The gas lanterns never provided enough illumination to make out the faces of strangers, and she seemed to have more problem than most in discerning sights from a distance.

The fact shocked her, then, that as she slid off of her bike and began to walk it toward its home, that she easily recognized the tall, broad-shouldered form of Tony Garner, silhouetted against the path light. For most of the time she had known him, she had only encountered him in two settings: with his brother or near Jerome Weathers. Tonight, though, he stood in a small gathering of young adults, each bearing a stack of papers in their hands.

“I’ve given each of you only twenty pamphlets,” he was saying. “These are targeted toward people most likely sympathetic to Jerome’s campaign. We’re nearing the final two weeks, and he could really use support from our community.”

Seeing Tony stand among a group of apparent peers registered as foreign to Marissa, strange and unexpected. In that light, he seemed a different person. The group consisted of three young women and four young men, and they chatted and laughed as Marissa neared their location.

She paused to assess for a moment, and she couldn’t help watching Tony’s interaction with the group. Tony seemed…popular. Unlike Sam, Tony did not seem to lead the group, but every person – save one girl who bore an obvious preference for the man next to her – stood angled toward Tony.

For once, Marissa could not figure out what to think about Tony Garner. Every time she had encountered him, he had stood lurking around her, as if he waited for some opportunity to push himself forward into her attention. Tony Garner standing in the lamplight at the edge of the park, favored in a group of peers, rendered him rather more intimidating than annoying.

Truth be told, Marissa had always seen him as intimidating – though for thoroughly different reasons. Primary of which were his swarthy good looks and quick mind. If she had encountered him anywhere but among the Garners, she would have classed him with Sam – a charming, handsome playboy. With the Garners he seemed…like the youngest brother, dismissed and undervalued. Even Barbara had acknowledged the lack of respect his family offered him.

Well, Marissa would not offer him any more consequence than he deserved, but she would pay closer attention. She would figure out if she should pay him more respect than she had caught from his family and those who took him most for granted. Certainly, Leonard and Doris respected him immensely, and the realization convicted Marissa.

As if he had heard her promise, Tony peered around himself suddenly, encountering Marissa where she hovered by a tree in indecision. When he paused his friends’ discussion, Marissa almost dodged past him to her waiting doorway.

Tony, though, intercepted her trajectory a few feet from the small porch entry.

“Marissa!” he hailed, and she found herself curling into as small a form as possible when his friends turned to appraise her. “Hello, Marissa.”

She managed a barely audible, “Hello.”

Tony lowered his voice as he realized her shyness, and he stepped into the path of her view to his friends. “Are you still making deliveries?” he wondered, shocked at the possibility at such a late hour.

With his sense of protection, Marissa recognized another difference between him and Sam. Sam always stood in relation to his group – his gang or following – as if he would cease to hold meaning without them. Tony, on the other hand, stood as a barrier between her and the source of her insecurity, a group of strangers. He liked the group of friends behind him, but he did not need them.

Marissa could have enjoyed the group, too, perhaps, but not without a more formal setting and introduction, and her relief at the separation from the strangers almost subdued her anxiety.at Tony’s presence.

“I’m expecting a phone call from my parents,” she corrected breathlessly, “I couldn’t possibly delay!” Her heart nearly stopped when he smiled at her awkwardness.

“Will it be a long call? Our meeting will run another half hour – you could come meet my friends. The guys and one of the girls are students at the university, so you might enjoy expanding your circle of acquaintance beyond Barbara and Mario.” A quick shake of her head silenced that option.

“I like Barbara and Mario…”

“Of course, you do. As do I. But it might be nice to have more options.”

Peering at the group beyond his shoulder, Marissa donned her familiar superciliousness. “I have Leonard and Doris, too.”

“Yes.” Tony pursed his lips. “And you have to travel through some of the worst neighborhoods in town just to see them. It would make me…it might be safer if you found some friends closer to home.” He had almost admitted that it would make him feel better if she stayed safe, but he figured that rationale would hardly appeal to her.

“I’m learning my way around,” Marissa offered contrarily before squaring her shoulders to pass him. “I really do need to get to that phone call.”

Resigned, Tony swept his arm in front of him, offering the path on her way. “See you around then,” he managed with basic equanimity. She would persist in unsafe behavior!

