By the time Marissa reached the plaza, she had finally regained some composure. She couldn't believe that she had slipped away from Tony, but he had spent so much time investigating the doorways of the building that he had missed it when she crossed back over the street and headed toward Marcel's. Not that she would go to Marcel's, since Leonard and Doris would no doubt side with Tony and try to keep her there, but she figured that Tony wouldn't expect her to go the way she had come.

She didn’t know exactly why she had run. Then again, she didn’t exactly understand why she had agreed to go with him in the first place. Sure, she had really enjoyed kissing him, but since she had never kissed anyone before, that hardly signified. Just because he seemed so pleasantly confident, and just because he seemed unable to control himself around her, and just because he had taken it upon himself to protect her even though he had hardly known her...Marissa stopped her flow of thoughts because they didn't really help her resolve to continue alone. If she were honest with herself, most of her resistance stemmed from the fact that the whole thing was too good to be true. No way had she stumbled, in the middle of the most turbulent period in her life, upon someone who matched her so perfectly in thought and temperament.

So instead of letting herself dwell on all the ways she admired him, she focused her the thing that most annoyed her: he made her feel helpless, something she had never really experienced before.

Sure, Marissa sometimes made mistakes, but she had always taken care of herself. Plus, Marissa really was a smart girl, as Mario and Barbara themselves had acknowledged. Marissa didn't care too much about her intelligence, but no one ever made her doubt it, at least not until Tony. Not that he intentionally treated her as inferior, but for one, he laughed at her, which she found she couldn't stand, and for another, he understood how to keep her out of danger, something Marissa did not intend to hand over to another soul besides herself. Especially not after the past few days.

If, as it had seemed, he had set his sights on her that first day, then all of his acts of selflessness could have aimed at that goal. "...from the first time you met me, you've wanted me..." she had asserted. The instant she had said the words, some sort of restraint had broken inside of Tony, and she could see the hunger that he had so carefully suppressed in her presence. Problem was, when she really considered his expression at that moment, it spoke less of acknowledgement and more of surprise. As if he hadn’t known his own mind until she spoke it.

She paused for a moment, leaning against the building that lined the south side of the plaza as her mind wandered back to Marcel's. If she were to harden herself against him, she should work to characterize Tony's actions then - and ever since she had known him – in the most negative light. But, given space from him, she found herself less irritated by him and more intrigued. Only when he laughed at her did she feel the childish urge to run away. If she had let herself consider, she would have recognized the humor in the situations, but his amusement gave her an excuse that her self-preservation needed to run away.

Yet ironically, she missed the sense of security she felt when she sat by him or walked beside him. Like he wouldn’t let anything happened to her. Like he would take on the world for her. What really scared her was not Tony; it was her own reaction to Tony. With a restrained huff, Marissa shook the thought from her head and looked forward to her next steps. If she stood in the open pondering Tony, she would prove as helpless as he thought her.

Though the sun burned brightly through the late morning sky, the night's rain had presaged a brisk autumn breeze that blew with abandon across the open plaza. Before she stepped from behind the building, Marissa pulled her scarf more tightly about her. Unfortunately, her muddy encounter had dampened her entire clothing ensemble, and when she left the edifice behind, the wind instantly chilled the damp cloth.

Across the square, Marissa could hear and see some of the preparations for the rallies to be held on the following morning. She probably shouldn't have come back to her apartment, not if she believed Tony's dramatic speculations, but she needed new clothes. She worried little. Maybe a disgruntled store-owner from the list would track her down and yell at her? She had survived worse. Despite what Tony thought, Marissa felt confident that she could never garner so much attention. He had no doubt overblown the danger to her; maybe – she couldn't suppress a smirk – because had wanted an excuse to be with her. He had offered explanations for his convenient presence at dangerous times, but she had only his word. What did Tony expect to happen to her?

As if in answer to her question, before she had traversed half the square, Marissa heard a raspy cry, and she recognized the voice of Sam Lincoln. Sam stood to the side of one of the buildings adjacent to Marissa's own, and when she looked up, he beckoned maniacally for her to head his way. The last time she had seen him, if she could believe Tony, Sam had plied her with alcohol for some nefarious purpose. Her natural responsiveness stirred within her, and she almost turned to him, but the escapade with Tony had instilled her with a measure of resolve. If she could refuse Tony, who tugged on her like a magnet, she could ignore Sam, who had subjected her to the most repelling experience of her life.

Absolutely no Sam, under any circumstances. Marissa pulled open the door to Mr. Ellenwood's bookstore and buried her head beneath her scarf so that no one inside would ask her any questions. Marissa need not have bothered, as she could see no one inside. After clearing the flight of steps in a few strides, Marissa fumbled with her keys and let herself in her room. She had slept away from her little place called home for so many nights that she wanted to just throw on a robe, curl up in her comfy chair, and fall asleep to the familiar tune of the plaza outside her window.

