Three weeks after that fateful phone call, Jane sat in front of Paul's desk in his swanky Los Angeles office. Having completed a very intensive training course on the specifics of protecting a high-profile individual, she was deemed ready for her first assignment.

"Jane Rizzoli, decorated BPD homicide detective... I never thought I'd actually see you here! Not that I'm not delighted," he grinned at her. "Your scores are impeccable. Which is excellent, because I have an assignment I'd like you to start right away."

Jane smiled back at him politely. "Great," she replied, attempting to feign excitement, "care to tell?"

"Maura Isles-"

Her eyebrows shot upwards. "As in, Queen of the Dead, Maura Isles?"

"Yes. She's doing a promotional tour for Queen of the Dead 3 and she needs some extra bodies on detail. You'll be working that for now, and afterward we'll have a new assignment for you."

"Um, okay. So where do I report?"

He gave her a folder with all the details, made her sign some sort of confidentiality agreement she didn't care to read, and sent her on her way. As promised, she called her mother on the way home, and told her about her new assignment. Angela, a big Queen of the Dead fan, was thrilled to say the least.

"Oh, this is so exciting! Do you think you can get an autograph? Or maybe a picture with her?"

"I don't know, Ma. I don't think that's the way it works," Jane answered, thinking that maybe she should have read that agreement after all.

"Well, when do you start?"

"First thing tomorrow morning."

"Don't worry, Janie, you'll do great."

"Sure," Jane replied, wishing she could be as excited as her mother. She sighed and added sarcastically, "Everything's going to be great."

The next morning, Maura had arrived at the studio half asleep and sipped coffee while the hair and makeup girls did their thing. She'd tried to make casual conversation, but failed as usual. She couldn't figure out why the things she said so often made people uncomfortable. Sometimes it amazed Maura how she could be so loved by her fans, so disliked by strangers, and so misunderstood by those she met, all at the same time.

The show had gone well. She'd said everything she was supposed to, didn't say anything she wasn't supposed to, and she'd smiled her pretty smile. Afterward, she gathered a few belongings and headed out of the studio alone. It was a bit unusual for her to travel alone, ever, but James was concerned about a recent tabloid report mentioning the word "diva", so he had insisted, for publicity's sake, that the rest of her entourage wait in the parking lot. And she always went along with whatever James said. As soon as she exited the studio, however, an excited mob of people rushed toward her, screaming, nearly knocking her off her feet. Paparazzi were there, pushing forward, light bulbs flashing inches from her face in quick succession, obscuring her vision. Between the screaming, the loud questions, and the repetitive flashes, Maura's senses quickly overloaded. She became disoriented, dizzy. It was terrifying.

Suddenly a deep but feminine voice, calm but very assertive, overpowered the others. "Alright everybody, take a step back!" Two strong hands clasped her shoulders and began guiding her in a forward motion. "Step back! Thank you!"

Maura was still having trouble seeing where she was going, but trusted the strong hands and pushed forward under their guidance. The voice, now quieter, whispered in her ear as they walked. "You're okay. Just keep moving."

When she got past the screaming crowd and into the safety of her black SUV, the hands were gone as quickly and mysteriously as they'd appeared, and she was seated next to her manager as the vehicle quickly departed.

"I'm so sorry-" James started.

Maura held up her hand for him to stop, closed her eyes, and took a few deep breaths to center herself. When she looked up, she met his wide, expectant eyes. "Never again," she said quietly, but definitively, and he nodded, relieved. She then turned to the large man in the front passenger's seat, her head of security. "Thomas?"

"Miss Isles, I tried to tell him-"

"Who was that?" she asked, interrupting him.

"Who?"

"The one who pulled me out of there?"

"Oh. Uh... new girl, Jane Rizzoli. She's just on for the tour. First day."

"Please be sure that I see her personally after we arrive back home."

"Of course, Miss Isles."

"Thank you, Thomas."