11
Derrik
I adjust my clerical collar as I look in the mirror. Push my fine blond hair back, I grab my comb and perfect the part. The face that looks back at me from the mirror looks tired.
No, more than that. It looks haggard, with large dark circles under the eyes. No amount of combing my hair will make my face look more rested.
Tightening my fingers on the teeth of the comb, I bend them a little. Not enough so that they will break, but enough so that the wooden teeth groan in protest.
It’s not my comb’s fault I am stressed. I know that.
It’s the girl, Rue. Just when I had her right where I wanted her, she fled her wedding a little over a week ago. I’ve sent men everywhere I can think of and authorized them to use any means necessary to bring her back. Her disappearance makes me lo
