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He paced his office. The only sounds were the clumping of his shoes on the hardwood floor and his harsh breathing. That girl should have been back hours ago. What was keeping her? The door opened and he glanced up with his milky eyes. He couldn't see, but he knew who was there. It was his first officer, Jace. "Any news?" he asked. "No, sir," Jace replied, "though we have reason to believe she's been captured by the target." "And why would that be?" "What do you mean, sir?" Jace asked. He was clearly confused. "I mean," he said slowly, "why would you have reason to believe she'd been captured?" "Well, she went into target's apartment about half an hour ago, and hasn't come out yet, sir." Jace looked as if he had done something wrong. His short blue hair stuck out in all directions, and his bright grey eyes were troubled. He rubbed absently at the long scar running down his cheek and along his jawline. He was glad for a moment that his boss couldn't see. "Sir," he began tentitavely." "Yes?" "May I ask who the target is?" "No." The old man's mouth twisted down in a disappointed frown. He swept some of his long grey hair away from his wrinkled face and sighed, becoming absorbed in his own thoughts again. "How could I go so stupidly wrong as to hire a woman?" he muttered. "They never make good assassins. Not strong enough." "What, sir?" Jace's voice broke him off from his thoughts. "Nothing," he replied sharply. "Could you leave for a while? I need to think something over." Jace turned and disappeared out the door. * * * When Jace was gone, he resumed his pacing. He didn't know how in the world he was going to get rid of that boy. He was always outsmarted or outmatched, sometimes by accident. "If I still had my vision I'd take him out myself," he growled to the empty room. It didn't reply. He hadn't been expecting it to anyway. He went to the desk and ran his fingers over the brailled paper on it. He had had his mission and the reasons behind it written out in case he died, or Toryn found him. He didn't want to have to tell the boy the entire story himself. His thoughts turned to his eldest son. Jace was a good kid. He liked his job, and he didn't question authority. He knew who was boss. Sure, he wasn't the brightest bulb in the pack, but he wasn't stupid, either. He knew what he was supposed to know. He heard heavy rain start up outside. He sat at the desk and put his face in his calloused hands, just listening to the roar of the storm. Soon, it turned to hail. The night outside lit up as a bolt of lightening shot across the sky, but of course he couldn't see it. The rumble of thunder sounded as his first tear in years landed on the old leather ink blotter lying on the mahogany desktop. Untitled © 2002 Gioanna Rheumer |