Without an answer, Marissa breezed past him, only pausing when she stood within a few feet from the door. Tony had, by that time, rejoined his friends, and though he still assessed her when she threw a glance behind her at the group, he seemed settled in the idea of her departure.

She turned back toward her apartment, and as she approached the step, an object lay just before the threshold of the door. It should not have stirred so much apprehension in her chest, but she had dealt with it once before, and her past experience promised her future upset.

As she raised the paper, her heart fell.

"When William finally stood to his feet, his eyes had swollen to such an extent that he could see little through the remaining cracks under his lids. He hadn't intended to wake up a hero, and the pain in his head and in his back where the thugs had landed several punches to his kidneys made William question whether any reward he received could make up for the agony that he now felt.

Even as the thought formed, another, more powerful thought smothered it, raising from the dust of his aching body an obelisk which forever seared into his memory the rightness of his actions. Whatever it had cost him, he couldn't regret drawing the attention of the lowlifes who had beaten him to a bloody pulp.

What alternative did he have? He had stared in horror as the gang surrounded the cowering family: a woman, her two small children. Foremost in his memory stood the fearless face of the ten-year-old boy where he stood defiantly between his smaller siblings and his mother and the five large men who had them cornered. All for an imagined slight against the neighborhood gangster.

By the time William had interfered, the gang had no doubt already dispensed of the family's father, hidden him where no one would find him and no evidence of his demise would ever exist. If William hadn't seen them and mounted his own assault on the men, the woman and her children would have suffered the same fate. William stared at the retreating figures of the men with hatred in his eyes. He couldn't wait for the day when the neighborhood could go about living their lives without having to bow to a kingpin or pay kickbacks to avoid retribution.

William had managed, as he ran, to lead the group to the street directly in front of the local precinct, and he felt no doubt that he otherwise would have joined the husband somewhere in oblivion. When his police-chief father bolted out of the nearby building, William knew he would receive a severe scolding, something he dreaded almost as much as the recovery from his injuries. Still, a sense of well-being swallowed the throbbing of his head.

He had yelled to the woman, instructing her to bring her kids directly to the precinct, and even before his father chastised him, the older man had informed William of the family's arrival a few minutes before. If William knew his father, the police-chief would take personal responsibility for the small family. The protection wouldn't lessen the pain that they had already received, but it would keep them from any fresh source of injury.

By the time William felt himself slip into a medicine-induced sleep at the hospital, he could stare up at the ceiling with a sense of extreme satisfaction. No, he hadn't been able to prevent every injustice, but he had saved some, and he would continue to fight until each member if his neighborhood could walk freely without fear of attack by thugs, those willing to destroy the weak in the callous search for power. William answered to a Higher Power, not to mob bosses, and so, as he faded into a peaceful slumber, he rested well, knowing that one day, the good that he prayed for would prevail."

Marissa pulled her eyes away from the offending object, staring at the concrete between her feet, and her head pounded with the anger and powerlessness she felt. Injustice at her hands, she realized. Again. It was the worst scenario she could possibly imagine.

Mario and Barbara had published the first edition of the paper only a few days before, and Marissa had never imagined that they would print another one so soon. Since the original edition, the trio hadn't met once, and though Marissa had to bear some of the blame for avoiding her friends, they hadn't sought her out either.

Now she stared at the results of her avoidance.

Beyond her article, which took up the largest portion of the front page, Marissa skirted past the incidental information and went directly to the back page. As she had feared, a list of names ran down the length of the page, not as long as last time, but with harsher accusations. Marissa didn't know anyone on the list, so she didn't have any personal investment in what Mario and Barbara had published, but ignorance didn't excuse her inaction. The possibility that someone might suffer for her passivity tormented her.

And anger mingled with her regret. Anger at herself, anger with Mario and Barbara, but mostly anger with the whole messed up system that allowed so much injustice. If the gangs hadn't held control, then Mario and Barbara wouldn't feel so compelled to fight them, and if there were less fighting, there would be fewer casualties. Marissa couldn't comfort herself by explaining away the collateral damage. But here she sat, impotently staring down into the gutter, the outcome before her a result of her actions.

