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Chapter 77

"Morning, Jack," Jan said as he hobbled in to the suite. Three weeks had gotten him used to the cast and crutches, but moving any distance was still a chore.

"Morning, Jan. Anything important shaking today?"

"We've got some prospects for that pilot's position lined up," she said. "And there are the usual bullshit forms in your in box."

"Oh, the thrill of executive power," Jack said sourly.

"You're doing better than most," Jan told him.

"Yeah, right." He hopped into the private office (he still thought of it as Rhea's office), struggled over to the desk, and sat down. Rhea and the lawyers had done a perfect job on the paperwork. Jack Halloran now controlled one hundred percent of Celestial Technologies, and was responsible for keeping food on everyone's table. He was learning to play the suit game well enough to get by, and he would have to be a moron to run the company down now. Besides, bitterness and hurt and emptiness aside, he knew that what he was doing mattered.

He keyed up the Beach Boys on the stereo, and the plaintive harmonies of "In My Room" filled the air. He reached for the stack of résumés Jan had left on his desk. Celestial definitely needed pilots. He didn't ever want to do that again.

He was deep into a résumé remarkable only for its tedium when a faint musical tap sounded from one of his desk drawers. He looked up from the paper and frowned. The sound had come from the third drawer down; he didn't have anything in that one yet. Certainly nothing that went ting. He reached down and slid the drawer open, wondering if the cockroaches had gotten musical.

His ring was inside—Rhea's ring. It sat on a small, exquisitely folded note that smelled of roses, which sat on top of what looked like another résumé. He lifted the note first and opened it.

"I'll be waiting," it said, "and in the meantime—"

It seemed to end there. No. He could make out the shadows of writing on the other side. He turned the paper over.

"Light is not made less for shining through two windows.

Love again, my love."

He looked at it in bemusement. He picked up the résumé that had lain beneath the note. He studied it, first in disbelief, then in growing delight. It read "Captain Natsu Forrester, USAF, Ret."

Jan's voice over the intercom snapped him out of his reverie. "Jack," she said, "the first interview is here. A . . . Captain Forrester?" From the puzzlement in her voice, he could tell she didn't remember setting up the interview . . . but he was willing to bet the name was down in her appointment book.

"Send Captain Forrester in," he said. "I've been expecting her."

Then he looked up. "Not evil anymore, are you, my love?" He began to chuckle. "But you'll always be wicked."

THE END

 

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Framed