Krystal disappeared into the other room. Seconds later the front door opened, and her father stepped inside. He was a tall man, muscular, wearing a long tunic and black pants. He looked tired, Rivera thought. There were deep lines on his face, and it seemed there were more gray hairs since she had left a week ago. He did*’t speak until he was settled comfortably into a chair and rubbing his temples.
“They said you did*’t bring back the prisoner.”
“I couldn’t find him, Father,” Rivera admitted, pouring wine from a tray atop a cabinet in the corner.
Krystal, still in the bathroom, now having scrubbed away the dirt of her travel, listened carefully at the door.
“How could let him get away?” he exploded, glaring at her.
Rivera cowered back. “I found his horse in the woods. He wasn’t with it. I don’t think we’re going to catch him, Father. But –“
Krystal burst out of the bathroom, eyes blazing with fury, and rushed toward Rivera. “You lied to me?” she yelled. She did*’t even bother trying to draw a weapon, but instead launched herself at the other woman, fingers clasping around her throat. Rivera** father was on his feet, tearing Krystal away. She couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t wrap her mind around the fact that Bond wasn’t here, that he was truly gone. It was a long time before he could pull her away and she struggled furiously, writhing and squirming to get her hands back around Rivera** neck. She wanted to watch the life bleed from this woman, watch her die as painfully as Bond must have.
“What on earth?” her father bellowed. “Rivera, who is this woman?”
11-Feb-2008 01:11:40