After a few moments of wallowing in hollow misery, Marissa made a determination. She had missed her opportunity, and she had failed to keep her promise to Leonard, but she wouldn't let it happen again. She stepped inside the bookstore, stowing her bike in the little storage closet where it resided, and she stormed up the stairs to grab a warmer sweater. Sweeping back down the stairs, she headed back across the park toward Professor Garner's office.

Fortunately, Tony’s group had disbanded, and she could see no sign of Tony – she did not hold the resources to engage her thoughts on him at the moment. Instead, Marissa stalked determinedly across the grassy expanse of the park. The publication of the second paper, without her permission, had pushed Marissa to action faster than all of her internal confliction.

For once, Marissa didn't knock when she reached the door to the outer office. Instead, she opened the door without announcing her presence. She encountered Barbara in her usual perch behind the desk, and Barbara looked up into Marissa's face. To her credit, Barbara stared immediately toward the floor, shame apparent on her features. The obvious remorse stole some of Marissa's ire.

"Is Mario here?" Marissa asked, surprised at her own sulky tone. She already doubted her resolve. Wasn't Marissa right in this? Then why did she feel so unhappy?

Barbara still didn't look at Marissa. "He is," she answered steadily, if a bit petulantly.

When Barbara didn't move, Marissa shook herself out of her funk. "Would you mind telling me where he is?" Despite Marissa's agitation, she managed to retain a measure of calm, and her dispassion must have rung through her tone, because Barbara looked up with shock painting her otherwise defensive countenance.

"Just a minute, Marissa," Barbara spoke more sedately, and Marissa thought of her daddy's old adage. You catch more flies with honey than vinegar, he often said, and he lived by the cliché. No one could charm the shine off a nickel like her daddy. Of course, Marissa never intentionally portrayed any feeling she didn't really feel, so the effect she had on Barbara had sprung from sincere sentiments.

"Mario?" Barbara knocked on one of the panels, and a moment later, the wood slid open. "Marissa's here," Barbara explained in a tone brimming with intimations.

To Marissa's further irritation, Barbara and Mario did not shuffle guiltily toward Marissa, contrition their main sentiment. Instead, they stood close to each other, Barbara staring conspiratorially up at Mario mere inches from his face. They whispered a few surreptitious phrases before they turned in unison to face Marissa.

Considering the intensity of the anger Marissa had experienced the last several days, she felt strangely dampened as she stared at them. Her friends - she couldn't possibly retain the indignation with them, despite the defiance in their eyes.

"I guess we both have some apologizing to do," Marissa began, looking at her hands.

Both Barbara and Mario started, and Marissa understood why. Up until the last few minutes before she had entered the office, Marissa had seen no possible excuse for what Mario and Barbara had done. Marissa should have been primed for a fight, but her daddy had wrenched that idea out of her iron fist, and even the new issue of the paper couldn't make her close her grip back around that kind of fire. Ironically, when Marissa had reread the article that she herself had written, she had realized why Barbara and Mario had determined to speak out against the men who had held many of the poorer districts prisoners to crime, not to mention manipulating many of the politicians who represented the wealthier districts. Could Marissa fault people who felt such a passionate desire to stamp out injustice? Not for their intentions, she reminded herself, despite the results. She tried to present her concerns in the most diplomatic manner possible.

"If you had come to me and told me that you were going to print that list, I would have protested. I might have even refused my permission for you to use my story in the paper. I apologize for being unwilling even to listen."

"Of course, Marissa," Mario allowed, seeming less antagonistic than Barbara. Still, the guilty expression he wore seemed almost too intense for the paper to be its cause, almost as if he had betrayed her personally. "And, we apologize for going behind your back. We knew that you wouldn't approve, but..."

"This was too important to delay!" Barbara interrupted, all vestiges of her remorse blown away by her fervor. "The election is less than two weeks from now, and we need to inform people so that they will throw out these crooked officials. We can't continue to let people like your William suffer for our inaction!"

Now the anger that Marissa had subdued raised its head, and she turned on Barbara with her best estimation of accusation. "But at what cost?" she pressed. "Are we willing to sacrifice the innocent with the guilty?"

"Not one man on that list was innocent," Barbara shot back.

