Jane sat pen in hand, eyes fixed between the paper that lay on her desk and eternity.
Jim was on her mind and no work was getting done.
He was carrying something heavy she could see it, in his eyes his glazed thoughts, and he was tetchy more so than the norm.
If only she could reach him or knew what to say, but they were partners not friends.
If there was any crossing of lines, it had to be from Jim.
He was the man.
He was in pain.
He was lost, scared?
A sharp pain sheared through Jane's throat she was choking on blood, steel.
A ragged masculine face looked up at her in utter disgust and surprise/fear?
Then she was falling...