Oh for heaven's sake.<br/><br/>This had to be karma. Look at her, she was shaking like a leaf. In this line of work, it was always preferable to not see the results of your actions. As a professional, you never assumed that you were too stone cold to break down. Alex had seen trained killers lose their stuff in the heat of the moment, all cuz one kid looked at them wrong.<br/><br/>If you had to scare people, you didn't learn names, you didn't look at kids, and you left before the sobbing started. If you had to kill people, you put a bag over their head and never told them what was happening. It was simple stuff, common sense. Butchers wore aprons, and they got bloody anyway. Men like Alex were the same; protective measures kept the heart clean-<i>er</i>.<br/><br/>Now here was his subject, with her hair all done up in an overlarge t-shirt, scared out of her mind. She smelled like vanilla, and the scent reminded him that this should have been an ordinary day for her. She stood so close, it made him think, (for the millionth time since taking this job,)<i>why did you ever have to date that jackass?</i><br/><br/>Rather than feigning shock, Alex scanned the neighborhood casually when she told him she might have a stalker. It was old habit, but unnecessary. No one was watching them. He<i>was</i>the surveillance.<br/><br/>This was dangerous. Spending time with her when she was like this meant risking his nerve down the line. But blowing his cover with her and her brother would be just as much of a headache....<br/><br/>With a sigh, he looked back down on her with pity. Yeah, it might raise an eyebrow if anyone found out, but he'd just call it 'handling'. Gauging if she was gonna go to the cops. That's what he'd tell them.<br/><br/>He opened the passenger door of his little pickup, threw his day bag into the back, then nodded his head. "Get in. Let's get coffee."<br/><br/><div style="text-align: center">~}&amp;{~​</div><br/>The drive was slightly awkward, but that wouldn't give him away. Alex was kinda awkward. And anyone would've been taken aback by what Matilda had confided in him. He just drove, and waited for her to feel like talking.<br/><br/>As they came into the city, Alex checked his mirror that he had a tarp down in the bed of his truck. A sledge, prybar, machete, and bolt cutters all in one car tended to make the big city beat cops nervous. A well-muscled guy in jeans and a faded t-shirt<i>driving</i>that one car, refusing to answer questions... well, stereotypes existed for a reason.<br/><br/>From time to time, he almost said something, but decided silence was the best policy. If he talked now, he'd only seem like he was trying to get information out of her.<br/><br/>Hanging his parking pass on his rearview mirror, the friendly neighbor pulled up to a cafe he knew Matilda liked. "Hang on a second. I'll get your door."<br/><br/>It was less old-fashioned chivalry than it was old habits. As long as he was working Matilda, he was as much her bodyguard as her tormentor. He was being paid to ensure that certain things happened to her, and<i>only</i>those certain things. If she got taken in by associates of her ex-boyfriend, he'd take a pay cut, which was annoying. So, he scanned the street for threats, and he got her door for her.<br/><br/>Moving into the cafe, he was relieved to see the place was nearly empty. His employer had many people on payroll, and it would be tidier if no one knew about this coffee date. He got in line behind a single delivery driver, and turned to Matilda. "You can sit if you like. Just tell me what you want."