The Angel Below [Complete]

In Which He Fell into the Hole

It has been four months since Mikaela's disappearance and there's still no word of her from a private investigator I hired. Either he's bad at his job or she's dead. The latter, though I wanted her gone, hope never met her unexpectedly. Now that I've had time to mull over her time here, my company hadn't exploded or imploded. Everything is as it was.

But, there's this tiny itch that is burrowing it's way to the forefront of my mind that the night of the soiree, Mikaela had to have been the most beautiful woman there. Her presence wasn't lost on anyone that night, not even me. She commanded attention like nothing else. It was the dress, black, silky, hugging in all the right places. Her dark brown skin only seemed to make that dress pop more than it should.

And my God her hair, a long pitch black sea of liquid charcoal cascaded just above her tail bone. Just like everything else about her, her hair held a motion of it's own. As much as I loathe to admit it, I want to see her in something so unintentionally sensual that not even I can bear to look away. And that's the thing, I'm positive not even she knows just how potent she is. I saw the stares of men and the scowls and distain across the faces that women held for her. Unwarranted, yet completely necessary to put their character on display. They are not to be trusted.

A cup of coffee should cover the uneasiness I feel in the pit of my gut. Per usual, I glide past my employees and on to the elevator, down to my favorite and only in house coffee shop. Thankfully, there isn't a line as I ease up to the counter. I think I vaguely remember seeing this hostess all bright eyed and bushy tailed. The times I've seen her, she usually wore a smile, but not today. I don't generally dig into others' business but what the heck, why not?

"Morning miss."

"What do kind of coffee do you want?"

Whoa! Her tone held a little to much sass for his liking. "Black, please."

"3.45."

"Are you not having a good day?" I inquire, pulling out a five dollar bill.

"What's it to you?"

"Your smarmy attitude won't take you any further if you don't pull it together."

"Whatever. Here's your coffee." She sticks her hand out for my money and I slap it in her palm then wait while she retrieves my change. I snort, swipe my change and grab my coffee and head out of my building. It's warm, the sun's beaming down heating up the sidewalk. I look around, people are on the move, some look lost, a group of senior citizens are window shopping an antique store.

I sip the strong brew with one hand shoved in my pocket. Just as my nerves begin to settle, just across the street, my arch nemesis appears and his eyes connect with mine. I'd be hard pressed to say I hate the guy, but it wouldn't hurt to watch his life plummeted then shatter into nothingness. It's the least the universe could do as repayment to me for my pain and suffering.

Avoiding him wasn't going to happen, so I'll let things play out like they usually do, with him running his mouth and me resisting the urge to bust his chops.

"It's good to see you enjoying the day."
I take another sip of my coffee then grunt, "Aren't you on your way somewhere?"

"There's no need to be rude, Bourne. It's just that every woman you come in contact with ends up hurt. What exactly did you do to her?"

"Excuse me?"

"The woman at the party. The one you rudely yanked off probably to scold for talking to me."

"I don't know what convoluted idea you have of Ms. Boyd and I, but I haven't done a thing to her."

"Is that so? Then tell me why she's in the hospital?'