[gcruse]

Maybe she knew he was coming and had just
forgotten, or maybe Cathryn wanted to punish
Brent for some unintended slight, but even
though she recognized the timidity of his light
rap on her door, her hand dropped off the
edge of the correspondence desk onto a crystal
faceted knob drawer pull.  The drawer gave no resistance
and she pulled it out, her glance seeking out the
1911 model Colt pistol as her hand wrapped
around the ivory grip in a practiced single
motion.

"Brent?  Is that you?" and she pull back the hammer.

             [Over to you]

[Cathryn Crawford]

"Yes, it's me", said Brent, as he came into the room with the easy charm that she had once admired and now loathed. He walked to her and as she watched him the hand that lay on the desk clinched unknowingly, leaving skin-colored grooves in the once unmarred oak. After an interminable period of time, she forced herself to relax and the shaking in her hands stopped. She stood, the hand holding the gun tucked carefully behind her, and slowly turned to meet Brent.