"You have to define innocence, Barbara," Marissa continued, still maintaining a surprising amount of calm. "Some of the people you named are working against the Rats, even though they ostensibly do business with them..."

Barbara shook her head, adopting the supercilious demeanor that Marissa had suspected on their first day of acquaintance. "They may make such claims, but I have concrete evidence of transactions conducted between the Rats and every person on that first day's list. Today's list contains some Rats themselves. Now that we have broken through the dam of fear that has held back the people of our city, others have rushed forward to flood us with information."

"This is not a political speech," Marissa scolded. "Your eloquent words don't change the fact that the list you published has caused unjust suffering for a good man. Maybe more than one, for all we know."

At Marissa's words, Barbara actually took a step toward Marissa, as if she wanted to get in Marissa's face. Fortunately, Mario stepped between the girls, and Marissa breathed a sigh of relief when he reached for Barbara's hand to restrain her. If he held that hand longer than purely necessary, Marissa failed to notice. "Barbara, calm down. This is not about winning an argument; it's about doing right."

"Exactly," Marissa agreed. "It's not right to simply name a name without detailed accusations. If you're going to print the facts, you have to print all of the facts. Print them and let people decide for themselves who is culpable."

When Mario turned to Marissa, he appeared conflicted. He certainly didn't wear a sympathetic look. Maybe a slightly remorseful look, but more like an indulgent look. The look of someone who knew that his hearer would not welcome his next words.

"I think you misunderstand me, Marissa," he offered. "I'm not saying that what we did was wrong, just perhaps how we did it. We shouldn't have gone behind your back to do something you didn't want to do, especially when we so visibly attached your work to the project. But we did strip the news of all information that could prejudice the reader. We asked them to judge the rightness of the actions, not whether the person involved acted as a wily businessman or a community spokesperson. Did the people on that list do what we said they did?"

Barbara continued to look defiant. For Marissa's part, she couldn't comprehend such rationalization. Marissa valued relationship over principle, and while she could respect Barbara's and Mario's resolve, Marissa couldn't fathom the idea that someone as compassionate and friendly as they could persist at the cost of friendship. Because in their current discussion, the friendship hung in the balance as clearly as the sun hung in the sky at noontime.

In her wildest imaginings, Marissa had not imagined such a reaction, and even more disturbing, when Mario turned toward Barbara, he wore an intimacy that seemed ill-suited for a dear friend. Marissa had never seen Barbara look weak, but she certainly looked ready enough to accept Mario's solace.

Watching the exchange, Marissa felt as if someone had punched her in the gut. In truth, the fact that Mario and Barbara continued to stand their ground regarding the paper didn't really hurt her. It bothered her, it made her tense, but it didn't cause her emotional pain. No, what she saw now caused her emotional pain.

Mario and Barbara didn't look like a pair of friends conspiring to transact a business dealing to their advantage. The narrowing gap between them, Barbara's upturned face, Mario's hand touching Barbara's arm just above the elbow: all of these observances spoke something much more devastating than a conspiracy. Political conspiracy could be broken using many methods that Marissa would have felt justified in using. Rational argument, cries for justice, appeals to self-preservation. But the bonds of a budding romance would no doubt prove more tensile than those of brittle politics. As if he had read her mind, Mario glanced up into Marissa's face, and the now firmly rooted guilt spoke the express precision of her suspicion.

More importantly, it spoke finally and completely the truth of her utter isolation.

Before the newspaper fiasco, such an occurrence might not have had quite so dramatic effect on Marissa. True, she had harbored thoughts that maybe Mario would like her, would want to pursue her romantically, but she had no deep-rooted affection for him in any way other than brotherly. Rather, Barbara and Mario's new situation solidified their exodus from Marissa that had begun several days before, when they had excluded Marissa from their decision making regarding the list. Now, that material slight seemed minor in comparison to this new one.

Marissa could live without romance, but she could not live without intimate friends. To Marissa, camaraderie ranked highest on her list of needs, and with her family hundreds of miles away, Marissa had no friends to fall back on when these two abandoned her.

When a tear ran down her cheek, Marissa realized how entirely her face had displayed her emotions. Making matters worse, Mario took a step toward her. The solicitous concern on both his and Barbara's countenance finished Marissa off. Marissa could not handle the pity emitting from both of her friends' countenances.