First, though, she took a few minutes to wash her hair in the bathroom sink down the hall, and she brushed her teeth and slipped into the robe in anticipation of a few minutes repose. Whatever imagined fear Tony had conjured in his mind seemed completely unreal to Marissa.

Her first moment of panic finally came when she saw the handwriting in the photo.

The photo, a large copy on the front page of the Post, held figures which Marissa did not fully understand but which she recognized as accounting shorthand – her father had used it in his store. The shorthand followed a letter, and Marissa had no doubt of the letter's author as soon as she had seen the characters strewn across the page. Why would one of Mario's letters about accounting make the front page of the newspaper? Was he okay? For a minute, guilt ate at Marissa lest he come to harm before she could reconcile.

A moment later, though, Marissa came to grips fully with Tony's concern for her.

Angus Moran bankrolls the campaign of Regis McReynolds, witness claims.

The witness, Mario Garner, had not included his name, and very few people knew of Barbara Crenshaw's relationship with the writer of the byline, Anna Cosgrove. What someone did know, though, was that Marissa had published a paper critical of Angus Moran, though they could not know how unintentionally she had involved herself in the whole ordeal.

As she read more of the article, the gravity of her situation hit her, and she began to pull on her spare pair of stockings one at a time. As she dressed, she couldn't tear her eyes away from the front-page story.

Recent accusations have come to light regarding Angus Moran and several local businessmen who have benefited from a relationship with Moran, the leader of a brutal gang sometimes called the Rats. The Rats are known for their ruthless attitude toward business, and interfering with the Rats has historically resulted in very negative results, many of a mortal kind.

With the new allegations, our source reveals that one of the forces most helped by the Moran organization is the political campaign of Regis McReynolds, a man running for city council in a small burrow in central St. Louis. The question remains whether the revelation will affect Mr. McReynolds' chance for election since many in the neighborhood consider gang activity a necessary evil in light of the difficulties of business...

Marissa wanted to cry. As usual, she chastised herself. No wonder people thought her so weak. Even after moving out of her house, she had run to St. Louis and fallen in with the first people who paid attention to her. And what had they done to her? She was tired of feeling like the victim of so many selfish people. Even Tony – well, Tony, at least had honestly valued her work. True, he had treated her as a bit helpless, but hadn't she needed help at the time?

Though she resisted the thought, her last vision of Tony stuck in her mind. He had looked so unhappy as she stormed away from him. Was it anger? No, she realized, not anger. Certainly not reproach. It had seemed more like disappointment. Like – like heartbreak.

Regardless, Marissa couldn't change her plans. Tony liked her, she knew – maybe more than Mario and Barbara. Still, even if he wanted her to, Marissa saw no benefit to anyone in her staying. If she stayed with Tony, she would likely place him in danger, and she couldn't conscience letting him take the risk for her.

No, Marissa would leave, and with her would go the only solid target available to the Morans. Maybe the incident would die down then, and no one else would suffer. Mixed in with the fear the article wrought, Marissa found a new measure of determination. Whatever got in her way, she would leave town as soon as she could get a ticket out. She didn't want to go home "with her tail between her legs," as her mother had joked, but she saw no other choice.

After she finished pulling on her clothes, she wrapped a new sweater around herself as well as a coat, and let herself out the door. Glancing back to where Sam had stood, the sight of the empty sidewalk cheered as she headed swiftly across the plaza – no interference there. She almost grabbed her bicycle, but it didn't really belong to her. She would survive walking the eight blocks to the train station. Though she recognized the implications, Marissa did not consider her sudden decision to return home as a sign of weakness, but as a sign of finally taking control of her life back from the forces that had tried to wrench it from her.

She made it past the edge of the plaza and onto the direct route to the station before the hand reached out of nowhere and grasped her.

"Marissa," it pleaded with a barely masked hysteria.

Sam Lincoln looked as crazy as he sounded, and with her recent revelations, Marissa almost panicked into screaming.

"What are you doing out here?" he commanded angrily. "Don't you realize how much danger you're in? Where's Tony?"

If she had felt shock at his sudden appearance, she felt even more shock at his words. She had long ago decided Sam's character, and she knew that he worked for the McReynolds campaign. When she had seen the paper, she had decided that the Morans had sent Sam as a messenger, and she had felt a near-desperate relief that she had avoided him.

When he grabbed her, she recognized purpose in his motion, but not threat. Her heart raced inside her chest as she wrenched her arm away from him, but she didn't run. "What do you want? And why would I be with Tony?"

"Well, he came into Calloway's to get you, so I assumed he intended to keep you safe. After you published that paper? He'd have to have a death wish to stay anywhere near you."

"Well," she persisted, "I'm not with Tony, and I'm leaving town, so no one will have to put themselves in danger anymore."

Though Sam stared at her with a moment of disbelief, it melted into a manic relief as her words sunk in. "Well, at least you have some sense," he sighed. "Where did you leave Tony? I need to find him."

