"How are you feeling?" he countered. 

"Fine," I bit out. 

"Breasts still tender?  I see you can wear a bra again." 

My shaking hands were in fists.  "They're fine.  What are you looking for?" 

He was standing right in front of my open locker, not touching anything, just looking.  "Clues.  I'm a detective, you know." 

"You sure don't act like one," just sort of slipped out. 

I was immediately sorry.  He didn't touch me, didn't lay one finger on me, but I felt physically intimidated nonetheless as he stepped into my personal space. 

"Just because I'm police," he said very, very quietly, right into my face.  "Doesn't mean I'm not a man.  Doesn't mean I can't be riled, so I would show a little more respect, if I were you, Scarlett.  Not only am I the only one who is willing to help you, no one else on the force would lift a finger if something were to happen to you.  Do you understand?  You've burned every bridge but this one."

I tried to take a step back, and that's when it happened.

Harris grabbed my arms to stop me, to keep me from moving away, and I swear I felt his presence before I saw or heard him, like electricity in the air.  Rage on the wind. 

"Get your fucking hands off her!" 

My eyes shut tight.  In relief.  And horror.  Because I was saved, and Dante was about to get himself arrested. 

"This is none of your concern," Harris told Dante.  "Go back to class, son." 

Dante, my hero, my everything, was not intimidated by anyone, not even a cop, and he was furious.  He was in the older man's face without hesitation, moving between us, shielding me at the same time he put himself into harm's way. 

I was shuddering in relief. 

And I thought I couldn't love him more.

Whatever happened, if Dante was here, he wouldn't let me be harmed.  I knew it.  Absolutely.  

"What the fuck are you doing, putting your hands on her?" Dante raged, backing Harris into the locker.  "Don't you dare ever fucking touch her again, you hear me?"   

The other man was so surprised, I think, that for a moment he let the younger, unarmed high school kid back him into the lockers and then shove him hard in the chest.

"Dante, no," I cried right at the same time that Harris reached for his gun. 

I couldn't keep it in, I screamed. 

Dante almost, almost kept going for it, his hand covering the other man's, a ghost of movement but it was there.  He was going for the cop's gun.

But there was some sanity left in him yet, because at the last second, he took a step back, hands going up.

"On the ground," Harris snarled, pointing his gun right into Dante's face.  

I was sobbing as I took a step forward, and then another. 

Harris caught the movement and pointed at me with his free hand.  "Don't move another inch.  Your boyfriend's in big trouble, and if you don't stay out of it, it could be the difference between handcuffs or a bullet, you understand?"

I backed off immediately.

People were starting to spill out into the halls by then—kids, teachers—all looking on in stunned disbelief, no one even talking.   

"Get on the ground, now!" he screamed into Dante's face. 

Dante glared at the other man, his expression utterly dauntless, but he complied.

I felt helpless as he cuffed Dante's hands behind his back and then dragged him to his feet.  I found myself trailing after them as Harris began to lead him out. 

"Stay here," Harris said curtly.  "Go back to class." 

"I'm fine," Dante told me, and though I couldn't see his face, he sounded composed, all things considered. 

I watched them leave with a pounding heart, following behind, far enough back that Harris didn't take exception, but close enough to see them get into his car.

My mind was racing.  I had no idea what I should do, so I did the only thing I could.  I called Gram. 

*****

We were all surprised when Harris didn't arrest Dante.  I was frantic in the interim as I coordinated with Gram to find out what had happened to Dante. 

I was so convinced that they'd be at the police station that I left school, taking Dante's car to pick up Gram.  We were literally pulling out of the driveway when Harris drove up in his brown sedan, Dante in the backseat. 

Dante got out, and Harris drove away. 

I stopped the car, put it in park, and got out.  I ran and threw myself at Dante with such force that it made him sway precariously for a beat before he settled back solidly on his feet and wrapped his big arms around me. 

"I'm fine, shh, I'm all right," he said into my hair, voice pitched loud enough to be heard over my sobs. 

"D-d-did he hurt you?" I gasped him. 

"No, he didn't lay a finger on me.  Calm down, angel.  Shh.  You're okay. Calm down."  He was stroking a hand over my hair, over and over, to soothe me. 

Slowly but surely, it was working. 

"What happened?" Gram asked him.  She was, as always, the epitome of calm.

He gave her the short version of what had happened at school. 

"But he didn't arrest you?" she asked when he finished. 

"No.  He just took me for a drive and then brought me here.  And you know what?  I don't think they're doing a damned thing to find the guy that attacked Scarlett.  He straight up told me that they're not even close to making an arrest.  And you know what else he said?  They haven't even gone to look where we told them the guy hangs out.   At this point the only way they'll even find him is if he goes to the station and turns himself in."