"Marissa," Barbara began in a tone of explanation, but Marissa wouldn't hear any explanation. Before either Mario or Barbara could offer an excuse, Marissa had bolted out the office door leaving them gaping at the space she had vacated.

"I wanted to tell her," Barbara turned back to Mario with a stricken expression on her face. "I was just afraid that she would be too upset."

At her statement, Mario smirked despite the serious circumstances. "I've never known you to be afraid of anything. And I can't imagine a less scary person than Marissa Erinson."

Barbara returned his smile, but quickly sobered. "Sometimes, an honest friend can be scarier than the bitterest enemy."

Nodding, Mario looked back to the empty door.

"I need to go after her," he stated.

"Yes," Barbara agreed. "But I'm not sure she would talk to you right now. It seems so juvenile for her to react like this."

Shooting her a chastising glance, Mario clarified his plans. "I just need to make sure that she arrives back safely at the bookstore. And I don't think she's upset because she's jealous. Not that jealousy would be considered juvenile anyway."

"You sound almost sorry that she's not," Barbara gazed at him suspiciously.

He smiled mysteriously. "I didn't say she wasn't jealous, just that something else had upset her, something beyond the paper" he teased, gently touching Barbara's cheek with his fingers. Barbara couldn't avoid the sultry nature of the sarcastic roll of her eyes, and Mario couldn't avoid feeling the full attraction that had recently grown in him.

Barbara rewarded him for his enthralled stupidity with a toothy grin, and Mario placed a kiss on her brow before turning to walk out the door.

As soon as Marissa had exited the building that housed Professor Garner's office, the rest of her tears found their way from her eyes and down her cheeks to fall to the ground. She knew how silly she was to cry over her best friends' romance. If Barbara and Mario had grown close through the publication of the paper, Marissa could understand. She had initially grown close to both of them, and the culmination of that intimacy in a relationship would otherwise have brought Marissa joy, with whomever it had occurred.

She knew that the couple would attribute Marissa's upset to some kind of jealousy or hurt over the new romance, but she wasn't sure she cared to clear up the misunderstanding. In a way, she felt less vulnerable to the charge of jealousy than she would have had Mario and Barbara known the true cause of Marissa's upset. Jealousy would allow Marissa to remove herself from an uncomfortable situation and avoid confrontation.

Based on the exchange that had already taken place, if Marissa challenged her friends about the paper, the rift between them would go from unspoken to spoken. She had never really wanted to talk to Mario and Barbara about the paper. She had forced herself to confront them knowing she ought to, not necessarily desiring to so. Now - she smiled an empty smile as the thought passed through her head - she wouldn't have to worry about it.

When she considered her behavior, she hung her head in shame. So, she and her friends had a disagreement on principle. Would a grown woman really run out in tears over a little squabble? Not that she could have acted differently, not without causing herself even more embarrassment. If the tears that now filled her eyes were any indication, she would have begun to blubber ridiculously had she forced herself to stay.

The problem was, Marissa knew, that the argument encompassed much more than a little squabble among friends. She knew that such obstinacy by her friends had possibly materially damaged a man's life and reputation. If she could forgive herself for her emotion for a minute, she realized that the argument she now held with Mario and Barbara was far too significant for Marissa to take on all by herself. She had no one to argue her case, no one to stand by her. For all of Barbara's rationalization of her actions, Marissa knew that her friend could not justify them. If Leonard had marched into Professor Garner's office to plead his case, Barbara could never have looked him in the eye and told him he was wrong. Marissa's head began to pound. So, she realized, Barbara had objectified Barry Johnston, defined him as a criminal and removed from him all humanity. Barbara had done the very same thing as the people whose minds they were trying to change. The truth mattered little as long as the principle had been preserved. What about the principles of human kindness and mercy? Marissa though angrily.

Marissa knew that she could not coerce people to her point of view.

Barbara seemed to believe that she could, just like the manipulative politicians and the criminal thugs.

Marissa sighed at the irony. Who would have thought that Marissa, of all people, would find herself in need of bravery, standing isolated on the principle of caring for an oppressed brother? No, Marissa had assumed that she would just go along with her friends, not stand against them. When forced to choose between friends, however, her heart insisted that she help the weaker one, in which case, she now saw, she would find herself alone.