"I left him on the street a block north of Marcel's." Marissa squared her shoulders, smug in her successful evasion.

"I'm not sure if that was a good move or not," Sam mumbled.

"What?" Marissa suddenly felt more interest than she wanted to. "Why?"

"You might run into trouble before you get off the train, for one. But it would also help me find Tony. I need to get him a message."

"Sam," Marissa felt a sudden desperation to understand everything. "Why are these people after me? I mean, I get that your boss didn't like my paper, but at this point, it seems too little too late to come after me. I mean, what could I do to him more than what has been done?"

Sam glanced up at her with an ironic scoff. "At this point, it's not about what you can do to my boss; it's about keeping anyone else from double crossing Angus Moran. If he kills you, who is going to risk speaking out against him in the future?"

"Kill me?" the words squeaked out from Marissa's tightening throat. "But all I did was write the stories!"

"But," Sam turned on her accusatorily, "you wouldn't tell me who wrote those lists. I mean, I had you drunk and near passing out, but you wouldn't betray them. Maybe if you had, Moran would have found a different target."

Though she wanted to cry, Marissa just bit her lip and reined in her tears. It didn't matter now if Moran wanted her dead; she would hop the next train home no matter what. Still, to consider that she had made herself a target by protecting her turncoat friends left her with a bitter taste in her mouth. When she considered the alternative, though, she could only consider it with satisfaction. Barbara and Mario would not prove as difficult to target in their hometowns and in their regular haunts, and Marissa didn't really want them hurt. Marissa's obscurity had no doubt provided a protection her friends would not have enjoyed.

"And I wouldn't change a thing," she countered. "Do you think I'd feel better if I'd put my friends in danger?"

Sam shook his head. "Not sure why I bothered. You seem determined to play a hero. You'd better get out of town fast, either way."

Marissa spun back in the direction of the station, grateful that nothing too horrible had actually happened, but a thought pulled her back. "Why do you want Tony?" she pleaded. After all he had risked, Marissa hated the idea that she could abandon him to some unforeseen peril. "Are the Moran's after him, too? Because he helped me?"

"I'm the only one who knows that he helped you, so no, they're not after him. They're after a friend of his."

Marissa thought through the possibilities without success. Leonard, Doris, Marcel, Mario, Jerome, Barbara. No one made sense. "Which friend besides me?"

"His boss. You know, his politician friend?"

"Jerome? Why?"

Sam eyed her, "The less you know the less likely you can cause yourself more trouble."

Finally, all the nerves that had restrained her from speaking out for her entire ridiculous failure in St Louis evaporated at the words "the less you know." From the moment she had arrived, people had lied to her, had withheld information from her, for their own sakes, for hers, to serve their own purposes or someone else's.

"Forget trouble! Just tell me why!"

"To eliminate the competition," Sam replied dumbly, as if he couldn't stand up to such force. Under different circumstances, Marissa might have found the reaction humorous.

"Competition," she mumbled. "Of course." If something kept Jerome from the race for city council, only Regis McReynolds would remain on the ticket, and if the criminal could make it into office, he could most likely find a way to stay. Marissa shuddered to think what might happen to a place like Marcel's, an honest business that dared to compete with Calloway's.

Sam seemed to shake himself. "Enough talking! Just get out of here," he commanded, gesturing in the direction she should go. Marissa, though, couldn't budge.

"What happens if you can't find Tony?" she wondered stubbornly.

"It doesn't matter. I'm no hero. I've done my duty here, and more than I should have done. I'm probably the only reason Moran's man, Alistair hasn't shot you yet, since he most likely thinks I'm here to do it myself." Sam began a fretful muttering about what would happen to him once Moran realized that he had lost Marissa, and Sam had met with her moments before she left town. Of course, Sam knew he could make up a plausible story, but he didn't look forward to lying to a man like Moran.

"So, you're just going to leave Jerome to die?" she gasped, unable to fathom Sam's callousness. She had no choice but to feel gratitude for his warning to her, but one good act didn't make up for a bad one. As she thought the words, though, she realized her own hypocrisy. Not only had she resigned herself to running away without a word, she now stood poised to abandon a man to death when she might have the means to stop his demise. She had never been a coward, but neither was she particularly brave. Still, her conscience couldn't excuse her in the current case, whatever Sam Lincoln had decided for himself.

Without a word, Marissa spun back toward the plaza and the sounds of the musicians where they warmed up for their opening number. Perhaps in the bustle of preparations, Marissa could find a way to remain hidden until she could tell someone. Still, she wouldn't cut directly across the plaza – she had no death wish. Instead, she would skirt around the perimeter behind the buildings.

"Marissa!" Sam's hushed voice shot from behind her as she darted back toward the bookstore.

Marissa, however, had made up her mind, and by the time she reached the building and glanced behind her, Sam had given up. She saw no evidence that he had ever stood beside her on the road.