Her anger spent, Marissa huffed a laugh. Alone, she mused. The one place she never wanted to be.

As if to mock her, Marissa spied Sam Lincoln sauntering brashly across the other side of the park. He had basically asked her on a date, she now realized. At the time, Marissa had thought the idea laughable, though she couldn't reject him outright lest she – horror – hurt his feelings. From where she now sat, all alone on a park bench, Marissa didn't find his offer quite as offensive.

What had kept her from saying yes? Ostensibly, Marissa had repelled his advances because he had treated her badly. Not a very compelling argument now, she realized, since her best friends had treated her even worse than he. Maybe she had revolted against his treatment, she wondered, or maybe she had rejected him for a different reason, a reason far too familiar to her: cowardice. How typically pathetic.

But she didn't feel cowardly anymore, she realized. Though Marissa Erinson had been afraid to confront her friends, afraid to encounter Sam, afraid to go to Marcel's, now, Marissa found herself wanting to blow on the embers of her courage, encourage them to burst into flame

She continued to stare at Sam where he strolled with his gaggle of groupies. Mario and Barbara had proven false friends. Would Sam prove more faithful? If not, his juvenile mockings could never prove as painful as the true betrayal by Mario and Barbara. What did she have to lose? she asked herself.

Though she inwardly cringed at the idea of approaching the group, especially knowing Sam's propensity for showmanship, Marissa forced herself to her feet and crossed the street toward the group. If Sam wanted to make up for his past behavior, she would give him the chance now. What better way to test the veracity of his words than to meet him in his home territory, surrounded by his adoring public? Would he mock her, tease her? Would he allow his entourage to taunt her? His response to her sudden appearance would prove the most effective means of gauging his sincerity.

Sam saw Marissa approach; she could see by the intensity in his eyes. No sooner had she stood and stepped a few paces across the lawn than he turned toward her advancing figure. Butterflies danced in her stomach. He looked uncertain, as if he himself didn't know how to respond to Marissa's boldness. Still, when their eyes met, Sam smiled. Not a friendly, welcoming smile, more a knowing smile that stirred nervousness in Marissa's chest. What had he seen in her eyes, she wondered, that had so caught his interest? He did not look away during her entire trek across the grassy lawn that separated them.

"How are you, Marissa?" he oozed, and Marissa gulped. He looked almost predatory. Yes, very brave, she mocked herself silently. Several of his groupies began to murmur, and Marissa heard quiet snickering, but Sam turned rapidly, and with a chop of his hand and a hiss of his voice, everyone quieted.

The irony of his question made her response come out in a more satirical tone than she had intended. He didn't really want to know the answer to that question, she felt quite sure.

"I'm well, thank you."

"Did you change your mind about Thursday?" he cut off any response she might have given.

Two points in his favor. One, he had stopped his friends from mocking her. And two, he had renewed his attentions right in front of those people who would most dislike his decision. Like Tony in protecting her for the moment, but unlike Tony because of the nature of his group of followers – because followers, they were.

Still, at the moment, Sam seemed willing to risk the disdain of his friends for Marissa's sake. That fact more than anything won her over. Inside her mind, somewhere in the dark recesses that she purposely repressed, Marissa didn't trust Sam's eagerness, but she wanted his attentions to be genuine. At this point, not only did she long for some connection to replace the ones she had just left behind, but she almost wanted to choose the connection that would most shock Mario and Barbara.

Marissa knew her friends’ opinions of Sam Lincoln. Not only that, but Sam worked for the McReynolds campaign, a thorn in the side of Barbara's father, Marshall Crenshaw.

"I have," she answered his question cryptically. When she saw the flash of anger, she smirked. "I actually came over here to tell you that my schedule has freed up a little. I can go to Calloway's with you after all. Friday night."

The thrill of her words ran up and down Marissa's spine: she could go to Calloway's. Even as she said it, part of her wanted to reel the words back into her mouth, unsay them if that were possible. Too late, she smiled to herself, and Sam broke into a tooth-baring grin in response. Marissa shivered at the effect. More piranha or pit bull than charming suitor.

"Great," he responded casually, though Marissa could sense his pleasure. "Friday. Do you need some help from the girls? They have great taste."

"It's just dinner," she retorted, peering over his shoulder at the posh elegance of his companions. Marissa didn't know whether to feel insulted or intrigued. "I'm sure I can find something."

Now she had three days to regret her impetuousness. Though she determined to follow through no matter her mindset, she knew that she would have doubts. She would also, for once, have courage to overcome them.

From several yards away, Mario listened with shock and dismay to the conversation. Mario held no delusion that Lincoln meant any good toward the too-innocent girl he now courted. Mario's vision burned red, but his guilt tempered the fire of his anger. The thought that he and Barbara had driven Marissa to such an end made him sick. If she came to harm as a result of their stubbornness, Mario wouldn't forgive himself. And if Marissa spent too much time with Sam Lincoln, she would almost definitely come to harm.

Mario hadn't intended to stand so aloof from Marissa when she had entered his pop's office, but she had managed to stir up Barbara, and Mario's hormones quickly took over when he saw Barbara's unhappiness. Unfortunately for the three friends, Mario too quickly took Barbara's side. He didn't exactly blame himself, he knew. For months, he had appreciated the alluring looks and the bright mind of his father's volunteer secretary. He had too much experience with rejection, though, to attempt any outright pursuit of such a woman. No, that kind of woman didn't go for Mario's kind of man.

When Marissa had entered the picture, she had seemed just gentle and insecure enough to garner his interest. He had felt almost assured that if he played his cards right, someone like Marissa would easily acquiesce to his attentions. In fact, her jealousy of Barbara confirmed that she had wished him to pursue her, didn't it?

Only when their shared conspiracy against Marissa had brought them into frequent and intimate contact had Barbara shown any more than platonic interest in Mario. An auspicious beginning for a relationship, Mario thought with a slight pang. Still, though he continued to think well of Marissa, he couldn't regret his choice. Barbara possessed everything he could want in a woman: intelligence, beauty, humor, self-reliance. Though he had liked Marissa, that last consideration, self-reliance, would have decided him against her, at least if he were honest with himself. His history determined that he would not marry someone who couldn't take care of herself; and, yes, he realized, he had actually thought about marriage with Barbara.

His own mother, though amazing and generous, had not proven particularly strong, and Mario did not intend to relive the heartache that he had endured with his mother's death. With a woman like Barbara, he would never need to fear her vulnerability. Unless she irritated the wrong person, he realized, and the thought made him grin for a moment. Only a moment, though, because he again caught sight of Marissa, standing mere inches from Sam Lincoln. A cobra poised to strike a mouse, he thought.

The scene erased all of the previous morning's animosities with Marissa. Someone needed to look out for her, and no one else presented himself for the job. Exactly how Mario would do that he didn't know. Even under the best circumstances, he had hardly spoken a word to Lincoln since grade school. Would Mario now just walk up to Lincoln and tell him to stay away from Marissa? That would never work, even if Mario drummed up enough courage. Maybe he could confront Marissa, warn her to stay away from Sam. Mario doubted that would work, either. Though innocent in thought, Marissa could not be described as unintelligent. She knew what dallying with Sam Lincoln entailed. And with her current opinion of Mario, she would not welcome his interference if he warned her away.

Practically speaking, Mario had no opportunity to look out for Marissa if she stayed with Lincoln. The places that he frequented didn't court the kind of clientele that would include Mario Garner. He would never ask Barbara to venture after Lincoln. Though, Mario realized with a grin, Barbara would fit in better with Lincoln's rough clan than Mario ever would.

Mario considered his options. With Marissa in such a state of anger, she wouldn't accept a reprimand from him. Barbara held even less of a chance considering the vitriolic nature of their most recent exchange.

From the moment he had met Marissa Erinson, Mario had pegged her as a soft, mealy girl who would bend like a reed in the wind. Instead, she had proven strong, turned like a sunflower toward the sun and a bit defiant against any force that tried to turn her from her goal. He only hoped she wouldn't enter harm's way when she inevitably defied Sam Lincoln. If she thought Mario and Barbara unethical, she would undoubtedly consider Sam beyond unethical, to the point of unscrupulous.